#pearl abyss stop doing this to me

[dark-moonlust]

Lust Beneath The Waves PART 1

Pairing: Kraken x f!mermaid reader

Summary: the currents carried you to the lair of the monster. The Kraken claims you as his mate and mother of his spawn.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, dub con, he has two🍆 🍆, triple pen, egg laying. Don’t like, don’t read.

Read PART 2 here.

Tales of the Kraken had spread for endless years and whispered among the mermaids and other sea creatures. He was said to be a terrifying monster; he lurked in the dark abyss of the ocean, a massive beast with tentacles and unfathomable magic that no one could fight against. Elder mermaids had always warned you to never approach his lair, for it was said that the Kraken was on the lookout for a mermaid to claim.

For years, you’d heeded those warnings and stayed far away from the forbidden depths of the ocean.

You believed you were safe.

But you were wrong.

One day, absorbed in your search for pretty pearls, you didn’t realize that the currents had carried you dangerously close to the Kraken’s lair.

The Kraken sensed your presence and followed you as you swam.

From the shadows, the creature watched you, his eyes glowing with predatory hunger. The monster’s glowing eyes caressed your body, gazing at your lithe waist, the smooth iridescent skin of and your long hair that danced in the water. You had a long luminous tail, with turquoise scales that caught the light in dazzling hues of blues and greens. Small pert breasts were modestly covered by little seashells, a sight that made his cocks and tendrils thicken.

A sudden shift in the water and a deep vibrating sound made you look around. Eyes wide, you found the Kraken, his massive form hanging over you. He was five times bigger than you, with two glowing eyes, large and luminescent. His skin was black and glistened with an eerie green glow. Massive tentacles shot from his hideous head, long and sinuous, they moved fluidly, each lined with suckers.

Before you could swim away, his tentacles gripped your tail and pulled you to him. You struggled, but his grip was unyielding, the thick tentacles trapping you. Your pretty seashell bra was ripped away, slimy tentacles curving around your breasts, the suckers milking your nipples. You squirmed and cried out, heart palpitating.

“Stop! An—hnn…” you muttered as your poor nippes were tugged and suckled, the monster seemed obsessed with the pink little buds and looked at you almost entranced.

No. That couldn’t be. The Kraken was a merciless monster. He had no heart.

“Why do you fight, little mermaid?” His voice echoed in your mind, deep and captivating. “You belong to me.”

“I don’t. You’re a monster. Stop. Let me go!” You gasped as the suckers at your nipples popped off, leaving your tips sore and red.

“You’re my mate. Can’t you feel it?” The tip of a tentacle caressed your chest, over your beating heart.

Disoriented and intoxicated by his presence, you struggled to ignore the hazy sensations. Your heartbeat was erratic, a strange hunger rising in your belly. And that was when you suddenly realized it; you weren’t that scared of him. Sure, he was huge and intimidating, his tentacles were everywhere, but you wanted him to caress you.

A gentle tentacle petted your face almost tenderly. “See? You feel it, too. You crave me.”

Before you could answer, a long slimy tentacle parted your lips and slipped inside your mouth. A moan was torn from you as it tasted your mouth, the appendage exploring every crevice of your mouth. The monster couldn’t actually kiss you so he feasted on your taste, repeatedly plunging his tentacle down your throat and letting out low vibrating noises which turned you on.

A husky voice filled your mind, again. “You are safe, little mermaid. You’ll be my mate, the mother of my spawn.”

You drew away from him with a groan.

“We can’t. We can’t mate.”

Your eyes lowered to your tail as if that was proof enough. Your breath hitched at the sight of two monstrous tentacled-cocks hidden among the mass of his slimes. His cocks were similar in shape and size, ribbed and textured with veins, the head of each cock was bulbous, with a slight taper that flared out at the tip. The cockheads pulsed and twitched, secreting a warm, slippery fluid that made your belly pool with warmth.

“Is that all that troubles you, precious little one? That you don’t have a pretty pussy and a tight little ass?

You blinked, you face forming a small grimace. He sounded so smug. Then he began to chant in an ancient language and some of his tentacles turned into tendrils of magic, glowing with a soft green light as they wrapped around your tail. You gasped as warm magic coursed through you and painlessly caused your tail to tingle and change shape.

In a heartbeat, your beautiful tail transformed into two smooth, perfect legs. You kicked your feet, awed that he could do such a thing. Normally, you could only shift when setting foot on land, but he’d done it in mere seconds. The Kraken’s tentacles grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide apart as he lifted your body towards his face. In between your thighs, there was a pretty pink pussy and a pouting little asshole exposed all to him.

The Kraken’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “You are perfect, little mate. Perfect.”

More tentacles came out of his body, in various shapes and lengths. They travelled over your flesh, leaving trails of slickness wherever they touched. Two small tentacles slithered up your inner thighs, one flicking your clit while the other slipped inside your pussy, swirling and wiggling. Shivers of pleasure ran through you, your moans turning into needy whimpers when his slimes circled your breasts, licking around the rosy areolas before devouring your nipples.

Keeping your legs wide open, the Kraken rubbed the head of one of his cocks across your entrance. You stared down, watching as something as big as your forearm rubbed against your tiny cunt. No one had fucked you there. You whimpered, pain and pleasure mixing when he invaded you, slipping inside inch by inch. In one smooth glide, his cock was buried so deep inside you that the Kraken’s heartbeat in your chest.

“A virgin. My precious virgin mate,” he said, a tentacle licking affectionately into your mouth. “See how we fit? Because you were made to be mine. My mate. Are you hurting?”

“No. Need… mmore,” you moaned, fingers closing around slimes securing your wrists.

“I’ll give you everything. All of me.”

And with that he guided another thick tentacle into your mouth. It pulsed its way deep, leaking liquid down your throat, causing you to gag. The taste was sweet and you swallowed, tongue working around the appendage. Moist suckling noises resounded as it fucked your throat, thrusting back and forth.

Gluck… gluck… gluck…You drew frantic breaths and moaned around the tentacle in your mouth while your breasts bounced in synch with each pounding thrust in your pussy.

“What pretty sounds,” you heard him drawl proudly. “My beautiful mate.”

Two more tentacles snaked over the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose the pouting rosebud between. You squirmed and cried out around the tentacles fucking your mouth.

“Nnhhh! Not— hmnn— there—”

He distracted you with caresses over your clit and at the same time, pulsating slimes slipped past the tight entrance of your asshole. They prepared you, you realized with a little fear as they fucked you gently, leaking lubricant into your ass. Soon, you realized why. The second monstrous dick came to rest against your rosebud, the blunt cockhead nudging the puckered hole. It wormed its way inside you, forcing you to accept his girth and part around him. Slowly, oh so slowly, the second cock was lodged up your ass, making you impossibly full. Even your belly had rounded from the invasion of both cocks.

“That's it, little mate. You take me so well,” he whispered. “Look at you, my beautiful mermaid. Her little holes pounded by her mate.”

“Mnn…mnh!" You breathed through your nose, the fullness, the stretch and depth, making you whimper around the tentacles in your mouth.

When the cocks started to fuck you, you saw stars. You felt them move inside you, each ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. The suckers feasted harder on your nipples, latching onto the reddened buds and suckling them loudly. The tip of another tentacle stroked your clit and you came hard, your pussy squirting. The sound of your muffled moans travelled through the ocean, accompanied by the switching sounds of tentacles pounding your body.

The Kraken roared, relentless in his pounding.

Finally, the tentacles fucking your mouth drew back, allowing your cries of pleasure to echo through the water. Then both cocks nudged as deep at they could go. You tensed, feeling the pressure intensify. The huge shafts pulsed, alive with energy and you felt pop after pop flowing inside your holes, followed by the heavy weight of… eggs. One by one, you felt them as they were deposited deep inside your pussy and ass.

“Ugh .. ungh what?" you whimpered and climaxed again, the walls of your cunt and ass contracting.

“A Kraken needs to mate both holes to lay his eggs. That is how we breed,” he explained, a tentacle rubbing your back soothingly. “Easy, precious one.”

It felt like hours later when the cocks exited your body. The intensity didn’t subside though, because your belly was bulged with his eggs. The Kraken’s tentacles cradled you protectively and you rested against him, spent and satisfied, your mind reeling from what had happened. Not only you had mated the Kraken but you were now carrying his eggs.

“You did well, my mate”, he said, a tentacle cupping your belly. “Took ten of my eggs on either hole.”

“I’m huge,” you whispered, “I won’t be able to swim as I used to.”

“You’re beautiful. Carrying our spawn. Rest now, little one. I will take care of you. Trust me.”

And you did, your eyes shutting as you let go in his embrace.

Follow for more delicious monster smut! I hope you enjoyed this!

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

I want you, I love you (SimonxF!reader)

Here’s one for @glitterypirateduck’s challenge for our big boy Simon! I used 7.”Accidental confession” and 25.”Ghost and reader have to dress up for an event”.

Warning: Language.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t want to go. He hated going to Galas or really any event where money and politics were being discussed, the big spenders and supporters of the military with their almost carbon copy wives. He hated having to pretend that he cared about what the old men were talking to him about, asking always how many men he’s killed for “the greater good”. Ignoring their salacious wives’ advances to simply walk off to the bar or track down Johnny.

That was before you though. You, who somehow wormed your way into his head and his heart, long since thought cold and dead.

You’d been with the team for 2 years now, seamlessly integrating yourself into their everyday. Formed a fast friendship with Gaz and Johnny, looked to Price for guidance, and never shied away from talking to Ghost himself like you’d known him for ages.

He approved of your snarky attitude and the way you operated on the field, watching his back (and saving his ass a couple times), being able to hold your own in a fight. He still goes back to the day he watched you take down Price, a man twice your size and weight, he’d never been hotter under the collar.

Now as he gazes blankly into the abyss thinking of you, ignoring the droning of the old man and his idiotically annoying wife, he catches sight of deep, sparkling blue fabric. His eyes trailed the fabric up to strings of black pearls clinging to curvy, plush hips. Up higher to more pearls hanging and clinging to a soft stomach and ample breasts, shoulders bare save for a black fur coat.

A low whistle came from his left, Johnny showing up from the corner of his eye. ”Well, never thought I’d see the day we got to see Bonnie all dressed up.” “Don’t even think about it Mactavish.” Johnny chuckled, “Aye not looking to die tonight L.T. Would nae make a move on your woman.”

”Oh are we giving Simon shit about his crush?” “Fuck off Garrick.” Gaz chuckled and patted Simon’s shoulder, “Aw Simon, give it a rest. You’ve been drooling over the bloody woman for the whole 2 years she’s been with us.” Simon looked down before following your figure again, glaring at any man that even dared to approach you, let alone try to flirt with you. You were popular among the male recruits unfortunately.

”Are ye gonna tell ‘er?” “No. Best not to.” The three men shook their heads and rolled their eyes, “Simon, I’m gonna give it to you straight.” “I expect nothing less.” “Stop being a bloody fucking muppet and go talk to that poor woman before you actually lose her to a worse muppet.” He turned to stare at Price in disbelief.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Migraine?” He looked up to find you holding out a glass of bourbon to him as you take a sip of your own and sit. He gladly takes the glass, moving his mask to take a sip. “Always luv. Never stops when you’re around idiots all day.” You laughed and shook your head, “Aw Johnny’s not that bad L.T.” “Not talkin ‘bout Johnny sweetheart.” “Mmm, the recruits giving you a hard time?” “Bloody infants. Every single one of ‘em.”

His heart sang with joy at the sound of your full laugh,  he tried his hardest not to stare but he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful. “Hahaha tell me about it. They complain so much about literally everything. Gets annoying havin to hear it day in and day out.” He nods in agreement. The silence stretched on for a bit as you both took sips of your drinks. “Care to dance? You’re the only one I haven’t danced with yet.”

”Don’t dance luv.” “Can’t be any worse than Johnny. He tried to dip me and I almost fell.” Simon chuckled at the image of Johnny doing just that, the image making him grin under the mask. “We don’t have to. Just wanted to dance with someone that didn’t wanna stare at my chest or comment on my body.” “Shameless pigs. You deserve a proper dance then.” He watches you excitedly put your drink down and link your arm with him.

It was then he got a whiff of your perfume, light and delicious with a touch of cinnamon and vanilla. Your arm and hands were warm wrapped around his arm and he puffed up when you subconsciously groped his bicep and laid your head on it.

The two of you danced for a few songs, you leading him slowly. As the last song ended he found your face flushed and hair a bit disheveled. Eyes bright and lovely, smile radiant against your glowing skin. “You’re so beautiful luv. I want you.” ‘Fuck’. Your eyes widened as you looked up into his. “W-what?” Simon sighs, he’s done it now.

”I want you, lovie. I want your body, your smiles, your laughter. Want all your love for myself everyday. I love you.” He watched your face, anxiously waiting for your answer. A smile spread across your features and you giggled, “Took you long enough Simon.” “That mean I can kiss you now?” You nodded, smile wide as he lifted his mask slightly, arm sliding around your waist, a hand at the back of your head.

The kiss was passionate, all consuming, and delicious. Ghost never wanted to part from your lips, but the look of love shining in your eyes made him happy he did. “Wanna get out of here?” “Fuck yes. Tired of these pompous assholes.” Somewhere close by Gaz, Price, and Johnny look on, happy for Simon.

[kk43mi]

Tbh?? even though i find it kinda interesting i havent ready many fics w/ tickling kink in them but like.. a couple of them just feel like regular porn but the difference is (for example) getting someone off w/ a feather instead of Just stroking the 🍆. In others ive read, the tickling is just foreplay, like doing it playfully and then realizing that the other person is aroused by all the touching (this one is what i like the most especially with grumpy characters wr barely see smiling. They deserve to giggle)

divider: saradika-graphics

cw: feather play, cum, weener, no proofreading, wc: 500+

"[name] i swear..to archons..!" you tickled the man in front of you, teasing his cock with a toy feather. handcuffed to the bedframe first thing when he woke up. you always loved the thought of teasing your boyfriend by a feather, it just seemed so hot to see your boyfriend struggle under you.

"what! its fun...~" you take the feather, wiggling it back and forth around the tip. looking up at him when his thighs quiver and the way he whimpered was so yummy. its like you wanted more out of him. "your way of fun isnt what i like." he exclaimed before popping your mouth onto his tip.

"agh fuck! you better stop with that shit-" you giggled, using the feather to tease him more, this is was much fun, you loved seeing him forced into submission. seeing the way pearls of sweat dripped down from his forehead and the way his abs emitted a shine from all of it...you couldnt stop yourself. "if you say it, ill let you cum~ if not, im adding another ten minutes."

"im not saying shit for your ass." "cmonnn you dont wanna be pent up with no release right? plus...youre handcuffed you couldnt even help yourself." you had a point, and he grit his teeth, all his ego would be lost begging for you to let him cum. tickling him on the base and you can see precum dripping from the side as his cock twitches, it was such a sight to see.

he huffs and breathes in heavily, just hoping he could get a release from the stroke of the feather. but you knew too well, knew how to control his own climax. hes seriously so pent up and needed a release. should he for his own pleasure....

"please.." he mumbled. "hm? whaddya say?" you stopped teasing him. he says something inaudible and you probably know what he said. "cmon say it louder, tell me what you want" "this shit is embarrassing." the way red coated his cheeks made you display a cheeky smile, you loved seeing him this way.

"say it and you get what you want." you stroke a lick against the veins of his base. he twitches and couldnt take it anymore. "please, let me cum, i beg of you." his hands tried getting out of the resistances, absolutely losing his mind from the lack of release.

"hehe, knew you could do it" and without any warning, you his whole cock entered inside your mouth and the moan he let out was heavenly. "ooh-! fuck [name]! your mouth feels fucking great" he let out. the way you slobbered your spit everywhere, bobbing your head up and down.

you eyes fluttered up at him and he couldnt get any hornier from this. he release was coming and you could tell from the way he bucked his hips up at you which made you gag. the slurp sounds and his whimpers were echoed around the room.

"keep going-im cumming-agh fuck!" you felt hot gooey substances shot inside of your throat, from the amount of times you edged him, there was no surprise how much came from him. you tried swallowing all of it, but the way it spilled was so much some came from the corners of your mouth. his breathing was uncontrollable, probably the best orgasm he had in a long time.

after swallowing everything up, you kissed his cheek. "still as yummy as i remembered, you came so much."

scaramouche, diluc, alhaitham, abyss aether, kinichi, kaeya, cyno, tighnari, wriothesley, xiao any character of your choice!

sorry for the long hiatus, been really busy and lost the motivation. just wrote this real quick.

[brittle-doughie]

hiya brittle!! i have this like idea for a white pearl cookje x reader

so like i wanna make it angsty cause like

i like angst!!

and it's kinda similar to the even more heartbreak one you made

so what if reader was in love with white pearl, but white pearl chose lord oyster over them, and then she well

gets betrayed

i hope you can make something similar or something it's just an idea i had!! sorry to bother you for this 😭😭‼️‼️

Even More Heartbreak (Alt) - Mermaid’s Lament (White Pearl Cookie)

Why are y’all making her fumble so bad? Oh my lord-

You sigh solemnly as you seated yourself on a rock, gazing at the moon beyond the horizon. You’d occasionally look down to see your mercookie tail fiddle with the water a little bit before looking back up. The moon…it was beautiful…like…White Pearl Cookie…

———————————————————————

“I’m sorry, Y/N Cookie. I’m sorry that I can’t return your feelings…”

“I do hope this doesn’t drive a wedge between us and what we have right now..”

Your attempt to confess was only met with White Pearl Cookie’s polite decline. You knew it was a fruitless effort, but you wanted to at least try…

A small part of you hopeful…that she did harbor something for you…

It only made the later events all the more painful for you…

———————————————————————

“You’re already shining so radiantly. You’re my Moon.”

“Ha..ha..”

White Pearl Cookie giggled. It sounded like there was something genuine in her voice, something..loving.

“Then, you are my Sea. The Sea only I shine upon…”

———————————————————————

Thinking of that meeting only made the pit in your heart worse…

Hearing her calling him her Sea, the way she looked at him, you knew that what she has for him was way different then how she saw you…and yet, you held no ill will towards this Lord Oyster Cookie.

Of which this only served to bring you nothing but an ache to your heart..

For she wasn’t and is never going to be yours, her heart had belonged to another..

