#Pump Casting Market

[divinit3a]

oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette. 

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines. 

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms. 

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets. 

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day. 

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.  

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen. 

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade. 

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together. 

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical. 

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert. 

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder. 

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy. 

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all. 

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.  

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive. 

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks. 

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles. 

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly. 

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium. 

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty. 

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops. 

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward. 

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion. 

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort. 

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift. 

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic. 

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath. 

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out. 

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange. 

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards. 

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.  

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex. 

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head. 

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that. 

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum. 

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard. 

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away. 

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear. 

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste. 

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed. 

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being. 

The siren lurches toward you. 

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.   

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion. 

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges. 

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain. 

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause. 

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world. 

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.  

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 3: Stuck With You

The trio hangs out for the first time outside the apartment.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, mentions of dark backgrounds.

A/N: third chapter!!! this one is really short, sorryyyy...but I'll post another fic as well as a new chapter this week to compensate, I pinky promise!! this explores the trio's dynamic again but do not worry, things are coming 🫡 alright I'll leave you to it!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part / Next Part

The sun hung low over the city, casting golden light over the streets. Y/N had spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around her new neighborhood. It had been a week now, and between settling down and work she hadn’t had the time to walk around the streets. Wade had recommended a few places that he thought she would like. She strolled through narrow alleys and wide streets, passing cafes, small bookshops, and one bustling market. There was also this cute park a few blocks down where she stayed for lunch. It was all new, yet there was something comforting about this quiet exploration.

She hadn't quite figured out how to navigate the subtle rhythm of her new life— but she would managed. Everything’s going to be okay, she reminded herself.

When the evening chill began to creep in, she made her way back to the apartment. She was looking forward to spending time with Logan and Wade; the three of them had started to form an unexpected bond. As she climbed the steps to the apartment, she wondered if they were home yet. She could already imagine Wade cracking jokes, Logan rolling his eyes, and her somewhere in between, soaking up the dynamic. She already loved them so much.

The second she unlocked the door and stepped inside, Wade's voice boomed from the kitchen.

" And she returns!" He leaned against the counter, grinning. « So? How was your little solo adventure?".

Y/N smiled, closing the door behind her. "Amazing. I visited all the places you recommended and I’m definitely going back as soon as possible". Wade pumped his fists in victory with a little "Yes!", which made Y/n smile even more.

Logan appeared in the living room, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You got lost?"

"Only once or twice," she admitted, tossing her bag onto the couch. "But it's nice around here. I loved the park— I might check it out more later this week."

Wade clapped his hands together. "Perfect. Now that Dora the Explorer is back, we can finally head out to the bar. My set starts in an hour." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "And you're both coming, right? Because what's a gig without my loyal fan base?"

Y/N grinned. « I can’t wait! »

Logan just shrugged but nodded, clearly used to Wade’s antics. "Yeah, alright. Let’s go."

———

The bar had a laid-back atmosphere. Dim lights flickered over dark wooden tables, the low hum of conversation mixing with the occasional clink of glasses. They found a booth near the stage, a perfect spot to watch Wade’s performance later.

Y/N slid into the booth, Logan following after her while Wade grabbed drinks from the bar. She glanced around, taking in the crowd. People were laughing, chatting, and enjoying the night.

"This place is cool," she commented.

Logan nodded, leaning back in his seat. "Wade performs here a lot. Thinks he’s the star attraction."

She laughed. "Well, I guess we’ll find out tonight."

A moment later, Wade returned with drinks, setting them down on the table. He plopped down on the seat across from them, a wide grin on his face. "Alright, Y/N, prepare yourself for the best comedy set you’ve ever seen— or, well, at least the best one you’ll see tonight."

Y/N grinned. "No pressure."

They sipped their drinks, the conversation starting off light. Wade was in his element, cracking jokes about the people around them, the bartender, the state of the world. It was easy to laugh with him, the energy infectious, and even Logan cracked a few smiles in between his usual deadpan responses.

As the night wore on, Wade excused himself to get ready for his set, leaving Y/N and Logan alone at the booth.

"You think he’s nervous?" Y/N asked, watching Wade walk toward the stage.

Logan shrugged. "If he is, he hides it well."

They shifted their gazes to the stage as the lights dimmed, and Wade took the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Wade’s voice boomed through the speakers. "Give it up for me!" He winked at the crowd, earning a round of laughter.

"But seriously, thanks for coming out tonight. I hope you’re all ready to laugh, because I’m in desperate need of some validation!"

Y/N and Logan laughed along with the rest of the audience, Wade launched into his set, his energy filling the room. He was good—better than Y/N had expected. His jokes were sharp, his timing perfect, and he knew how to work the crowd. Y/N found herself laughing harder than she had in a while, and even Logan seemed to be enjoying himself.

———

After Wade’s set, the three of them were back at the booth, drinks in hand, a warm buzz from the alcohol and the laughter still lingering in the air.

Wade took a long drink from his glass and leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "Not bad, huh? I’d say I killed it."

Y/N grinned. "I have to admit, you were pretty great."

"Pretty great?" Wade put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Come on, I was spectacular."

"Sure, bub" Logan deadpanned, taking a sip of his beer. "Spectacular."

Wade waved a hand. "I’ll take it."

"It was fantastic, Wade, really." Y/n declared and Wade grinned, before thanking her.

The conversation drifted into the easy banter that had become familiar between them. They teased each other, joked about the people in the bar, and laughed at some of Wade’s stories from previous gigs. It felt good— natural.

At some point, after a pause in the conversation, Y/N found herself staring down at her drink, feeling the weight of the day. She hadn’t meant to go there, but something about the night— the warmth, the comfort of being with them— made her want to share more.

"You know, I’m really glad I found you guys." she said quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I never thought I would ever get along so well with people. I mean, that fast. You really welcomed me into your family and I’m grateful. So, thank you for that."

Logan and Wade both smiled at her, their expressions softening.

"God, what did I say about making people want to cry?" Wade said, wiping a fake tear from his eyes. 

Y/n chuckled and joined his act, "I’m sorry, I need to break some rules too!"

"Too?! What are you insinuating ? You’re a teacher, you should be ashamed of yourself."

They all laughed before the tone became serious again, "I don’t want to talk in Logan’s name, but, I'm going to anyway— it’s a real pleasure to have you. Like, you’re a perfect roommate. And you survived a whole week with us? I know people who would die just thinking about it— "

"Okay, that’s enough," Logan intervened, "but he’s right. We’re glad to have you too. And if you ever feel like you’re tired of us, please, don’t keep it to yourself."

Y/n smiled softly, "Thank you."

They talked again for a while, about their day, their week, anything that would come to mind. Somehow, the conversation wouldn’t stop.

Y/N took a slow sip from her drink, her smile lingering but her eyes distant, as if a thought had crossed her mind during the conversation. Logan noticed first, tilting his head slightly.

"Something on your mind?" he asked gently.

Y/N glanced up, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. "It’s just... talking about being part of your ‘family’— it got me thinking about mine."

Wade, who had been busy throwing peanuts in his mouth while telling yet another story, paused and looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Oh, are we diving into family history now? Because I’ve got stories that’ll make your childhood look like Disneyland."

Y/N chuckled but shook her head softly. "No, it’s just... my family’s complicated." She took another sip, as if to steady herself. "I had a great childhood, really it was perfect. I mean, I know nothing’s perfect and 'normal' doesn’t exist, but it was great. Until it wasn't, of course."

Logan leaned in slightly, his expression soft but attentive. "What happened?"

Y/N’s fingers absently traced the rim of her glass again. "My parents divorced when I was 12, I think? It was a mess. They were fighting over who would keep the children. My brother was already in college and his dream was to leave the country, so, it was only me and my parents. In the end, I would stay at my mom’s during the week and my dad’s on the weekend. You know the drill. Anyway…"

Y/N sighed softly. "Even after it was done, they would still fight. And I realized they weren’t even fighting to keep me anymore. When I was at my mom’s she would only talk bad things about my dad, and vice versa on the weekends, and I felt so lonely. So, it’s kind of like my deepest fear now, to be alone. I mean, I can be alone of course, but to feel like everybody abandoned you and you’re just by yourself? That feeling, well, you made me forget it."

There was a silence for a moment, a contemplative pause. Then Wade spoke, his tone unusually serious. "Yeah. I get that." He glanced at Y/N, then at Logan. "My childhood was... rough. I’m not going into details but, yeah, I was alone for other reasons. And I still had to go to school and because of what was happening at home I guess I developed my own medicine for that. Humor became my way of dealing with it. I learned that if I could make people laugh, I could hide what was really going on."

Y/N felt a pang of empathy for him. She hadn’t expected Wade to open up like that, but it made sense. The humor, the constant jokes—it was his armor, just like she had her own ways of coping.

Logan shifted in his seat, his gaze focused somewhere beyond the table. "I’ve got a brother," he said, his voice low. "Victor. We don’t really talk anymore. Haven’t in a long time."

Y/N and Wade waited, sensing there was more.

"Things went south with him a while back. We were close when we were kids because…some stuff happened, but... yeah." He trailed off, the unsaid heavy in the air.

Wade took a sip of his drink, his usual bravado softened by the seriousness of the moment. "Family, huh? It’s a mess. But," he added, flashing a grin, « You two? You’re both stuck with me now."

Y/N laughed, and even Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. The heaviness of the conversation lifted slightly, but the bond between them felt a little stronger after that. They didn’t need to dive deeper right now— they all knew the weight of their stories, and that was enough for the moment.

The night carried on, the trio falling back into their rhythm of jokes and teasing, but something had shifted. The laughter was still there, the lighthearted banter, but now it was layered with a deeper understanding.

XXX

[niceonet]

TRAİLERDB - DEVASA+ (2)

As the film industry continues to evolve, sneak peeks into upcoming releases offer us a tantalizing glimpse of the stories, characters, and visual spectacles on the horizon. Whether you're a fan of thrilling blockbusters, heartwarming dramas, or spine-chilling horror flicks, there’s something for everyone to look forward to. 

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As we step into 2024, the excitement for upcoming films is at an all-time high. New movie trailers are being released at a brisk pace, teasing audiences with glimpses of thrilling plots, stunning visuals, and star-studded casts. Below are some of the most anticipated new movie trailers 2024 that have already caught the attention of film enthusiasts.

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Latest Movie Trailers

As movie lovers know, the excitement for a new release often begins with the unveiling of its trailer. The latest movie trailers give us a glimpse into upcoming films that promise to captivate audiences and spark conversations. With a wide array of genres, these trailers highlight the creativity and talent of filmmakers, showcasing their unique storytelling approaches.

This year, we have seen some incredible trailers that have set high expectations for moviegoers. From thrilling action sequences to heartfelt dramas, the latest film previews provide tantalizing sneak peeks into the narratives we can expect to enjoy on the big screen. Movies like Dune: Part Two and Killers of the Flower Moon have already generated a buzz through their stunning visuals and compelling storylines presented in their latest trailers.

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Stay tuned as we anticipate the release of these films. The latest movie trailers are just the beginning of what promises to be an exhilarating journey through the world of cinema.

[king-finnigan]

Leave the Door Ajar ch. 3

Fandom: Arcane Ship: Jayvik Previously:

Jayce has a good day at the market. Less so when he finally gets to talk to the healer who lives across from his shop and accidentally insults him. Viktor is understandably mad.

Also on AO3!

Chapter 2

It’s been a few days since his argument with Viktor, but it’s been replaying in his mind ever since, keeping him up at night and distracting him from working on new toys for the Freeday market. 

