fuck i wish capcom got more in depth into how jamie got into breakdancing
we know how he learned how to fight and how he combined it with bboying (is that the term?) but never did they tell us why he got into breakdancing, how he learned it and why he combined it with his fighting style
this might be me looking into it too deeply, but i really just wanna know more about jamie in general because i LOVE his character and i crave for as much info i can get about him
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
They're finally here! After much ✨ pain and suffering ✨, Rosé Pine skins have finally arrived. Credits to the lovely @zerafinacss for the original neos skin, which forms the bulk of the codebase.
If you notice any issues, feel free to drop a comment on AO3 or shoot me a direct message here.
Also, be sure to check out my userscripts which pair nicely with these skins or the AO3 Essentials script set.
AO3: Skin Switcher - Change skins from anywhere on the site without losing your original place.
AO3: Site Wizard - Change fonts and font sizes from anywhere on the site; automatically fix spacing issues.
AO3: Advanced Blocker - Filter works by tags, authors, titles, word counts, language, completion status, update frequency, primary pairings / characters, and much more.
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AO3: Reading Time & Quality Score - Adds customizable reading time and engagement score bars to every work. See how long a chapter will take and hide work metrics.
AO3: Chapter Shortcuts - Adds a shortcut button to jump straight to the most recent chapter of any work.
AO3: Reorder Ship Tags: Reorders relationship tags on blurbs so platonic ships (&) appear after romantic ships (/).
Pictured: My userscripts + FicTracker (BBC's Version)
There's an up-and-coming Tech Giant, called Fenton Works, and Batman is determined to prove that the company is a front for a villain.
Danny, after his parents turned from Ghost hunting to being the first official Ghost Anthropologists, decided to repurpose some of their weapons.
And, well, there was a contest being run by Wayne Enterprises; whoever can design a robot that will help the environment got prize money and a grant.
Danny, in all his mechanical engineering prowess, was bored. So he designed a thing. Repurposed the Fenton Guns into a cute robotic tortoise that would clean the beach.
It spiraled from there, and now Fenton Works is the leading name in green technology that's cleaning up the Earth bit by bit. Sea Dragon robots that clean oil and trash from the ocean; beach tortoises that clean the sand and beach and deposit their hoard of trash into designated receptacles that Danny uses as material to make more robots; Cryptid "stalker" robots with long legs that delicately patrol forests to perform "fuel management" and clear out the underbrush to help manage wildfires; moving gargoyle robots that sit on top of skyscrapers to help clean the air with huge sail-like wings, etc.
Basically, Danny pulls a Doctor Elisabet Sobeck, but with less world ending and more actually helping. (Not that the world ending was Elisabet's fault, of course, but different franchise)
And due to the number of times aliens try to attack and rogues send their own robots to attack people, naturally Danny installed self-defense protocols, along with one single golden rule written into the very OS of every single robot; Save Humans Whatever the Cost.
Problem is, Batman has never seen robots like this not be used for evil purposes, and he knows that their power source (a closely guarded Fenton Works secret) is some sort of liquid that glows green.
He really only knows of one liquid that glows green.
So he's determined to find everything he can about Fenton Works, because there's no way that Daniel Fenton isn't actually a villain in the making.
Danny's just thrilled for the chance to work with Wayne Enterprises.
Oh this? This is BEAUTIFUL. Especially since there is no way in hell Aquaman is gonna let him touch a hair on this boy's head. You think Atlantis DIDNT threaten to sink every last one of those Sea Dragons? They aren't fools. Those were Threat Shaped.
Fenton had to come in front of a TEAM of Atlantis finest, who of course, agreed to sign NDAs, to explain WHO they worked IN DETAIL to their satisfaction. The boy was glad too. Those Dragons have fuckin Atlantian GAURDS now to prevent external tampering.
He even made Atlantian "Air" purifiers in the shape of jellyfish to clean up the waters near Atlantis. Insure the young, elderly, and infirmed had clean water to breathe. After all the shit humans have pulled towards Atlantis? Absolutely NOT. Danny Fenton both CLEARLY a few fish short of a school AND a the most precious baby boy in all of Atlantis. Let him make his helper animals.
They're pretty sure he has some sort of compulsive NEED to help.
And also? Save Humans Whatever The Cost? Imagine that. No REALLY imagine it. Being out at sea or camping way out in the middle of NO WHERE when some invasion hits. The sky splitting open.
Death starting to rain from above.
You have no where to hide.
Can only look up in horror. Scream and hold your kids, who you just wanted to make memories with, as you watch DEATH get closer and closer. You're crying. Alone. Will anyone even find your family's bodies?
Then SUDDENLY?
The sea or tea line SPLITS. Like a titan rising from the deep. You've seen them, meandering on the horizon. On the news. Those Fenton Work Green Works projects. Pretty and harmless, just poking along as they slowly save the world. Made to look non-threatening.
It doesn't look non-threatening now. It glows a poisonous green. Some giant SEA DRAGON or SPIDER like THING. Firing a concentrated beam of SOMETHING that cuts straight though the aliens about to tear your family apart. Flinging them back and away. And suddenly?
You are in the shadow of that colossal beast. As it fires, again and again. As the world BOOMS and shakes, full of fury and smoke. You feel so small. But... but the Green Works beast is... protecting you? Every attack that should have hit your family, it takes.
It's once pristine body, slowly gathering cracks, then holes, then missing chunks.
Somewhere in the world, superheroes force the enemy leaders back. The sky starts to clear. The Green Works beast backs away, teetering, barely holding. An automated message plays, "We are sorry for the scare. We here at Fenton Works prioritize lives over property. If anyone is injured, please, seek medical aid immediately. There is an emergency beacon and kit in this robot. Deploying."
A box pops out to either land with a thump or splash, sitting or float just in from of you, as the Green Works beast just... falls.
And it's like watching some giant and brave animal DIE in front of you. Maybe it's because of how it's shaped. Maybe the fact that it save you. But you can barely see past the tears as you struggle to open the emergency kit. Turn on that beacon, so help can find you.
And the only reason you're ALIVE is because of some cleaning robot you never gave thought too. And now it feels like it's dead because of you.
I imagine such stories make the news. The grieving faces of kids who's school bus was protected by a gargoyle. Of fishermen protected by Sea Dragons. Hikers who are only alive because of those walkers.
I imagine NONE of that reassures Batman. It is, in fact, the most terrifying sort of charm campaign he could imagine. Humanity LOVES these robots. Believes them benevolent. Bruce? He needs to be SURE.