You wanted nothing more than to just sink to the deepest abyss…

Maybe then, this pain would stop…

“Is everything alright, Y/N Cookie? You haven’t come back to Tearcrown in a while..”

O-oh, you were just observing the night sky, you’d be returning back shortly, Mystic Opal Cookie shouldn’t worry about it.

She wasn’t buying it as she narrows her eyes at you.

“Something is troubling you. Are you comfortable enough to share it with me?”

You opened your mouth, ready to excuse your situation, but the look Mystic Opal was giving you made you realize that any attempt would be fruitless.

You didn’t know what to feel anymore. You wanted to be happy for White Pearl Cookie for finding the one she wants to be with, but it was hard to do when you felt nothing but emptiness..

Mystic Opal Cookie sighed as she swam to your side on the rock.

“I understand that things are difficult for you right now…but you need to know that White Pearl Cookie isn’t going to forget you…”

H-how does she think so? She seemed so infatuated Lord Oyster Cookie-

“That will change nothing. She may not show it…but White Pearl Cookie greatly values your friendship. It would sadden her if you two drift away over this…”

She shifted up to sit next to you on the rock, as she gently grabbed your hand into hers.

“It may hurt for a little while, but always remember that you aren’t alone….you can always speak to the others about how you feel. Me included…”

“Let it all out. I’ll never leave you…”

You quietly sobbed to her as she gently embraced you. It still hurts, but…Mystic Opal Cookie was helping in slowly making you feel better…

———————————————————————

Day by day, you’ve spent time with Mystic Opal Cookie as she helped you with your emotions. She was always ready to put aside what she was doing to tend to you, you appreciated how attentive she was about you. You felt like you could come to her for everything, a sentiment that Mystic Opal shared.

As time went on, you felt like that pain from before was no longer plaguing you and your heart. It had made you believe that there was a chance to find the one you cherished in another cookie.

You’ve started to talk to White Pearl Cookie again with a new outlook, she was still your friend and you’ll do whatever you can to help her! White Pearl herself was happy that what she did had not driven you away from her…

And yet..she can’t help but feel like something was missing with how you spoke to her. You didn’t gush about her or overly complimented her, you talked her..basically like she was your friend. She has no problem with this, it’s just…she wouldn’t have minded if you continued to pay her compliments every now and then..

She sees how you are with Mystic Opal Cookie…with how you look at and talk to her…

It..reminds her of how much you used to do that with her…

It made her a little worried…and jealous….

———————————————————————

The sound of a cannon firing its shot was heard, hitting its target as White Pearl Cookie cried out in pain.

“Eeuugh…!”

“Gotcha! Now catch it while it’s tired out!”

A fishnet was fired at her direction as all White Pearl Cookie could try to weakly get away…before the fishnet was caught by a thrown spear!

Not if you had anything to say about it! You called for Crimson Coral Cookie and the others to make themselves known and get White Pearl out of there!

“Right! White Pearl Cookie, come with me!”

“Hahaha! You be looking different compared to the rest! Wonder what you’re worth!”

Abalone Cookie had thrown a harpoon in your direction, you had barely enough time to dodge it. The eclipse had weakened your movement somehow, so timing was everything!”

“Slippery little fish, are ya! Pass me another harpoon!”

You tell him to give it his best shot!

“Y/N Cookie!”

“White Pearl Cookie, we have to go now!”

“No, I’m tired of running away! Not with Y/N Cookie in danger!”

A harpoon managed to graze you by the arm, it was enough to make you grunt in pain!

“Ha! Not so slippery anymore, are ya?!”

A fishing net was fired at your location, seemingly ready to trap you in its bind when you’re quickly pulled under the water! Abalone clearly annoyed that you had escaped.

It completely took you by surprise until you saw Mystic Opal Cookie along with you!

“Just like before and like I’ll always continue to do, Y/N Cookie. I’ll never leave your side…”

You quickly grow flustered, you..thanked Mystic Opal for her help. She gently smiled as she looked at your graze wound.

“It doesn’t look too bad, but I’ll tend to it just to be sure…”

You thanked her again as she patched you up. When she was done, she brought your hand to caress her cheek. Her cheeks grew warm with a blush, a small smile making its way on her face. It must’ve been contagious with how your own face grew red..

It was like there was nothing else but you and Mystic Opal Cookie in this world…

She got closer…

So did you….

Was this…?

“So, it’s true then…”

You and Mystic Opal quickly retracted from each other, turning to see White Pearl Cookie staring you two down, her eyes darkening…

“Y/N Cookie…I thought you had liked me…”

White Pearl Cookie…

“I…I was a fool to think he would cherish me…”

“When I had you with me…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N Cookie. I’m sorry for having been so blind to your feelings..”

“I thought that I would’ve been happy with our friendship…”

“But seeing you with Mystic Opal Cookie, it’s brought nothing but turmoil to my heart…”

“Please…all I want now is for you to reconsider. I know it’s a selfish request, but I promise that I do cherish you now!”

“You were my Sea all along…”

“White Pearl Cookie, I understand you’re hurting, but you can’t just-“

“SILENCE! LET THEM SPEAK!”

The incredibly loud shriek of White Pearl Cookie made everyones’ heart stop for a moment. White Pearl Cookie was upset at the mere implication of rejection..

“Y/N Cookie is all I have left…they cared about me despite the pain I’ve put them through…”

“That cookie, Frilled Jellyfish Cookie, the Kingdom…all gone. Only Y/N Cookie is left for me.”

“I refuse to let them go…whether it be to this war or to another cookie like you, Mystic Opal Cookie.”

“I won’t let you take them away…”

“I won’t leave them…not this time…”

“Aha…he he he…HA HA HA HA HA!”

The waters around you grew tense as Mystic Opal Cookie and Crimson Coral Cookie shielded you.

Something told you that it wasn’t this war that should make you afraid anymore…

[callofdudes]

Did they just post artwork? Yes. Am I in love with every viking/cod au that crosses my path? Yes. Do I like shifters? Fucking absolutely.

And @aidenlydia has fed me all of those at once. So obviously I'm writing something for it because it's beautiful! Here is their original post.

Winter fall.

09 SoapGhost

Snow in the Highlands was always to be expected. Even in the deep treks as the white specks of freezing cold weather clung to his beard. Icy blue eyes only added to the background, wind whipping around them up in the mountains.

John stopped in the slow, noticing part of the thick pine tree line had been caved in. Branches snapped and trees arching from a weight.

Deep foot prints quickly being filled by the pummelling snow leading into the dark abyss of the forest.

Along his collar, Ghost stirred. Fluffing his feathers along John's neck, making him shiver a little.

"You wanna go have a look?"

The rather large crow's wings puffed out from the fuzzy fur cloak John wore, making a rather disgruntled noise.

John chuckles. "Be quick then, we're both hungry."

His little feet bounced, pushing off of John's shoulder and flapping his large black wings against the harsh winds. Snow landing across his feathers and beak.

John watched as Ghost took the wind, soaring up over the tree line and dashing through the pine wood.

The trees bowed and swayed, bending as Ghost monitored the snowy forest floor. Seeing broken branches and trees bent all the way down the side of the embankment.

Sharp eyes surveying every inch until he spotted their goal. The large elk that had wandered it's way into their trap and woken their stomachs gnawing on some grass.

Ghost cawed, alerting John before diving toward the large beast.

Hearing his cry, John grabbed his axe, rushing through the flurry of snow. Past pine branches and into the thick darkness.

Following the deep trails of the elk until coming across the opening where Ghost was picking a fight with it.

Feet planted on the elks muzzle as it tried to shake him off and cant him away. Ghost squawked, flapping his wings into its face, disorienting it.

Before the elk could figure out what was happening, John slammed his axe in an upper cut, the blade lodging between the thick fur and skin, tearing at the ribs, making the animal cry.

Blood covered the pearl white snow, soaking into the flurry as it fought and then fell to its demise.

Ghost squawked, flapping his wings rapidly and landing on John's head and fluffing his feathers, stretching out one wing to finely clean the feathers.

John secured the elk to a rope and pulled it up over his shoulder. "You all good up there??" John reached up and Simon hopped along the top of his head, crooning his beak to peck at John's firm hand.

"Good lad. Let's get this back to a fire. I'm starving."

Simon flapped his wings, hopping down into the fur of John's cloak, snuggling up and puffing out his feathers a little.

They trekked back through the snow with their meal, heading back to the cave opening where they'd been set up to hunt game for the last week.

Their leather bed rolls laid across from each other, the rocks pulled up around thee scorched wood of last night's fire.

John set the elk onto a rock, grabbing out his dagger. "Get the fire going yeah?" Ghost nuzzled his beak against John's neck and flapped down into the snow.

Tight leather shoes crunching to the snow. Ghost wrapped his arms around his body, the cloth scarf that wrapped around his neck, one end falling to end at his breast, the other wrapped over his nose. Hiding his pale complexion amongst the flurry of snow.

His eyes still resembling the sharp, cunning gaze of the crow. Nimble hands wrapped in leather picking up wood from under their small camp out and replacing the old logs.

He looked up at John, his large muscles flexing as he split open the elk. Stripping the intestines and skinning the top from the meat of the animal.

He grabbed their chipped rocks from by John's bedside, striking them over the fresh wood and watching them catch light.

"How long will that last us?" He finally asks before blowing on the starting sparks of the fire.

"A week or two if we eat wisely." John replied, throwing the skin into a pile next to the rest of their leather, which they would use to package and conserve the meat in the cold climate.

"How long do you suspect we'll be out here?"

"Long enough. Why? Wanting a vacation already?" John chuckles softly.

Simon scoffs, folding one knee up to his chin, poking the fire with their stick. "No, just wondering."

A gentle silence followed. The howl of the wind passing by their small alcove but never entering. And the occasional noise of John chopping up the fat of the animal.

It wasn't a long process, they'd done it before.

When John was ready he pulled off part of the pure thigh meat. The slick slabs from each side laying in the snow.

For now he'd leave it. So he took the pieces up and sat near Ghost on the small rock carve out, his leather sleeping pad cushioning his arse barely.

He got the metal hook and slipped one of the slabs of meat onto it. The flames in the pit sparkling, popping and reaching up to the meat. Blood dripped into the fire, making it sizzle and crackle.

Ghost watched it. Still poking his stick around in the fire aimlessly. John noticed, even Simon's small amount of feather coverage around his forearms, shoulders and ears were barely enough against the wind that passed.

He unclipped his heavy cloak, pulling the emblem away from his neck, catching Ghost's attention.

It was a silent exchange when he laid the cloak over Ghost's shoulders. Watching him slightly slump as the fabric engulfed his body into the warmth that John's own body had.

Ghost pulled it close, sinking into it while he watched the fire.

John's large muscular shoulders bare to the cold weather turned slightly red around his neck muscle, dusted with barely noticable freckles.

Ghost looked over at him, shifting a little closer. John hummed softly, feeling Simon's smaller body closer to him, "We'll head back to the village soon for proper rest."

Simon hummed, staring into the fire. "We can get some alcohol too.."

John chuckles softly. "And alcohol, bloody yes we're getting alcohol."

Simon looks up at him, leaning slowly against his side. "You're a dumb drunk."

"Mm, well I can say the same about you."

John tucked the cloak in tighter, pulling Ghost right against him, surprising the smaller man.

He huffed softly, looking away at the ground, but it was warm. John's large hand wrapped around him, holding him protectively. There was always something so nice about it.

His eyelids fluttered slightly, drooping and allowing himself to lean in further to the side of the steady man.

A branch snapped, making him sit back up straight again.

John's attention also moved to the opening of the cave, placing a firm hand on Ghost's thigh. "Easy, just the wind." He assured.

Ghost slowly relaxed, looking back over at the snow covered land once more to double check.

John's arm remained protectively around him, holding his thigh, letting Simon curl up closely to him.

John poked the fire with the stick, splashing more embers up onto the meat. The time slowly ticked away as it cooked.

The small amount of feather coverage on Simon's forearms bristled. One arm poking out from the cloak, crooning his neck to nip at the mashed feathers and preen them back into place with his teeth.

John thought it was adorable. Sitting with him in that peaceful moment. Getting some time to just relax. Knowing they'd be out here for hunting season quite a while. But they made a good team, that's for sure.

I was gonna do more but got a road trip and I love these two. This was what I could splurge onto the page. I want more 😭😭

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 11: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

“I want… more,” Astarion concludes, confident and sure. “I want to be us again.”

Us. I do like the sound of that.

“I don’t know, Astarion…” You pull your knees to your chest. You want nothing more than to be his as you should have been this entire time, but what does more even mean to him?

“Why? What’s stopping us?” His expression is closed and hardened. His intonation is steady but otherwise void of emotion, “You love me, yes?”

You sigh, drop your head to your knees and try to dispose of the urge to cry. You’re scared that if you deny him while you’re here, and it upsets him…. Well, that spells the end for you. There is nowhere to hide from the sun here except perhaps the bottom of the lake. You stare blankly at the serene rayless deep and miss the consoling palliation of nothingness, hushed as the grave.

“Yes, I love you.” Your eyes don’t leave the water, reflecting the glimmer of the sky like a mirror, unable to look into his eyes for fear of losing your rational thought and jumping into his arms. “That’s not the problem.”

“Tell me the problem, and I will remedy it.” Astarion appeals insistently. His fingers brush down your arm as softly as a summer evening breeze. “Whatever you desire, I will make it yours.”

Good Gods, you need to breathe. Your chest is tight. It expands with a whistle as you inhale a sizeable breath, defying the rigour that has set into your lungs. The sun heats your skin, as pale as a pearl, yet your body trembles as if cold. You’re on the verge of falling to pieces, but you cannot allow yourself such weakness. You must be as emotionless as a stone and twice as hard.

You meet his gaze and reach out to the connection you share with him. You cannot read his emotions. He is too poised and practiced, but you can feel them if only he will allow it.

Astarion’s eyes widen slightly at the request, “No,” he shakes his head. “Not right now.”

“Why is that?” You cock your head at him with a frown, “What are you hiding?”

“No, darling. It is for you that I will not do this here. I can hear your thoughts, remember? Last time you called me the devil,” he chuckles with a smug smirk. “That would hardly upset me, but if you do think something untoward, I do not want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no place to hide should you need to. Just tell me what is troubling you.”

It sounds like a very convenient excuse for him to keep things from me.

“Can we not just wait and have this conversation at the manor then? Will you open the bond there?”

Astarion sighs, combing fingers through his damp hair, “Yes, I suppose we could. Is it because of my- “

“No, it has nothing to do with your condition.” You cut him off, “It’s... I will be plain. I have accepted that you cannot love me, but that is what I desire. I will not be your dutiful consort, Astarion. I want something real.”

“What you’re looking to hear,” he glances away, almost sheepish. It would be winsome and nostalgic, this glimpse of his past self, if you were not worried that it’s a clever ruse, a tactical manipulation to appease your doubts. “I have said it before, you know.”

“And therein lies the problem,” you wince at the memory - “I love you. That’s what you want to hear. Isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been waiting for.” You brush your expression with bedrock, “You say it because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“No,” he protests with a twisted mouth. “I meant every word.”

“Then say it, Astarion,” you urge, praying he will. Gods, it’s what you’ve longed to hear. There’s a desolate part of you that would savour it, even if it is just a beautiful lie, and you hate yourself for being so broken, “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and grimaces. His lips smack together, but no sound emerges from his mouth. It’s as if the words are lodged in this throat. He shakes his head with a low, pained groan. “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

He won’t say it.

Pieces fall from your heart like petals off a dead flower.

The sun is dipping below the horizon as the mare moves under you in a fluid canter with Astarion’s black gelding leading. Your hips roll steadily with the pace, and you barely perceive when Astarion pushes his gelding into a gallop. Your mind spins with questions, concerns, doubts and desires you dare not act on. His words still ricochet around your mind as quickly as the booming of the horses’ hoofs pounding the earth.

“I want to be us again.”

“I have said it before.”

“I meant every word.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you watch him from behind. Nothing is more torturous than having everything you want laid at your feet, only to force yourself to walk away. You wipe the tear off your cheek and push away the others welled in your eyes, fluttering on your lashes like dew on blades of grass.

Astarion reels his gelding around on its haunches, shifts into mist and crashes into you abruptly, throwing you out of the saddle and to the ground harshly on your stomach. The horses scatter with bucks and rears, squealing and frightened. You try to push yourself up to your feet, but Astarion presses his chest down hard on your back, sinking you into the tall grass.

Reacting instinctively, you rival his dominance as dread mauls you, “Astari-“

“Shut up,” his hand covers your mouth, muffling you.

You crane your neck, trying to get a view of his eyes. If he’s gone, that’s a surefire way to tell. Astarion studies the trees around you with an acute glare. His heart thuds so hard in his chest that you can feel it against your spine. He looks like a hunter stalking its prey, but otherwise, his eyes are the vivid crimson of his and not the matte frost you expected.

He looks down, removes his hand from your mouth and leans low, bringing his lips beside your ear, “When I give the order, you run back to the manor. You do not stop for anything or anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t understand,” you keep your voice as low as his. “What’s wrong?”

“Do as I ask, and do not challenge me on this,” he commands assertively.

His expression is grim and severe as he brandishes his blade, snapping his wrist and twirling the hilt into his grip. Something is wrong, and you follow his glare to the trees, trying to figure out what danger he’s detected looming in the shadows.

Astarion leaps to his feet and hauls you up with him by the back of your shirt so fast you’re dizzy by the time he pushes you and commands, “Run!”

You hesitate. Does he really expect you to leave him here when there’s a threat nearby? Is he out of his mind? Has he forgotten who you are and the power you possess?

“No,” you shake your head, gripping the Weave. “Whatever is coming, we can fight it together like we always did!”

“I said RUN!” Astarion shouts gruffly.

“I’m not leaving you here!”

Astarion sighs, “You leave me no choice. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, you feel that presence in your head, but not in the way as if he were opening the bond. No, this time, it takes your control, wicking it out of your muscles, tendons, and bones and bequeathing it to him. Your eyes widen as all your muscles go stiff and await the incoming command.

Compulsion.

Hells, you can barely blink without his godsdamned permission. You’re trying to shake your head, to speak, to fucking scream, to get him to stop, but your body pays no heed to your instructions. The only command that matters is his, and you await it like an obedient hound.