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an effort to chase away the headache that’s been forming since he woke up after another fitful night and which has refused to leave ever since. He’d thought a walk might help, but in the foul air of the outskirts of Zaun, so close to the fissures and factories, he chastises himself for his stupidity.

He drags his feet, rucksack hanging heavy between his shoulder blades. Here, closer to the mines, the grinding of the machines is louder, ceaselessly drumming daggers into his skull and draining him of what little energy he had before he left. 

Staring up at an abandoned factory, he can see why Benzo told Ekko not to come here. But Jayce, naive and looking for a lucky break, had overheard them talking about these buildings and had figured that, if people do stay away from this place, maybe there’s still some old machines or scrap metal yet to be looted. He shakes his head. Stupid. He should’ve known all the valuables would be long gone, leaving only the truly desperate and the truly idiotic looking through the piles of garbage.

Jayce briefly wonders which category he falls into: the desperate or the idiotic?

Probably both.

He ducks into a shadow as an unsavory figure shambles through the street, clothes in tatters, knife in his belt. 

He’s not the first person Jayce has seen walking these abandoned streets tonight, and somewhere in his mind alarm bells go off - there shouldn’t be this many people still here. Something must be going on. Right?

He shakes the thought away and moves on. He’s just being paranoid. It’s probably the shadows in these streets that play tricks on his mind, and he briefly wishes he had brought a lamp before completely dismissing the idea. It would’ve only drawn attention - something he desperately does not want as a lone stranger in the least savory parts of town.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, a bright, blue light illuminates him from behind, casting his long, startled shadow ahead of him on the cracked street.

He feels his blood running cold, heart skipping a beat. Shit. Maybe he can talk his way out of this. Or run.

As he turns his head to look who’s behind him, though, something hard and heavy hits his back, sending him sprawling across the pavement and scraping up his hands and knees, hitting his shoulder painfully.

“Shit,” he hisses between teeth. 

A deafening sound rolls over him and he clasps his stinging hands over his ear, clenching his jaw. What is happening?

But then he looks up and behind him.

A blue mushroom cloud billows from one of the nearby factories, lightning shooting between it and the night sky, particles floating through the air, forming vague shapes that remind him of-

“Runes,” he breathes. For a moment he’s transported back to that fateful day just a few weeks ago, when a similar cloud had emanated from his apartment.

He’s up and on his feet in less than a second, sprinting down the street, his backpack forgotten on the pavement behind him.

It can’t be- it can’t. And yet, he can’t think of any other thing that could’ve caused an explosion this massive, floating particles this distinctive besides his hex crystals. How? Surely they’ve all been destroyed?

He doesn’t have time to think- his feet are pounding on the street, breath straining in his lungs and arms pumping as he runs towards the factory. The mushroom cloud is slowly dissipating into the foul chemical air, but he knows he’s not the only one who’s seen it, likely not the only one who’s running towards it at this very moment. 

He expects to hear people coming out of the neighbouring alleyways any second- whether to help anyone who’s survived the explosion or to finish them off, he doesn’t know. But there’s no one else.

Instead, he hears a high, piercing shriek.

His heart freezes in his chest. A little girl.

He starts running again, trying to find the source of the scream, though it’s hard to pinpoint as the sound bounces off the tall, empty factories. As he rounds a corner, he can see the faint, orange glow of a fire and again, that shriek- though this time, he can discern the words.

“Vi, please!”

He picks up his pace again, shoes scrabbling for steady ground as they slip in a puddle, drops of rain starting to hit his face, thunder rumbling above his head.

There she is.

She’s so small, a little thing curled up on the wet pavement, the fire raging behind her and leaving afterimages on his retinas. She’s sobbing violently, hands clutched in her choppy blue hair, tiny body heaving with every ragged breath.

And behind her- God. What is that?

It’s vaguely human-shaped, but that’s where the similarities end. There are purple veins criss-crossing its barrel chest, claws splayed out and dangerously sharp, its wolf-like face slack, purple liquid dripping from its open, empty eyes.

His steps falter as he trips over his own feet, his mind reeling from the sight before him. But another cry of anguish breaks him out of his momentary stupor and he stumbles forward, dropping to his knees beside the girl. He recognises her from the market, and he scrambles for a name as he puts his hand on her convulsing back, her sobs heartbreakingly loud.

“Hey,” he says softly, too softly. She doesn’t look up. He shakes her a bit. “Hey!” a bit louder. “Are you okay, it’s- it’s Powder, right? Are you hurt?” He looks up at the factory, the hole blasted in the sturdy wall as the last wisps of the blue mushroom cloud fade into the night sky. “What happened?” 

She looks up at him, snot and tears running down her face, red-rimmed eyes looking at him frantically, almost maniacally. 

Then, she lurches forward and he nearly falls back, steadying himself with one hand and a quiet oomf. Her thin arms wrap around his waist, squeezing tightly, almost painfully. 

“What happened?” he asks again, trembling slightly as the possibilities flash through his mind. The hex crystals? 

“They’re dead!” she shouts, voice frantic. “They’re all dead!”

Something coils in his stomach. Oh, God. He vaguely remembers her being Vander’s kid, running around the Last Drop with her siblings. “Who is?”

“Vander!” She sobs again, his ribs protesting weakly as she tightens her grip. “Mylo, Claggor, they’re all gone.”

He strains his mind, pictures another girl with pink hair. “Your sister?”

She stills and he can feel her muscles tense. The sudden change almost eerie. “She’s not my sister anymore.” Her voice is quiet, a hateful tone underlining her words. 

“O- okay.” The rain has started falling out of the sky in buckets now, and he can hear the echoes of other voices coming towards them bouncing off the high buildings. He looks at the factory, worry and curiosity mingling in his stomach. He needs to find out what happened here, if it really was one of the hex crystals that caused the explosion, and so, who got a hold of them and how. 

How many more of them are out there? How much more damage can they cause?

But there are people coming and he knows well enough by now not to trust anyone who would wander around this part of town. He doesn’t have the time to look into this, not now, and there’s still a sobbing girl in his arms. 

If anyone attacks them, he won’t be able to protect her.

“We need to get out of here.” Maybe he can bring her to Benzo and come back later during the daytime when these people have left.

He glances at the man-beast, shivers running down his spine. He wants to look away, but he can’t. It’s a monster, a veritable terror. How many more of those are still around somewhere, he wonders.

And yet, its face is familiar. Was it a man, once?

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” he asks. Powder doesn’t respond, even as the voices get closer. He hesitates for a second, then lifts her up. “Let’s go.” 

She’s terrifyingly light in his arms as he hurries around the corner and for a second he wonders how old she is- surely she’s too thin for her age? 

But this is Zaun. All children are too thin for their age.

She sniffles and buries her face in his neck, arms clasped around his neck and legs around his waist. He hurries back towards the more lived-in parts of the Undercity, leaving the strangers behind them. It takes him a while to recognise where they are, but he picks random streets that lead towards the market until he does, then sets course for the pawn shop.

Benzo will know what to do. He’ll be able to take care of Powder.

The rain is beating down on them in sheets now, soaking their clothes and plastering their hair on their heads. Jayce sputters, wiping his face in an effort to get the water out of his eyes as he looks around, red flags rising in the back of his mind.

Something’s wrong.

He strains his mind as he hurries along, trying to figure out if it’s just his worry for the girl and the hex crystal explosion that are making him feel uneasy or if it’s something else.

And then it hits him.

He’s in the busiest part of Zaun, the streets where nightlife is always at its peak, where music is constantly playing, people are perpetually drunk and doors are forever open.

Except now.

There’s no one in sight. The clubs and bars are shut tightly, the lights turned off and the people hiding. He can see a pale face behind a window here and there, curtains fluttering when he walks past, hands clutching at the edges and eyes glittering in the darkness. 

“What’s happening?” he whispers, more to himself than at the girl, yet she responds and he starts, having forgotten her for a second.

“There’s scary people,” she whispers back.

His feet start going faster of their own accord, splashing through puddles, his steps drowned out by the roar of the rain falling on tin roofs and against the pavement. 

“Really?” he asks, out of breath. “Well, we’re nearly at Benzo’s, we’ll be safe there.” And then I can figure out what on earth happened at the cannery.

“We shouldn’t go to Benzo’s,” Powder says softly, face burying itself back in his neck after having glanced around warily for a moment.

“Uhuh,” he adjusts her in his arms absentmindedly, rounding the corner to the familiar street the pawn shop sits in. “And why’s that?”

Ice runs down his spine, feet freezing to the ground as he feels the numbness of shock, before something heavy crushes his chest, heart beating against his ribcage like a prisoner in a cell.

On the pavement in front of his shop, sheets of rain battering his broken and bruised body, draining his blood into the gutter, is Benzo.

“Vi said he’s dead.”

He stands there for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s his friend - his small, round glasses are broken but still sit on his face, his sideburns caked with dried blood. His eyes, once so kind and inviting, stare at the downpour that soaks his ripped clothes, his face slack, his familiar smile gone.

Dead. Ripped apart and left in the street like garbage to rot.

Powder lets out a yelp as Jayce drops her to the wet pavement, stumbling to the gutter on unsteady feet before he empties his stomach against the side of a building. One hand clutches his stomach while the other supports himself against the wall. Rain beats down on his back, soaking his near-saturated clothes and sending rivulets down his spine and ribs. 

He trembles, his breath comes in ragged spurts. For a moment he wants to sink to his knees right there in the street, lie down and never get back up. Tears sting his eyes, denial and grief battling in his head for dominance. 

His friend, his only friend, the only person who’s been kind to him the past few weeks, the man who showed him he could have a bright future in Zaun, who welcomed him with open arms despite everything. Dead. Gone.

Murdered.

And then another thought hits him, like lightning through his mind and down his back.

He rips his head back up. “Ekko,” he whispers. Then nearly trips over his feet as he breaks into a run down the street. “Ekko!”

God, let him be okay, let him be fine. Let him be alive.

The door to the pawn shop is open and he almost slips in puddles of rain water and mud when he skids to a halt in front of it, hands clutching the door frame for support. 

“Ekko!” The shop is quiet and surprisingly neat and very, very empty. Another door at the back reveals a staircase to the basement and he hits his shoulder against it in his hurry to get downstairs, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Ekko!” he shouts again into the damp and cold room. Light filters from a window high in the wall, the blood that’s been splattered against it slowly washing away in the relentless downpour.

He rakes a hand through his hand. Did someone take the kid? Did they hurt him? Kill him?

“Vi said he’s fine.” The soft voice startles him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks back to see Powder standing at the top of the stairs, face grave and gaze downcast. “She told him to hide somewhere.”

Her lower lip trembles, blue eyes brimming with fresh tears. “It’s my fault,” she whines. “It’s all my fault! I’m a jinx!” Her hands come up to clutch at her hair, pulling at it and beating herself over the head. 

Jayce quickly runs up the stairs, gripping her wrists. “No, please don’t do that, stop please-” he’s always sucked with kids and he knows he’s not the right person to help this girl right now. He doesn’t even know if she got hurt in the factory explosion, for God’s sake.

His efforts are futile and she screams in frustration. 

“No! No, shush, please-�� He hears voices outside in the street, muffled by the heavy rain. Concerned citizens or Benzo’s murderer, coming back to gloat in his kill? “ Fuck, fuckfuckfuck- please, Powder, stop it. It’s not your fault- we need to go.”

He gives up on his attempts to extract her white-knuckled grip from her hair and lifts her up again, clutching her against his chest as he rushes outside.

He’s panicking as he looks around, trying to figure out where the voices are coming from while balancing the writhing girl in his arms as she sobs into his ear. Where can he go? What can he do? He can’t keep her with him but he can’t just hand her off to a perfect stranger- and then there’s the matter of the explosion. He still needs to go back, figure out what happened and if it could happen again.