God when that happens you'd better bet that humans are going pack bond the hell outta those beasts. Heartfelt stories shared across the world. People getting tattoos of their fave Green Works beast. People visiting the beach petting the robot turtles. Sailors tales of the sea guardians that protect them. People putting silly little hats and gloves for the gargoyles so that they won't "get cold" at night. These robots are very friend shaped, Batman! We love them!
Oh that EXACTLY what's gonna happen. And it's not like Fenton works doesn't have beacon trackers in their tech? That's really expensive tech! That Weirdos keep trying to steal or mess with! Of COURSE he has trackers in them. A way to tell when one is rendered off line.
Invasions are a nightmare to clean up from. You send out rescues teams, have to find your robots, most of which are TRASHED because, well... people were in danger. Even the mouse-bots are down. They are literally just build for infrastructure inspection and minor maintenance. But a Universal Command is a Universal Command.
Imagine that CHAOS. People crying and holding bits and boxes of "their hero!" Outside of Fenton works offices. Crowds simmering on the edge of RIOTS because everyone is upset and desperate to see the robot that saved their LIFE fixed up.
Some of them drove hundreds of miles. There are urban robots, forestry robots, beach turtles, literally every gargoyle that was IN the city. Because Every. Single. Robot. Turned on the Invading forces.
They just... stopped. Turned around. And opened fire. A city wide "Not Today, fucker." But it COST them. Being the first response? Made them the first TARGETS too. Before the Heros, before law enforcement, first responders, anyone. The invaders clearly assumed they were a planetary defense system. Acted accordingly.
So now about over 9 out of every 10 Fenton works Robots are down.
Their technicians are scrambling at full speed to repair and release. It... would be a PERFECT time, for Brucie Wayne to offer his help. Arthur is glaring DEATH into the side of his skull. His eye promising terrible, terrible retribution if Bruce messes with Fenton works while they are down, but...
He has to know.
Has to be CERTAIN.
Besides, if they ARE benevolent? Wayne Tech HAS the work force and history of charity outreach. They can help. Would you prefer LUTHOR?
(That's not the only Tech name in the game and you KNOW it, Batman.)
So, because the robots are powered by ectoplasm, there were a lot of concerns about the health risks. What would happen if the battery leaked? Danny knows from personal experience that exposure to ectoplasm is very bad. You could become a ghost, or it could just kill you. It's a super dangerous and toxic substance to work with at high concentrations.
Keyword, high concentrations.
Ambient unsignatured ectoplasm, the kind safest and most ethical for batteries, isn't even tangible if the concentration is low enough. You have to condense it to force it to occupy tangible and intangible space.
It is very possible to design the batteries so that any ectoplasm that leaks out will disperse enough to stop interacting with real world matter. A sea turtle robot leaking from its battery is a minimal risk to the fish that come across it. (Through they do let those robots stay in the field for long)
That doesn't mean the ectoplasm leaking out isn't a concern. Frankly, Danny would like to limit the amount of otherworldly matter on Earth. It would be nice be able to clean the environment of wayward ectoplasm too.
Sending more ecto-powered robots to collect the ectoplasm would be inefficient and even counter-productive, but there is a solution.
While the ectoplasm doesn't interact with real world matter, it's still subject to the space time curvature of Earth's gravity. Ectoplasmic particles will fall towards the center, pass it, slow down, and fall towards the center again. As they do, they may collide with other ectoplasmic particles and lose momentum until eventually they start accumulating in Earth's core.
All this ectoplasm in Earth's core is intangible, and the core is too dense for any of it to become tangible, so the ectoplasm ball just grows.
It's not a huge problem yet, but Danny is working on finding a way to build a portal in the Ghost Zone to the Earth core's so they can remove all the ectoplasm that's accumulated WITHOUT the core itself or anything tangible getting into the Ghost Zone. He'd rather recycle the ectoplasm without getting a face full of magma, thank you very much.
The plans for this portal were one of the few things that Oracle was able to access and save during an attempt to hack into Fenton Works.
And yeah, plans to create an interdimensional hole in the center of the planet sounds really bad out of context.
Danny Fenton bleeds green. Lazarus green. And then Danny distills a single drop of his green blood into each robot's green fuel. Danny said it was important, because that's what programs the robots to always protect humans, because *Danny* would always protect humans (except the Joker, Danny adds with a grimace, fuck him).
Batman understands now that this is magitech. He calls in Constantine to ask his opinion.
"Oh yeah, these new machines are definitely neck deep in supernatural energy, but every last damn one of em that I've managed to examine are filled with the essence of a powerful protector. Don't know how Fenton managed it, but its a brilliant way to safeguard them from going rogue. And the poor things'll destroy themselves before ever allowing anyone to reprogram them. Believe me, I've tried every way I can imagine to try to exploit them, magical *and* mundane. Whoever the essence is from, they're damn fucking powerful."
Batman... isnt *satisfied* with that answer, but he does find it harder to be paranoid about the situation.
"I know that look. Dont you dare ask me to do what I think you are," Constantine accuses after a beat, "Look, I already woke up once this week being stared down by a dozen creepy stalker deer after running my experiments on one of them rats. I don't wanna offend some spirit goin' out of their way ta help people any more than I already have."
"They threatened you?"
"...No," Constantine hesitantly answered, "I think they were waiting to see if I succeeded. Frankly, I let the little bugger go after that. I heard what happened to the Joker after he tried to tamper with them. I wasn't askin' for a repeat."
"Hn. You dont need to summon them. I know who it is," Batman answers before lurking off.
It was Danny Fenton's blood after all. Batman had a lot more questions for him.
Can you imagine though, if Batman got back to interrogate Danny and FentonWorks was attacked while he was gone? By the G.I.W.? Like, the ghost hunters broke in while everyone's guards were down and kidnapped Danny for experimentation and vivisection, and the robots didn't automatically go to help him because his own protective instinct doesn't extend to himself.
Batman probably wouldn't feel awful right away, no, it takes until he and his team are partway through the compound, and they find Danny. The "scientists" there were partway through some horrible experiment, and it finally clicks for him. This kid is the same age as Tim. He looks and acts like he'd be one of his kids.
It's, relatively, an understatement to say that he doesn't do too well after having this realization.
But the public outrage after the news breaks about the head engineer of GreenWorks being arrested and tortured because of a law that blatantly violated the meta-human protection act.
Batman was convinced from the beginning that Fenton was some dastardly villain playing the long-con, but despite his best efforts, the only monsters he'd found so far were all wearing white suits.