Astarion speaks precise commands, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

“Run to the manor as fast as I can and stay there,” the words are pulled out of your lungs without your consent. “I will stop for no one and nothing.”

Your body pivots without your approval, and you break into a full sprint, streaking through the forest like a meteor. You hurtle over fallen trees and boulders while ducking under long-limbed branches and zigzagging between trees at a break-neck pace you can’t control. Your mind chants your command in a hypnotic chorus.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

The repeating instruction is nearly all you can focus on. It drowns all other thoughts out. There’s a quiver outside that melody, the beating drum of footsteps and heartbeats. You can’t turn your head. You do not have the authority to do so, but your eyes scan your surroundings. Catching movement between the trees, you finally comprehend what’s going on.

The Gur.

It’s hard for you to focus on anything besides your mad dash, but you vaguely make out that they are stalking in the forest all around you. You strain to focus on the sounds outside of the tittering in your head, and you finally hear the sound of howling, enraged warriors and clashing steel.

No. No. Why did he send me away? I can fight!

Good Gods. It’s hard to think. Hands catch you, stopping you in your tracks, but your body is not yours. You’ve been told to run and stop for nothing, and it’s agonizing to disobey, like a million sharp nails being hammered into every atom of your being, making you cry out. You would do anything, fucking anything, to make this suffering end.

You cast Thunderwave, throwing anyone in the vicinity backward and then Fireball in quick succession almost unconsciously. You can barely focus on anything but the order to run and the pain of not doing so. You whirl to continue running, but another hunter grabs you, snarling with yellow teeth and spittle flying from his lips.

By the Gods, it hurts. You can’t think through the white-hot pain.

Clawed, furry paws grab the hunter from behind before a snout full of razor-tipped, serrated fangs sink into the Gur’s throat and rip it out. Your mind is so singularly focused you can’t even be bothered to be tempted by the blood. Hells. You don’t even have permission to smell it, so you don’t. It takes you a moment to recognize the werewolf standing before you as part of Astarion’s powers.

Will his hellspawn mutt attack you as well? It drops the hunter with a howl that would make your blood run cold if it was not already and stares at you, waiting and watching, flexing its claws and growling. Its fangs are dipped in crimson, and blood drips from its snout. Astarion must have sent it to protect you. That’s the only reason it would be here with you and not helping him.

No! Go back. Help him.

You want to scream at it, but you’re already running again with the werewolf as your shadow.

It sprints ahead and kills any hunters that aim to thwart you, but if it misses, you do not hesitate to kill. You will take a million lives if it means you don’t have to feel that pain again, you will do anything to continue obeying, and you cast subconsciously with deadly power and finesse. Even the thought of turning around and going back, of defying your orders, causes pain to slice into your psyche like hot steel. An arrow plunges through your shoulder, swords and axes slice into your skin, painting your body vivid red, yet you feel nothing but the undeniable need to comply. Your nerves have not been given the authorization to feel pain. Could you even die, or are you not allowed?

When you finally break the treeline, the werewolf trailing you sinks back into the gloom as you bolt toward the manor with a resounding, echoing bay as if it’s signalling to Astarion that its job has been completed.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

You sprint full speed through Rivington, Wyrm's Crossing, and the Lower City without slowing your brutal pace. You blow past citizens who stare at you with wild eyes and angry shouts as you push past them with desperation so intense it eclipses everything else. Is this how Astarion felt when Cazador compelled him? Was he as helpless to refuse as you are in this moment?

Astarion has never compelled you before, at least that you know about. How long will this last? How far does his reach extend? If he told you to run forever, would your body run until the ground gnawed your legs into bloody stumps? What would happen if you could no longer run? Would the pain from disobeying eventually kill you, or would you be stuck in a purgatory of white-hot agony for eternity?

When you finally get to the manor and slam the door behind you. You stand stiff as a statue in the foyer. Sweat runs down your face and chest, but you can’t get your arms to move to wipe it from your eyes, and blood splashes, dripping onto the floor from your fingertips like a leaky faucet. Your head won’t swivel to look around, and your eyes will not move in their sockets, so you're stuck staring straight ahead. At least the chanting in your head has gone silent, and you can think freely, or perhaps that’s worse. Now, you can’t think of anything but Astarion, alone in battle with however many Gur. If they knew who they were hunting, which they must, they would come in vast numbers.

What was that idiot thinking? You could have helped him! He may be the Vampire Ascendant, but he’s not indestructible. Unless he is? Truly, you have no idea what he is capable of. Astarion is a force to be reckoned with, but will he lose himself in this? When he gets back to the manor which him will he be? Will you still be stuck like an effigy and unable to defend yourself? What if he doesn’t come back? Will you forever be a statue in this foyer?

Gods. You need to get back there and help him, but as soon as you have any intention of trying to move, trying to break this authority over your body, your mind warbles the enchanting tune of compliance.

Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

Fuck! You try your magic. It glows on your fingers and even heats in your palms, but without being able to move your arms, it’s useless. There’s nothing you can do. You’re immovable until either his compulsion wanes or he gives you new orders.

With nothing else to do, your mind wanders.

You prowl the halls of the Crimson Palace looking for Astarion after escaping from the prison of your room. The air in this place is musty, and you can still smell what remains of Cazador in the rooms and halls. This place is oppressive and cold, and he’s changed nothing.

“Astarion!” You scream in a blind rage that sweeps over you like wildfire.

You round the corner and see him sitting at his desk, glaring at you with a bland, expressionless stare. You fill yourself with the Weave until you’re awash with it, and your palms are so blisteringly hot that the skin boils and blisters. Whoever this man staring at you is, not the Astarion you knew.

You should try and kill him, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. Is that a consequence of being his spawn? Is your loyalty to him poisoned, or is it love that refrains you?

Astarion leans back, “What in the Hells,” he growls, his brows pinching together in a fearsome scowl, “do you think you’re doing out of your room?”

“Astarion. Listen to me, please,” you plead. “Something isn’t right. This is not you. Why are you doing this? Why do I have to stay in my room? What happened to Aeterna Amantes?”

“Oh, love,” he scoffs with a sneer. “Come now. Did you truly believe I would ever be beholden to one person? For eternity? HA! I told you before. I am a man of enormous appetites. Don’t worry,” he purrs. “You will always be my favourite.”

Angry tears roll down your cheeks at his taunts, and you can see in his face that he takes satisfaction in your pain. Fire bursts from your palm, licking up your forearms, “The Rite changed you. This isn’t you. You were never cruel before.”

“Are you positive you truly knew me?” Astarion stands slowly, “Yes, the Rite did change me. I am a veritable God! All thanks to you. You will forever have my undying gratitude. If you’re a good little pet, I will take excellent care of you. You will want for nothing.”

A good little pet...

“What I want is the old you back!” You shout at the top of your lungs.

“You want cute, cuddly Astarion?” He laughs mockingly and then hisses with venomous contempt, “That pathetic wretch is dead. He was a miserable, weak little pest. Grieve him, for he is gone, and he is never coming back.”

"Fuck! You don’t have to be cute, cuddly Astarion, but there isn’t even a hint of Astarion left in you, whoever you are!”

Astarion is advancing on you with slow steps, and you reflexively take steps back. Good Gods. He’s herding you like an animal.

“I am the Vampire Ascendant and your creator, and you will give me the respect I am due.” His hands come to his chin, “I think you will call me Master from now on.”

“I will never call you Master!” You retort in a voice dripping with defiance. Flames twirl around your forearms like a tornado.

“I could make you,” He rebukes with an impassive inflection, “All it would take is a thought, and you will do anything I say.”

“Then do it, you fuck!” You conclude, baring your teeth. You’re sick of his threats. If he’s going to make you a puppet, you would rather he get it over with. “Go ahead, Ascendant! Show me your power.”

Astarion laughs lightheartedly, but his face is as expressive as a white wall, “Don’t be such a fucking bitch.”

Oh. No.

You cast Scorching Rays against him, buffeting him repeatedly with a sorrowful, hopeless scream. It burns him, some of his pallid skin ruddy and his clothes hang off him in tatters. Astarion lunges at you, a streak of silver lightning, and throws you to the ground, breaking the floorboards beneath you. He snarls in your face with his fangs bared and pestilent abhorrence in his numb eyes.

“Do you feel like a man, Astarion?” You spit with a wheeze, “Does throwing me around make you feel good?”

It’s barely perceptible, but there’s a meagre flash in his eyes. The pressure with which he pins you to the floor recedes slightly. He shakes his head, and it’s gone. Astarion drags you through the halls by your ankle, down the stairs, uncaring as your head smashes against each step. You grimace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying out. You don’t bother to cast again as grief smothers your anger, and the flames die out along with your will to live.

Astarion tosses you into your room, your body skipping across the floor like a flat stone across the surface of a lake.

“Stay, pet.” He commands with an aloof chuckle, whirls around and leaves.

The lock clicks, and the metal bolt slides into place. Knock does not work on locks like that. It seems he’s learned your tricks.

“No!” You scream, rattling the door, “No! Please! Astarion, don’t do this.”

He does not answer.

It’s hard to tell how much time goes by. Days? Weeks? Who knows, but you’re so hungry that you’re sitting on the floor, sobbing against the door, clawing at it as if you might be able to dig your way out. Your fingers are bloodied, and you’ve ripped off your fingernails in your desperation.

“Astarion!” You wail, sobbing as your muscles jerk and spasm painfully.

He does not answer.

He never answers.

Your knees give way, and you crash to the ground, breaking you out of the memory. Astarion’s compulsion has broken, and your body is finally your own to control. You yank the arrow from your shoulder and burn it to ash.

Astarion… 

Peering around and listening closely, you surmise that he still has not returned. Pushing yourself to your feet, your muscles cramp severely and twitch, a tune of overexertion from your retreat. With the compulsion gone, sensation returns, and you feel the wounds you received with a biting ferocity. The only thing on your mind is finding Astarion, and you lunge for the door hastily. Golden rays of sunlight flood the foyer as soon as you fling it open, and you're washed in the agony of the Hells. Every nerve melts as you're immersed in rivers of liquid fire in Phlegethos. Your skin sizzles, snapping into fissures and greying rapidly.

It’s the kind of pain that makes you want to scratch your skin off to escape your body. You throw yourself back with a screech, and the pain ebbs as your skin slowly stops smouldering. Dropping to the ground, you cast Telekinesis and throw the door closed with a frustrated roar. If you cannot go into the sun, Astarion is not nearby or… Gods, you don’t even want to think about it. You don’t even want the thought to run through your mind, but it does, regardless of your restraint.

Astarion could be dead.

The only solace you have is that feeling in the back of your mind that still lingers. If he was dead, would that also disappear? You’re unsure. You tell yourself it would because you desperately need the lie to keep you sane. Reaching out to it, you try to force it open, but it does not budge, and Astarion does not respond to the request, increasing your panic further.

What can you do? You need to do something, anything, but what? You’re stuck in this fucking manor until the sun goes down. You get up and pace back and forth, rage building inside you. Why did he send you away? You’re a godsdamned terror in battle. You could have helped him, and now you’re stuck here, unable to do anything.

Fuck!

You scream as tears streak down your burnt face, grabbing a mirror from the wall and throwing it against the floor, shattering it to bits. He made you stand here like a foolish statue all night while he… you don’t finish the thought.

You can’t.

Come back to me. Please.

Things are falling apart quicker than you can piece them back together. Astarion told you he wanted you to be his, and you balked. All the reasons you felt so resolute about suddenly seem so trivial. For a year, you would have done anything to have him back, and now you do, and you’re too scared to put your already dead and broken heart on the table.

This love might kill you, but it’s not over. It was never over. It could never be over.

You chuck a vase against the wall and snarl like a wild animal. It bursts, showering the floor in a spray of glass. You cannot control your rabid emotions. You punch a hole through the wood panelling, tear paintings off it and snap them into pieces as you fall into a tailspin of misery.

You pace the hallways in a rage. At him. At yourself. At the world.

You will not lose him to whatever that thing is inside of him.

You will not lose him.

You cannot lose him.

The jagged pieces of your frenzy are strewn haphazardly throughout the manor and resemble a portrayal of what remains of your life. Everything is broken, fragmented and sharp enough to cut down to bone.

Desperate to feel close to him in some form, you run up to his room. It smells like bergamot and rosemary with a hint of aged brandy - it smells like him, and he smells like home. You inhale deeply. Grim thoughts race through your mind like a whirling flood that creeps out of your eyes in the form of tears.  Without Astarion’s heartbeat, the silence in this place is heavy and dark, like a passing cloud.

You lay on the bed, and your hand skims over where he was this morning when you woke with your head on his chest. Astarion held you all night and long into the morning. When your eyes opened, Astarion was already gazing at you with scarlet eyes as gorgeous as the heavens and as deep as the hells. His expression was warm-hearted, loving even. He looked at you like he used to.

“Well, hello, beautiful.”

He smiled, sweeping your hair out of your sleepy eyes. All the things he’s said to you start echoing through your mind.

“I missed you, you know. When you left.”

“You make me feel.”

“I could never get you out of my head.”

“I told you I can be romantic.”

“Yes, little love, true feelings.”

“My feelings for you, of course.”

Good Gods. Has he been trying to tell you he loves you through his actions this entire time? You’ve been so caught up in not letting yourself fall into another trap that you didn’t see it. You were reading random pages and not the entire book.

It ends today. You don’t know where this will end, but you know where it must start.

Curling up on the bed, you cry until you manage to push yourself into your trance because that’s all you can do.

Your hand slams into the wooden door with a force that causes it to whine. Night has finally consumed the sun, and Astarion still has not returned. When you woke, the manor was still deathly silent.

Shadowheart opens the door a crack, and her eyes widen when she sees you. She scowls fiercely, “Did Astarion do this to you!?” She growls with a clenched fist.

Did he do what to me? Oh....

“No,” you assure quickly. Your skin is still creviced and grey with red, scabbed lacerations marring your flesh. You push yourself into the house. “This was not him. He’s missing. I need your help to find him.”

Shadowheart’s magic washes over you, healing your wounds, and she takes a quick step back. She knows better than to get too close to you, but right now, your hysteria is overriding any bloodlust you might feel.

Even though she does smell delicious.

Gale frowns, “What do you mean missing?”

“We were attacked by Gur in the forest last night,” you blurt out rapidly. “He hasn’t come home.”

Gale smiles. He fucking smiles, and it takes everything in you not to slap that grin off his face. He shrugs, “Good riddance, I say.”

“I’m sorry, but I agree with Gale,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “He told me what happened. Is it true Astarion was going to kill him?”

“Gale attacked him!” You roar with a hiss, narrowing your eyes at Gale who noticeably jolts at your rough inflection. You sigh and try to calm your rampaging temper, “You don’t understand, and I do not have time to explain it right now. Without Astarion, I cannot be out in the sun. I only have until dawn to find him. We must hurry.”

Gale scoffs, “I’m sorry, but there is no “we,” in this, my friend. If the Gur took care of that monster for us, we should be thanking them.”

You knew Gale would be a longshot, especially after what happened at the manor, but Shadowheart might still be swayed but your pleas.

“Shadowheart, please,” you beg, tears kissing your cheeks once again. “I need help.”

“I don’t know...” She sighs, rubbing her face. “He’s dangerous. Why not just leave him to his fate? If he is dead, you’re free. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not if his death is the price of that freedom,” you rasp. You clutch your chest, wishing to feel his heart beating behind your breast, to feel complete, because, without him, you are so vastly empty. “Dangerous as he is, he is my safe, Shadowheart.”

“How did you get away?” Shadowheart asks.

“He compelled me,” your voice breaks. “The idiot compelled me to leave.”

Shadowheart arches a brow and purses her lips, “Does he compel you often?”

“He’s never compelled me before,” you groan at the memory of your body betraying you. “Astarion told me to leave, and I refused. It’s the first time he’s compelled me, and it was to get me away from danger. Stupid, foolish imbecile!”

Well, it’s the first time he’s compelled you that you know about, but alas, she doesn’t need to know that.

Shadowheart looks you over and you’re not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but she finally nods, “Okay. Give me a moment to get ready. I will help you look for him.”

“You cannot be serious, Shadowheart!” Gale says hoarsely.

Shadowheart sniffs and waves dismissively, “We have all had our demons, Gale. Astarion is no exception.”

“He killed her!” Gale shouts. “He turned her into,” Gale cringes with a gesture toward you. “This.”

Gods, you’ve had just about enough of everyone blaming him for your choices, and you step forward, “I wanted to be turned into this,” you hiss in contempt. “Astarion did not force me. I’ve told you this time and time again.”

Shadowheart gives your arm a light tug, pulling you back, “I will help you look. Perhaps it would be best for you to wait outside, and Gale,” she scolds with a sniff, “I expected better of you. Gods know you reached for unfathomable power, and you would have taken it in a heartbeat.”

The air is crisp in your lungs. Shadowheart was right to send you outside. There is no time to participate in an argument right now, but you will have to return and speak to Gale and Shadowheart eventually to sort this out - if it can be sorted out.

Shadowheart joins quickly, dressed in her armour with her spear slung across her back and a pack around her shoulders, “Let’s go,” she nods. “How much ground do we have to cover?”

“We were on the outskirts of the forest when they attacked. It’s not a substantial distance, but it’s not close either. We will have to hurry.”

You can run endlessly since you don’t require air, and you bolt ahead of Shadowheart to scout the way. Your body is sticky with sweat. It rolls down your temples like a stream from your pores. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is a welcome distraction from the woe warping your heart.

How had the Gur known where you were? Someone must have tipped them off, but who?

It doesn’t take long until the air smells of sweat, death and old, congealed blood, and you can at least follow the scent. The forest is eerily soundless, with only small streaks of moonlight as pale as ghosts streaking through the dense canopy. No animals scurry. No wind blows. No insects chirp. Only the sound of your feet crunching over the forest floor.

Mutilated bodies of Gur, werewolves, and hundreds of bats litter the earth in a carpet of flesh and gore. The ground is a blood-stained dark maroon and squelches under your feet as you slow your pace. Your mouth drops open as you look around, astonished at the number of bodies. Terror sinks into you, and you start pulling on bodies only to uncover more underneath. Heaps of dead in unfathomable numbers. Hells. You listen for a heartbeat but hear none. You choke back sobs. There’s no way he could have survived this, and you hate him for making you leave.