His eyes land on the body in front of him on the street, ripped apart and broken. Bile rises in his throat, a wave of grief hitting him like a brick wall as his arms tighten involuntarily around Powder.

He can’t let her get hurt. It’s too late to save Benzo, but he can help her .

He grits his teeth to push back the tears that threaten to blur his vision, mind struggling against his pain to figure something out. He doesn’t have time. The voices are getting closer.

Who else can he trust? Who else does he know? Who else will know how to take care of this little girl?

The image of a purple door surfaces in his mind. 

“ Viktor,” he breathes.

He can see shadows cast by the lamps at one end of the street, voices coming ever closer, overlapping and angry, arguing about something. 

Jayce takes a second to kneel by his friend’s side. To close those empty, staring eyes before he lays a hand on the barrel-chest, unmoving forever more. “I’ll come back,” he promises, his other hand clutching the quietly sobbing girl against him. “I’ll come back for you, Benzo. I swear.”

There’s a gaping hole in his chest as he rises again, pulling at the edges of his mind and sanity and threatening to swallow him whole.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispers against Powder's hair, running a soothing hand up and down her drenched back. “I know someone, you’ll be safe with him.”

—

The purple door rattles in its frame as Jayce pounds his fist against it. The rain hasn’t let up and thunder rolls overhead, quickly following flashes tinged green by the chemical clouds that hang around the Undercity.

He waits a second, adjusting a now quiet Powder in his arms before knocking frantically again, the side of his fist stinging with the force of it. “Viktor!” he shouts, taking a step back to look through the windows. There’s no light inside as far as he can see, and any shapes he would be able to make out in the glow of the street lamps are hidden by heavy drapery, obscuring his view of the shop.

He raises his hand to knock again, desperation and slight panic clawing at him. “Viktor! Please, please, open th-”

He nearly hits the healer in the head when the door suddenly opens. A very tired, slightly disheveled Viktor stands there, anger brewing in his golden eyes, mouth already open to spit venom for disturbing him in the middle of the night. 

The words seem to die on the healer’s tongue, though, as he takes in Jayce’s soaked clothes and the girl in his arm, who has turned her head to peek at him out of the corners of her eyes. 

“Jayce?” he asks softly, concern tinging his words, the last traces of sleep thickening his accent. “ Powder?” 

A wave of relief overwhelms him and he feels lightheaded for a moment, one hand coming up to steady himself on the doorframe. “Viktor. Please, can we come in?”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence before Viktor steps aside and opens the door further, ushering them inside. “What’s happened? Is she okay? To the back,” he answers Jayce’s unasked question, closing the door behind them and gesturing to the other end of the dark shop, where a small gas lantern illuminates the backroom. 

“I- I don’t know.” He tries to push away the simultaneous relief and anxiety that threatens to cripple him. “There was an explosion and Benzo is dead and I don’t know what happened and Ekko is gone and-”

“What?” The sharp word stops Jayce’s rambling as he sets Powder down on a wooden treatment table. He looks around at Viktor, who is standing in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock, eyes wide. He seems unguarded in a way Jayce hasn’t seen him before, mask slipped away for once.

Viktor recovers himself quickly enough though, and in two uneven steps he’s by a shelf on the other side of the room, picking up two towels and giving one to Jayce before going to stand by Powder. She looks between the two of them with wide, blue eyes.

“Powder,” Viktor says softly, putting the towel around her small frame. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The tears return with full force and she crumples in on herself, shielding her face with her hands. “It’s my fault,” she sobs, voice muffled behind her fingers. “It’s all my fault!”

Viktor tuts and pulls her to his chest, letting her bury her face into his soft night robe. “It’s alright, Powder, it’s not your fault,” he shushes her, whispering soothing words into her wet hair. Golden eyes focus on Jayce questioningly, tinged with concern.

Jayce sighs, using the towel to wring out his hair. “I- I don’t know,” he says softly and for a second it feels like the reality of the situation hasn’t fully set in yet. “There was an explosion at the abandoned cannery down south-” He swallows thickly, images of the blue clouds and the rune-like sparks in the air flashing in his mind. “I-” A lump forms in his throat. “I think it’s my fault, actually.”

Shock and confusion flash across Viktor’s face. “What?”

“It’s a long story,” Jayce rushes to add. “And I didn’t really do it myself but…” He leans against the table, eyes trained on the tiled floor. “... It’s a long story,” he finishes lamely.

The healer is quiet for a second and Jayce can feel golden eyes digging holes into the side of his head but he ignores it, though he’s unable to stop the blush creeping up his neck.

“And Benzo?” Viktor asks.

He clenches his jaw, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table. “Dead. I don’t know-” Anger flashes through his veins, turning his blood to fire- it’s an emotion he doesn’t enjoy, but right now it’s familiar, something he’s at least acquainted with. 

It’s better than the grief.

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” He snaps, meeting Viktor’s eyes. “I don’t know. Anything! I don’t know what happened at the cannery or at the pawn shop or with that man-beast-thing! I don’t know how someone managed to get a hex crystal or why they made it explode or how many people died or if there’s more to come. I don’t know!” 

His breath comes out in ragged gasps and he finds both Powder and Viktor staring at him, slightly scared but mostly concerned. He huffs out a laugh, feeling himself teeter on the edge of hysteria.

But the fight leaves him as quickly as it came. “And I really don’t know what to do now,” he admits, voice breaking and helpless tears brimming his eyes. “ Please, ” he begs. “I need your help.”

Viktor looks at him for a second before seemingly steeling himself, shoulders squaring and back straightening. He gives Jayce a curt nod. “I’ll do what I can.” He looks at Powder, smiling softly at her, trying to put her at ease. “After all, I am a healer. Helping people is what I do.”

—

Later, when Powder has changed out of her wet clothes and into an old shirt one of Viktor’s patients had left at his shop, and she’s upstairs in his bed knocked out cold, the rain finally stops.

Jayce sits at the table in the kitchen next to the treatment room, a single gas lantern casting shadows on the walls, the scent of dried herbs filling the air. He doesn’t look up as he hears Viktor’s uneven steps coming down the stairs and into the room. 

“She is asleep,” the healer says, moving to the countertop and putting a full kettle on the stove. “I gave her something to keep the nightmares at bay. Tea?”

Jayce doesn’t reply- he doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in his life, words elude him, the space they used to occupy in his head filled with memories of tonight. He simply listens to the sounds of Viktor rummaging through his cupboards, the clinking of mugs and the whizzing of the gas stove as it slowly brings the water to a boil.

“What happened, Jayce?” His voice is soft, fatigue lacing through his tone. 

Jayce rubs the bridge of his nose. The headache is back in full force and he feels too tired to think. But he knows he owes Viktor at least some explanation.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he sighs. “I was trying to find scraps at the old factories near the docks and suddenly-” he splays his fingers. “Boom. And there she was.” He shrugs as Viktor pours water into the mugs. “I tried to find Benzo but he was dead and Ekko is God knows where, so I came here.” He looks up as the other man puts his tea in front of him, sitting down on the chair on the other side of the table. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he admits.

Viktor hums thoughtfully for a second, golden eyes watching steam rise from his tea. “You said it was your fault, earlier.” He looks up at Jayce. “What did you mean by that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Indulge me.”

Jayce leans back in his chair, hands around the scalding mug. He doesn’t mind the sting of the heat, welcomes it even. Anything to distract him from his chaotic thoughts. 

“Well,” he starts, trying to find his words. “My apartment blew up a few weeks ago,” he admits. Viktor opens his eyes a fraction wider but remains quiet. “I was doing a… science project. Not exactly above board, and somehow a few kids broke in and blew up the place.” He leans forwards on his elbows, raking his hand through his hair. “The Council found out what I was doing and banished me from Piltover.”

Viktor tilts his head, eyebrows coming together half an inch. “Hmm,” he hums before taking a sip of his tea. “Continue.”

“When the cannery exploded, it made the exact same cloud as the explosion at my lab did.” He jabs a finger into the table, worry coiling in his chest like a snake about to strike. “I don’t know how, but I’m sure that someone got hold of some… components of my project and used it to blow up the factory. Viktor, I need to find out who did it and how much there’s still left. You have no idea how much damage th-”

“These… components. They are blue crystals, no?”

Jayce freezes, finger still on the table, his other hand curled around his rapidly cooling tea. “I- I…” he stammers. “How do you know that?”

“Powder told me what happened.” Viktor’s eyes seem to emit their own strange glow in the half-dark as he looks at Jayce. “She had one of those crystals, stole them from some Piltie’s apartment, she said. Things went wrong that day and it blew up, sending the Enforcers and half the Undercity after her. She said she’d kept one of the crystals and tried to save Vander and her siblings using it.” He huffs out a breath. “Clearly, things did not go according to plan.”

Jayce can do nothing but stare at him. “So Powder…” He groans, burying his head in his hands. “So it was my fault.” A pang of guilt shoots through him and he has to do everything not to pull his hair out with the ache of it. “If I’d been more careful, if I’d locked those hex crystals away better-” His head shoots up. “She doesn’t have any more-”

“No, Jayce.” Viktor is quick to soothe his fears. “She only had one.” 

He sighs in relief, resting his chin on his folded arms. Still… “People are dead because of me,” he whispers.

“Eh, and because of Powder.” 

Jayce frowns at him. “She’s just a kid-”

“And Ekko,” Viktor says matter-of-factly. “For telling them where your apartment was.”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce protests. “They didn’t know this was going to happen, they didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But you did?” Viktor raises his eyebrows.

“No…” he admits. He deflates a bit. “Still, I can’t help but feel guilty.”

And he does. He does feel tremendously guilty. It’s clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering into his thoughts. Your fault, your fault, it says as it scrapes its talons into him. You killed those people. 

He lowers his head into his hands, fingertips pushing against his scalp, trying to get that little voice out of his mind. Trying to stop feeling like it’s right, it is his fault. Vander and Mylo and Claggor are dead because of his hex crystals. Benzo is dead because of him. 

“It was an accident.” Viktor’s voice is soft, though it cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a hot knife. The healer has leaned forward, hand on the table a few inches from Jayce, reaching out but not touching. “It’s not your fault.”

He lets out a humourless chuckle, shaking his head. “I wish I could believe that.” 

There’s an urge to lay his hand on Viktor’s, feel the warmth and the smooth skin. He’s always needed touch when he’s distressed and he can’t deny the magnetic pull he feels toward the healer. It’d be so easy just to reach out, to wrap his fingers around those slender ones and take comfort in the contact.

And sully his hands with the blood that’s on yours? The little voice whispers to him again, words curling around his mind and sinking its teeth into it. He deserves better than a murderer. 

He leans back, gaze averting to stare at the wall, arms crossing in front of his chest, trying to will away the itch in his fingers, the need to touch.

Viktor seems to feel the shift, the sudden tension exuding from Jayce, because he sits back too, his voice no longer soft and warm. “You should get some sleep.”

Jayce sighs, wiping a hand over his face, his eyelids sagging shut for a second. “What are we going to do with her?”

“I will figure something out.” I, not we. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. “Go back home.”

A memory surfaces to the forefront of his mind: his mother's smile so wide it squeezes her eyes shut on the day they found out he got into the Academy, tears of joy slipping down her face as she kisses Jayce’s cheeks over and over. She’d been so proud of her mijo.

“I wish I could,” he mutters as he rises out of his chair. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

There’s silence for a beat as he makes his way out of the kitchen. He’s not sure if he really does hear Viktor whispering a goodnight back or if it’s a trick his overtired mind is playing on him. The latter, he decides. 