Then, in the middle of taking down the anti-ecto acts, Batman realized that Fenton *was* working out a long term plan.
And nothing about it was malevolent.
In his investigation into the GIW, he found that they had been keeping Fenton's home town in a media black out for several years. Danny lived his entire high school career under threat of an agency that had declared him legally non-sentient.
(Danny was probably the vigilante Phantom that risked life and limb to protect his hometown, fending off League-level threats, the GIW, a terrible reputation, and for the first couple of years, even his own parents.)
Getting out into the wider world and exploiting the Wayne Industries competition to fast-track ecto-fuel robots that genuinely help both people and the environment? Putting those robots where everyone could see them? Making some of them absolutely adorable and others kind of creepy cute?
It was all to see how people reacted. It was to find out if people would recognize that some of them became sentient. And the people passed that test with flying colors.
And if a robot being fueled by ectoplasm could be so clearly sentient, what justification did the GIW have to declare ecto-entities - and Danny Fenton - completely non sentient?
It was laughable.
It was *genius.*
And on top of that, there was too much attention on Fenton for him to disappear without raising questions. If Batman hadn't been going back specifically to talk to Fenton at that moment, it likely would have taken less than a day for his absence to be noticed and commented on.
Danny Fenton was trapped in an impossible situation, and instead of breaking under the pressure like so many others would have, he put his brains and his hands to work to prove to the world that the GIW was wrong.
He even proved Batman wrong.
Bruce Wayne doesn't hesitate to endorse Danny Fenton after that.
I absolutely adore this. Bruce is admiring Danny for his genius.
But ya’ll. This is Danny. Wonderfully, brilliant, stupid Danny. I personally believe that this 100% started because he was bored, had the parts, and there was a contest. And then it just took off.
It wasn’t until later, much later, after people started treating the bots as living beings that someone (probably Sam or Jazz. Probably Jazz. Sam’s too excited about the environmental work being done) realized this could help them with the GIW. Danny was too deep in a scientific dive to think on those things.
Our precious boy danny is such a wonderful genius moron. He's better at thinking on the fly than planning ahead. Bruce definitely overthought it, but Danny isnt gonna complain cause he finally got that endorsement.
the Relationship Ambiguity Zone™️ is a beautiful place to be. safe place to put your characters. put all characters into Relationship Ambiguity Zone. is that guy your mentor or your dad? Ambiguous!!! are you friends or enemies? Ambiguous!!! is it romantic? is it platonic? is it sexual? Ambiguous!!!!!!! never categorize anything ever in the Relationship Ambiguity Zone. just make them fucking weird about each other.
has anyone noticed that after the porn ban of 2018 tumblr was essentially killed from the mainstream and everyone flocked to other social media sites like twitter and meta. then those sites got enshittified to where twitter became Nazi Central and meta sites had an entire meme around getting “zucced” aka mark zuckerberg himself would ban you for saying a no-no word like fuck. and then the mainstream shifted to tiktok where infamous toddlerspeak sentences like “he got unalived by a pew pew” were born because if you once again say a no-no word like kill or gun or any other word that isn’t corporate i mean kid friendly then the algorithm will bury your post into the ground. and somehow we’ve come full circle and tumblr is now the most bearable social media site because although we can’t have female presenting nipples we can at least talk to each other like adults. has anyone noticed that at all or is it just me and the flaming skull
Synopsis: When the Hidden King demands Drifter make a wish after the Ritual, a single fleeting thought plunges the Cajun into his worst nightmare: Mortal life. Now powerless in a city in the clutches of villains and crime lords, Drifter will do whatever it takes to defy elder gods and rid himself of the curse of humanity.
--
The lone figure of a man drifted between the shadows of midnight; one side lit by dim light peaking through the curtained windows of an endless rows of apartment buildings, the other illuminated by warm streetlamps lining a cold empty roads. With no late night traffic, there was only wind and rain as he trudged onward.
Drifter pulled at the shoulder lining. It felt like the damn thing was fighting against him just having his arms by his sides. Was this actually a man’s jacket? It kept the rain off his back fine enough and, yes, it was nice not having a chill reaching through the numerous cuts and tears anymore, but whatever heat it kept just went right out of the front into the cold.
Rain. He was getting sick of rain. Before it never bothered him; corpses are always cold and never got sick. Jackets were just to look good and insulate whatever meaningless attacks his prey might try. Now, he was freezing, itchy, sniffling, chaffing, hungry, cold, tired, still itchy...!
Drifter dropped the folded jacket in his arm and yanked off the dull brown coat as fast as he could. “Got’damn piece a’ shit!” With a growl, he threw the balled up coat into an alley, only vaguely aiming for a gray form glinting through the shadow.
“Baka yarō!“
The squirming in his chest got faster, pushing rage down and forcing tension through his body. Drifter glanced again to the glint. The silver sliver flicked the jacket off and raised up, shining moonlight across the long thin blade. A figure, dressed wholly in black tight cloth, took a step forward. More light hit the sword, its gleaming curved edge leading down to a wet deep red dripping off the end.
He couldn’t smell the blood. This close to a kill and he almost missed it. Humans really were helpless. Another completely black figure broke through the darkness, joining the first. Okay, this was getting bad.
Drifter gave a wave and picked up his old jacket. “Sorry, friend. Didn’t see ya there.” He started walking away. Don’t look. Don’t react. Just listen for movement… as much as a normal man can for a ninja. Acting scared would only trigger the hunt. Fear signaled predators when to pounce.
The two black figures met at the edge of the alley and watched. The hobo slipped the old red and black jacket on and popped up the large collar as he meandered towards the end of the block. They gave each other a look. The leader would be furious to learn they let a witness live. But their leader wasn’t there and rain sunk deep into black cloth.
Drifter waited until he rounded the corner before he dared glance back. Nothing. He looked up. Nothing but an odd-colored sky blotted out by clouds. New York was supposed to be a paradise; nothing but over-confident, over-fed humans as far as the eye could see. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder. He was the reason others looked over their shoulder.
Movement. Drifter froze. A small piece of paper floated through the gentle breeze and settled on the sidewalk. Damn it, this was embarrassing. A man like him jumping at garbage. Something bright lunged from a house’s stairway and hopped across the sidewalk onto the paper.
The glowing pigeon again. Drifter put his head down. It was a disgrace he couldn’t catch a dumb bird anymore. Another glance at the creature. The vampiric predator deep in his being came forward. The sandwich in his stomach kept the biting edge of hunger off but how long would that last? Asking for more handouts was out of the question; the shame hurt more than being hungry. He hated the idea of more solid food, but maybe killing something would make it palpable.