Your ears twitch as they catch the sound of twigs breaking behind you. If it were Shadowheart, she would surely make her presence known. You whirl just in time for snapping fangs to miss your throat as a werewolf lunges. You cast Gust of Wind and send it reeling off its feet. It stands snarling, but it’s gravely wounded, with a sickeningly large festering gash in its belly. You don’t know if this thing will listen or if it can even understand you, but you must try.

“I’m a friend.” You put your hands up but are ready to cast should this prove to be a futile attempt. “Your master’s friend.”

Its ears flick and twitch around as it listens. It sniffs the air and makes no further move to attack.

“Take me to him,” you instruct as commanding as you can. “Now.”

Its lips pull back to reveal rows of sharp teeth and growls, but it turns and plods away unsteadily. You don’t know if it’s just decided you’re not a threat or if it will take you to Astarion, but you pursue it.

The number of bodies dwindles the further you follow, with only a few scattered here and there like dead leaves shed from the trees. Sliding down a steep incline, it finally turns to you, ears flattening against its head, drooping at the tips, and points its disfigured paw with a melancholy whine.

You scramble forward, eyes skimming the ground, and finally see Astarion lying motionless on the rust-coloured earth, painted with blood and gore. His ivory skin only peeks through between the cracks in the drying crimson veil sheeting his body. Countless wounds mar his flesh, some superficial and others that make your stomach twist in your belly, threatening to spill its contents.

You flop to your knees and shake him vigorously, “Astarion!” Your voice is a screeching pitch that could shatter glass, “Astarion! Wake up! Please.”

He does not wake or rouse. He’s cold, deathly cold like he used to be. Leaning down, you put your ear to his chest and try to stifle your loud sobbing so you can listen. You hear nothing. His chest is as silent as yours, seized by the dominion of death. Touching his cheek, you scream shrilly into the night, lamenting your pain to the heavens.

Shadowheart.

You don’t want to leave his side, but you pull yourself away and charge with renewed vigour until you catch Shadowheart’s scent and the hammering thud, thud, thud of her heart. You nearly crash into her in your haste.

“Hells,” She jumps, grabs your shoulders to steady you, and sees the inconsolable look on your face, “What’s wrong?”

“I found him,” your knees are rickety. The only thing keeping you upright and from hurtling off the edge of collapse is the need to return to his side. He can’t be dead. He can’t be! “I think… Gods, I think he’s dead, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s mouth drops open in a gasp, “Show me.”

Sliding down the slope, you dive to Astarion’s side, hands coming to his face, sweeping your thumb across his frigid cheek. Shadowheart drops to her knees with magic already glowing on her fingers. The colour drains from her face, leaving her as pale as you, awash with horror at the grotesque sight.

“Hells below,” she mumbles. “Is his heart beating? Does it usually beat?”

She knows your hearing is sharper than hers, “It usually does,” you falter and place a splayed hand on your chest. You glance at her and shake your head, “It’s as still as mine.”

Shadowheart casts and her magic sinks into Astarion, but he does not stir. She tries again, and again, and again, increasing the strength with every successive round with no result. Astarion does not so much as twitch a finger or muscle.

You shake him again, screaming into his face as your tears fall like raindrops splashing on his cheeks, “Don’t you dare think about leaving me! Please... please, don’t leave me alone. I need you, Astarion.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks are red, and her eyes brim with shiny tears. She gives you a look of regret, and you know what she’s thinking without her even saying it because you’re thinking it, too.

“He can’t be...” you choke as you fall to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her face contorted in sorrow, “I’m so sorry.”

You fall forward onto Astarion’s lifeless chest, blanketing him with your body, and you scream, guttural and ear-splitting as continuous as the stream of time.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

I'm releasing this chapter earlier than I usually do because I've finally had some time to sit and do nothing but write (my favourite), but that means it may push back the release of the next chapter. It will depend on how work and life go this week.

Apologies, darlings. For the cliffhanger.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

Hi hiii, for those yandere flower prompts could you write xeranthemum for Dabi?

cw: Yandere Themes, Mentions of Death / Thoughts of Death, Implied Suicide / Discussion of Suicide, Mentions of Violence / Past Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: This one doesn't feel as yandere-coded as the other two requests, but I hope you still enjoy it all the same! Backstory is implied, but imagine whatever you want for this. REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN — READ THE TAGS! These "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" can be found here . I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Xeranthemum (Everlasting Love): "Our love will surpass life itself."

word count: Approximately 1.2k.

Those teal eyes are glowing underneath the flames.

The moon, the light, the fuzzies of black and white a flurry of a snowstorm, the lapping tongues of electricity. He stands in the center of it all, those stringy coattails flapping oddly in the wind. There’s no rhythm, there’s no drumming, only the silent screaming of the fire. You watch those arms spread wide, brooms, sweeping, fingers burnweeds dusting at the ends, fluffy cotton. It’s hard to concentrate on anything, on everything, and he’s anything, he’s everything, and you know that you can’t turn away—shouldn’t.

And his laughter kisses your ears whenever he tosses his head back, whenever he flings a leg out to spin around, before he twirls himself in some faux performance that lacks an audience. Further, and faster, and you know that there’s something inside of you whispering that he won’t do it alone for long, that brilliant teal with shine like a rainbow, a rainstorm, and you’ll give in like you always do.

He stops for only a brief moment, grinning, and he extends a sweaty hand.

“C’mon! You hate him too, don’t ya? Join me!”

Touya’s beautiful, he’s always been beautiful. You don’t get to hear him like this very often, don’t get to see those crooked pearls in his mouth glitter like dew. His scratchy voice sounds like a song tucked away on an a.m. radio. You want to smile, you do, but Touya’s insane and you shouldn’t have ever let yourself be with him.

You softly lower your head.

“Touya… Please. I—”

You what? What do you want to say? Do you want to tell Touya all of your secrets? Do you want to tell him that you never wanted to hurt anybody? Anything? You never wanted anything to come down to this, but you’ve hurt a lot of people, killed a lot of people, just for him, just for him. If the world was crumbling, if the tectonic plates started to rumble and roll, if they started to tear at its perforated edges into a shadowy abyss and Touya was waiting on the other side of that sheet of paper, you’d run after him. Always, and you always have, and you always will. You’re his as much as he’s yours.

But he’s going to kill himself.

Touya’s laughter fizzles into something you’ve never heard before. Gasping air, bubbles that pop before they reach the surface, chuckles riddled with saliva, all of these strange sounds that emulate disbelief.

“You said you’d be with me! That you would do this with me! Whaaaaat? Going back on your word now that you’ve seen what I’ve become? What he’s made me?”

You start to shake your head roughly, those tails of flames brushing your cheeks.

“No! Touya, no! Touya, I—I just can’t stand by and let you—let you—I don’t want you to go away again! For good this time.”

There’s repose in Touya’s face, you think, and those staples in his face start to melt, maybe, but their shiny metals bleed into mush and wax, and you wonder if Touya’s contemplating what you’re trying to get across. You know he has, he’s too smart, but you wonder if it’ll change anything. You said you’d be with him, yes, you did promise, but what would you be if you let him send himself into a hurtling storm of rage and fury into a guaranteed imminent death? Would you even be yourself anymore without Touya?

“Are you scared for me?”

Something strange tints his tone, but you nod anyway.

“Yes. Yes, I am, Touya. I know what you want—and I know we’ve both known this moment was going to happen, but… I always hoped that it wouldn’t happen so soon.”

Touya’s dance has stopped fully, but the conflagrations carry on.

“Don’t you want to watch them see me? I want them to never forget how to feel like me. I want us to show everyone who I am.”

A shudder is a spider crawling down your spine, thousands of spindly legs tickling your nerves, making you chilly, and your eyes wrench shut. Touya’s always been so childishly selfish, but you love him. You can still remember the very first teal you ever saw, the moment those hues graced against your eyes. He’s not suicidal. Or maybe he always has been. He’s a kamikaze. He’s a pilot ready to crash into the center of the galaxy, ready to watch it implode and sink in on itself, ready to change his whole world, ready to watch that supernova of regret.

“Yes, Touya. I do want to watch.”

Laughter fills the air again, smoke and steam, and candles start to puff into your lungs like cigarettes, heavy and weightless, and you try to breathe through it all. You’ve never been able to find your way, but Touya hasn’t either. Or, maybe he has, and he’s found a way into you to keep you moving, a forgotten touch that’s gossamer in your memories.

“That’s why you’re mine! You’re supposed to help me! And we can do it together! We can send them where they truly belong—we can run like hounds underground!”

Leaders of the pack, infernos beneath your paws. Your head tilts to the side quietly, demure, and you’re starting to lose your will. You’re his, always, and it’s like you’ve been abducted. Every time he speaks to you, an ice trembling in your veins begins to evaporate and you lay bare before his feet like the dog in your heart. He’s manic now, elated and driven to the brink of insanity, on the cusp of happiness and retribution, on the deathbed waiting to rattle his lungs, in the grave that beckons with its curled talons. He’s alive for this, and you’re alive for him.

“Touya. I can’t watch you die.”

Yet, that’s a gospel to Touya, you know, a thing that motivates him further, a thing that reminds him of church bells, of a clock tower striking at midnight, and you know that he’s too far gone now.

“Nah, you don’t have to watch. We can do it together.”

Perhaps a gong of dread fills your heart, but the fish continues down the flowing stream. There’s something about Touya’s smile, something that’s maybe a little more genuine, that reminds you of all of the times whenever those frosty fingers would trace around the column of your neck, finding ways to hook a clasp. Hidden beneath your conscious mind, you’ve known that you were always going to die with him too.

“Touya—”

He starts to dance again.

“Our love will surpass life itself! And we can make everyone see! It’ll be easy, can’t you see? We’ll be the ones to change everything!”

He doesn’t talk like the Touya you know or remember. That little boy from your memory steps further and further into the recesses of the background, but that teal remains ever the same. He’s different now, and so are you, even whenever fear tickles your underbelly, whenever it feels like zest and convectors of Touya’s apathy start to burn your flesh, even whenever the love in your body swells at Touya’s words—before you realize that you both never changed.

That you both can burn it down.

“And we can die together.”

And Touya’s agony has never been softer.

[geffenrecords]

update on my physical media collection (not including books / records ). list of everything shown in the pictures below the cut ⬇️

DVDS:

IT (1990)

it / it chapter two

ready or not

beetlejuice

glee season 1 (sorry)

glee season 2 (SORRY)

jaws

the secret of nimh

jurassic park, the lost world, jurassic park 3

the breakfast club / sixteen candles / weird science (John Hughes collection)

bill & Ted's excellent adventure / bogus journey

flatliners

the lost boys

diary of a wimpy kid

Grey's anatomy season 1 (SORRRYYY)

aliens

alien resurrection

TMNT (honestly idk why I still have this)

the outsiders

trainspotting

over the edge (matt dillon first movie)

Donnie darko

venom

Jennifer's body

jackass number 2

twilight

the karate kid

the princess diaries

fight club

star wars phantom menace, attack of the clones, and revenge of the sith

Narnia the lion the witch and the wardobe

the osbournes season 1

little miss sunshine

spiderman 1, 2, and 3

the amazing spiderman

elephant

Kung fu panda

the passion of the christ

pay it forward

original star wars trilogy

the polar express

a clockwork orange

heathers

life as a house

surfs up

scream

bowling for columbine

hackers

natural born killers

terminator 2

mysterious skin

moonrise kingdom

American idiot Greenday documentary

that was then, this is now

jackass the movie

suicide kings

the matrix

the Goldfinch

the day after tomorrow

speak

stand by me

kids

rumble fish

CDS;

the black parade (mcr)

danger days (mcr)

American idiot (green day)

21st century breakdown (green day)

in love and death (the used)

may death never stop you (mcr)

baby one more time (britney spears)

life on the murder scene dvd / cds

nevermind (nirvana)

dookie (green day)

nimrod (green day)

uno, dos, tre (green day)

nirvana greatest hits

blue weezer

selfish machines (pierce the veil)

collide with the sky (pierce the veil)

three cheers for sweet revenge (mcr)

from under the cork tree (fall out boy)

teens of denial (car seat headrest)

in utero (nirvana)

licensed to ill (beastie boys)

lost and found (mudvayne)

what it is to burn (finch)

slipknot

no strings attached (nsync)

infinity on high (fall out boy)

fallen (evanescence)

green weezer

mellon collie and the infinite sadness (smashing pumpkins)

Tallahassee (the mountian goats)

bleach (nirvana)

in the areoplane over the sea (neutral milk hotel)

the downward spiral (nin)

facelift (alice in chains)

placebo

smash (offspring)

dirt (alice in chains)

peace sells but whos buying ? (megadeth)

garage days (metallica)

folie a deux (fall out boy)

devil put dinosaurs here (alice in chains)

spit (kittie)

alice in chains

incesticide (nirvana)

hot fuss (the killers)

load (metallica)

american beauty / american psycho (fall out boy)

among the living (anthrax)

oops i did it agian (britney spears)

viva la cobra (cobra starship)

almost here (the academy is...)

kill em all (metallica)

and justice for all (metallica)

lets knife (shonen knife)

lithium single (nirvana)

ride the lightning (metallica)

homemade bullets cd my dad made for me for christmas using scans he found online :)

nirvana unplugged

killings my business (megadeth)

enema of the state (blink182)

take off your pants and jacket (blink182)

pretty hate machine (nin)

screaming for vengeance (judas priest)

fabulous disaster (exodus)

let go (avril lavigne)

hidden treasures (megadeth)

dude ranch (blink182)

there be squabbles ahead (stolen babies)

master of puppets (metallica)

the black album (metallica)

twilight soundtrack

neighborhoods (blink182)

south of heaven (slayer)

blink-182

angst (kmfdm)

adios (kmfdm)

nevermind the bollocks, heres the sex pistols (sex pistols)

hybrid theory (linkin park)

the lion and the cobra (sinead o connor)

seasons in the abyss (slayer)

reign in blood (slayer)

meteroa (linkin park)

anything is (my bloody valentine)

CASSETTE TAPES:

pearl harbor attack story

music from hungary

so far so good so what (megadeth)

the four seasons (vivaldi)

concerti (vivaldi)

hangin' tough (new kids on the block)

tchaikovsky / liszt paino concertos

bach flute sonata

mozart symphonies

cats musical

days of future passed (the moody blues)

60s surf hits

doomsday for the deciever (flotsam and jetsam)

st elmos fire soundtrack

phantom of the opera highlights

defenders of the faith (judas priest)

VHS:

a year and a half in the life of metallica (original 80s tape from my dad!)

cliff em all (also original 80s tape from my dad )

walking with dinosaurs bbc

dead poets society

the lost boys

flatliners

family values 1998 tour (korn, limp bizkit, ice cube, rammstien, orgy)

attack of the clones

aliens

the terminator

hackers

not pictured are my books (way too many and way too unorganized to actually take pictures of), and my records. im not big into record collecting but i do have;

life on the murder scene soundtrack

three cheers for sweet revenge

the black parade is dead!

kill em all

master of puppets

[thehollowwriter]

Some NRC Silas hcs cause I can't stop thinking about it:

•The smallest uniform size is too big on him, he's so malnourished that most of it just hangs hangs off him, and the pants need a belt like it's a lifeline or it'll just slide off him

•His hair is in a DREADFUL state. It's dirty, knotty and greasy and full of split ends. It'll make Vil burst into tears smh/hj

•He creeps a lot of students out cause he looks like a cryptid (pale, so skinny you can see his cheekbones/ribs/etc, some inhuman features, etc), mostly lurks in the dark and stares at you with huge pupils (is it just me who finds blown pupils creepy... ok)

•Silas barely says a word. He's even less talkative than his adult self, and some people even thought he was either deaf or mute until he spoke once or twice ("Wait, you can talk???")

•He takes a really long time to write tests and do work or homework cause here he would have learned to read and write JUST before coming to NRC

•Uses a cane due to his injury and has hit many a student in the back of the head with it for trying to kick it out from under him (they end up knocked out cold)

•He ended up in so much pain he was unable to walk after his first week there cause he didn't mention his disability to anyone and he spent most of the time just pushing past the pain like he usually does (then he was given a cane fjgjgjgjg)

•He's oven worse than Morrigan in regards to obedience because to him, the only thing that matters is having food and staying alive. Stop telling him what to do, more than half of these rules are pointless

•His dorm leader has no idea what to do with him because no punishments seem to fix his behaviour

•He cannot conprehend duels. What do you mean he's not supposed to use lethal force? What do you mean we're attacking each other for grades?

•The first time Silas ever duelled with someone, he straight up stabbed himself in the palm and used the blood to start casting abyssal spells because he thinks they're more effective than "normal" magic

•Sits by himself during lunch and ignores everyone all the time

•Do not come up to him and suddenly start talking or try to scare/surpise him. His default reaction is slashing your throat open

•He sleeps a lot during the day and does most of his work at night

•His favourite subject would be astrology because he likes looking at the stars

•He's genuinely interested in learning even if it doesn't seem that way

•Silas will wander off to the beach and go swim or visit Emrys (I think Emrys would stay near Sage Island for Silas) and doesn't care if it's past curfew or if he hasn't gotten permission

I'll probably come up with some more later, idk Silas interacting with kids his own age but also in a place like NRC is so interesting to me

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

[shurisbraids]

𝓖𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟏)

gif credit to user perccyjackson (prev. milesgmorales)

↝rating: g

↝pairings: vinylfang, punkflower

↝genre: angst, family, hurt/comfort

↝wc: 8.1k

↝song insp: "a body, a coffin" - amaarae

↝content: non-explicit, au (canon-adjacent), multiple povs, longfic, rare ship, minor spanish, head injuries, alt versions of characters, alt!miguel o'hara is trans and has anxiety issues, medicine use, minor suggestive content (strictly b/t adult characters), nursing, mention of violence, mention of child death, miles finally gets a fucking break

↝a/n: took me f o r e v e r to churn this fic out, but it's finally here!! my baby miles went thru so much in atsv and that ish wasn't fair. so, here's my personal remedy for that. loosely based on an au made by me and @arachnicas months ago. this is part 1 of a series i'm making (mainly centered around vinylfang). hopefully, the next part doesn't take me as long to finish.

