#but it was him saying that he used the old spider silk that he had them collect

[majormeilani]

cassidy showing them the movie fits he made for them :) (handmade with real recycled old spider webs silk!)

[yandere-wishes]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her? 

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that. 

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

 You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom. 

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing. 

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe.  They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it. 

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile. 

"What's the old man saying this time?" 

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face. 

When did you fall in love with him, again? 

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless. 

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him. 

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money. 

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be. 

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders. 

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right. 

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero. 

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy. 

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference? 

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now. 

Even though you doubt  Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders. 

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain. 

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask. 

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek.  Sliding from one universe to another. 

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home. 

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again. 

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind. 

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror. 

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one. 

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.  

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth. 

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm. 

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside. 

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.  

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor. 

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses. 

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul. 

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too. 

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions. 

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms. 

[bruciemilf]

now i need to know how miguel and battinson would interact. there's so much potential for all types of scenarios

My favorite one at the moment is Miles somehow stumbling in Gotham. He's running from Miguel, from Gwen, from himself.

if there's one thing Gotham can give you, it's a chance. For greatness or disaster both. The Batfamily often picks both.

"Is he, uh, one of ours?"

Dick carefully takes In this guy, -- this boy, this 15 year old. Panting and scared and strong, and way too familiar with being put in the corner. "Call dad, Duke."

Bruce knows too much about scared children.

Miles is handed a cup of steaming tea by a big guy named Jason. There's a discreet smell of cold blood on him, gunpowder, bullet smoke. It clashes with how...Gentle he's being.

" Uh...Thanks."

"Yeah, don't get used to it,'' He said, ignoring the fond, sly smiles of Bruce and Dick. " You two definetly don't get used to it."

Cass sits next to Miles on the couch, " Jay. Small brain. Big heart. Mushy."

"I graduated with honours,"

"English degree.''

"Damian, hold me back. Or I'll get my ass kicked again."

"So when you say multiverse,--"

"Tim," Bruce's voice is soft silk but nonetheless very effective. "We should let Miles breathe a little. Come. We'll talk in the cave.''

Damian regards Miles with a look. Not a bad or good one, but just a look. " Danger favours you. Use that."

"Uh... Okay?"

"I only had you for a day and a half. Should something happen to you, I'll annihilate everyone on the planet, and then myself."

"...Thanks."

He tells Bruce what happened, with every terrifying, every nerve wrecking detail. He remembers the rush, the adrenaline, the dread that bled into him. The sour betrayal.

"I know that the real Spider-Man wouldn't complain, but he's,'' There's something about Bruce, that puts an ease on him. He looks at Miles like Rio looks at Miles. " He's my dad."

"Suffering isn't an accomplishment, " Bruce tells him gently, hand on his shoulder, " And tragedy isn't a reward. Anyone would do the same in your position."

"...Would you change YOUR destiny?"

"I already am."

As for Miguel and Battinson? You can't tell me it's not fighting on sight.

Miguel knows he pushed too hard, and he was too harsh, and he didn't take the time to explain WHY this needs to be done. The motive behind it. The reason.

"You can't explain the reason because there's no reason."

"Listen, trust fund. You can give me back my kid, or I can take him from you. "

Bruce doesn't miss a beat, meeting rich, sharp, ruby red eyes with a calm glare. " You're welcome to try."

"You want me to mess up that pretty face? Is that what you want? If you want to fight, then-"

"I'm not a 15 year old, so are you sure?"

Dick and Jason give eachother tired looks. " They're totally gonna get married."

" Totally."

[a-twistedheartslonging]

do you have any nsfw headcanons for spooder boy Idia?

I still giggle thinking of horny spider taps. Imagine you're just minding your own business when a long floofy blue spider leg reaches out from behind you and gives you a few pats and taps before gently stroking you. Then at your positive response, another leg joins in and drags you away to get some spooder lovin. I see his anxiety causing him to go nonverbal at times and a spider's way of asking to mate works well with this.

Same with the purring once you find out it isn't just some happy/content response and means he wants to mate...hmm, I do wonder just how strong those vibrations are though...could make sex more interesting if he does it during.

Can use his pedipalps for sex but there more so useful for quick insemination so he can get the heck out without getting eaten, using his actual dick that comes from a slit hidden behind plates that shift away when aroused is much more enjoyable for both of you. Though said palps are very useful for keeping your hips in place for sex, means his hands are free for even more grabbing and groping. Also useful for keeping your face in place during oral.

My god does he love how soft you are. Idia's spider body may be fluffy but he still has a hard exoskeleton along with some plates on his human upper half. He loves being able to sink his claws into the soft fat of your hips, thighs, and tummy. Before meeting you, he hadn't really had the urge to bite someone before and didn't understand why the other guys seemed to interested in mating bites. He gets it now when he stares at exposed skin and flesh and can feel his mouth watering and teeth itching. You're lucky you won't get poisoned unless he intentionally injects you. Still, even then it takes a while to convince him to do it, his sharp teeth are no joke...but let's not forget the old monsterfucker saying. "The sharper the teeth, the sweeter the bite."