It’s best if he doesn’t get too attached anyways.

Viktor deserves better than him, after all.

[starhaloeklypse]

I tried to make a mock-up of my own alternative take On My Little Pony: Generation 5.

I had a lot of fun designing these, I won’t lie. The main idea was to bring back the mane (main) cast of characters all having drastically contrasting, strong personalities and color palettes. I think that was what G4 succeeded best at, and would probably (I’m no expert) increase marketability and make people want to buy the toys more.

I took inspiration for the new art style direction from an MLP G4 manga cover , not sure if it’s official or not, but I like that style a ton, I think it’s super cute and would be a good direction for a new show. This is of course operating under the assumption the new generation would just stay 2D instead of branching to 3D animation. I tried my best to mimic the style , I don’t think I did the best at that, but that art style on the manga cover is what I think they should go for. Maybe with a more pencil-textured brush for the outline. Feels unique from G4, but still cute in my opinion.

Instead of Friendship or Unity, the unifying theme tying all the characters together would be Artistic creativity and using it to express yourself. All the characters would represent a different form of art. The main villain being a bat-pony with wings and a horn, a mad scientist type who builds robots and gadgets to fight the main cast with the goal of stealing their art and feeding it through big, industrial machines to pump out hodge-podge mashed together copies and create her own art museums to profit off of them. They have to fight to take back their art and create works that express who they are without it being stolen or mass produced by machines and robots. She’s kind of inspired by Opaline but I tried to give her an alternative design. I also took a bit of inspiration from Dr. Eggman from the Sonic franchise. In general my take on this generation is kind of inspired by Sonic with these animal characters fighting against robots and industrialization. Specifically the Sonic Boom Cartoon with the beachy setting and vibes.

We also have the main character, Aqua Seastar, a yellow unicorn who’s got a very curious, inquisitive, detective type personality, ( very clearly my version of Zipp from the Make Your Mark Cartoon, because I actually liked the personality they gave her there, a lot) she’s constantly trying to solve all the mysteries that crop up around the island and poking around to learn new things. She’s also an aspiring animator who wants to make a cartoon about a detective squirrel inspired by her own adventures.

Speaking of characters from G5 I’ve based these characters on, Cloudy skies is basically my version of Izzy. A very similar personality, ( particularly how she’s characterized in the movie A New Generation, I think that’s where she’s at her best) just with the added twist of her being the motherly one of the group and a bit protective and neurotic about other’s safety. Also inspired a bit by Wammawink from Centaurworld or Ragatha from TADC. She’s the arts and crafts pony , with yarn and sewing needles in her hair. She’s also a Pegasus and I swapped her mane and coat color cause I figured we needed a blue pony.

Shellda is basically my answer to Sparky, a baby sea turtle who was orphaned and no one in the sea cared for her because she couldn’t keep up and would just “slow them down” . She eventually gets adopted by the main cast as a little sister figure and starts off shy but really comes into her own over time, gaining more confidence and becoming a watercolor painter. Also she can talk. She’s more of a toddler than a newborn.

I tried to imagine this setting as playing into being on a beach / island way more . Maybe coral reefs instead of trees on the surface , mythical creatures the ponies could encounter like in G4 , but specifically based on sea and marine animals. Like crabs made of rock or something. A stage in the center of town for GlimGlam Hot-Trot to perform on that looks like a giant clam. Whenever they travel off the island they could do it on a big pirate ship instead of a hot air balloon or a plane. Stuff like that.

This generation would also have modern tech but mainly for the sake of creating art, like art tablets and programs . As well as Dr. Nightwing and Terra Byte being inventors who create gadgets.

Overall , I have way too many ideas to go over in one post but I put a lot of thought into this and I hope you guys like it. What are your thoughts ? Do you have any questions about any specific characters or anything ? Let me know, cause I love MLP especially G4 and I had a lot of fun making this. Might be using these characters again sometime, soon.

If you would like to support me , feel free to check out my Kofi page , I offer commissions and you can also just donate if you’d like to , but please don’t feel pressured. I hope you enjoyed the art and have a good rest of your day ! 💕🧡

[warningsine]

If it was ever possible to maintain the illusion that good work will attract an audience simply by virtue of its quality, it isn’t now. In 2017, there’s simply too much out there to guarantee that the best series will attract the biggest audiences. It’s a miracle, then, that Halt and Catch Fire, a show originally meant to fill the hole left by Mad Men, has managed to make it to the end of its fourth and final season, which concluded this weekend in the US.

A tech drama that takes place entirely between the first iteration of Microsoft Word in 1983 and Windows 95, Halt and Catch Fire kept its focus squarely on the haze of an emerging field, without any of the fist-pumping moments that might have come from a show focusing on the rise of Google or Facebook. The characters never achieved lasting success or transformation, perpetually stymied by the major players in a nascent and clunking industry. Instead, they faced an endless, thankless series of intractable workplace decisions about integrity, product quality and business logistics.

These seemingly pedestrian moments dominate the show’s central relationship between Donna Clark (Kerry Bishé) and Cameron Howe (Mackenzie Davis), two women who attempt to found a tech company and spend the next few years discovering what they’re willing to sacrifice in the effort. Eventually, it’s impossible for people this committed to their work to separate their personal values and their professional ones, and while that conflict might sound cliche, in the hands of Halt and Catch Fire’s cast, it’s enthralling.

Over the course of the series, the characters’ business interests range from building personal computers at Dell competitor Cardiff Electric to videogames, web-based chat, and e-commerce at Cameron and Donna’s startup Mutiny to antivirus software at MacMillan Utility to, finally, early search engines at Comet and Rover. (All of these companies are fictional and, with the exception of Cardiff, are founded by the characters themselves.) Halt and Catch Fire’s cast is full of classic Silicon Valley résumé – they’re perpetually successful enough to keep working, and to live more or less comfortably while pursuing other ventures, but they never quite strike it big, whether that’s because of conflicts between the partners, technological limitation, or, most often, the presence of an enormous corporation capable of choking the market.

Every major character on the series contains multitudes. Donna is a hard-assed businesswoman, but she’s also a practically minded, savvy person who wants to do her best to create a thriving company with an innovative product. Cameron’s myopia is frustrating, but it’s part of why she’s such a successful coder. Steve Jobs-style visionary Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace) is also, to varying degrees, a charlatan, and tinkering softie Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy) becomes irritable when he has to leave his comfort zone.

Those relationships contained a staggering number of stories. In just the fourth season alone, Halt and Catch Fire handled a teen coming-out story, the fallout from a divorce, a marriage, several mid-life crises, and a sudden, heart-rending death. But none of these stories are the defining features of the characters; they’re simply facets of their lives. Where another drama might end with the consummation of a romantic pairing, or the strengthening of a family, Halt and Catch Fire ends with Donna having an idea, and pitching it to Cameron. We don’t hear the idea, but that’s not important – the point is beginning the cycle anew.

In this respect, it’s similar to the Mad Men finale – but where Mad Men is ambivalent, at best, toward the bolt of inspiration that leads Don Draper to create the “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” ad, Halt and Catch Fire maintains a single commitment: ideas are what we have. That’s why the show could never have become a smash hit, why it got renewed by the skin of its teeth, and why it’s highly unlikely it will ever be brought back by an ambitious investor. With so many self-consciously explosive series vying for your attention, Halt and Catch Fire played a different game. It kept itself contained, forcing the audience to match its subdued, mesmerizing rhythm. Eventually, the audience and the characters learned the same lesson: sometimes, it’s worth putting in the work.

[janzoo]

FFXIVGlamtober2024 Day 8

🍛Ilsabard🏝

When Drakyr took Lakelta to the Azim Steppe, they started by taking an airship to Radz-at-Han. Naturally, they had to hit the market and pick up a few souvenirs and gifts; here they are discussing what to get. Being the more frugal of the two, Lakelta is undecided on something due to its price, while Drakyr insists that she can cover it, being the Warrior of Light with Warrior of Light-levels of cash. But still...

They're both wearing rainbow hyacinth corsages that Drakyr made as a symbol of their bond, even when they're far apart. Lakelta often uses her conjury cane as a walking stick due to her leg injury, though she does also have a magitek leg brace if need be (she'll still limp a bit). Lakelta's finger is supposed to be tapping the cane as she considers her options, but this isn't animated so you'll have to use your imagination for that.

🐲FFXIVGlamtober2024 Masterlist🐘

Glam details in the readmore~

If I don't mention a dye, there isn't one.

Drakyr:

Weapon: Empty/Emperor's Head: Rainbow Hyacinth Corsage Body: Thavnairian Bolero (Dyes: Soot Black, Blood Red) Hands: Thavnairian Gloves (Dye: Soot Black) Legs: Thavnairian Sarouel (Dye: None, Blood Red) Feet: Palaka Pumps of Healing (Dye: Soot Black) Earrings: Palaka Earrings of X Neck: Empty/Emperor's Wrist: Empty/Emperor's Right Ring: Empty/Emperor's Left Ring: Empty/Emperor's

Lakelta:

Weapon: Plumed Yew Crook (Used as a walking stick/cane here) Head: Rainbow Hyacinth Corsage Body: Palaka Vest of Casting (Dye: Rose Pink) Hands: Thavnairian Gloves (Dye: Rose Pink) Legs: Thavnairian Sarouel Feet: Thavnairian Babouches (Dye: Rose Pink) Earrings: Palaka Earrings of X (Not that you can see them :( ) Neck: Empty/Emperor's Wrist: Empty/Emperor's Right Ring: Empty/Emperor's Left Ring: Empty/Emperor's

[the-bjd-community-confess]

I don't mind blind box BJDs being in the space, I wish people who collect them would customise them more often, but I still have no real issue with them.

What i DO have an issue with is people trying to convince us that a 3D printed resin doll is as good as quality as a cast doll and even having the audacity to offer unsanded versions for barely a discount (and the dolls themselves being AS PRICEY AS CAST DOLLS??) I'm not buying a doll to do half your work myself? I'll string it fine if need be, but no way am I sanding that all to make it even look half decent, when a cast doll would look 100 times better.

I just find printed dolls ugly and rushed. I'd rather you spend the time on your process maybe use 3d printing as a test, and then get them professionally cast, then this huge market of half baked 3D dolls because people can pump them out fast and for some reason people lap it up? Patience is a huge part of this hobby, give me a casting doll any day of the week.

~Anonymous

[conchcronch]

Making a Mess Part 3

Sanji x Zoro

Sanji’s vow to stave off drinking comes to a swift end when he finds himself in the red light district being handed free drinks. Yet another night of drinking with Zoro leads to them repeating their first night together.

If you haven’t already, please read part 1 and 2 before continuing, otherwise it won’t make much sense.

NSFW below the cut.

Spotify Playlist for the Vibes

“Sanji, you’re gonna’ come ashore with us right?” Nami asked him as he collected the empty glasses he had served the girls’ drinks in.

”How could I turn down an invitation from such a beautiful lady, my sweet Nami,” He smiled.

”Even if you’re still taking a break from drinking it’ll still be fun to have you!” Franky added from where he was playing volleyball with Usopp, Chopper and Luffy on the deck of the Sunny.

”I was thinking of stopping at the night market, I’ve heard it’s got some rare ingredients I’d like to try to get my hands on.”

“Get me more sake, Curly,” Zoro called as he climbed down from the crow’s nest.

”Get it yourself Moss-For-Brains!” Sanji bit back, his demeanor immediately changing at the swordsman’s words.