He walked casually past the bird but kept the creature in the corner of his eye. The bird’s glow lit up the paper under its feet. Drifter turned slowly, quietly and looked. It was a tourist map; a brightly colored, over-simplified version of New York that only made sense on whatever bus tour charged you five bucks for it.
The bird fluffed its feathers a bit before tracing a wing tip across the main roads. It tapped one of the cartoon landmark symbols and looked up at the street sign. Another look down. It turned its head sideways. The wing switched between two locations close to each other.
“It’s a fake map, ya darn fool.” Drifter muttered under breath.
The pigeon hopped back and looked at the man with one side-set eye. It glanced again at the map before slumping and stepping off the paper, letting it fly off in the breeze. It tucked its head under a wing.
“Aww, you honte, hun?” Drifter took a small step forward.
The pigeon peeked over its wings and stared. Somehow the glare made Drifter feel vulnerable, exposed even. The feeling passed quickly when the bird nodded.
Another short step closer to the weird creature. “You lookin’ fer somethin’, little guy?”
Another nod.
Another step before Drifter squatted down near the creature. “You want help?” He purred. “I know my way around the city. Been here for years, I know where everything is.”
The pigeon put its wing down and hopped closer. The bird stared at him again, another wave of odd weakness washing over Drifter before fading. It fluffed its feathers before strutting closer. Drifter held out a hand, keeping a gentle smile. With a happy coo, the bird hopped onto Drifter’s hand.
“Der ya go.” Drifter stood up and gave the bird a once over. Yup, looked like a pigeon. Up close, there were faint pigeon-esque patterns; a darker yellow head and a brighter nearly white color on its body. Its eyes were pure black, speckled with tiny flakes of light like stars. And its chest… it had an outline of an exaggerated ‘M’ with its ends stretching down and curving together to make a perfect O shape. Far too precise to be just coincidence. The bird was marked by, or for, something.
Eh, didn’t matter.
Drifter grabbed the bird’s throat hard and pinned its legs together. “Now, how’d cooking work again? Feathers off, chop off de head ‘n feet…” Wing beating frantically against the man’s grasp as the bird cooed and crowed. “Hush, Ah gotta think.” There were probably guts he wouldn’t be able to eat, though digging those out might give him just a spark of happiness so painfully absent from his mortal life. Having his gloved hand pecked out only made Drifter tighten his gripe. It shouldn’t be too hard finding a trashcan fire in New York; that’d do for the heating up the meat part of the meal.
Failing to do any damage to the glove, the pigeon pulled its head back and gave a piercing high pitched shriek. Drifter held the pigeon away. That sounded more like an eagle cry, with enough volume to cause an echo on the empty streets. Light started pouring out of the strange mark on the animal’s chest, like fog flowing through a keyhole. The wisp grew brighter and brighter, swelling in size before a white hot blast erupted from the tiny feathered body.
Drifter threw his hands up in front of his head, hissing and flinching back on instinct. Heat, light, the sun! Wait… no. The heat faded into the cold night as darkness reclaimed the streets. Slowly, he lowered his shaking hands; that ever-present squirm in his chest beating against his skin. A streak of gold light soared through the air, flying through an alley, lighting up the brick walls before vanishing.
“Dammit!”
This would be so much easier if he could just hunt like normal! He looked down at his hands. Disgusting, tiny, soft, blunt, useless hands. What’s worse; the deep red that so long covered his arms was dulling and flaking off. Enough that the old arcane symbols he scratched on lifetimes ago were visible again.
He couldn’t even pretend anymore. He wasn’t The Drifter anymore. He was nobody.
The man shoved his hat down and drew in a deep snotty sniffle. He kept his eyes tightly shut, just to be sure nothing came out. His exhale shook. Just keep moving. When he finally opened his eyes, the man saw a fleck of light on the ground. A loose fluffy glowing feather blown again his boot.
The pigeon’s.
A soft, gentle warmth eked into his hands when he picked it up. It was… kinda nice, or at least the nicest thing he’d known since the ritual’s end. Keep it. But why? He tucked the tiny feather under the band around his hat. The feather’s effect flowed down through his head and embraced his torso. He felt warm, comfortably so, and somehow drier even while he still stood in the rain. Maybe he could finally sleep tonight.
Or maybe… what little strength this feather gave him should be used while he had it. He couldn’t have long; if such a tiny feather’s power didn’t burn out soon, he’d either starve or get killed as he was. The man glanced at the corner street sign. He was close. It was a stupid idea, he knew that, but if it worked he could be himself again. If he died trying, he wouldn’t suffer humanity for long. Win-Win. The man ran down the empty sidewalk, took another look at the street sign and started running to the right.
Tag: Driftdoor kinktober 2025, hand jobs, semi-public sex, anal sex, choking, balcony scene
This fic features art by @primrose-graveyard !
(Not a new fic. Just posting this to my blog too. Originally posted to my AO3 and my nsfw Twitter)
---o---o---o---
Drifter stands on a balcony of the Baroness alone.
He's in a bathrobe, loosely tied so that it's draped on large frame, his shoulders left exposed to the morning chill. The robe is one of those types that are made of the same material as towels. His hair is still dripping with water and his skin smells distinctly of jasmine. His arms, usually looking like he just dunked them in a bucket of fresh blood, is absent of red hue of any kind. Even the underside of his claws are cleared of dirt. A constellation of bite marks, scratches and bruises bloom on his skin, courtesy of his bed partner.
Normally, someone who had just gotten clean would be in a good mood.
Drifter is not.
He may or may not be sulking.
After being forced to take a bath.
Doorman is walking around the room behind him. He's also sporting just a bathrobe, except his is tied securely. They were just in the tub together. More accurately, Doorman was in there to wash Drifter, not trusting the vampire clean himself up to his standards. It was a battle featuring a decapitated shower head, soap bubbles, and a lot of hissing, but he won in the end.
He opens the dresser and retrieves spare bed sheets, as they are sorely needed after the two completely defiled the ones originally on the bed. He drops the pillows, blanket, and old covers into a small magical door that opens to receive it, most likely sending it to the laundry room, then expertly refits the new sheets over the mattress. The moment he's finished, the door reopens and out comes perfectly fluffed up pillows and ironed blanket. He arranges them all on the bed in the hotel's usual style.
Doorman looks at the vampire, then sighs.
"We made a deal, Drifter. If you want to sleep here, you need to be clean. Mattresses aren't as replaceable as sheets, you know?" He says as he walks up to Drifter, slipping his arms around him. He would put his chin on Drifter's shoulders, but he can't quite reach them, so he settles for resting his head on the wide back instead.