↝summary:

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying Miles with a flicker of curiosity, caution. The boy sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?” (Or: What if, during Miles’s escape from Spider HQ, the Go-Home Machine malfunctioned, sending him to another dimension with its own variant of Miguel O'Hara, and Miles, upon meeting him, had to figure out whether he could be trusted or not?)

Something was wrong.

A controlled dimensional jump shouldn’t have been this bumpy—but it was.

And Miles was terrified.

An angry, roiling expanse of space crackled and heaved all around him, spitting out shimmering clouds of stardust and supernovas, as he shot through the wormhole at unprecedented speeds. Everything swept past him in a hellish swirl of sound and color, energy and matter. Waves of particles crashed against his sides, leaving panic to scream across his nerves and flood his brain. He found it difficult to breathe, air fleeing from his flattening lungs.

His first thought, of course, was that he was going to die—that the barrier would shatter, and he would tumble into the gaping maw of the abyss beneath him, drown in that primordial sea of heat and ink and light, and disintegrate into the ether. Forever lost, while the Spider Society continued their fruitless search for him, while the Spot wiped his home dimension off the multiversal map in a blaze of death and rage—

(No, no—he couldn’t think like that, he had to save his dad, stop the Spot, prove Miguel wrong, prove them all wrong, he would be fine, he was heading home—)

Hopefully in one piece. At this rate, though, it would probably be in multiple pieces.

His second thought was why was this happening, why now? The Go-Home Machine had apparently malfunctioned—whether it was due to Miguel’s assault or a natural glitch Miles didn’t know—and decided to transport him through rougher terrain of the time-space continuum. Could it have messed up his destination too? In that moment—fighting down nausea and fear and ignoring the painful throb in his shoulder—Miles hoped not. He really, really hoped not.

Soon, he could see it: the portal at the end of the tunnel, glimmering an inviting pearl-white. Coming closer, closer. Promising freedom and salvation. Another jolt of the vector made his stomach lurch, its quivering hexagonal frame pulsing orange, then gray, then orange, then gray again. Taking a deep breath, Miles prepared himself, swallowing the scream in his throat. At this speed, in this position, he was definitely going to crash into whatever lay beyond that shifting eye.

(Not too hard, please, please.)

Arms up and crossed together, eyes screwed tight, he passed through. Just as the vector crumbled and the portal flickered out of sight. Ankle flew over head. Sky became land, and land became sky. His body slammed against the ground—head meeting concrete, the impact drawing all air from his lungs.

A bullet of pain shot through his skull, drawing a curtain of darkness across his vision as he went unconscious. His face fell to the side, limp. Cushioned—oddly enough—by a bed of withered flowers. The last thing he saw was a blur of a mural, sporting a face that was far too familiar.

Earth-88.

Another Nueva York: a sprawling corporate metropolis—the crown jewel of its nation—hiding more than a few secrets in its forsaken underbelly. Embraced by chrome-kissed skies and winking neon lights. Guarded by its own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Miguel O’Hara—always the same, but different—who was more concerned with putting up new room décor in his best friend’s apartment than committing to any superhero theatrics. He always reserved that for later.

“Are you sure you want this picture over the shelf?” Miguel asked, throwing a glance at Jess as he flipped the art frame in his hands.

She gave him a humorous look. “Yeah, I’m positive.”

They were working in her guest room, increasingly satisfied with its subtle metamorphosis. It was mid-afternoon, sunlight soaking through the curtains and casting the room in a mauve glow. The room already sported a nice layout—all gold and blue with regal hues—but Jess had recently grown tired of a few empty spaces, especially those on the walls. She bought a collection of new household items—pictures, baskets, candles, even special lights—she felt would add to its warm atmosphere.

“I think it’d look better with the collection on the opposite end,” Miguel muttered as he lifted the circular painting upward. “Same gold hues and all.”

“Yeah, but it complements the color of the shelf, too.”

As he hinged the portrait on the wall, he retorted, “Maybe if you squint. Or look at it sideways.”

Jess couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, don’t challenge my color-coding skills: I’d easily do you in.”

Soon after, she had him dressing the corners of the rooms in lights as she moved tiny statues around, adjusted chairs into new positions.

“You and Aaron still coming to the baby shower on Saturday?”

“Of course, we are, cuata. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Miguel quirked his brow as he added, “Though Aaron may reconsider, he told me, if any of the games involve him having to wear a diaper.”

That earned a chuckle from Jess. “Maybe. I’m sure that would be a turn-on for you, huh?”

Miguel wrinkled his nose, but he couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto his face. “You wish.” (In all honesty, his husband could be wearing just a leaf over his crotch and Miguel would still goggle at him.) He stepped down the short ladder. “Are you sure you don’t want tell me the gender beforehand?”

He knew she was keeping it a surprise—hence, the gender-neutral party theme, but maybe she would make an exception for him.

Jess narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think just because you’re my best friend you get a free pass.”

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Mhm. Not trusting you on that, O’Hara.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Jess.”

“I’ll let it break. Not like you’re using it or anything.” She turned towards the door. “Be right back. I got us drinks from Katy’s.”

Miguel perked up. “Is it boba?”

“Yup,” she said with a smirk. “I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

Katy’s was everyone’s favorite spot near St. Theresa’s, a cozy little café with specialized drinks and desserts to die for. Jess and Miguel loved visiting there right after work. His obsession with boba tea could never be understated—and since she knew he was coming over today she ordered two beforehand. Almond milk tea for her and coconut butterfly tea for him.

“Okay,” Jess breathed, slotting the appropriate tea into Miguel’s hands. “Breaktime.”

They tumble into small talk, workplace gossip, new developments on their respective side of town. Updates over their favorite TV shows, family marriages and divorces, oh, did you hear Dr. Phillips was caught making out with Rachel from ER in the closet? Words punctuated with light gasps and disbelieving chuckles.

Eventually, Jess paused a moment, brows pinched with confusion, as she placed a hand to her belly, feeling for something.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asked, eyes growing wider. “Did the baby just—?”

“They sure did!” she crowed, eyes bright as lanterns. “Here, you wanna feel?”

He nodded, allowing Jess to guide his hand to her stomach. His features twisted into a wonderous expression as he felt movement, the ghostly imprint of a foot fluttering beneath her skin. Even when he had done this multiple times with different patients, the beginning stage of life never ceased to amaze him, make his heart hurt.

Of course, he was genuinely happy for Jess and couldn’t wait to see her child. Holding them, spending time with them. (‘A boy,’ Miguel would think. ‘It’s gonna be a boy.’) Maybe they would have her dimples and wide, gap-toothed smile. Maybe one day they would even call him “Tio.”

Just like Miles had.

Maybe they would look like Miles.

At once, he felt his eyes dull, a black oily feeling seating itself at the base of his ribcage. Something close to grief; something close to envy. Jess—unfortunately—took notice. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, sympathy laced across her brow.

“Hey. Are you okay?” The words trickled out in a murmur, a gentle stream, drawing him out of this fleeting spell.

A part of him already knew. A part of him didn’t want to answer. But he does anyway—because he’s not shocking rude—his form bracing itself as if facing an incoming storm.

“Yeah?” His voice came breathless, weak. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to kick himself. Why did it come out like a question—like he was asking for permission? He tore his hand away from her stomach, deciding he had left it there for too long.

He turned his gaze elsewhere, as if embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—”

“Is it… about Miles?”

A blanket of ice coated his veins. His heart clenched. He couldn’t hide it: his expression said it all. Her pregnancy never reminded him until now. Reminded him of Miles. His nephew, who died months ago. Maybe it was because the baby’s arrival was so soon. Jess would have her child while his would still be six feet under. It wasn’t that he was envious. No, not really. It was just right now, that bump only served as another reminder of what he lacked.

Miguel looked at her then, his expression sullen and vague.

“No,” he whispered. A lie, of course—and she could tell.

The woman shook her head, curly hair bouncing, and placed a hand on his wrist reassuringly. Her eyes swam with sympathy. She kept her voice gentle as she said, “I know it’s been tough. If you’re still not over it, I get it. Recovery is different for everybody. Like I told you before, if you need any more support—”

Miguel’s eyes darkened. “I don’t.” Maybe his tone was a bit too cold, but it slipped before he could catch it. Talking about it right now wouldn’t help him. Talking about it was rarely something he wanted to do anymore. It wouldn’t lift the boy from the dead—and it wouldn’t make his absence hurt less.

Jess dropped the topic without another word. “Fine, sorry.”

His eyes softened as he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

Maybe it was the turn of conversation that suddenly made the environment colder, the colors duller, and his fingers looser. Maybe it was the thing that suddenly made him want to leave. By now they were pretty much done with their little activity.

“If we’re finished here, I might as well get going, cuata.” He rose from his seat. “Still have some errands to run.”

“That’s fine.” He tried to ignore the note of sadness that rode her tone. “See you around, Migs. Thanks for helping. Tell Aaron I said hi.”

“Will do.”

So—Miguel returned home. He turned the lights on in the kitchen and swept his gaze around the interior. Slowly, mechanically, out of routine. Same dishes that needed to be put up; same board on the wall choked with half-written sticky notes, words of affirmation from him to Aaron or from Aaron to him.

Same life to live, same responsibilities to tend to. And yet none of it truly felt the same. The world spun on—even with Miles gone—and to Miguel that felt like a crime. How could the world continue with that soft, sweet boy gone, with his future left unfulfilled? It had been five months since he died, since Miguel was reminded again of his inherent helplessness in life’s orchestrations. Since the Sinister Six attacked Miles’s school and left it—and the rest of the block—a devastated mess in their onslaught.

("A seedbed for the upper world's twisted ideals," they sneered. "What good to keep it standing?")

Miles should’ve been here in the living room, notebooks and pencils scattered across the floor as he fussed over his homework, music leaking from his holographic audio player.

LYLA flickered to life in front of Miguel, sporting casual lounge clothes. “Hey, sunshine,” she purred. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Want me to go over the rest of your schedule for today?”

“You know it.”

Typical errands: do laundry, go on a daily walk, water your plants. Padding into the living room, he turned on the television to get the latest news. A series of bank robberies in the 42nd District, all presumably by the same person; a kidnapping at the train station; a car accident on Highway I-45. No mention of any member of the Sinister Six—not yet, at least.

They normally caused trouble Downtown, their territory, but they certainly weren’t above making their mark on the upper crust of Nueva York. News organizations from Uptown rarely ever mentioned activity in Downtown. Not that it mattered: he and Aaron had connections down below who kept them updated. If any of them knew the current whereabouts of the gang members—especially the Green Goblin—they would tell him.

She was the one he was on the hunt for.

She was the reason Miles was gone.

Drawing the life from him with the calculated toss of a bomb. Miguel had been too late to catch it—had been too preoccupied with handling Doc Ock to notice in time. A bristling flash of white was all that was left to see, and Miguel hadn’t been able to capture the scream that tore free from his mouth right after.

There was nothing much left to remember afterward; just the cacophonous sounds of police and ambulance sirens, flashing lights painting smoldering walls blue-white-red. Why hadn’t he seen the signs ahead of time? Why had he thought it was a good idea to prioritize Doc Ock? Why hadn’t he moved fast enough? Why hadn’t he?

He swallowed the memory down, took a deep breath, tried to count to ten. Something close to rage punched a boiling fist through his ribcage. He swore one day he’d finally catch those monsters and make them pay.

But none of that now.

Just focus on what’s in front of you; don’t think beyond that.

And so he did. He vacuumed and he gathered laundry; he read another chapter of a book; he finished the rest of his boba tea; he absentmindedly listened to the new playlist Aaron had made for him as he wiped down windows. Eventually, as he chipped away at his chores, that urge unmistakably rose in him—the urge to see Miles. Not the boy himself, of course, but the mural made in remembrance of him. He hadn’t originally planned to go today, but he decided it was about time to pay another visit.  

In all honesty, he preferred visiting the mural over the grave. He rarely ever visited the latter even when Aaron would try to coax him to go. At least at the mural he could see Miles as he had been, vibrant and alive, with a dimpled smile that could melt even the coldest heart. Aaron had painted it a week after the funeral. He had done an amazing job capturing the boy’s spirit in the colors, the lines.

Now it was time for a walk, wasn’t it? Just a small circuit that stretched a couple of blocks. Away from the streets most populated by pedestrians. After shrugging on his exercise clothes, he made his way out the door, down the stairs. He breathed in the crisp afternoon air, passing under clouds raked across the blue expanse of sky.

Trotting down the street, catching snapshots of neighbors and strangers amid their own business, as usual. Past endless rows of pristine apartment complexes. Past the elevated highways brimming with vehicles. Past the community gardens too neatly arranged.

Miles’s mural wasn’t too far ahead, tucked away near his favorite place to hang out with friends. Maybe someone had left more flowers, copies of his favorite toys, manga volumes. He could stand there like he always did, let a gentler pool of memories pour across his mind’s eye and drown him for those few sweet moments. Tell Miles he was sorry, so sorry. Pretend that he hadn’t failed him in the worst way.

Miguel wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. He briefly watched a plane streak across the sky before he took a sharp left between two buildings—a shortcut—sucking in a deep, silent breath. It didn’t take long for the mural to come into sight, visible even from the narrow passageway. Unmolested—or so he thought, as he reached his destination with silent, measured steps.

Nothing would’ve prepared him for what greeted him there.

He froze in place as his gaze fell upon a figure collapsed amidst the entourage of memorabilia. Unmoving. Unconscious. Alarm shattering his stupor like a hammer, Miguel moved closer to get a better look, wondering what had happened. Had the person been attacked? Had they passed out? Even from where he stood, there was something oddly familiar about the stranger’s profile. Once he stooped down, obtained a clearer portrait of their—his—identity, Miguel felt the world around him tilt sideways.

It was Miles.

Arms spread out like wings; body crumpled like an angel fallen. Skin bruised and battered; hair coated in debris. Clad in a tattered costume, a brilliant red spider floating in a sea of black upon his chest. Viciously familiar. Panic made the man’s heart crash against his ribcage.

No. No. This wasn’t possible.

Miguel wanted to believe this was a dream, a hallucination. Shakily he pressed an ear against the boy’s chest. A heartbeat. He was alive. But not in the best condition. He must’ve fallen—from where?—and landed on the concrete. A small pool of blood formed a morbid halo around the boy’s head, painting the flowers beneath it red. He paused, glanced around as if he expected an ambush before turning his disbelieving gaze back on Miles.

It’s a trick, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. It could’ve been, the man noted. But that didn’t stop him from gingerly picking the boy up, from observing his injuries, from leaving the place with him in his arms bridal style.

Miguel didn’t know what was going on, but he certainly welcomed it. A mixture of confusion, desperation, and fear pulsing in his bones. And something else: excitement.

“LYLA, run diagnostics.”

The AI flared to life in front of him, adjusting her triangle-shaped glasses. “Hm? What, you fell and scraped your knee—?”

She paused when she saw the injured boy lying on the kitchen table, which was cleared of space to make room for him. Miguel had already cleaned up the back of his head.

“Miguel… Is that who I think it is?” She teleported closer for a better look, eyes wide with shock.

Miguel was standing at the corner of the table, arms folded, expression giving nothing away. “Yeah,” he breathed, “or maybe not.” He wasn’t sure yet.

It didn’t make sense. There was no way this Miles was his Miles. He looked too different, wore different clothing, didn’t even have his hair in his eyes. Out of all the technological advancements Nueva York boasted, resurrection wasn’t one of them. Cloning was one of the only conclusions he could reach.

But who would clone Miles, and for what reason?

Did someone figure out Miguel’s secret identity and was leading him on? That couldn’t be possible either, was it? In any case, regardless of how this panned out, he wasn’t going to treat the boy cruelly—only cautiously. He was injured, and, of course, Miguel felt his nursing instincts kick in. He could’ve seen a supervillain bleeding out on the street and still rush to save them, whether it was by his hand or another’s.

Rubbing the side of his face, he groaned, “Again, diagnostics.”

LYLA perked up, “O-Oh, right!” She fumbled with her glasses a bit before scanning Miles, a wave of blue light washing over him. “Lacerations on face; mild contusion with bruising and bleeding at the base of the skull. Swollen left cheek. Ooh, nasty—ice can help with that! Acetaminophen should help with pain relief…”

Miguel pulled up a holographic screen, making notes of LYLA’s report with a speed honed only by focus and achieved through years of experience. None of the injuries were anything he couldn’t handle. He and Aaron dealt with worse in their line of superhero duty.

And now came his favorite part: tending to his patient’s wounds. He applied antiseptic and ointment; he wrapped bandages around the boy’s head with incredible care, all the while taking note of his vitals (as if he would flatline at any moment); he pressed an ice pack against his cheek, got the medication for later ready.

Eventually, the man paused, glancing between the living room couch and Miles’s room down the hallway. Where to put him? It probably was a better idea to place him in the living room, but his heart demanded he put the boy in his counterpart’s room. That was his rightful place, in a way.

Maybe he would be more comfortable there, even if the room wasn’t truly his. After peeling off his suit, wiping him clean, dressing him in his Miles’s pajamas, Miguel put him in bed and added as many blankets and pillows he could for maximum comfort. He stepped back, breathed in and out, felt warmth burn at the back of his eyelids.

Stay calm, stay calm. And don’t you dare cry.

Tea. Maybe this one liked tea.

Eventually, Miguel found himself in the kitchen, watching water come to a simmer in a small saucepan in front of him. He had all the necessary ingredients he needed to make a cup of tea. Next to add were the milk and spices, which he poured in slowly, one at a time. He would serve it to Miles as part of his lunch, alongside a plate of sincronizada, a little snack his Miles always enjoyed.

There were leftovers from this morning, so he decided to heat those up and include them. They were light on the stomach, which was always good for someone who sustained head injuries. And they were easy enough to make. He just wanted to prepare something quick just in case Miles woke up earlier than expected.

As he toiled away in the kitchen, he watched the boy sleep via holographic screen. Every few seconds his gaze would slide over to the boy’s sleeping form. Occasionally, Miles would shift, twitch, turn in bed, but that was all. No signal, no portent coated in insidious intent. He was struggling to keep his anxiety at bay, but the situation almost called for it to spill over, tangle into his thoughts, shake at his limbs. As if on cue, LYLA popped up again, forehead lightly creased with worry.