“At least I’ve got brains, all you think about are tits and-“ Zoro expertly dodged Sanji’s first kick before grabbing his second one. He held it tightly, finally meeting the cook’s rage filled gaze, smirking for a second before lifting the leg he held as high as Sanji’s muscles would allow it. Clearly not expecting Zoro’s attempt at a counter, a gasp slipping past his lips as Zoro winked before letting his leg go with a slight shove to push him off balance, giving him time to walk away before Sanji could get another kick in.

Frustration built in Sanji but he opted to let Zoro be, choosing to silently collect the last few cups from his crewmates and hoping no one noticed the wink…or how flushed his cheeks were after.

They avoided each other like two positively charged magnets until they all went ashore. Avoiding each other wasn’t new, it had been a daily occurrence but after that night, things had changed. Sanji found Zoro sitting in his kitchen, sometimes even napping in the booth while he prepped in between meals. They hadn’t talked about that night, but it was apparent they both remembered it, the wink made that very clear.

Once everyone got to town, people began walking in pairs. As Sanji walked in the direction he was told the night market was, he felt someone close at his heels, turning to see Zoro. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was, even more so when the man spoke “Want help?” They kept walking, now side by side as they maneuvered the growing crowds of this town’s tavern scene.

“N-No I’m alright, don’t let me get in the way of your drinking.” Sanji waved him off but Zoro’s pace never faltered.

“I’ll drink after, figured you’d need someone to carry your bags since you’re so dainty.” Sanji felt his brow twitch in annoyance but before he could come up with a retort they noticed the crowd thin. Zoro looked around, pulling Sanji to the side while he pulled a small notebook from his back pocket to look at the directions he had hastily wrote when someone a few islands over had told him about it.

“Says it should be around here,” Sanji looks up from the pages and scans the surrounding area. “I guess we’ll keep looking.” Sanji grabs Zoro’s forearm, knowing that if he let go now, Zoro would surely get lost. The swordsman didn’t fight this, not agreeing that he would get lost, but the feeling of Sanji’s hand wrapped around his exposed arm had his blood pumping more than he’d want to admit.

They kept walking, turning down an ally when Sanji thought he smelled meat being cooked. As the sun finally dipped under the horizon they turned a few corners and found themselves on the edge of town. The streets were lined with dim lanterns that cast a flickering red glow as they walked under them. Sanji still had his nose in his notebook, as though the directions would appear only for a second and he’d miss it if he looked away. A smile spread across Zoro’s lips slowly as he looked around at the bars and the people who were along the paths, taking special interest in anyone who would make eye contact with them. Zoro hastily wrapped his arm around Sanji’s waist, forcibly pulling him to the side of the path and coming to a stop. “Okay, not that I’m complaining, but this definitely isn’t the kind of night market you’re looking for.” Sanji looked around, it took a bit for it to sink in, but when it did his face flushed. “Come on Curly, we walked all the way here, might as well take in the sights.” Zoro smirked, grabbing the cook’s tie and pulling him towards the nearest bar. Sanji managed to wrench his tie from the other man’s hand, stopping just outside the threshold. There were a few scantily clad women walking along the building, trying to make eyes at Zoro who paid them no mind.

“I’m not sure I wa-“ Zoro grabbed the tie again.

”Stop doing that!” Sanji groaned, trying to pry the larger hands off the fabric while being led into the crowded bar. Zoro stopped and pulled enough Berries from his pocket to pay the cover for the both of them before tugging on the tie again. “I’m not a dog!” Sanji had to yell over the music, finally ripping the tie out of Zoro’s grasp and tucking it back into his buttoned blazer. They quickly found a pair of stools at the bar, Zoro immediately ordered two shots as Sanji was looking around the bar, but he didn’t know what or who for. He just wanted to look busy even though he could feel Zoro’s eyes burning holes into his back. Sanji’s gaze fell on a small stage that he could just barely see over the crowd that had gathered there, it wasn’t until he watched a woman wearing a dress that left very very little to the imagination that he realized the type of club this was. He watched as she dragged herself along the single golden pole before spinning around it as she ran her free hand up and down her body.

“Oi, Curly,” Zoro said close enough to his ear that he felt his lips brush along his lobe for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at the man who handed him a shot.

“So much for not drinking for awhile,” Sanji attempted to yell over the music that had suddenly gotten even louder. The drink burned the entire way down his throat as he tried to recall the last time he had done a shot…if ever. He hadn’t even been holding the empty shot glass for 10 seconds before Zoro replaced it with another full one before tossing back his own. “What’re you, made of money?” Sanji had to yell over the music but Zoro couldn’t hear. Just as Sanji was about to repeat himself, louder this time, Zoro pulled Sanji’s stool as close to his own as he could before leaning so close he could feel his breath on his neck. That, paired with the alcohol rushing through his system, was a problematic combo.

“They’re free,” Zoro yelled, voice gravelly. Sanji could just furrow his brow in response. Zoro nodded over his shoulder towards a guy sitting at the end of the bar, he had been staring since the two sat down. “Don’t put too much thought into it, just take it and say thanks.” Zoro put another glass in Sanji’s hand before holding his up towards the stranger even going as far as to shoot him a wink before tossing it back. Sanji mimicked him, minus the wink.

Sanji could feel the alcohol warm his thighs, his cheeks felt hot as he watched the woman spin around the pole. Zoro said something but Sanji didn’t catch it so he leaned into him, feeling his body sway into the other man’s who slung an arm around his shoulders and brought his lips right against his ear. “You wanna go somewhere quieter?” He nodded, forcing himself up, Zoro’s arm slipping down to his waist.

“Where would that be?” Zoro tugged him, leading him away from the bar and up some stairs. “How do you know where we’re going?” They got to another floor and the swordsman started peaking into rooms, ignoring the closed doors. The music thumped downstairs while moans could barely be heard from the closed doors.

“These places are all the same,” He muttered, finding an empty room and tugging Sanji inside, closing the door behind them. Both men flopped on the curved couch, Sanji’s eyes glued to the silver pole in the middle.

“You come to these places a lot?” Zoro picked up an abandoned glass of clear liquid, sniffed it before drinking it.

“Gotta’ blow off some steam sometimes, y’know,” Sanji nodded. “No you don’t.”

“The hell do you mean I don’t?”

“You never blow off steam.” Zoro leaned back against the couch before stretching his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up enough to show off his treasure trail.

“You don’t know what I do.” Sanji began digging through his pockets until he pulled out a cigarette from one and his lighter from the other, taking no time at all to light it and inhale deeply. Exhaling directly in Zoro’s face.

“I know that you popped a boner the moment I held you against that wall.” Zoro beamed with a cocky grin. If it hadn’t been for the alcohol coursing through his veins he would have been beyond flustered, but instead he felt a competitive burst.

“I had drank a lot.” Zoro reached both arms back, resting them on the top of the couch back, his knees spread wide as he smirked at the other man.

“Yeah, like it wouldn’t happen again.” He said sarcastically, Sanji opted to stay quiet knowing that Zoro was probably right. Sanji inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke, holding it for a few seconds before pushing it out his nostrils. When a few more seconds went by Sanji finally met Zoro’s eyes,

“Why’re we here?” Sanji asked, resisting the urge to crunch the cigarette between his front teeth in frustration. The urge only growing when he watched Zoro shrug.

“You’re the one that dragged me across this town, I’m just trying to make the most of it.” Sanji’s eyes scanned over the other man, taking in the way his white shirt was stretched across his large chest, the fabric struggling to hold when his chest was at the apex of an inhale.

Zoro could barely handle the way Sanji’s eyes slid over his body, lingering on his thighs before slowly making their way back up to his chest. He watched as Sanji unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip leaving a shine over them. It was becoming too much for the Swordsman who pushed himself up, the alcohol tingling in his loins as he used his foot to nudge the blonde’s knees apart enough to be able to stand between them.

Sanji would be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn’t love the way the other man towered over him. If he had a few more drinks in him, he’s fairly certain he would have leaned over and mouthed at his covered semi but thankfully for his ego he maintained his relaxed posture, puffing a cloud of smoke up at Zoro who remained unmoving. “What’re you waiting for? Or did you forget what you were doing?”

“Big talk from someone who can’t admit that they want me.” Sanji rolled his eyes, leaning forward and around Zoro to tap the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back again, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Like you said, it’s just blowing off steam.” He knew it was probably more than that, he knew that it was something to do with who he was dealing with that made him keep putting himself in positions to repeat their first night together. But he would rather never cook again than admit that to anyone.

Something in Zoro changed but Sanji was too dumb to notice. Zoro reached out and grabbed the cigarette, pulling it from his lips and snuffing it out on the table before handing Sanji one of the shots that had been on the table when they got here. “Smoke tastes terrible.” Sanji begrudgingly did what was silently instructed to him before putting the shot back on the table. Zoro still didn’t move.

“Jesus Marimo, are you waiting for an invitation?!” Sanji was getting frustrated, his dick was half hard in anticipation and Zoro was fully aware of that, that was part of the reason he wasn’t going to give in so quick.

“I want you to say it.” He bent his leg just slightly so it could ghost over the bulge.

“Say what,” Sanji knew exactly what Zoro wanted, he wasn’t a complex person and even less of a complex lover. But Sanji wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be so free with his words, especially when it involved him admitting how much he craved the swordsman he swore to kill one day.

“Say you want me.” Sanji huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t need to say shit, I could go downstairs and find 5 people that do what you did ten times better.”

“That may be true but at least I won’t infect you with something that would give our poor doctor a heart attack.” Zoro reached behind him for the other glass of unknown alcohol and knocked it back. “Just say it and I’ll give you what we both want,” he reached his hand forward to grab Sanji’s tie, tugging him forward a bit.

When Sanji stayed silent Zoro shrugged as he stepped away from Sanji, letting the tie slip from between his thick fingers before walking around the table in the center of the room towards the door. “Have fun jerking off in a private room, I’m gonna go find a good fuck.” And just like that, Sanji was alone with his half hard dick and alcohol clouded brain.

He couldn’t force himself to get up yet, practically praying his dick would go down enough that it wasn’t noticeable so he could get out of the bar and back to the ship without risking unwanted attention. He carded his fingers through his hair, silently cursing himself for not being able to just swallow his pride and say something.

After a few minutes Sanji had finally deflated enough to start heading back to the ship, only half concerned about whether Zoro would find his way back or not.

But before he could even make it to the exit he saw Zoro with the guy who had been buying them shots earlier. The man was still sitting on the bar stool and Zoro was standing between his knees, arms thrown around his neck, eye staring at the stairs where Sanji now stood. He could tell Zoro saw him by the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk as he kissed the man.

“Fuck.” Sanji grumbled, balling his fists as he cleared the distance between them in a few long strides, he grabbed the front of Zoro’s shirt and yanked him away from the stranger. Zoro smiled the biggest Sanji had ever seen, knowing he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Sanji pulled him back up the stairs, but only made it to the landing before he slammed Zoro into the wall like the swordsman had done all those nights ago.

“Say it.” Zoro said, hands already on Sanji’s chest and snaking around to the back pockets of his pants.

“You’re a lot of work”

“Not what I meant.” Sanji used his height to his advantage and lowered his head so he could smell the gin on Zoro’s breath. Zoro’s hands on Sanji’s ass pulled him close, so their crotches were pressed together, neither of them surprised by the other’s hard on. “It’s fine,” Zoro nipped at what little of Sanji’s neck was exposed under his one undone button. “I’m sick of waiting, I’ll have you begging in a few minutes,” Zoro pushed him back with one hand before using the other to grab the front of his shirt and pulling him back to the room they had been in moments earlier. Zoro slammed the door shut and all but threw Sanji into the couch. He landed sprawled out, barely having a second to get his bearings before Zoro straddled his lap.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Sanji smirked, his bangs pushed out of the way of his eye so he could see Zoro in his full glory.