"At this point, I'd rather sleep on the floor." Drifter grumbles.
"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss." Doorman coos at him. He toys with the robe's sash, it's loose enough that a firm tug would make the robes drop open. He lets it be for now though. Instead, he traces along the Adonis belt, going down and towards the center, playing with the thin layer of hair of his treasure trail. He presses his nose on Drifter's skin and inhales. Some of his natural musk is still there, and to be honest, without the stink of sweat and grime, the scent is even more pronounced.
"I made it all nice and clean again. Here, I'll even lie down with you. How does that sound?"
It absolutely turns Doorman on.
His hand strays lower, the tip of his fingers wades through the bush of hair and grazes the cock that brought him a night of pleasure not even an hour ago. It's dormant—for now—but he's sure he can get it up again.
Drifter's breath hitches under his ministrations, but he still refuses to turn around and face him.
If he wants to play it that way, so be it.
Even when flaccid, Drifter's size is still very impressive. Doorman gently grasps and begins to slowly stroke it, making sure his grip is loose at the base and tightens up once he gets to the tip, as if he's milking a cow's udder.
Drifter curls in on himself with uncharacteristic shyness, but he doesn't tell Doorman to stop. In fact, he's parted his legs so the god will have more room to work with.
If only his mouth is as honest as his body. It would make things so much easier.
Doorman's other hand finds its way to Drifter's balls, gently massaging them. It brings him such joy to feel Drifter filling out and getting heavier in his hands. A quick swipe of his thumb at the head smears the drops of pre-cum along the length and draws out even more, helping to lubricate the process. He leaves kisses on the plane of Drifter's back, knowing the vampire can feel it.
"Ain't cha afraid of...gettin' caught?" Drifter finally speaks. He's holding on to the marble of the balcony, claws digging into the stone. His voice has already gone gruff from pleasure, but he hasn't let go of his stubbornness yet.
"It's five in the morning. I doubt anyone would be looking up right now." Doorman says. They tend to lose track of time during these activities. (Well, Drifter does. Doorman knows the exact amount of seconds he's spent with Drifter whether he's on top, under, inside, or wrapped around him. It's a fun little record he keeps.) He reaches a finger a little further back and presses down on the perineum. Drifter jolts and groans in surprise. Doorman repeats the motion several times, drawing out more of his little noises, until the vampire is fully hard. Without his hat to cover the tips of his ears, Doorman can see how they have reddened considerably. How adorable.
Drifter, seeing how he cannot win the argument, not to mention the pleasure irritatingly clouding his mind once again, decides to give Doorman the silent treatment, or as silent as he could be when he's trying not to let slip the sounds those divine fingers pluck out of him as if he's an instrument to be played. His cock throbs when Doorman does a particularly firm squeeze. The god kisses and nips at the skin of his back, following the marks and paths he left behind last night. A shiver runs up Drifter's spine when Doorman's tongue traces a pair of crescents made of dimples, left behind from when he bit down into undead flesh. The vampire falls to his elbows, his spine arching like a whining feline asking for attention. Doorman follows him down.
"Getting close?" Drifter doesn't need to turn around to know that the damned god is smiling when he asked that right next to his ear, before nibbling on the shell of it. Doorman tugs at the sash of his own bathrobe, letting it fall open, and folds up the bottom of Drifter's over his lower back. He grinds his own hardened member between the exposed cheeks in a clumsy rhythm, the head grazing the entrance every other beat. The god can make himself any shape or size to satisfy his bed partner, but for now, he opts for a simple human one, just long enough to hit the sweet spot inside the vampire. He strokes himself, using the leftover fluids on his hands as make-shift lubrication. It's not enough, but he knows Drifter doesn't mind the pain.
"Fuck me already." Drifter grumbles, slightly pushing himself back to not so subtly encourage Doorman. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, the god enters him, slow and steady until his hips are pressed flushed to Drifter's ass. The vampire sighs at the burn, shifting on his feet a little and digging his claws into the marble to better braces himself. Doorman toys at Drifter's chest as added distraction, tugging at his nipples and massaging the soft pecs. It's truly sinful how Drifter has a wonderful body such as this. Solid muscles, well-padded with fat and generous dusting of hair. Doorman can only afford to wait for so long before he has to move. He wants to touch him all over. In fact, why not do so?
Small doors open, floating on thin air, and hands come reaching out of each one, caressing and groping Drifter wherever the god wishes. Doorman holds him by the waist, keeping him in place while the hands work. Two pinches Drifter's nipples, one runs its palm on the plane of his stomach, one curls itself around his throat to lightly choke, and two eagerly work on the hanging cock and balls.
The combined assault of pleasure has Drifter moaning out loud, shame finally tossed to the winds. His voice comes out in broken staccato matching the harsh pace that Doorman set. His back is perfectly curved to better meet every thrust, his body tensing as his prostate is hit with exact precision over and over again.
"Oh dear." Doorman says, disconnecting his lips from where he has left another mark on the vampire's shoulder. "Looks like someone is headed to work early today."
Down below, a figure has taken a turn into the street directly below them. Drifter spots them in less than a second. Cold dread rushes into his heart and he tightens up around Doorman instinctively. It's not fear, but rather pride that has sprouted up to strangle Drifter into stillness.
Doorman breaks him out of it with a hard thrust that nearly sends him tumbling over the balustrade. Drifter tries to turn to glare at him, but another sharp snap of the god's hips has the vampire letting out a curse instead, one loud enough to make him glance down to check if their audience has noticed or not. His attention being split, however, displeases Doorman, and he adjusts their position so one of Drifter's legs is raised, his calf resting on the bellhop's shoulder as he continues to rut into him, the force of it making his heavy cock bounce. With his body now turned sideways, if the person below them looks up, they'll be able to see clearly how Drifter is being ruined.
"Hurry up!" Drifter whispers at Doorman, brows furrowed. From what he's observed, they only have a minute at most before the stranger is directly below them. Drifter needs to hold out until they pass, or finish up before they reach them.
"Yes, yes. Gosh, you are so fussy today." Doorman says dismissively, but complies. He speeds up his ministrations. Drifter does his best to once more to keep himself quiet, but the closer he gets, the louder he becomes. Doorman leans down to kiss him to help muffle the noise.