“Hey, your heartbeat is spiking,” she said. “Remember: relax yourself. Breathe in, breathe out—like we practiced.” She gestured in front of her chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Miguel whispered, briefly shielding his eyes with a hand. “Can you just… play my ambiance playlist for me?”

“On it! First song’s my jam.”

Soon music drifted gently through the air, a melodious balm, dressing the room in blue, soporific hues. He breathed in, breathed out, finished the tea, strained it into a cup. Slowly but surely, he felt that cloud of anxiety dissipate, coil and sink back under his nerves. Not gone, but still easier to manage, to somewhat ignore.

It couldn’t have been just a coincidence that he found Miles the way he had. Speculation grasped his mind with electric fingers. His little guest could’ve been anything: an escaped experiment; a biological Trojan horse; a corporate raider; a copycat. Regardless, his presence soothed the ever-present throb of guilt in the man’s stomach, made him feel like nothing had changed over the last five months.

No, this wasn’t his Miles, but for this morsel of a moment, he could pretend it was. And that made his mood lighten so much more. Eventually, a kernel of thought bloomed at a corner of his mind—one he didn’t want to entirely welcome: what if this Miles was from an alternate dimension?

Multiverse theory: a school of thought Aaron loved to entertain with him over the years. That there was a kaleidoscope of realities scattered across space and time like seeds. Miguel never agreed with it and spent a handful of nights arguing with Aaron over it.

But now, what if it was true? What would it mean? Miguel couldn’t bring himself to think about it too extensively. In the end, it was only one hypothesis. He would get his answer once the boy woke up.

LYLA stayed right next to him, floating cross-legged in mid-air. “So,” she sighed, “what are we gonna do with him?”

“What we always do in situations like this,” Miguel drawled. “Interrogation.”

“But this time with room service,” she said cheekily.

He smirked. “With room service, yes.”

A crackling red prism swallowing him whole. His heart practically bursting from his chest as he raced through Downtown. Gwen’s face, whipped by wind, laced with worry and guilt. Miguel’s claws battering at the shell the Go-Home Machine wove around him, countenance a portrait of mania—  

Miles woke up with a jolt, wincing as he felt the back of his skull scream. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton and his vision was blurry. A ghost of nausea coiled around his stomach. His mind was sluggish as it swam through the murky waters of fatigue, grasped at lucidity with slippery hands. He tried to get a feel of where he was.

It felt… oddly comfortable, wherever he was. Softness embraced him in every direction. Soon he realized he was in bed, wrapped snug in the fluffiest blanket imaginable. It smelled like sunflowers. He blinked once, twice, groaning softly, looking about the room when his vision cleared. There was something about his surroundings that felt familiar.

Am I home? he thought. Did I make it?

Suddenly he froze, noticing the sunlight piercing through the curtains. It was purple. And the sun in his universe wasn’t purple. Dread plucked at his nerves, sending a chord of alarm through his head.  

Oh, no.

He wasn’t home. The machine had sent him elsewhere.

And now he could tell something was off about his room. None of the trophies, books, or photos rang familiar to him. Not exactly. He finally looked down at himself, noticing he wasn’t wearing his costume either. Where was he? Who did this? He wanted to get out of bed, leave the room, check the window—anything—but it felt like his legs were made of lead. Heavy and dead.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Miles felt his heart leap into his throat as he glimpsed his visitor. Too familiar, too familiar. It was Miguel—again. Dressed in a pleasant expression, holding a tray of food in his hands.

“You’re awake,” he said warmly as he stepped inside.

Panic sent a lightning bolt down Miles’s limbs. His back hit the headboard with a heavy thunk! as he threw himself backwards, drawing his knees to his chest. Just like in that wormhole, he found it immediately difficult to breathe. He was hyperventilating—eyes wide and glistening with fear—which caused Miguel to abruptly stop. Worry streaked across his face.

(No, no, no—it was too late, too damn late, they caught him, who knows how long it’s been, his dad could be dead, and he failed, he failed—)

Miguel put the tray on the desk and drew his hands up in a calming position. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you—”

“Please don’t let my dad die,” the boy whispered, a helpless, broken plea.

He hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. He was injured, with nowhere else to run, no one else to turn to, and he was completely at this man’s mercy. Lord knew where the Society had taken him, what this dimension even was.

It was Miguel’s reaction, however, that caused a needle of confusion to pierce through his tapestry of panic. He looked stung, as if what Miles told him had brought up a bad memory, brought up pain. His mouth opened, then closed again—as if he didn’t know what to say.

His face grew pinched as he looked to the side, then back at Miles again. “Why would I do that?” he asked, his voice lower, more confused, more… vulnerable.

Panic loosened its grip on the boy’s senses, and that’s when he realized something: this Miguel was different. Different clothes, different physique, different hairstyle—different everything. Freckles spattered across his features like specks of paint. Hair reddish-brown with slivers of gray. Faint ashen rings hanging beneath his eyes. There was a certain tenderness in his stare, and it stirred a warm emotion in Miles that he didn’t want to examine.

This wasn’t “his” Miguel O’Hara; this was a variant.

One he’d never met before. Come to think of it, Miles didn’t remember seeing any other Miguels at HQ. Though it was hard to tell considering most of the Spider-People there kept their masks on. He could mull over that mystery later. Right now, he had to figure out whether he could trust this one or not. Whether he was with the Society—and simply playing dumb—or a person disconnected from them. If he was confused, asking why, maybe he knew nothing at all. But still—but still—

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Who?”

“…Nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Miguel prompted, brows joined together in confusion.

Miles shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a trembling forearm. “No, j-just forget it—I mean—it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” His voice stayed gentle, quietly imploring. Cautiously, slowly, he took a few steps closer—only to stop in his tracks and twist his features.

Miles felt his Spidey Sense flare to life, not out of danger but familiarity, reaching forward and probing the boundary of another. The one belonging to the man right in front of him. Like you, it whispered, silvery and soft. Like you. With that revelation came a brief rush of emotions: confusion, relief, wonder. The Miguel he met before never had a Spidey Sense, but this one did. Meaning that he was a Spider-Man, too—unequivocally. And he looked overwhelmed with disbelief.

“You’re like me?” Miguel whispered. “How?”

Miles responded, words coming slow, almost hesitant, “I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“From where?”

“Not anywhere here.” Relaxing his legs, Miles glanced down at his hands, expression softening. “I—I’m not… from around here…” He wanted to kick himself for being so vague, but he wasn’t sure if he should reveal his origins just yet. Would this Miguel even believe him?

He looked up again to see Miguel giving him a thoughtful look, brow set in a pensive bend. The boy’s last response thankfully didn’t elicit any negative reaction from him. He could tell Miles wasn’t exactly comfortable revealing his origins yet. All he gave was a subtle nod of understanding, seeming to put the dots together immediately.

“That’s why you had that costume, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Miles said. “I’m Spider-Man. Well, a Spider-Man, anyway.”

“And here I thought I was the only one,” Miguel murmured, snorting out a light chuckle. “Looks like I got competition now, huh?” An attempt at lightening the mood, soothe the boy’s uncertainty.

Miles made a vague attempt to mirror the man’s smile. “Wouldn’t put it like that. I’m just someone passing by.”

“Well, how are you feeling?” he asked. “You weren’t in the best shape when I found you. I hope you were able to have a good rest.”

Miles swallowed. “Y-Yeah, I did,” he rasped. “I’m okay. Mostly.”

“Is your head still hurting?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as before.”

“Anything else?” Miguel asked, adopting the familiar tone of an examiner. “Dizziness? Nausea?”

“A little bit of both, but it’s no big deal.”

“Mm, noted.” He gestured to the tray on the desk. “I brought you food. Are you ready to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Miles muttered, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. The loud gurgle that erupted from his stomach begged to differ. The boy startled slightly, embarrassment crossing his face. “Uh—”

An amused smirk pinched the corner of Miguel’s mouth. He probably knew what Miles was thinking. “The food isn’t poisoned, I promise.”  

To demonstrate, he removed the tray, took a sincronizada off the plate and took a bite out of it. “See?” he said around his chewing. “Mmm, delicious.” He lifted it in the boy’s direction. “Now you wanna try it?”

With a sigh, Miles leaned back into the pillows in defeat. “Okay,” he grumbled. The food did smell pretty tasty, at least. His Spidey Sense hadn’t gone off yet either, he noted. A good sign. No one dangerous around yet.

Something close to triumph winked in the older man’s eyes. It didn’t take him long to settle the food tray in Miles’s lap, watching the teenager briefly study the food before picking up a piece. It looked like stuffed quesadillas. Cheese and onion and bits of ham peeking from beneath the crust. He had never eaten this before, but it looked familiar enough. And he could never resist the smell of his favorite tea.

“Not sure if you like any of this,” Miguel said under his breath, almost timidly. “If not, I can make you something else.”

“No,” Miles replied. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

The food was pretty good—and the chai tea was perfectly brewed. Miles was starving, but he took slow, cautious bites, remembering what his mother told him about eating too fast. (“You’ll get sick that way, mijo,” she chided him one day.) As he took sips from his drink, he tried to ignore the way Miguel was looking at him. His gentle expression never wavered. Eventually, when Miles finished his food, Miguel drew a chair closer to the bed, sat down in it.

The air shifted. Miles compelled himself to pause, gaze sliding back toward the man.

“Alright,” Miguel sighed, “are you ready to answer more of my questions?” His voice still soft, but the semblance of an edge lurking beneath the words.

Suspicion slinked through Miles’s chest. Bracing himself, he replied, “Sure, go ahead.”

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying the boy with a flicker of curiosity, caution. Miles sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?”

Miles stilled, face going slack, ice punching a sharp fist through his ribcage. Your nephew? Realization arrived on its own ragged chariot. So, it wasn’t a coincidence after all. This was his room—or, rather, the room of his own variant. Who, apparently, was related to Miguel O’Hara in this universe?

After everything the young hero had been through over the past twenty-four hours, a part of him didn’t want to believe it. The more logical side of him, however, chalked it up to statistical inevitability. In a broiling sea of nigh infinite universes, why wouldn’t that happen eventually?

Taking a deep breath, Miles replied, “I’m Miles. Miles Morales.”

Miguel’s eyes closed, and a painful, resigned expression tore across his features. “That was his name too,” he whispered.

“I look like him because I am him,” Miles said. “From another dimension.”

His answer appeared to send a firecracker off in Miguel, who sat up straighter, astonished. “Impossible,” he said. But even then, Miles could see the unerring shield of his disbelief dent, bend inwards, as reality battered against it. “I-It’s not feasible, it can’t—”

Miles perked up. “It is possible. You gotta believe me! I’m from Earth-1610… B, I think?” He squinted in thought for a moment. “Yeah, B. And I’m here because—”

A scream tore from his throat as his body abruptly glitched, sending the food tray tumbling to the floor and Miguel reeling backwards, rendered speechless, eyes wide with shock.

Oh. That’s right. His day pass. He didn’t have it on.

When the glitching subsided, Miles tensed, panted, waiting for the crackles of pain to subside. He saw Miguel hover over him, the very portrait of an anxious parent, arms stretched forward. “Is there anything I can do?”

Miles instinctively pulled away. “My day pass,” the boy wheezed, eyes scrunched shut. “The wristband.” He prayed he hadn’t lost it during his escape here. Or that it was thrown away.

Thankfully, Miguel seemed to know what he was talking about and rushed out the room, coming back with the wristband clutched in his fingers. “You mean this thing?” he said. “Didn’t think it was that important.” He had taken it off Miles when he was dressing him earlier. He slid it back onto Miles’s wrist. The boy mumbled a thank you.

“What was that?” Miguel asked, exasperated.

“That’s what happens when you’re in another dimension,” Miles said. “You glitch, a-and your body starts breaking down because you don’t belong there.” He raised his wrist. “Not unless you have this—something that can anchor you.”

Fascination dominated the older male’s expression then. He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the wristband. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. How does it work?”

“Beats me,” Miles said with a shrug. “All I know is that it works.” A brief, nervous laugh rattled past his teeth. The other you made it.

“And you’re sure you’re not some weapon? That this isn’t some trick?”

“Yes, I’m sure, man,” Miles sighed. “I’m here for a totally different reason. But… I know it might take you a while to really trust me.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Miguel replied. “Which… is understandable.” He shook his head, as if breaking out of a trance. “Sorry, I haven’t given you my name yet. I’m—”

Miles cut him off, “I know who you are.” He looked more tired than normal then. “You’re Miguel O’Hara.”

Miguel looked startled. “How did you know?”

“Because I’ve met you before. Another you.” He thumbed his wristband. “He’s the one who gave me this. H-He’s in charge of this thing called ‘the Spider Society.’ It’s this group of Spider-People from different dimensions—”

“Wait, did you say ‘Spider-People’?” Miguel interjected. He dipped his chin, brows raised. “You mean, there’s more like us?”

“Yeah. Thousands of ‘em!” Miles gestured above his head widely. “There was an… accident that happened back in my home dimension. These bad guys used a machine, a collider, to access different dimensions and my Spider-Man tried to stop them, but the collider ended up tearing holes in the multiverse. And a lot of people ended up thrown into the wrong dimension. So, the other Miguel made the Society to clean up the mess and put those people back where they belong.”

There was more, of course—so much more—but he couldn’t just dump all that information onto this Miguel when he was allegedly new to all of this. He was currently looking at Miles like the boy just grew another head. His expression eventually grew distant as he processed everything Miles told him.

“Is that the reason you’re here?” Miguel finally asked. “You fell through a hole by accident?”

“No, I came through a machine—and it wasn’t an accident! Well, using the machine wasn’t an accident. I was trying to escape—you know, get back home—but something went wrong, and I got sent here instead.”

“And this Spider Society… Are they the ones after you?”

Miles nodded, staying silent.

“Why?”

His throat went dry. He buried his feet into the mattress beneath him as he turned his gaze elsewhere: at the window, through the blinds, which both bled purple light. He could see the city beyond, draped in a glimmering veil of neon colors—so similar and yet so different. A study in purples and pinks and blues caged within hardened binary lines. Nothing like the angular, crystalline white of his Miguel’s homeworld.

“Miles,” Miguel said, drawing the boy’s attention back to him, “it’s okay. Just tell me.”

“Because I’m trying to save my dad,” Miles admitted in a whisper, feeling his defenses falter again. “That’s why I brought him up earlier. They told me that he has to die o-or else my whole dimension’s gonna collapse.”

“What?” Disbelief colored the older Spider’s tone, smeared itself across his expression.

Miles continued, “It’s a part of every Spider-Man’s story… or, at least, that’s what they say. I have to lose people close to me in order to become a stronger hero. And if I don’t let it happen, if I don’t carry out this next chapter, my whole world will rip apart at the seams.” He rubbed his hands together, determination pooling into his tone. “But there’s gotta be another way. I told them I could save my dad and the world. Maybe it’ll be different for me.”

Because he was never supposed to be Spider-Man. But that was a story for another time.

“That's... insane,” Miguel whispered, uneasiness seeping into his voice. "How do they know all this?"

“Because it's happened before,” Miles replied. “The other you, he took the place of a variant in another world and eventually that world collapsed because he wasn’t supposed to do that. I can’t tell you for sure if it’s completely true, though…”

“Well, whether it’s true or not, I hope you’re able to save your dad,” the older Spider whispered. “He’s not alive here.”

Miles froze, mortified. “Really?”

A shard of pain pierced Miguel’s stare. “He died ten years ago. Your mother too. There was an accident.” He moved to pick up the tray and cup off the floor—a feeble attempt to distract himself, it seemed. “And that’s how your uncle and I got custody of you.”

“W-Wait… You mean Uncle Aaron?”

“Yes.” His smile grew warm. “We’re together.”

Okay. That was what made Miles feel like he was about to slide right through the floor. His uncle Aaron and Miguel… in a relationship? He wondered what greater cosmic machination brought that to happen. The multiverse really did whatever it wanted, didn’t it? And finally he noticed it, the wedding ring glinting faintly on Miguel’s finger. Fostering within Miles not just curiosity but excitement.

Uncle Aaron was alive. Not bleeding out in an alleyway or rotting in a grave. He was alive, at least here, and that’s all that mattered to Miles, whose mind was now set adrift in a current of all the things left unspoken between them—all the things he had thought endlessly about for the last year and a half. Suddenly he yanked his attention back to reality as he remembered the situation at hand.

“We raised you, loved you. And then… you died.” Miguel’s tone flattened, empty as a graveyard. His words came clipped, laconic.

Miles felt cold fear burrow into his spine. “I—I’m dead?” he choked out. Then he remembered where he landed: behind the back of a building, a mural—one in the likeness of a boy Miles hadn’t fully recognized—hanging above him like a guillotine. But now, in a clearer state of mind, realization quickly took root: that boy had been him.

“Yes.” Miguel looked around slowly—as if the movement was laborious. “This was your room.” He peered down into the teacup almost thoughtfully. “Haven’t really moved anything out yet. Can’t bring myself to—not yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“Five months.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what happened to him?” Miles asked.

At first, Miguel didn’t respond; he just gave a sad dip of his head. “Something I hope to make amends for.”

Even in another world Miles had to see the same guilt—the same sense of helplessness—in this Miguel, leering, always leering. Another link in the chain; an onerous form of mitosis. But it felt different somehow (because it would always be different). Miles was possibly wading into some dark waters, so he decided to drop his questioning there, even with another one seated on his tongue. He winced as he felt his head throb again and he grasped the back of his head. Miguel took note of it, rising to his feet.

“Hm. I’ll get you some medicine,” he murmured.

Miles cleared his throat, “Thanks for the help and all, b-but I can’t stay here. I gotta go.” He knew it wasn’t the best idea in his current state, but the Society could knock at this dimension’s door any minute. He really didn’t know if Gwen or Peter would be in tow once they did—his stomach soured over the idea—but he didn’t want to stick around and find out.

“Go where?” Miguel paused at the door, turning to look at him. An odd note entered his tone. “You’re injured and light years away from home. If you don’t want to stay here, then that’s fine. But now might not be the best time, alright? At least wait until most of your injuries are healed. Then I'll help you find a hostel or something.”

Silence. Miles didn’t move.

Miguel continued, “Try to get some more rest. I’ll bring you medicine for that headache. Then I have some errands to finish. We’ll go from there. If you want, I’ll have LYLA provide surveillance around the area and alert me to any funny stuff. Okay?”