“Not a challenge, a promise.” Zoro leaned down and started to mouth at his neck, one hand gripping the back of the couch to hold himself up while the other worked on unbuttoning Sanji’s shirt. One of the lower buttons got stuck and instead of pulling back from Sanji’s neck, Zoro tore the fabric apart.

“What the fuck!” Sanji went to push him off but before he could, Zoro’s hands were all over his chest. They slide painfully slow up his chest, they were wide enough to almost wrap around Sanji’s sides. Zoro was sitting watching the cook’s expression as his thumbs brushed experimentally over each of his nipples, watching the way Sanji’s lips parted before he caught his lower lip between his teeth just in time to stifle a moan that was about to slip out. He kept his left hand where it was, lazily teasing the cook’s nipple while the other hand slid up to his neck as he admired the hickies from their first encounter that were just barely there. “If you think this will get me begging, you’re sorely mistaken.” Sanji managed to say without his voice wavering as much as he expected. Zoro huffed a cocky laugh.

“If you think this is me trying then you’re sorely mistaken. I’m just thinking.”

“Oh god, don’t strain yourself Marimo,” Sanji smirked half a second before Zoro’s grip in his neck tightened, his thumb biting into the chef’s windpipe just enough for him to feel it.

“God, it’s like you want me to leave you again.” Zoro adjusted himself on Sanji’s lap, making sure he was still painfully hard, earning a whimper from the man under him was just a bonus. Zoro leaned over Sanji, his lips a few millimeters away from the other’s and slowly began grinding against him. Zoro was quickly getting irritated the longer Sanji managed to keep his mouth shut. He could tell that he was enjoying this, he even felt his cock twitch every so often. Zoro dragged his lips along the chef’s cheek, along his jaw and down to his neck, hoping he would get some sort of reaction.

He began sucking the skin roughly, surly turning it red and purple. He could feel Sanji’s jaw clench and as Zoro shifted his weight and moved his leg from beside Sanji’s to between them, pushing his knee as high as it could go he heard the whisper of a moan. He kept going, doubling down with some moans of his own which worked wonderfully.

Sanji was moaning and whimpering like a whore, even when Zoro pulled away to look at him he kept whining, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please,” Zoro grinned.

“Please what, Curly?” He asked while grinding more against him, groaning a bit while doing it.

“You know what.” He pleaded.

“I really don’t, remember I’ve got moss for brains.” He could hear Sanji whine a bit and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Zoro slipped his hand into his pants as if it were something he had done a thousand times. His hand was immediately covered in precum, he wrapped his calloused hand around Sanji’s burning hot cock and began to stroke him. Sanji all but cried at the contact before Zoro felt two sweaty hands grab his forearm, bringing his attention up to the other man’s face. His eyes were glassy, lips red from him biting them and he shook his head slightly. “You don’t want me to?” Sanji shook his head again but then swallowed hard and in a very raw voice said,

“I want nothing more than you to, but I’m gonna’ cum if you don’t stop,” his voice was shaky and cracked as he spoke. His grip loosened as Zoro pulled his hand from his slacks and sat up. There was a heavy silence as both men were trying to figure out what to do next, neither wanting to look at the other.

After a few minutes, just before Zoro was about to get up, Sanji sat up. He slowly pulled his legs from between Zoro’s thighs, unbuckling his pants and feeling relieved at the lessened pressure. He looked over, seeing the last of the abandoned shot glasses left by someone before them. He reached over, knocked one back before turning his attention back to Zoro who had become very invested in the cracks and dents on the wall behind Sanji.

It wasn’t until he felt Sanji’s hand on his chest, applying just enough pressure to tell Zoro that he wanted him to lay back. “I…I didn’t like the thought of you making me…and never offering anything in return.” His face was burning up but it was impossible to tell if it was from the alcohol or the sentence that left his bitten lips.

“You don’t have to…” Sanji was on top of him now, looking down at him. Zoro so rarely saw both of Sanji’s eyes that when he did he couldn’t look away.

“I want to, I know you’re dumb but you can’t be that dumb, right Marimo.” For some reason that name, that name that had always pissed Zoro off didn’t this time. The way he said it was different, the gentle touch of his hand in Zoro’s hair and the way his lips felt pressed against the Swordsman’s. It was sloppy, sure, it tasted of nicotine and gin but Zoro didn’t think he had ever been kissed like this.

At first, Zoro grabbed his waist, pushing his dress shirt up enough to feel skin. But as Sanji continued the kiss, the swordsman found himself wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him flush against him. His hands went from his waist to his ass, loving the way the muscle fit into his palms. Zoro barely registered Sanji’s hands pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt, signaling that he wanted it off. Zoro reluctantly let go of his ass so he could sit up, straddling his hips like Zoro had done only a bit ago to him. Sanji pulled his shirt off of him then struggled off the tattered remains of his own. While he was doing that, Zoro unzipped his cargo pants but didn’t take them fully off. Sanji reached into the open pants and only a bit clumsily groped Zoro’s aching bulge. Even though it was clear Sanji was unsure of himself a heavy groan fell from Zoro’s lips as his head fell back against the crusty cushion.

Feeling emblazoned, Sanji awkwardly tries to wrap his hand around Zoro’s cock through his underwear. He fiddled, hoping for it to feel right in his hand but without much overthinking he yanked the underwear down and under his balls so it would stay. His hand wrapped slowly around Zoro’s shaft, stroking it with unsure hands, trying to get used to the feeling. Zoro on the other hand, was trying to control himself. He wanted nothing more than to tell Sanji how to do it, tell him to tighten his fist, cup his balls and for the love of god go faster. But he resisted, knowing that Sanji was still getting used to this and was going at his own pace.

Sanji was quickly getting more accustomed to the feeling, deciding he wanted more than this, he crawled up from between Zoro’s thick sun kissed thighs. He moved up along his sculpted form, leaving a trail of wet kisses that turned into him dragging his tongue along the man’s salty skin. Without so much as a first, second or third thought, he latched onto the swordsman’s nipple, flicking it with his tongue and feeling Zoro’s cock twitch in his grasp. He looked up through his lashes at Zoro, pleased to see his head was thrown back and a heavy sigh left his parted lips.

While Sanji was distracted by teasing Zoro, his hand had slowed to barely stroking his aching cock and Zoro was boardering on feral the longer it went without any motion. Sanji detached his lips from Zoro’s nipple and nibbled his way up to Zoro’s chin, loving the way he could feel his laboured breath against his face. “Jesus, Curly,” Zoro all but grunted, causing Sanji to pull back and look at him with a slightly concerned expression. “You’re fuckin’ killing me.” Zoro reached down both of his hands, leaning forward a bit to reach, he covered Sanji’s hand with his own and started guiding him to a pace that was less frustrating. “Need you to go faster.” Sanji sat back on his haunches, giving the other man’s cock his full attention now. Loving the way the girthy cock looked wrapped in three hands. Zoro watched Sanji who’s breathing was quick and his cheeks flushed, when he noticed Sanji nod, he let go and leaned back. A long groan left his lips as Sanji maintained the exact speed and pressure Zoro had set, he couldn’t help but blindly reach out for contact of any kind. He managed to find Sanji’s face, pulling his attention up to his face he sighed out a “Fuck, just like that.” Sanji moved his head so he could catch Zoro’s thumb between his teeth before closing his lips around it and sucking, his eyes fluttering closed. “Such a good boy,” In any other situation, Zoro would never have said something like that so early in their sexual relationship, but when he saw Sanji’s clothed cock noticeably jump he made a mental note to call him that more often.

As Sanji kept jerking Zoro’s cock with one hand, he reached into his briefs pushing them down so he could finally give his dick the attention it so desperately craved. Zoro quickly notices, grabs the waist of Sanji’s now open slacks and tugs him a bit. “Come ‘ere,” He says, wanting Sanji to straddle him.

Once Sanji resumes his position on Zoro, Zoro bats away Sanji’s hand that was still on his cock and replaces it with his, encircling both of their dicks and holding them tightly against one another. With one hand occupied, he uses his free hand to grab Sanji by the throat again, pulling him down until their lips are smashed together.

Zoro’s pace is fast and rough, and the kiss mirrors that. It’s all teeth, tongue, and moans which normally Sanji would be against but he is reveling in it. “P-Please don’t st-stop,” Sanji whines into Zoro’s mouth, biting the swordsman's bottom lip instead of his own.

“Told ya’ I could make you beg.” Zoro grunted, the corners of his mouth upturned in a cocky grin.

“Fuck you,” Sanji says, his tone was meant to be harsh but it came out as a whine.

“Would love it if you did” Zoro growls out, his pace on their cocks increasing until Sanji finally snaps, his cock spilling on Zoro’s stomach. He goes as limp as he can without getting his stomach covered in their cum, Zoro lets go of his neck and very subtly moves over so Sanji can collapse onto Zoro’s side to avoid the puddle. Zoro loosens his hand enough that Sanji’s cock is freed from the feverish pace he is going at to try to reach his own peak. It isn’t until he feels Sanji’s hand replace his own, mimicking his pace bringing him closer to his edge. Zoro can feel Sanji’s warm breath on his neck, and paired with the attention his cock is getting he doesn’t last much longer, cumming with a groan from far back in his throat.

They both laid there for a bit, enjoying their afterglow together. Zoro fidgets enough that he can wrap his arm around Sanji, pulling him even closer than they already were, given how narrow the couch is. Neither of them commented on this intimate gesture, both chalking it up to the post cum fog.

Zoro gropes the sticky floor blindly until he manages to find his forgotten t-shirt, using it to wipe up the cooling mess on his abs. Sanji took this as a signal to squirm out of the cramped spot he had between the back of the couch and the larger man, sitting up and watching Zoro, taking him in for a few seconds. Loving the way he could see his tan chest, minty treasure trail that was now slightly crusty with dried cum.He could even see some prominent veins leading down to his cock. “You always leave your cock out after sex?” Zoro joked, lifting his ass up enough that he could pull his pants back into place before stuffing his deflating cock back in.

“Do you always use your clothes to sop up your cum?” Sanji countered as he sorted himself out, watching as Zoro stuffed his soiled shirt in his back pocket so it dangled as he walked.

They both made their way out of the bar, Zoro pulling Sanji through the crowd towards the exit. The moment they were out in the cool sea air, Sanji fished around his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it before having to quickly grab Zoro as he started off in the opposite direction of the boat. They walked silently back to the ship, neither of them bringing up the fact that their hands had been intertwined since they had left the bar.

The silence was broken by Sanji just as Zoro was about to start climbing the ladder onto the Sunny, “They’re gonna know.” His gaze following the trail of hickies he had left all over Zoro’s chest and neck, some even going down to his hips and below the waist of his pants. Zoro managed to catch the slight shake in Sanji’s voice, squeezing his hand ever so slightly before letting it go and shrugging.

“We’ll just tell ‘em we found a set of twins or some shit. No one will ask you, and if someone asks me, I’ll make up something.” He started climbing the ladder, looking back at the blonde man who’s fingers were seconds away from getting burnt by the ash gathering at the end of his cigarette. “It’ll be fine, Curly” He winked and climbed the rest of the way up once he felt the other man begin to climb behind him.

[amaretigris]

The Sea Witch's Curse

Taglist: @hopeisrising @daydreamerwithnohobbies @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @mylittlemermaid221 @justagirlthatlovedtoread @freyagallileaevans

WARNING: EXPLICIT

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Epilogue | 1k words | Smut & fluff

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Your pale, sensitive skin was getting red and warm. You recalled your feelings of dread and despair at this sensation merely a month ago. How different things had turned out now. You smiled at that thought, letting your fingers swirl and poke the flower petals and bubbles in your bath. You were in your private bathroom in the castle. Your cast iron clawfoot tub was positioned directly in front of a set of balcony doors, overlooking the ocean. You loved this view; you could watch the sunset from here if you so desired.