The heat radiating from Doorman warms the undead body from both inside and out, and he melts soon after. Orgasm hits Drifter first, drawing a long whiny moan from the back of his throat, white streaks splattering on the polished balcony floor. Doorman grinds in deep before finishing himself, enjoying the feeling of Drifter convulsing around him. He keeps kissing Drifter until they've both come down from their releases.
Doorman drops vampire's leg carefully and helps support him to stand. When Drifter sways, the god holds him steady by his waist and lets him droop his weight on top of him, shuffling them both back into the room and depositing Drifter on the clean bed. His bathrobe splays open under him, and Drifter seems close to sleep. Doorman lets him doze off just like that. It's not like an undead creature could catch a cold.
The bellhop walks back out to the balcony and looks down, catching the gaze of their mystery guest.
They tip their hat at him.
Doorman simply smiles and waves in return. It really is nothing to worry about after all. Just another employee of the hotel.
He'll have them ready for Drifter as soon as the vampire wakes up.
Tags: Driftdoor kinktober 2025, Shibari/bondage/restraints, grinding/frotting, thigh riding, clothed sex
(Not a new fic. Just posting this to my blog too. Originally posted on AO3 and my nsfw Twitter)
---o---o---o---
The Baroness welcomes a variety of guests in its august halls, and that includes extravagant parties. This in particular, is the result of his interest getting piqued by one such events.
Another rich man with eccentric tastes has booked one of the ballrooms for an art exhibition.
"Art" used in the looser sense of the word.
A guest from overseas is invited. No doubt by the host himself. An unassuming man from Japan. He looks...modest. His stature is, unsurprisingly, smaller than the Americans and Europeans that struts around the Baroness. It's not that there hasn't been any Eastern guests before. They are just harder to come by.
Feeling pity, Doorman makes it a point to converse with him. He drops by the bar where the artist sits alone, using an easy excuse of a hard day's work to walk up and lean against the counter. The doorman plays out the script of a tired bellhop whining to his colleague.
It works. Seeing his plight, the artist tries to comfort him. Doorman asks him for stories to "distract him from the monotony" and the guest complied. His English is heavily accented, but it's coherent enough. Eventually, they get around to his purpose here at the hotel.
"I practice Shibari. It is an art of rope...and people." The artist seems reluctant to say the latter half of his answer.
"People? So you tie them up?" The doorman asks. He gets a nod in reply. There's a flush at the tips of the artist's ears, whether from intoxication or embarrassment, he doesn't know.
"Fascinating. I'd love to see your work someday." Doorman leans forward, resting on his elbows, making his back arch deliciously. He doesn't miss how the artist's eyes are instantly drawn to it, then down to his long legs.
The artist gulps, then, no doubt fueled by liquid courage, makes him an offer. "Then why don't you be my model for the show?"
Hook.
"Me? But, wouldn't you rather have a professional model for you? I'm just the bellboy." Doorman feigns insecurity. If memory serves, the host already has someone in mind for that spot. It would shake up the plans too much. Besides, he doesn't want all that spotlight on him. If the artist's explanation tells him anything, it's that this "art" must be somewhat viewed negatively by the general populace. If he, or worse, the Baroness gains fame from this, it could spell disaster.
Line.
"Though I suppose if it's in private..." He trails off, averting his eyes to further enforce the image.
And sinker.
"We can use my room! I have ropes ready." The artist rushes reassure him. He nearly jumps out of his seat just to take one of Doorman's hands. "Please. I...You are beautiful. You would make a wonderful model."
So predictable.
"My, I'd be honored to then, sir." Doorman gives him a relieved smile. He promises to meet him late at night on the next day, seeing as there's still time before the exhibition. Of course, the doorman already knows the his room number. He's the one that helped check him in after all.
And so.
Here he is.
At exactly midnight, Doorman knocks on the artist's room. He doesn't need to wait at all, as the door quickly opens. The rich man really went all out with making his guest is comfortable, as he had booked the artist one of the suite rooms.
"Good evening. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. My duties just refuses to let me go today." Doorman says lightheartedly as he walks in.
"It is alright. Please, come in." The artist closes the door and locks it after Doorman has entered. The curtains of the room are open, letting in the pale moonlight. The enthusiasm he saw the night before seems to have boiled away into nervousness. The man scurries away to the bedroom, returning with a bundle of maroon rope.
Right. That is what he signed himself up for.
"Would you like to take off your uniform?" He fidgets with the item, tracing his finger over the knitted and dyed hemp.
Doorman shakes his head. "I'd prefer we do it over the clothes, please. This isn't that type of service after all." He laughs to himself. He's no stranger to debauchery, but he sincerely wanted to experience this "Shibari" art in its purest form, untainted by sexual purposes.
"Alright," the artist seems to have taken no offense from the comment. A good sign. Doorman would have been sorely disappointed if his compliment on his potential as a model was because of lust.
Speaking of, the man takes has taken a step back. He holds out a hand to the spot on the carpet in front of him. "Please sit here."
The doorman goes willingly, sitting down with his legs folded under him. The heels of his dress shoes are digging into his buttocks, but he's seen some Eastern guests sitting down this way before, so he guesses that this would be more appropriate to the activity.
"Put both hands behind your back. Touch your elbows." The artist fully unfurls the rope, holding on to one end and letting the rest falls to the floor.
He does as instructed, posture the very picture of perfection, head slightly lifted up to look at the artist. Doorman meets his eyes and nods to signal his readiness.
"I will begin." The artist bows to the doorman, surprising him. Seems he's come across a true artist of their craft. He feels rather flattered now to be a part of this. Perhaps he'll find time to watch the show after all.
Doorman enjoys the silence and methodical way the artist handles the rope, looping and tying it along different points of his body. The artist's nerves fade away as he continues to work, solely focused on his tool and canvas. There is a part where the rope needs to goes in between his legs, so he lifts himself up and parts them just enough for the artist to do so. Once he sits back down, the rope digs into his crotch.
He...does feel that. It's a little uncomfortable, but he keeps himself still.
Once finished, the doorman is properly tied up. The rope locks his pose into place, pushing his chest forwards and accentuating his pectorals. His arms are bound and connected to the knot hanging from the neck loop, so if he drops his arms, the loop would pull taut and choke him. The golden keyhole that rests on the middle of his clavicle is the perfect centerpiece to the knots on his front, glinting in the moonlight and drawing the eye.
"完璧だ。" The artist sighs, slipped into a state of artistic euphoria as he takes in his finished work. Doorman understands the whispered word perfectly, and he must agree. It may be just simple rope tied around him, but he can see the effort the man puts into his craft. Though in terms of looks, well, he's fairly confident that his current vessel is nothing to scoff at.