Miles huffed, but ultimately had a resigned look on his face. “Fine. I’ll stick around.”

A sad smile found its way onto Miguel’s face, “Thank you.” Food tray in tow, he then asked, “Is there anything else you need, Miles?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

After choking down a few painkillers, Miles sunk back into bed, sporting a rather dull expression as he stared at the ceiling. He let the distant whirs and beeps of cars outside wash over him as he tried to still his racing thoughts. His fingers flexed in and out, in and out. He wanted to relax, believe that he was somewhat safe here, but it was hard.

He didn’t have the luxury of that no matter what this Miguel wanted to believe. He was gone for now, but he still felt that sense of being watched, almost like he was back at Spider HQ. Anyone could spot the brilliant blue stripes racing along every corner of the bedroom. Blinking, blinking. LYLA was watching him from there, he knew.

Groaning in frustration, he turned over on his side, squeezing one of the pillows. Its smell soothed him a bit, reminded him of home. Once his headache faded, reality really began to sink in.

He hadn’t made it home. He was lost and alone (though perhaps not too alone) on a completely different world and his friends had betrayed him. He was under the care of another Miguel, who was technically his uncle, who was married to his other uncle, Aaron. And only time would tell where his loyalties truly lied. His mother and father were dead. He was dead. His family ripped apart, left frayed as a rope. And it served as another frantic reminder of what could happen if he didn’t get home.

Two days. That’s what they told him. But time was a fluid, funky thing in the multiverse. Who knew how long that would equate from here to home?

And in the meantime, he would have to finish things with Miguel. Figure out if he was truly worth trusting. If he stuck around, he might even get to see Uncle Aaron again. Catch up with him. He wondered how the one here was like. Would he look the same, walk the same, have the same style? Would he still be the Prowler—and did his husband even know?

Miles would find out soon enough. All he could do now was lie here and wait. Distract himself. Wonder what would happen next. Craft a script in his head with all the potential questions, scenarios, and answers that could come later. What he was willing to immediately answer and what he needed more time to process. His nervousness finally cooled and hardened into a determination ringed by iron. A setback; that’s all this was. If he played his cards just right, it’d be a minor one.

You want the full story, Miguel? Fine. Come back, and I’ll give it to you.

[faemytho]

“What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own thoughts?” with Abyss Monarch and Eel,,, 👀?

yes yes yes. im craving them (voice of a guy who is writing a multichapter longfic series with them). i altered the sentence just a lil! hope thats ok.

HEY. vote abyss monarch and electric eel for COTY. okay? i need abyss monarch's goth ass in PINK. (and eel white day costume. pls pls pls)

-

Electric Eel found them in the junkyard.

Wandercrab returned to this spot every so often, depositing the trash it cleaned up from other places around the ocean floor and organizing it. It was where they did their repairs to the city mech and where they picked up wanderers who waited for its return. It was the night before they would set out again, and Ink Cloak had gone missing.

"Hey," Eel called to them as he approached. They flinched where they were curled up, coiling closer around themself. Their hood was down, which was a sight Eel had never gotten to see. He stopped beside them, hands shoved in his pockets. "You okay, Ink Cloak?"

Without looking up, Ink Cloak shook their head. They hugged their knees tighter, tentacles twisting and curling where they sat in anxious movements. One of them found Eel's leg, and curled around his ankle.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked, and they shook their head again.

Eel looked out over the junkyard. It had been from all this junk that he, Anglerfish, and Hermit Crab had built Wandercrab. That fact alone had given some value to this garbage dump.

Ink Cloak was silent, and Eel took a soft breath. "Can I sit with you?" he asked, and after a long moment, Ink Cloak nodded.

Eel took a seat beside them among the heaps of garbage, brushing some of it aside with his tail. The tentacle that had wrapped itself around his ankle squeezed, and he rested a gentle hand on it. Clearly something was wrong, but he couldn't force Ink Cloak to talk about it.

"Do you remember the day I found you here?" Eel asked after a moment of silence. Ink Cloak didn't look up, but they made a soft noise, an acknowledgement to keep talking. Eel pulled his legs close and looked out over the junk with a little smile. "You were completely out cold when I found you. I think you're lucky the worms didn't think you were dead and start trying to eat you."

Ink Cloak gave a soft scoff, but still, they didn't lift their head. Eel continued.

"You were all curled up in your tentacles, so I thought maybe you were hurt. Anglerfish just said you needed rest, but I was so worried about you that I stayed with you till you woke up."

"Idiot," Ink Cloak muttered, but there was no bite behind their tone. Eel grinned, even though they weren't looking.

"Hey, I was scared!" he protested with a laugh. "But also, I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up. I nearly tripped over you when I found you here, by the way."

Ink Cloak snorted. The tentacle around his ankle slowly uncurled itself.

"You remember what you said when you first saw me?" Eel tilted their head, stifling a giggle as Ink Cloak groaned.

"Don't remind me," they muttered, lifting their head just enough to speak. "That was embarrassing."

"You told me," Eel giggled, "that I was the brightest pearl in the sea."

"I was delirious!" Ink Cloak groaned, finally lifting their head and giving him a look. Despite all this, there was a quirk to the corner of their lips. "I was exhausted, I was not thinking clearly! It was dark, you were alight, and I was not in my right mind!"

Eel burst out laughing, a happy, carefree sound that echoed through the waters of the junkyard. After a moment, Ink Cloak joined in with quiet chuckles of their own.

"Still, I'm glad I found you," Eel said, letting his laughter die down. "It's kinda funny. You haven't been here long, but now, I couldn't even imagine Wandercrab without you."

He let himself look at them, really look at them. He'd never gotten to see their face unobscured like this, their eyes a vibrant green and their cheeks round and soft. Their eyelids were painted black, dark bags under their eyes. He hadn't even realized half of their head was shaved, their hair much longer on the other side. They were silent, staring at him.

"... Ink Cloak?"

"Ah," Ink Cloak said, soft and unsure. "Apologies, I just... was not expecting you to say such a thing."

"Well, it's true," Eel insisted, and Ink Cloak turned their face away. He frowned, shifting a bit to lean towards them. "What's wrong? Why are you out here?"

"I don't belong there," Ink Cloak murmured, turning their head to look at where Wandercrab rested. The lights of the city shone brightly, many different colors shimmering through the waters surrounding it. It cast the junkyard in a dim light of colorful shadows. "I don't belong in Wandercrab."

"Huh?" He looked at them, bewildered. What could have possibly led to that idea, Eel didn't know. "Of course you do! What makes you say that? Did someone say something to you? Do I gotta kick someone out?"

"No, no," Ink Cloak assured, their voice cracked and raw. "No, nothing was said to me. It was merely a fabrication of my own mind. Something I came to the conclusion of on my own."

Eel's frown deepened. "Well," he said, his voice soft and determined, "it's not true. Wandercrab is for everyone. You belong there just the same as I do, and if you don't belong in Wandercrab, then neither do I."

Ink Cloak stared at him, something like awed dismay on their face. "But I cannot stop thinking that that is untrue," they whispered. "I want to believe you, but you belong here, and I do not. What am I supposed to do when I can't even trust myself, or believe my own thoughts?"

"Trust me." Eel leaned forward a bit more, shifting where they sat and resting a hand on Ink Cloak's shoulder. "If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me until you can. Because I trust you, so if you trust me, then maybe it'll work out alright...?"

Ink Cloak looked at him, their gaze tired as it dropped from his face to the hand on their shoulder. Without a word, they took his hand in their own, holding it in both and staring down at it.

"You're such an odd cookie," they murmured, soft and simple, and lifted his hand to their mouth. The press of their lips to his knuckles made his breath hitch, heat drawn into his cheeks at the gentle action. "But somehow, you always know what to do."

Eel couldn't find his words, stiff and staring in surprise. The kiss tingled warmly against his hand, and the touch lingered long after it was gone. Their hand stayed grasped around his own, their fingers unnaturally cold against his. He didn't mind it, lowering his gaze to their joined hands.

"Electric Eel?" they asked softly, and Eel shook himself from his reverie.

"C'mon," he said with a little smile, squeezing their hand in his own and pulling himself to his feet. Ink Cloak followed without a word, their joined hands between the two of them. "I'm sure it's still happy hour at Choco Flounder's. Let's go get a drink."

Ink Cloak gave him a soft smile, looking down at him. Their hood was still down. Eel couldn't get enough of the sight of their face. "Lead the way," they said, in a tone that sounded more as though they were willing to follow him anywhere.

With his fluttering heart beating in his chest and their hand so neatly fit against his, Eel led the way out of the junkyard.

[ribbons111]

Track 2: Maroon

Xavier Thorpe

Summary. Xavier sets to find you after the Rave’n only to discover the sadness looming over you. You wanted him to ask you to be his date but he didn't, he sets things right.

Warning. fluff : mention of alchahol : smoking : light insecurities.

The music is faded and the night is young. Red lipstick has been smeared all over my lips and chin, ruined. The white dress I wore, even worse, drippy red washed paint coated the once pearl fabric. I sat on the roof, crying all my mascara away. A window could be heard, opening but never closing. A hand grazed over my shoulder. Cold lips touched my hairline gently. “What’s wrong love?” Xavier Thorpe. He sat down as I wiped my tears away. “Who was it?” He asked, taking off his blazer. “I forgot the joint, didn’t think I’ll need it” I stated, changing the subject in hand. “Don’t worry darling, I’ve got you.” He said placing the thick fabric on my shoulders, protecting me from the ice-cold night air. He took a thin box out of his pocket and opened it. Taking out a stick, he lit up the end. He sucked in the smoke and handed it over to me. I breathed in as much as I needed to feel alive. I handed it back to Xavier. After some time, I was sure I couldn’t feel anything. I had stopped crying. Xavier threw the joint off the roof leaning on me whilst he did. “Xavi?” I breathed out heavenly. “Why do you never kiss me?” I asked, staring into the black night sky. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked back, staring into my eyes. I didn’t know what to say. My head was floating and my body was sinking but here I was asking, begging for a kiss. “I wanted to go to the Rave’n with you, I thought you liked me….” I said, whispering the last part quietly in embarrassment. “Well, I do like you.” He stated. “No, you don't,” I laughed lightly “Not the way I want you to anyways.” By now, I was drunk from the spiked punch and high from the weed. “I do, the only reason I didn’t ask you out to the rave’n is because Ajax told me you had a date. I mean you clearly were occupied. Every time I go around doing so you find a way to shut the idea down.” He was getting loud now. “You don’t!” “I do!” He groaned. I opened my mouth to talk back but my words evaporated once his lips touched mine. It only lasted a second. Something to shut me up with. So scarlet it was, maroon. I sat there, mouth agape and mind-swarming. “I like you so much, why can’t you see that?” he stated. “I like you too…” I said slowly, hesitantly. Maybe it was the effect that the spiked punch had made. But his lips were on mine again. I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. I can’t figure out what he tastes like. I can’t figure out his strategy. The only thing that I figured out was that I was engrossed by his every memory. The only thing I figured out was that this will haunt me for the longest time. And so he kissed me like he loved me. And he kissed me like he meant it. He kissed me like it was the last time he ever will. “No,” I said pulling away, shaking my head trying to get sober, trying to piece my thoughts together. I can’t have myself fall into the abyss of Xavier Thorpe. I can’t wind up into his tournament nature. I can’t be another checkmark in his love book. I cannot love Xavier Thorpe. I cannot afford to love Xavier Thorpe. I cannot have myself love Xavier Thorpe. “What?” He breathed out. “I can’t, you, we can’t,” I said. With his insecurities and mine, it won't work. His life, my life, nothing matches. The difference is inevitably deafening. And with that look in my eye, behind the high, he could see it. He could see everything. And so he pressed his lips on mine harder. “Don’t worry about it, love, you're the only one.” he said scrapping my thoughts away. I knew right about then that I was tricked by the magic of Xavier Thorpe.

[queen-rainy-love]

Trying this again because this was posted too early and I might as well get it done before Thanksgiving Break.

Again, thanks to @nightmyst14-blog for this inspiration. Let's try this again.

Set in my AU verse.

To Oyster: Mother taught me everything I know about the family business.

From Oyster: My darling pearl. One day, this House will be yours.

To Captain Caviar: Thank you so much for taking care of my mother and I. Better than my jam father.

From Captain Caviar: Even if we ain't jam related, you are my daughter.

To Black Pearl: While I'm looking for your pearl, stop threatening father and innocent Cookies!

From Black Pearl: My little pearl, you are the princess of the Duskgloom Sea.

To Abyss Monarch: There's underwater cities!? What is it like?

From Abyss Monarch: I'm proud to call you as my step-granddaughter. I also apologize for Electric Eel.

To Peppermint: I love your stories. It's like I'm there.

From Peppermint: Thank you for giving me a new home. Let's talk with the sea again.

To Squid Ink: I think I found some shines you might like. Which one do you like the most?

From Squid Ink: Kind...like sister...

To Puffer: You're such a ball of energy that you could give the Pearl Soldiers a run for their money.

From Puffer: You have to teach me how to climb up to the chandelier!!

To Sorbet Shark: No more pirate ships! They're nothing but trouble!

From Sorbet Shark: Ooooo Ooooo!

To Clotted Cream: We made some promises as children that need to come true!

From Clotted Cream: My dear childhood friend. We have a list that we need to get through.

To Wildberry: You better take care of Clotted for me!

From Wildberry: I've heard stories about you from Clotted Cream. Are you sure you're not a paladin?

To Red Velvet: You had a rough start with Clotted but you really are like a Cake Hound. Sweet.

From Red Velvet: I've heard you're good with a blade. Let me know if you ever want to train.

To Pastry: It's nice to see you doing well.

From Pastry: You...look familiar...

To Financier: You know it's fun to let lose every now and then.

From Financier: How you haven't got thrown in jail is beyond me.

To Candy Diver: Thanks for helping father during the Duskgloom Sea. But why are you completely covered?

From Candy Diver: *happy sounds*

To Crunchy Chip: I don't think I've met a Cookie who made me feel like this before.

From Crunchy Chip: You're strong like Cream Wolf. My equal.

To Braised Abalone: We're not our grandfathers. We don't need to go down this path.

From Braised Abalone: You and your family are cowards for what you did to my family.

I hope you guys enjoyed this super early relationship chart post about Bubble Pearl.

[queer-crusader]

In praise of Dead Man's Chest,

a rather forgettable follow-up of Curse of the Black Pearl, i wanted to quickly list the moments where the vibes are truly off the charts:

when Bill Turner comes to tell Jack his time is up and gives him the black spot

visiting Tia Dalma. Her telling of the origin story of Davy Jones' heart, the fact that she has the same music box on her table in a brief shot, Barbossa's boots (still dead? resting?) on a bed in a different room as monkey Jack investigates. (Hell, when her cabin comes into view we hear the same tune we heard when Barbossa died!!) "Him heart." "A touch... of destiny" ma'am i fucking love you

Will being sent to search the Flying Dutchman but he's only sent to a wreckage that has fallen victim to the kraken. One crew member still desperately trying to hoist a sail, Will barely able to snap him out of it. Bodies everywhere. Lashing rain. A body dropped from great height, its face torn off by the kraken's suckers, just a membrane of skin that is still pulsing as the man desperately tries to breathe beneath it. I feel like this is Will's "you'd best start believing in ghost stories, Turner. You're in one!" moment

And then the Dutchman rises from the depths and its crew literally comes out of the woodwork!! Will dousing his sword in oil and smashing a lamp to fight with a flaming blade and see what he's up against!!

"Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss?" (still thrilled i put this line on a pair of booty shorts in my black sails crack fic but thats an unrelated sidenote, this line just FUCKS) "All your deeds laid bare. All your sins punished. I can offer you an escape." BILL NIGHY DOES NOT PLAY ENOUGH VILLAINS

"Life is cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?"

Jack looking at the scene unfolding through his looking glass. Jones looking right back at him. Jack putting the glass down and Jones being RIGHT THERE. VIBES OFF THE CHARTS

"You can't talk your way out of this one, Jack" yet HERE HE IS BARGAINING THE WORTH OF HIS SOUL. And he tells Will, who is taken as down payment, is in love, betrothed even. And the impact that has on Jones. Not to mention how the key theme of Davy Jones, a man whose story is centered around love and heartbreak, starts playing for the first time. Fuck

Recruiting new men (sorry, cannon fodder to give to Jones) and Gibbs asking a potential crew member (Norringtonnn) what his story is. "My story... It's exactly your story, just one chapter behind." FUCK THATS SUCH A GOOD SUMMARY OF NORRINGTON'S CURRENT STATE

THE ORGAN VERSION OF DAVY JONES' THEME. The way the giant coral tubes coming out of it remind me of the arteries and veins of a heart. The way Jones still cries while playing it - cutting out his heart clearly didn't have the full intended effect, despite his cruelty that followed. (Here's the coolest fucking IRL version of that theme btw. You'll realise exactly where the phrase "pulling out all the stops" comes from)

Wyvern, a man so long for his debt on the Dutchman he's becoming one with the wood. That fucks

LIAR'S DICE. There's an extended version of the scene and here is an analysis of why the long version fucks actually and how it's a masterclass on writing plot and character development subtly

"Let no joyful voice be heard! Let no man look up at the sky with hope! And let this day be cursed by we who ready to wake... the Kraken."

And then when you see the true scale of it. The way it snaps a ship in half and pulls it beneath the wave. That kinda fucks

"The boy's not here. He must have been claimed by the sea. "I am the sea." Mr Jones i think that's a point of contention the root of which caused your relationship problems and everything that followed

Leaning into the chest and hearing an actual heartbeat

Jack abandoning the Pearl during the Kraken attack, then checking his compass and for the first time it works, telling him what he wants most. We don't see what it points to, but based off what he tells Elizabeth in the first film, my guess is the Pearl, which in his mind represents freedom

The absolutely HAUNTING memorial of Jack at Tia Dalma's cabin, underscored with the sound of Will's knife hitting the table over and over. The deep despair. Tia Dalma saying she knows how Will hoped to use the Pearl to chase down Davy Jones and save his father. The way she jumps on the slightest glint of them being willing to try and repair what has happened. She wants Will to go after Jones. Because after all, she's taken steps to help the crew for the inevitable moment Jack would lose and needed saving:

BARBOSSA'S BACK BABEYYYY AND LOOKING MORE ALIVE AND THRIVING THAN EVER

Special shoutout to the three-way fight in the chapel and on the waterwheel, it's silly and a little slapstick-y but it DOES have some cool choreography and really cool moments! Clearly an attempt to recreate the fight in the workshop from the first film, and while it doesn't succeed in the same way (not quite to the rhythm of the music like in the first film, little to no character development revealed like we saw in film 1), but the scenery is vibrant, the choreography is good, the ever-changing alliances fun and the scene IS memorable!!