A brisk knock on your bathroom door pulled you from your peaceful thoughts.

"Come in," you answered.

The only ones who would be knocking on your bathroom door would either be the palace staff assigned to you or your wonderful husband.

Turning your head back to look as the door opened, you were pleased to see Eric's bright blue hues come into view. A smirk twisted his lips as his eyes traced what he could see of your figure.

"My dear wife, I have come to let you know that I've returned from the market. Rosa let me know that you were in the bath. I couldn't risk your safety. I had to come see for myself that you were okay."

"Oh?"

You pinched your brow and feigned innocence.

"My dear husband, I can assure you that I haven't drowned," you replied with a smug smile.

Bracing your arms on the side of the tub, you stood straight up. Water and bubbles dripping off your naked form drew Eric's hungry eyes. He suddenly closed the distance between you, pressing your wet body to his. His rough hand tenderly cupped your cheek as his arm circled your waist.

"What ever will I do with you, my princess? I only want to keep you locked in this castle with me. I'm afraid no one outside will ever see you again," he whispered, brushing his lips to yours.

You felt goosebumps erupt on your skin at the feel of him. You lazily wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I have no answer for that, my prince. I only ever want to be locked in here with you," you answered before beginning a trail of open mouthed kisses on his neck.

Eric let his head fall back and closed his eyes, melting into your touch. After a couple minutes, however, Eric straightened, lifting you from the tub entirely, and carrying you to the bed. You giggled and kicked your feet before Eric threw the comforter back, and planted you on the sheets.

"What are you doing? I'm soaking wet. The sheets-"

"Can be changed," he gruffly interrupted.

"I have to have you now, (Y/N). You have no idea what you do to me," he responded while kicking off his pants and throwing his shirt over his head.

Climbing on top of you and settling himself between your legs, Eric lined the tip of his member up at your sopping entrance.

"Speaking of wet," he smirked, leaning down to your ear, "you're always so ready for me, (Y/N)."

One push and Eric slid inside you. Groaning and trying to center his breath, Eric pumped in and out of you.

"Oh, one day you'll have my children, (Y/N). But for now, I want you all to myself," Eric moaned as he slammed back into you.

Your mouth fell open and you nodded your head frantically.

"Anything for you, Eric. Anything," you sputtered out.

Waves of ecstacy washed over you, and you lost yourself in the pleasure. When you finally came out of it, Eric was lifting your hips, pounding into you at an alarming pace.

"God you're so beautiful when you come undone for me," he practically whimpered.

You nodded, rubbing your hands along his back, and flexing your pelvic muscles. That was all it took to sent Eric spiraling.

Lying in the sticky aftermath, you hummed happily, running your fingers through Eric's curls. His head lay on your chest, and you loved playing with his hair.

"(Y/N)," Eric suddenly spoke.

You looked down at him, keeping your fingers in his locks.

"Do you want to have kids someday? I've realized that we haven't actually talked about it."

You smiled.

"Of course, Eric. I would love to have kids with you. I just think we shouldn't rush into things. Let's enjoy our life together before we introduce someone else into it."

Eric lifted his head to meet your eyes with a smile.

"You've saved my life in every way, (Y/N). You're the kindest person I've ever known. When you're ready, you'll make the most wonderful mother to our children," Eric gushed.

Feeling heat flare on your cheeks, you giggled, poking at Eric's dimples.

"So cheesy," you teased.

Eric's face turned serious for a moment.

"Oh, there is something else. I received a letter from Scuttle today. Since he missed me in Sicily, he wrote me a letter with the information I was looking for," Eric paused.

At your curious expression, he continued.

"I had asked him to find information on the ship and crew that killed your mother, (Y/N). That's what I was meeting him for, before the Sea Witch got to me," he grimaced at the memory.

You swallowed.

"What did the letter say?"

Eric sucked in a breath.

"Scuttle said that the ship went down at sea. None of the crew survived," he answered, waiting for your reaction.

You gave him a soft smile and threaded your fingers back through his hair.

"It's okay, I knew. My father told me. He took revenge on them for my mother's death. He said he stopped living when she died. That's why he sent me back to you. He didn't want me to end up the same way," you shrugged.

Eric nodded, letting his fingers trace over your cheek.

"You know that I'd give my life for you, right (Y/N)? You've done it for me already. And I will spend my life making sure that you never regret that decision," Eric's eyes drifted back up to yours.

"I know, Eric. I never could."

Pulling him in for another kiss, you thanked your lucky stars that the sea brought you to this man.

[lasatfat]

Artifacts of Thedas: A plaque denoting the Hero of Ferelden’s birthplace (Eireann Surana & Zevran) ~@lordgoretash

artefacts of Thedas | @dadrunkwriting | @lordgoretash

I don't have a title for this one yet. Help me out!

When she was crowned Queen of Ferelden, one of Anora Mac Tir’s many promises was to rebuild the city of Denerim, with new techniques and sturdier materials. So much of it needed to be rebuilt anyway, and it made sense to do so in ways that would have the city last for centuries to come. The city’s elves assumed that they would be left to their own devices – the crown has showed little care for them in the past. How strange it was, then, for human construction crews to arrive in their alienage. The sewers were properly covered, and cast iron water pumps were installed in the square. Many of the old, ramshackle houses were deemed unsafe for habitation, and pulled down one by one to be replaced by apartments with sturdy foundations and fire-resistant materials.

One little hovel remains. Zevran has been here before, and so has the woman beside him. She’d been carrying the little girl then, too, but in her womb, rather than in her arms. There’s a plinth to the left of the door now, built of stacked stones and mortar, and bearing a bronze plaque.

This plaque was erected to mark the birthplace of EIREANN SURANA Hero of Ferelden Vanquisher of the Archdemon Urthemiel Born on the seventh of Harvestmere, 9:12 Dragon

“I didn’t know I was born here,” Eireann says, absently.

Zevran frowns. “Is that so?”

“I should have,” she continues. “I should have, I don’t know…worked it out.”

It does seem an obvious assumption, but obvious assumptions are often wrong. He would say so, but Eireann isn’t finished. “No, no, I should have known. I should have been able to learn it. Why does the kingdom of Ferelden know more about me than I do?”

Zevran folds his arms, and stares at the offending plaque. No doubt it was placed in good faith, with an intention to honour a truly remarkable woman, but it has also served as a reminder of a childhood lost. Or rather, a childhood stolen. He might be able to relate to that, but he’s not so sure he ever had one to steal.

Little Farah must pick up on her mother’s distress. She lets out a worried little whimper, and hugs Eireann around the neck, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. She may be the luckiest of them, in more ways than just material.

“To think you, solecito, were born in a castle! Quite the change, no?” As he speaks, Farah lifts her head to look at him. Zevran tickles the babe’s cheek, and she chortles heartily – she might be the cheeriest baby he’s ever met, though admittedly that’s a very small pool. He lays a hand on her mother’s free shoulder, and squeezes firmly. “You must teach her everything you wished to know about yourself. She will know the stories of what you have done, but she must know where you started.”

Eireann kisses her daughter’s head, and smiles at him. “Thanks, Zevran.” She looks over to her mother’s new house, made of stone and mortar, warmer and safer than anywhere her mother may have lived before. “Mamae is making extra leek and potato soup. There will be more than enough for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he replies, and Eireann rolls her eyes.

“Come on. You know she loves you. I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to adopt you yet.”

They both laugh, and Farah giggles too, as if she understands completely. Perhaps she does. Zevran wouldn’t know.

“Alright, potato and leek soup it is,” he agrees, “as long as she hasn’t added any Denerim rabbit.”

Eireann looks scandalised. “Would my mother ever?”

“She did when we were last here!” he argues.

“Oh, you mean when the alienage was quarantined?” Eireann retorts. “I wonder why she had trouble getting to market for ingredients.”

Their playful argument echoes well off the new stone walls and freshly cobbled streets.

[hellsite-yano]

what do you mean about oshi no ko being forced

The huge marketing push (1h30min long first episode, mid-series cast interviews, constantly on the front page of MAL, etc) is disproportionate to the actual quality of the show. Don't get me wrong, the show is good but it's not THAT good - it just seems someone higher up has decided they want this to be the Next Big Thing and is pumping money into the show and hoping it sticks via exposure.

[magicwithclass]

Narwhal

Narwhal is a meme. It is a very old meme from back in 2016 and many have forgotten the history of this card. However, its importance in discussions about reserved list bulk and buyouts deserves to be recorded. After all, if we do not know our history we may be doomed to repeat it. In 2016, there were some amount of reserved list buyouts. Particularly, some cards were being purchased seemingly without reason. Typically, a reserved list card spikes in price because of natural demand. Maybe a new card comes out that synergizes perfectly with a reserved list card. Perhaps, a newly released set creates a strong two card infinite combo in commander or some other format. These scenarios sometimes trigger reserved list spikes because there is genuine demand as players jam the latest hot commodity into a deck. 2016 was the first time I saw some reserved list market movement that seemed to be based on manipulation rather than legitimate demand. It is possible that this was the year where it finally clicked that reserved list cards were in limited supply. Reserved list cards can never be reprinted but many reserved list cards were already approaching twenty years old. There was some concern that a group of people or a very wealthy individual would buy up all the bulk on the reserved list for pennies each. Even if there was no desire for any of the reserved list cards currently, some people knew that buying thousands of copies of a card for fifty cents could be very profitable even if those cards only ever reached a maximum of ten dollars per copy. Some people chose to cast their net very wide and buy reserved list cards despite playability or demand. The thought was that reserved list cards would all eventually rise in price due to scarcity and collectability rather than demand or playability. Some people had more discretion and only bought reserved list cards that they thought had potential playability in the long term. Do not forget that every card in the game just needs a single powerful interaction to skyrocket in price. Cards with unique or unusual effects also had strong speculation but there are clearly some reserved list cards that just don't do anything. Narwhal is one such card. For 4 mana you get a 2/2 with first strike and protection from red. Notably, first strike is considered a color pie break in blue but this is not a sufficient reason to play it. The flavor is awesome though! How are you attacking first with that huge horn in the way? How are you casting that fireball on my creature that is under water? The reason I bring all of this up is because in 2016 a youtube personality, formerly called mtglion, started buying out narwhals and then discussing it on his youtube channel. I am not sure if those old videos are still on his youtube channel but he is still active under the new name: UMU. His goal was not to break the market and spike narwhals so he could become rich. Instead, he wanted to see how easily a single individual could manipulate the market of reserved list bulk. Mtglion openly stated that he was buying out copies of narwhal to see the reaction. It was a meme. The card was selected because the probability that the card would ever have genuine demand due to playability was astronomically low. Instead, narwhals are cute, silly little animals and everyone loves those guys. Does anyone remember that episode of Futurama with the narwhals? Would people finally see that reserved list cards are an investment that will go up? Would people get scared that the reserved list was entering the hands of investors looking to pump but not dump? Would certain people hold a monopoly on certain reserved list cards completely controlling the market? At first, the price of narwhal did go up. In June 2016, a single near mint copy of Narwhal was almost ten dollars! That is insane for a card with artificial demand created by someone openly stating that they are manipulating the market. One person literally did move the market and he did not even need thousands of dollars to do it.

[butchstrife]

okay quick question: what the fuck is ff7 actually like, about. what’s the goal? also why does everyone i see just look like a person who could potentially have something magic abt them and then there’s just an unironic talking cat. what are the rules in this universe? (i don’t need to know about all the other ff games unless it’s necessary setup, i’m mostly just curious abt the story of 7)

Starts vibrating. This is gonna get so long.