The man reaches out a hand, aimed to touch the keyhole on his chest.
"Oh, I would advise against that-"
He couldn't stop the artist in time. As soon as his fingertip brushes against gold, the man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he promptly collapses. His mind was already so overwhelmed by his passion of art, couple that with the untold visions brought about by coming in contact with an eldritch item, of course his mind would fold like a leaf in a storm.
Perfect. Just. Perfect.
"Sir?" Doorman calls out to the artist, if only to make sure that he is most definitely unconscious. Receiving no reply, his suspicions are confirmed.
The doorman huffs. He looks around the room for anything that could help get him out of the bindings. Using his powers in a physical vessel has limitations, and one of that is the need for physical motion to guide the energy. His hands are currently forced to grip his own elbows. He can't even adjust his fingers to muster a weak snap.
No, he won't be tearing himself out of this. Drop that thought immediately. This rope is an art piece and property of a guest! He is not cutting it!
He struggles to get on his feet (curse his past decision to sit this way!) His legs are completely numb, and now they're sensitive and tingling fuzzily as blood rush back into them. If he can at least make it to the door, then he can call for one of the staff to come take care of the guest and untie him.
Unfortunately, he overestimated his vessel's capabilities.
"Ah-!" He yelps as he falls forward. He tilts himself to the side just in time to prevent his chin from hitting the floor dead on. His shoulder takes the brunt of the impact, and he lies there with his legs spread to the window.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
Oh, for Patron's sake—
"Hello, Drifter." The doorman deadpans.
The vampire stands on the suite's balcony (one of the many perks of the room), his glowing eyes set on Doorman, a teasing smile already on his lips.
"What's gotten you all tied up? Ya fell into a trap or somethin'?" Drifter stalks towards Doorman as the latter tries to sit up, but only manages to close his legs and flop onto his side.
"I assure you. No enchantments or spells have been placed upon me. This is," he grunts as he gets onto his back, "just a plan gone awry. But since you're here, do you mind lending a hand?" He glares at his acquaintance, but it comes off much weaker than he wanted. His position is not helping at all.
"Yer tellin' me ya let a human tied ya up like this? Lil' guy right here?" Drifter nudges his foot against the artist's still body.
"Be careful with him! He's a guest." Doorman raises his voice in alarm. Drifter holds up his hands in mock surrender, coming over to kneel next to him, inspecting the spread of knots. He gives a low whistle of appreciation and nudges at one of the knots on his chest with the tip of his claw. Doorman tuts and squirms away.
"Need me ta cut ya outta this? Doesn't look too sturdy."
"You will do no such thing. The rope belongs to the guest!"
"Then how d'ya want me to get ya out? These ain't made for picking knots." Drifter brandishes his claws. "Unless ya got clippers handy. I don't think that's possible, cher."
"'Sides," Drifter briefly dissipates into smoke, then reappears on top of Doorman, straddling him. "Nothin's stoppin' me from doin' whatever I want to ya right now." The vampire's knee pushes against the doorman's crotch, pushing the rope inwards, drawing an involuntary moan from Doorman.
The motion is making the entire ensemble pull tighter against Doorman's skin. It's not a terrible feeling. The pressure on his skin is nice, almost as if there are more hands holding him. But the doorman is more irritated than horny right now.
Doorman's complaints fade into moans as Drifter closes his lips over his, going straight to tongue. He can still taste the blood on him. No doubt the vampire has already fed tonight. So this is entirely for pleasure. Doorman gasps when claws circle around the peak of his chest.
"I said no cutting!" He breaks the kiss to protest.
"Ain't touchin' no rope. Just you." The layers of fabric falls away easily under Drifter's precise claw work.
He must look ridiculous. In full uniform, tied up in a rope, with only his nipples exposed. The claw cuts just deep enough to make rings around the doorman's areola. Tiny beads of blue wells up from the wound.
"Gotta say, th' human knows his stuff. Have ya all pretty 's a present." Drifter moves down to lick at the blood, intentionally pressing on the sensitive bud as well. Doorman hisses, and groans when the vampire takes the nipple in his mouth, sucking harshly.
"D-Drifter." He stutters. He's trying hard to stay angry at the vampire, but the pleasure and novelty of the situation are getting to him. How often would he get to be tied up "helplessly" like this? And done in such a beautiful way as well. Lord knows Drifter would never be able to do such a delicate thing.
So he supposes.
He's going to enjoy this.
"More." He whines and grinds himself back against Drifter's knee, wiggling his hips to try and get any friction he could.
"Yeah, yeah. I gotcha." Drifter slips his hands under Doorman and lifts him up, walking them both to settle on the hotel room's couch. He puts Doorman on one thigh, the god moaning as gravity does its work and pulls him down on the vampire.
"There ya go. Don't be shy now." Drifter bounces Doorman on his leg, earning a choked groan for his efforts. It's as if the rope is digging deeper into his flesh every time he moves.
"Sing for me, bellhop."
And Doorman loves it.
Drifter reattaches his lips to Doorman's nipple, sucking on one while his hand teases the other. His free hand holds onto Doorman's ass, preventing him from falling off in his wanton rutting against his thigh. Drifter slips a finger in between the crack of Doorman's ass and presses on the rope, using the pad of his finger to do so. Doorman moans particular loudly at the added stimulation.
"Drifter! P-please. I want to- I-I need to-" Doorman's voice is hoarse from how the neck loop is constricting his air way, but he doesn't let up. The doorman throws his head back. The angle is making the his arms pull on the loop even tighter. Patrons above, he needs more!
"Beggin' so sweetly too. Alright." Drifter's hands move to hold Doorman by his waist, lifts him up—
"Come."
—and drops him down hard on his knee.
The doorman convulses as orgasm hits him, ragged moans pouring out continuously. The front of his dress pants darkens as a wet spot spreads. However, Drifter doesn't stop. He physically forces Doorman to keep grinding on him, so easily as if he's holding a toy, until the god is a blubbering, panting mess from overstimulation.
"Ya good?" Drifter pulls Doorman in.
"Never...been better..." Doorman replies weakly. Drifter's skin is blessedly cool. He rests his forehead on the vampire's pectorals. His shoulders sag from exhaustion as his arms fall.
...His arms...fell?
"Drifter!" Doorman scolds, his anger returning. He slaps at Drifter's chest. He holds up his arms, the rope and knots hanging off of it uselessly. Unfortunately, in the final throes of passion, it seems Drifter's claws nicked the ropes, accidentally cutting it.
"I ain't done it on purpose!"