[canonsinthehead]

My Review of Yakuza 8/Infinite Wealth.

I'm back! Few days I've completed the game Yakuza 8 and will take the time to share my thoughts on it. Brace yourself!

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD. I ASSUME YOU’VE PLAYED THE GAME BEFORE READING THIS.

THE STORY: 4/10

A 50/50 roller coaster between clutching your pearls and an abyss of nuclear waste storytelling trash.

The whole story sounded good on paper, but its execution was poor especially past the first part of the game with Ichiban. Going between his lowkey undermined POV and another attempt (for the 124654th time) for a redemption story for Kiryu like almost all previous Yakuza games. Oh no! Am I dead?! Looks like I am. See you next game!

Many plot holes dragged the story to filth. Minor points/elements were expanded on meanwhile important ones were ignored.

WHAT I LIKE & DISLIKED ABOUT THE STORY:

LIKED & DISLIKE: CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT It’s the game’s strength but also its weakness as this game greatly focuses on the character development of the protagonists. Like how in one minute, I was clapping for Kiryu’s newfound maturity and admitting his past faults (something he failed to do since the start of the Serie in my opinion) to the next 5 minutes I’m vomiting at full force because Mr. Repeat-the-same-mistakes Kazuma wants to (yep you guessed it...) go back to the Yakuza. He went as far as disrespecting Daigo, Majima & Saejima for it as if they were obligated to follow him in his shenanigans. He is so hell-bent on being the 1# Yakuza mammy AND CONTINUE TO PUT HIS ADOPTED DAUGHTER HARUKA TROUGH HELL. Thank you Akiyama for trying to punch some sense in him, i would have done the same.

I understand the theme of shame was prevalent with Kiryu but at this point hurry up and die to take the Yakuza out with you (his words not mine). We fell for the clickbait since Kiryu is still among us smh.

As for Ichiban, many points were missing especially a more organic/verbalized connection and relationship with his mom. As much I liked Chitose’s act of redemption at the end, the “lets-stop-everything-so-i-can-disclose-my-boohoo-backstory-so-yall-can-feel-bad-for-me” had me shaking my head into an earthquake (ok I’m lying cause I was snoring). On a positive note, this is why I like the character of Tomizawa since he often came into opposition to Ichiban’s opinion and morals giving unfiltered thoughts.

DISLIKED: DÉJÀ VU & REPETITION DÉJÀ VU! DÉJÀ VU! DÉJÀ VU! The story’s white shirt is so stained with déjà vu spaghetti sauce it's giving rubber bullets, and my undisclosed brother is a CIA agent (if you know you know). Family dysfunction leading to resentment, daddy issues, Maury Povich, Tojo Clan conflict of the day word salad, The Big Bad Chinese™, etc. I know these topics are broad, but many were seen before IN THE EXACT SAME WAY but with different characters along with scenes being replayed as well…

DISLIKED: OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR: KASUGA ICHIBAN! as we could see, they gave Ichiban the Shonen protagonist/Jesus treatment (he is video game Luffy with the outfit too and the ultimate powers of Baryon Mode level Talk no Jutsu). It was all foreshadowed by the blasphemous promotion pic they released. Ironically this same image told us about the presence of a traitor (also the choice of name; Ebina. Hebi = Snake in Japanese) but I digress. Not only the trope is overdone in general, but the issue is also that they are taking away from his realistically “human” qualities and lowkey dehumanizing him into the untouchable unbreakable hero. I’m saying this because in Y7 the dream of being a hero was more him tapping into his inner child and resolving the lost time but now it's my hero = I’ve never met someone like you, Jesus. This same trope was an important point of Kiryu’s demise and (literally) suicidal tendencies. It’s like he’s too good for tears outside of being weaponized during talk no jutsu.

HATED: THE TOJO CLAN IS IN TROUBLE! No matter how much the disbandment of the Tojo and Omi was official we are still talking about the Yakuza conflict as if it’s not 2023-2024. I understand a big part of its presence it demonstrates how much people hold to past ways of life, but I am TIRED of the “Tojo this, Tojo that” like it never disbanded. This long sequence of rambling about hierarchy and the fight for power always sends me into a deep sleep. It always takes 2-3 business days to build everything back in place as if it never disbanded smh and it happens EVERY TIME. Ok, I’m being a hater. I’m sick of the Tojo Clan.

To be fair, it gets worse and worse as the game continues. the first half of the game is fair to display realistically the life of an ex-yakuza in a coherent way in the first part of the game. it may sound like i'm contradicting myself but everything akuza-related gets lost in the sauce further in the story. i just blinked and now it's all about a white saviour and Japanese nationalisim (mentionned by Daidoji family). TF?!

DISLIKED: TEENAGE DREAM ROMANCE I’m not a fan of the romance between Saeko and Ichiban. It seems forced and something the authors came up with for a plot device. Saeko always served One Piece’s Nami when it pretended to her follow male party members (not romantically attracted regardless of proximity). Ichiban you are too old to be this clueless, but I thought this aspect was both at the same time cringe as hell and deeply hilarious.

DISLIKED: FORGIVENESS I think I've said it before, but forgiveness was a big theme but why its always extended to people who need to be thrown in a dumpster and set on fire? This showed how much Ichiban wanted to successfully accomplish the redemption mission which failed with Masato. Which is cool I guess and measures up to Ichiban’s character. It would have been nice to see villains being villains (to the exception of Yamai, protect him at all cost) like Ebina could have openly rejected Kiryu’s teary kabedon, Eiji being left in the dumpster where he belongs or let him surrender himself on his own accord. I was praying for Dai-Jima-Jima to stand on business and reject Kiryu after being disrespected but mam I was wrong. Not saying people don’t deserve a second chance but it was overdone.

Also, the “naïve-and-my-friends-can-do-no wrong” theme with Ichiban was frustrating at times but paid off sometimes. i will lay off the hater train since characters like Sawashiro got what he deserved many times.

NOT A FAN: FANSERVICE & PLOTHOLES The entire presence of characters like Zhao and Joongi was for fanservice (let’s bring back these fan favorites!). they had no real reason to be there ESPECIALLY Zhao. What is he a cook? You are not part of or the leader of the Liumang anymore. Plot holes were filled with Joongi and “the BBC-Sherlock-Holmes-logic” If he could get so much info, why not include him earlier? I’m sorry to go there but the over-focus (and even further) Seonghui’s whole endeavor was to satisfy the male gaze. It’s a Yakuza game after all catered towards the straight male demographic, I’m not delusional. I'll tolerate it to some extent since they have beaten the character assassination allegations for her but WHY AM I SEEING HER BARE FEET?! Let’s be honest, Dai-Jima-Jima appeared for fanservice as well (like they already did in Y7 smh)

HATED: RACISM Chitose. I’m not gonna say more…

DISLIKED: THEY HAD TO INCLUDE THEM VTUBERS! The concept of Vtubers seemed out of place and unserious compared to the story. The protagonists are suffering under the weight of defamation… OOPS! Let’s cut to this Donald Duck Opioid voice having Vocaloid exposing the government. The most valid source of information around! NO FAKE NEWS HERE! Like What?!

ADORED: THE HUMANIZATION OF KIRYU KAZUMA I love how the sensibility, and vulnerability of Kiryu were put to the forefront. Regardless of this game's bad attributes, seeing the man behind the Dragon of Dojima was heartwarming admit his prominent flaws was amazing. This game turned me into an avid Kiryu’s stan. I love his new design, dark colors, and grey hair fit him and his fat ass. Hence why it was painful to see Kazuki and Yuya being avoided by him when they recognized the man’s humanity and pained heart. I will not forgive Kiryu for that.

LIKED: ALL THE PURISTS, DEAD IN A DITCH! I’m rejoicing as this game is RGG/Yakuza games purists’ worst nightmare. The Reddit bros and the “lets-keep-RGG-Japanese” crowd are suffering. First when Ichiban was released for looking “foreign” but now that he is biracial confirmed, THEY CAN PACK IT UP! A game in the USA and moments with pseudo woke agenda (their words not mine). I am feasting on their tears. Again I’m not delusional, RGG will always stay true to their main target audience but I'm celebrating every loss they get, IDC.

ADORED: FUNNY MOMENTS there were many funny moments. Going from unhinged Seonghui, Adachi & Nanba goofing around and Joongi revealing more of his personality. I had many good laughs. Of course, nothing tops all the overprotective toxic boy mom/dusty 40yo son interactions with Kiryu and Ichiban. i almost fell from my chair with the whole "policeman help! this scary tourist is trying to attack me as an america" and the infamous Bruddah!

ADORED: KAZUKI & YUYA perfect style update. They look amazing and better than anybody else. They give TVXQ on 10000% and they got fangirls. I’m dead.

ADORED: YAMAI if there is one thing RGG never fails to deliver on is their antagonists and vilains. i love his unhingedness, his class and how unpredictable he is. the drip is immaculate. aside from that, he has a interesting back story. his role fills up as both a father figure-like to Ichiban keeping him in check and an aloof ally. His taste in women is 124684/10 automatically making his a king.

ADORED: YU NANBA & ETC i really need to take the time say it but the character of Nanba in this game is crucial. His unmatched personality is allowing to revealed others' character. his conpassion (along with Seonghui, Saeko & Zhao) almost form a better party since they act like real friend.

GAMEPLAY: 5.5/10 The RPG-esque gameplay depends on the player's preference. Since I was watching my sister play, I could be biased and stopped after the completion of the main story but here’s the points I liked and disliked about it:

LIKED:

New Attacks. Many of them are super effective in defeating opponents fast.

Pound mates: they were super fun and helpful. While I wished for Yamai to have one as well. My favorite was the one for Kazuki & Yuya.

Kiryu’s Bucket & Memories.

Talk around the city & Bond Bingo.

Throwing Sawashiro in the river

DISLIKED:

LONG AS F. FEELS LIKE AN ETERNITY (AS A VIEWER)

TOO MUCH DUNGEONS

THANKS FOR THE INFO, THAT LED US NOWHERE. (INFORMATION FETCH QUESTS)

ANIMAL CROSSING ISLAND

FINAL THOUGHTS & OVERALL NOTE. A Disappointment. i maybe forget certain things but this game missed the mark. In my opinion the negative out way the positive to the point of being bad. Especially when it comes to the story alone (the gameplay is great regardless of its flaws). I’m not going to repeat my previous point the game is not passing the vibe check. Now all the hype before its release makes sense, RGG made sure to drop spoilers to feed the thirst and so-called “mystery” of the game. The joke is on me since they already got my money and it's only now that we realize this game is not the best (not worth 130-ish$). It all felt like a Yakuza Gaiden extension while actively refusing to give Kiryu a close casket death.

Overall, 4.5/10. Do not recommend it. I honestly don’t knows if I will be there or care for any future RGG game release, it doesn’t look promising.

[bahamutgames]

GCPL Game Jam 2024

Hello! Recently the county I live in held an event where you could go and play some games made by local people for the county's game jam they held! I had no idea this was happening until just a few days before, so sadly I didn't enter the jam, but I did get to go to the event and play the games!

I had a great time, the whole Free Comic Book Day event was neat, I got cards from a lot of local artists, saw some cool cosplays, got to play some jam games, met some cool indie devs, and even got a free Monster High comic. Neat.

Anyway, I figure it would be a shame and also just downright rude to not talk about what I got to play during the event! So I figured, hey, let's just make little post solely devoted to it :)

Before we begin, here's the link to the jam page (x) so you can see all the submissions. The theme was "Tales from the Abyss" so a lot of them are horror themed!

Abyssal Assault - by Link362

This one is a pretty basic top down shooter. But for some reason I can't stop thinking about how good it felt. You'll play it yourself and see how simple it is, but for some reason the mouse control for aiming just feels particularly good to me. I think there's a lot of potential in this game for some serious improvement if they add more enemy types and upgrades. I can see sniping enemies with arrows from across the screen being SO satisfying and using the deadzones as cover from enemy fire could be really cool and make for some unique mechanics in a VS-like. If they care to iterate on the game, of course lol

Abyssal Eats - by Poyomain

DUDE this game absolutely rules actually! I had a very difficult time with it during the event and couldn't beat it at all. But after coming back to it today to make this post I seriously LOVE the concept. All the mechanics and stuff really came together and I genuinely love this game!

This is a neat game where you use cards to cook recipes for monsters, it's a little difficult to understand because there's no tutorial, but I really think this game has TONS of potential to be fleshed out into a full project! It's also one of the nicest presentations from this jam, having cute custom graphics and even an original song made just for it! This one is super neat!

Bell-Punk - by Ingward

One of my personal favorites from the jam! When I came up to play it, the person who made it told me they were waiting for me to come over cause they wanted someone who knew what they were doing to try the game... Do I really just give off the gamer aura? Terrifying thought.

Regardless, this is a top down twin stick shooter where you use a harpoon gun to beat up sharks, grab a pearl, then slowly bring it back to your ship. It's nothing super fleshed out, but it's a REALLY good concept in my opinion, and I think deep sea stuff is SUCH a good concept for a shooter / horror / abyss theme that really doesn't get used enough. Just this base with some upgrades, level and enemy variety, other objectives, ect ect would be KILLER! But the creator told me some of their plans for the concept going forward, and I'm not sure if I'm allowed to talk about them, but they sound REALLY cool, so I'll absolutely be keeping up with this one!

Dante's Diner - by cjoyner150

So, I absolutely SUCKED at this game. Couldn't do it during the event and can't do it now. But I still wanted to give it a shoutout cause it's such a good use of the theme. Basically the abyss is the diner you work in and demons will come in, and sit at the table, and you just have to cook for them. Easy peasy. The creators told me the tables were based on the circles of hell, and if that's what they're going for that's GENIUS. I could seriously see a ton of potential in the concept especially if, say, different types of customers sat at different tables, reflecting their sin. Also, this cooking dinerdash game has enemies. Neat! They should put combat into it to

Dimension - by cbianca168

Simple, but OH so addicting. I could NOT stop playing this one. I gave it so many tries at the actual event, but had to give up. However, once I got home and could play it with a controller, it was a lot easier. This is a simple game where you have to pick up orbs while dodging scrap and not get knocked into a black hole. But it's got a nice presentation with its visuals and particularly its music. The creator told me their siblings made the song, and it actually changes to match how far you are into the level! Which is VERY neat! Think you can beat my score?

Hansel And Gretel's Summoning - by kingofthedregs

Another simple one with a really good presentation. This is a cute game where you have to quickly search for candy in a room, and hide whenever a witch comes by. It's easy when you get the hang of it but it was a good challenge when I started. I really like the original artwork in this one and I actually think there's a lot of potential too! I didn't realize the set up for a big plot that appears at the end, so I'd love to see more of what the creator has in store here!

Melt - by p3arldiv3r

So by the time I'm writing this I still haven't gotten an ending in this (sorry to everyone who made visual novels READING IS HARD FOR ME) but I wanted to give a shout out to this one in particular. The creator told me they made all this stuff brand new and original for the game jam. Including the writing, the character designs, and the art. Which is CRAZY! I've only participated in one jam and a lot of the art in that game was pretty small so I feel like doing all the art and writing in such a short time is very impressive. If stuff about angels sounds interesting, maybe check it out, the creator said it's roughly the size of a chunk of a novel, and with multiple endings is a pretty loaded jam game!

Pirate Tales: Lighting The Abyss - by ChokladGames

Another one I couldn't beat, but still wanted to give a shoutout to. This is another impressively large game considering it was made for a game jam. You control a pirate ship, and have to search a large ocean to find clues on where towers are to shoot them down and get rid of the evil fog over the ocean. It's a little lengthy of a game that you have to beat in one sitting, but the concept is very cool and over all I think it's an impressive project! I was also particularly impressed with the use of actual wind physics, where sailing in the direction of the wind makes you go faster! Neat!

Sticky's Dream Job - by MeganG

A shoot 'em up!! You already know I love those! And it's a vampire survivor like, which is cool! I really enjoy this game, since this genre is a personal favorite, and I think this one in specific is very cute with its scribbly aesthetic and being on paper. But it's also a very impressive jam game overall, having multiple classes (they all share the same weapons, but still) with different music tracks for each, lots of upgrades, and actual achievements which is NUTS to me. There's also some cool weapons I feel like I hadn't seen before like a radius shield and giant weapons you lob in an arc similar to Castlevania. I believe this one won the jam over all if I remember correctly, and it certainly earned it, neat game! I got to year 79 and became so powerful I couldn't die. Typical day for a game dev am I right fellas?

Under the Sea - by htesdev

A neat little side scrolling platformer! The whole point of this one is to complete the obstacle course as quickly as possible! You collect coins to increase your speed, and collect gems for checkpoints. It's simple but I think it's a great premise for a side scroller to take place underwater! Especially since water levels are pretty notorious lol. I think this could be expanded and they could really expand on the idea of the level getting harder to see the deeper you get. Anyway, I only got to 67 seconds (66 appears to be the best time) so try and see if you can get that quick!!

VOID - by FoxTrot

Another cool top down shooter! This one is admittedly a lot more polished, having a lot of mechanics such as dashing and shielding. But coolest of all is that you unlock a new spell every floor and can spend coins to swap out your abilities to a load out you enjoy! I keep saying this but this is super impressive for a jam game in my opinion! I think this game can be expanded even more into something really cool! I just like being able to change my abilities on the fly lol

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And that's just a bit of what I played at the event! There's even more games in the jam I didn't get to check out or that weren't showcased there! And there were TONS of horror games, so if you're interested in some bite sized indie horror, you should check out what else is available!

Everyone who participated in this jam is SUPER talented and if you're interested in ANYTHING that was shared here, I encourage you to go give it a look! I love seeing things made locally where I'm from so it was really exciting to see some Georgia game devs at work :)

If anyone from the Free Comic Book Day event stumbles upon this post, reach out! I'd love to talk more with other Georgia gamers!