First things first I feel it necessary to clarify that no game in the mainline Final Fantasy series takes place in the same world. FFVII is a completely different world from say FFXIV and so on. Some games have sequels and spin offs, like FFVII having Crisis Core and (groan) Dirge of Cerberus, or FFX and FFX-2. But other than that, no relation between games.

Final Fantasy VII is a more sci-fi fantasy take on the FF series, keeping the themes of magic and adventure, but adding a dieselpunk/cyberpunk twist to it. Overall the main themes of FFVII is environmentalism and identity.

The characters are pretty consistent with the themes and designs of the entire FF franchise, it’s meant to be a little silly. So stuff like Moogles, Chocobo, talking cat, all falls under that silliness of FF.

Now the fucking story, there’s so much going on in this game. For simplicity (and personal preference) I will be ignoring the FFVII Compilation in favor of ONLY explaining the original 1997 game. There’s already so much going on, no need to complicate things.

The story of FFVII follows nine heroes who all have their own beef with the Shinra Electric Power Company, the company who rules over many cities and villages throughout the world by use of their private military. Over the roughly 40 years (iirc) the company has been around, they’ve committed several atrocities against humanity and the planet itself, which is a living thing in FFVII!! It’s very very important to note the planet it ALIVE!!

Shinra has several parts of the company that are important to the story, I won’t go over the company’s entire hierarchy, but there’s important parts of the company that I absolutely have to explain.

The R&D department is arguably the most antagonistic, led currently by Professor Hojo. The bitch is this prick who is over enthusiastic about human experimentation, eugenics being a motivator behind that (not as obviously as say Albert Wesker, but you cannot ignore Hojo is largely a eugenicist)

Then we have SOLDIER, Shinra’s super-soldiers created by Hojo. These guys are experimented on and enhanced with Mako, which is well put by Barret the “Lifeblood of the planet.” Among their ranks are Sephiroth, the most famous and powerful of the SOLDIERs, and (allegedly) Cloud Strife. Plus another guy, we’ll get to him.

Then there’s the Power Company part of this power company. Shinra built reactors that pump Mako out of the planet and convert it into energy. This process depletes the planet of Mako, a resource that IS finite and that the planet needs to survive. The company markets Mako as a clean and safe energy source, in a world that previously largely depended on coal mining. However Mako energy is anything but, where the reactors are built, the native flora and fauna eventually die out, and allows monsters to thrive. Plus, exposure to refined Mako is notably very dangerous to humans, as overexposure leads to “Mako poisoning” which meddles the mind and weakens the body. (So how do SOLDIERs work then? Great question! I’ll get to that!)

The story kicks off with a group in Shinra’s crowning accomplishment, the city of Midgar, called Avalanche. Avalanche is a group of “Ecoterrorists” who are set out to take Shinra down to save the planet. The group is led by our beloved Barret Wallace alongside a colorful cast of lovable characters, Jessie, Biggs, Wedge, and Tifa Lockhart! Plus, the newly hired ex-SOLDIER mercenary (and Tifa’s childhood friend), Cloud Strife.

The group conducts several missions to bomb the Mako reactors in Midgar, the first bombing going off without a hitch, the second mission… not so much. After one (really easy) boss fight, Cloud ends up falling off the upper city plate down into the under city, directly through the roof of a church where he meets our mysterious Aeris Gainsborough!! Aeris hires Cloud as a bodyguard (with the payment of one date with her), as she escapes Shinra’s Turks. I’d explain what the Turks do, but just know they’re all kinda John Wick types.

Now I’m gonna speed through the rest of the game since we’ve met all four of the most important protagonists.

The rest of the game kicks off after Aeris decides to help Cloud and Tifa after they learn Shinra plans on destroying part of the city just to take out Avalanche. During their mission to save the city, Aeris is kidnapped by Shinra. Reason being, Aeris is an Ancient (later clarified to actually be called Cetra), a people who were able to speak directly to the planet, and she’s the very last one at that. The mission fails and many innocent people are killed in the fallout, as well as the other members of Avalanche. After all Aeris did to help, including saving Barret’s daughter Marlene, our heroes are determined to save her. During their mission to save Aeris, it’s revealed that the long thought dead General Sephiroth is somehow still alive, a fact Cloud insists should be impossible.

After that, Cloud is determined to track down Sephiroth and take him down for good, as revenge for Sephiroth destroying Cloud and Tifa’s hometown, Nibelheim. All of our heroes agree to help Cloud pursue Sephiroth after learning what he did to Nibelheim. Along the way we meet lots of other characters.

Nanaki aka Red XIII, a funny little talking animal who was being held prisoner alongside Aeris, rescued at the same time she was. He agrees to follow the group until he can return to his home, as thanks for them rescuing him from Professor Hojo.

Yuffie Kisarsgi (my beloved daughter), a teenage ninja and thief from Wutai, who is on the hunt for Materia (magical gems that allow people to cast magic). She joins the group after she steals their materia and promptly is defeated, deciding she might have more opportunities to get materia if she doesn’t go it alone.

The journey continues as the group heads out to find Sephiroth. Their first encounter with him being on a boat to Costa del Sol. Where Sephiroth leaves behind a limb (I think an arm? I never remember which limb is which) of his “mother” Jenova, and flees by doing a backflip and flying away. This limb transforms into a large monster that then attacks the group. After she’s defeated, the quest to find Sephiroth continues.

They travel across the world, landing in all sorts of unique locations, all in search of Sephiroth and how to truly defeat him. We meet more guys.

Cait Sith (look up how to pronounce this in Scottish Gaelic, NOT English) is a little toy cat the group meets at the theme park the Gold Saucer. He receives a fortune that the group is in trouble and cue my favorite “joined the party” moment in any video game:

Vincent Valentine, an ex-Turk who reveals Jenova is not truly Sephiroth’s mother, but instead a woman named Lucrecia, whom he was in love with. Vincent was experimented on by Hojo and gained the ability to turn into monsters. He chose to sleep in a coffin for the rest of his life as atonement for not being able to stop Lucrecia from experimenting on herself and her son. After he learns Sephiroth is a threat to the planet, he joins the group to stop him.

Cid Highwind is a skilled pilot and SHOULD have been one of the first men to go to space, unfortunately one of his crew members put herself at risk during the spaceship’s launch and he chose to cancel the launch to save her. After that, Shinra defunded his space program which he resented them for. The group attempts to steal his plane before Shinra can and he joins them mainly because he wants to stick it to Shinra, plus they broke his plane and he needs to fix it.

That’s the whole gang! Finally, crazy how many playable characters there are in this game.

Eventually the group learns of the Black Materia, an extremely powerful weapon that was created by the Cetra (shhhh don’t listen to Rebirth they lied to you) as a result of them creating Holy, an equally powerful materia that was created to rid the world of Jenova, the Cetra’s greatest enemy. They continue on a quest to find the Black Materia before Sephiroth can use it to destroy the world. (It’s kinda a Fullmetal Alchemist equivalent exchange thing, to create the ultimate protective materia, the ultimate destructive materia had to be created in return)

All the while, Shinra pursues the group hoping Aeris will lead them to the “Promised Land” a land foretold by the Cetra to be a paradise (it’s the Cetra’s afterlife lmfao, Shinra’s stupid).

Upon finding the Black Materia, Sephiroth finally busts out his ability to control Cloud, forcing Cloud to hand over the materia to him. Aaaand now I can explain how SOLDIERs work. All SOLDIERs have Jenova’s cells in them, which is what allows them to survive Mako exposure AND is also how Cloud was able to keep finding Sephiroth! Jenova, and Sephiroth, can exert control over anyone with her cells and is currently trying to create a “Reunion”, drawing in everyone who contains Jenova’s cells so she can be whole again. Which is why Cloud is inexplicably drawn to following Sephiroth (hahahaha bitch fell for the classic thinking it’s about revenge but actually just being alien mind control).

Right after losing the Black Materia to Sephiroth, Aeris heads out on her own. The group manages to follow her to the lost city of the Cetra, where she attempts to summon Holy to defeat Jenova and Sephiroth.

The group arrives too late to rescue Aeris before Sephiroth arrives and kills her. Jenova appears once again and the group defeats her. They all mourn the loss of their beloved friend, then become reinvigorated to stop Sephiroth.

They go snowboarding literally immediately after this, funniest tonal shift of all time, as they head to the northern crater. They gets their hands back on the Black Materia before they make it to a cavern in which the REAL Sephiroth has been sealed this ENTIRE TIME!!!!

Cloud leaves the Black Materia with [enter ally of the player’s choice] so Sephiroth can’t take control of him to steal it back again.

Shinra also makes their way to this cavern, Professor Hojo then reveals that Cloud was never in SOLDIER, but instead is an experiment created by him, a “Sephiroth Clone”. Cloud is led to believe that he isn’t the real Cloud Strife, and only took on that appearance from Jenova’s ability to read minds (she can do so many things) and take the appearance of others based off memory, in this case, Tifa’s memory of her childhood friend. Cloud reacts super normally to this information (he has a meltdown). Sephiroth manages to trick [whoever the player left the Black Materia with] into bringing the Black Materia to Cloud. Who ONCE AGAIN is compelled to give it to Sephiroth.

Sephiroth is back for real now, and summons Meteor with the Black Materia. It’s a meteor, exactly what it sounds like.

Then literally so much happens. I can speedrun the disc three explanation sooo well. Cloud falls into the soup (the Lifestream, think of it like the veins of the planet) and goes missing. The group decides Cid’s in charge in his place since he’s a ship captain. Giant monsters emerge out of the plant, called Weapons (creative naming all around in this game, probably sounded cooler in Japanese). The Weapons were created as a defense mechanism of the planet against Jenova. But now they’re just kinda freaking out and blowing shit up.

Cloud is found completely unresponsive in a town called Mideel, Tifa elects to stay with him in hopes he’ll get better. The rest of the group heads forward on a mission to find the Huge Materia (literally just materia but big) before Shinra. Hoping maybe they’ll be able to use it to stop Meteor somehow.

Wacky adventures ensue. A weapon shows up in Mideel and causes an earthquake that opens up to the Lifestream, Cloud and Tifa both fall into the soup.

In the Lifestream, Tifa explores Cloud’s memories. She slowly tries to piece together the real story of what happened to Cloud, and to prove that he IS the real Cloud Strife.

We learn about Zack, an actual SOLDIER, who came to Nibelheim with Sephiroth before he destroyed the village. And how in Cloud’s memories, he placed himself in Zack’s shoes. (This is who Zack is and this is one of two parts of the entire game he shows up in)

As they go on and explore Cloud’s memories, they learn that he might never have been in SOLDIER, but he WAS in Nibelheim when it was destroyed, but as an infantryman, not a SOLDIER. He wore a helmet the entire time literally only because he was embarrassed about potentially running into Tifa (he was 16 back then, typical teenager behavior).

Cloud and Tifa wash up back in Mideel, found by their friends. This happens:

(Kidding, this is just the joke I made about this scene)

They go kill Sephiroth. Free Holy, which gets rid of Jenova once and for all and with the helpful of the Lifestream (again the planet is very alive) Meteor is stopped and the day is saved!! The only question that remains is, did Holy decide humanity was part of the threat to the planet? Do they remain after Meteor is stopped? It’s up to interpretation!!! We know Nanaki lived tho! He lived on for another 500 years!!!

Anyways that’s the gist of it, there’s like, way more. You would not believe how much story is packed into this game. And I loveeee it, it’s really good :) the characters are my everythings <3