"That's not the point! Ugh, now I have to mend this." Doorman works on the knots left on the rope, picking it loose. The item isn't hotel property, so he can't just magic it back together!
"What are you just sitting there for? Help me!" He feels Drifter's stare rather than sees it.
The vampire sighs, and gets to work on the other knots.
oh, yeah. if anybody is curious the marks on drifters arms are real things.
🜂 (fire) - "…associated with the qualities of energy, assertiveness, and passion."
O (vessel) - "Alchemists in early modern Europe frequently described their vessels as religious spaces, drawing analogies between Christian belief and the alchemical magnum opus."
-O-> (iron/mars) - "…associated with aggression, confrontation, masculinity, the warrior, courage, energy, strength, ambition and impulsiveness, the genitals, fever, accidents, trauma, pain and surgery."
X (talcum) - "Talc… was said to produce a solution which yielded rejuvenation. It was said to be a source of protection from any poison, sickness, or plague."
YES driftdoor has 0 interactions (as far as i'm aware) YES other people think it's slop BUT ✋🏽 the dynamic would be so delish can anyone hear me. give me that insane hobo experiencing fear for the first time in years and being into it
I've been OBSESSED with Driftdoor for months now and on god this ship is on its way to dethrone my longest hyperfixation ever (it was 1010 from No Straight Roads, for 2 years). So I'd like to yap about the dynamics in Driftdoor that I like.
What I really love about them is how they're almost polar opposites of each other. Aside from their appearance (Clean vs. Dirty, Thin vs. Broad, etc.), Doorman is a god trying to play man, while Drifter is a (former) man trying to play god. Are they succeeding? To a certain level, yes. Doorman can pass as a human as long as he doesn't move or you don't stare at him for an extended amount of time, and Drifter basically became a bloody legend built up on centuries of murder cases he racked up during his travels, to the point that he doesn't need a name anymore.
But but but—!
With so much time lived, surely they have crossed paths before. (E.g. "The streets aren't your dominion, Doorman. They're mine.", "Always a pleasure to see you again, Drifter.") I know it's kind of a stretch but THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR PAST RELATIONSHIP PLOTLINE HERE.
We know Doorman used to rule and torture humanity before, so since Drifter's thing is all about bringing about chaos and suffering and death, they could have worked together! Or Doorman could have kept an eye on Drifter's work as the vampire grew into his legend. If they DID work together before, it would be SUCH a betrayal for Doorman to just go: "I'm bored of this. Goodbye." And just LEAVES Drifter alone. The building resentment would be astronomical!! Them meeting again in the game's current time period would be so jarring for Drifter. What happened to the merciless god from centuries ago? He just wants to be a bellboy now?? A SERVANT?! HE WANTS TO SERVE HUMANS?!?!
GOOOODDDDDDDD that is GOOD SOUP right there!!!!
Drifter can speedrun the five stages of grief to mourn the death of the god. Deny that this isn't the same god as back then. Angry that he has reduced himself to such a pitiful state. Bargaining for the chance to have him return to his reign. Getting so. Frickin'. Depressed over the lost of a being that he could have called a friend. Then accepts that Doorman isn't the same now, and that they are no longer on the same side. And of course, Drifter thinks his side is the winning one.
But Doorman is very much still the same god. He just plays it differently now. He's still out here torturing people with a smile on his face! Mortals and humanity are comparable to insects in his eyes, but now he wants to observe and experience how they all feel while he's slowly, subtly turning up the heat of the pot they're all stuck in. Drifter is still a part of that! Even if he thinks he's out of the loop of mortality already, he'd never be comparable to a literal god that operates on a different level as he does. He'd never understand why Doorman did what he did, because he'd never experience it for himself.
Ough, I'm rambling. Anyway that's one bit of what I like about Driftdoor. Doorman comes off as more methodical to me, like a scientist observing his experiments. Drifter is a cat that used to live in the lab who then got out and became feral, only for Doorman to reveal that the entire "outside" is still a part of the lab and he's been watching Drifter via hidden cameras all this time to collect data. Bye ✌️
Seven is absolutely an animated corpse puppeting himself through electrokinesis like a teacher zapping a dead frog in a biology class. This might be why his speed scales off Spirit, he has more to work with so he can do more with it. He also has a blindfold on (and likely no longer has eyes) but is able to take in and perceive visual information so he's probably using a form of electroreception to see without eyes. Visible light is just a narrow band of electromagnetic radiation after all.
I don't think he has a lot of flesh left on his face down to at least his upper chest, and I suspect his arms will get gnarlier/more skeletal when he gets a model update. I've been told in electrocutions you tend to lose fingers first and then the rest of your more delicate extremity, so Seven being able to count to ten makes him lucky.
His soul, though, I don't think is where it's supposed to be. If he's some kind of lich he has a phylactery/anchor somewhere, and considering his parry involves drawing his arms up to protect his chest while turning away I suspect it's the electric chair gear he's strapped into, particularly the chest piece if not the number plate specifically. Related, but he used to have a set of now-disabled Ult indicator animations where the lever on his back would swing down and reset when it became available and the meter on his back would tick until it was used.
It's all just physically part of him now, probably more than his original human body at this point.
Speaking of electrokinesis, though, you ever notice how Seven seems to know a spooky amount about everyone and everything *except what people wouldn't discuss over the phone* ie Viscous? Bro is definitely wiretapping the city from the buried phone lines under the city. It's one of the most sophisticated use of his power he potentially demonstrates, everything else outside regaining his senses and ability to move just more or less involves frying things. It's the sledgehammer approach to electrokinesis, all power and little refinement, and I chalk that up to him being relatively new to this. With more practice he'll be genuinely horrifying.
But that likely relies on his ability to stay "fed", and not from a souls perspective. Irl a lot of NYC's power lines are underground, but the Cursed Apple is different. The timeline divergence and introduction of the occult en-masse means a few inventions that never made it in our world are established there. Airships dock on skyscrapers because Zephyrs make that level of safety and control possible, and receivers for Tesla's wireless energy distribution infrastructure dot the roots. An electric chair does not create the current, it just utilizes it. Seven *needs* a source of electricity, and without the buried power lines he needs to be above ground to get it. I suspect this is why he needs the Tunnel Rats to dig him new tunnels: he needs paths to the surface the OSIC doesn't know about to keep himself "fed" or else his charge will dwindle with his plans and he can't have that happen.
Seven is such a weird entity from a lot of standpoints, a mix of sophisticated and clumsy. Considering he hasn't been like this for very long he's going to become a lot more of a threat as time goes on.
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