Hmmm...spider bondage. Certain spiders learned it's a good way to keep your mate from eating you during sex, although it's not necessary with you being a human, it does ease some of his anxiety...along with a rather pleasant feeling of being in control, Idia likes it. The silk webbing he uses feels wonderful and smells like him.

His dick does indeed glow. Makes it interesting when you're in a dark room and see the faint glow of it when it's inside your body...hehehe glowstick dick....don't actually call it that though or he might cry.

[jiubilant]

Does Shurri get up to visit frozen Winter(hold) wonderland much to see her pa after the two reconcile?

In some particulars, Shiv thinks, she's sipping tea with a stranger. So is he. But some things haven't changed.

"The game," she announces like a bookie, unfolding the pegboard across the page-strewn desk, "is halatafl—"

"Mind my cup," says the Archmage of Winterhold, and whisks it out of the way with one hand. His face cuts peevish through the steam. "We can't just play draughts?"

"—in the vernacular," Shiv continues virtuously, ignoring him, "known as wolf"—she drops one of the two red-painted pegs into its hole, then taps it with a claw—"and sheep."

She places her second wolf with predatory delicacy, then arranges the rest of the pegs on his side of the board: twenty of them, white as lambkins, to her two. Her father, swathed in the sort of sumptuous silk dressing-gown that he'd once eyed wistfully in Taarie's store—and a frumpy fur rug, because silk's not worth a sneeze in his freezing hold—begins to look interested.

"Ah," he says, smiling with one side of his mouth. "Well. If the odds are in my favor."

Shiv grins at him with all her sharpest teeth.

* * *

"Again?" she asks after the third game.

"Ai," says the Archmage. It's the sort of gusty Velothi exclamation she'd heard every day of her childhood—after climbing down from the roof, usually, or coaxing him to buy her a bag of havreflarn. He turns a despairing smile on her. "It hasn't been an hour?"

"Half." She smiles back with just her eyes. "You might win this time."

The old man makes an eloquent face. "Set the board."

It's one of those northern nights best spent, Shiv thinks drily, in the south. Or playing board games. The stone walls of the study, glacial to the touch, muffle the wailing wind. Ice crusts the eye-shaped window behind the Archmage's desk; it rattles in its frame, battered by the blizzard's white fist. But she's stoked the fire bright, and the little room is warm where the firelight spreads.

It glints on two empty teacups and the Archmage's rings, garnet and gold, as he reaches across the board. His fingers twitch above the pegs. They curl, but don't bend. He watches his hand contort itself like a spider for a moment, patiently, then leans forward in his wheelchair and—with his other hand, the steady one—closes the spasming fingers around one of his sheep.

"If only," he murmurs, amused, "one could magic the pieces to move of their own accord."

One could, in a college for wizards. Almost everyone could. Shiv watches him move the peg. He practices with the palsied hand, stretching it, writing, picking things up and putting them down, for at least an hour a day. He's getting better at it. The letter he'd sent her after his latest fit—apoplexy, he'd called it later, and gently explained that it would likely happen again—had been so scrambled and smudged that she hadn't even finished it before throwing herself at the High Queen's feet, like a trophy pelt, to beg leave of her court.

Now, two months later, he's well enough to stay up late and lose at tafl. She can probably bring up things that might distress him. She hasn't.

"I've been thinking more, of late," he's saying, "on that sort of thing. The, ah, the everyday good that magic could do—the great help it could be to those with, with hands that shake, or bones that ache, and suchlike, if it were only more commonplace." His eyes travel, thoughtful and sharp, across the board—navigating his next three moves, as usual. "My cane leaps into my hand when I drop it. Why doesn't everyone's?"

Within a year, Shiv thinks, every walking-stick in Winterhold will be doing somersaults. "Used to be that Rafe would crawl under tables for it."

"You, too," says the Archmage. A smile creases the side of his face that still moves. "Well, not everyone has a Rafe, or a Shurri."

For a moment, looking at him, Shiv forgets the past ten years: the fantastical old hierophant enthroned in the wheelchair, bejeweled on every finger and robed in brocade like a picture in a book, is just Da. Then she blinks, and she sees in his smile the thing that makes him a stranger.

"You're happy," she says gruffly. It sounds like an accusation. She hadn't meant it to. She hadn't meant to speak at all; she listens to her own voice with vague surprise. "You old sharpster."

"It took some doing." Da moves one of his pieces with a soft, contemplative clack. "Are you?"

Something in her face must answer him, because he hesitates, then lays the palsied hand half-open on the desk. She blinks down at it. Then she puts one hard, scarred hand in it and covers it with the other, so that his fingers close.

"Probably I should have just piked," she says, very seriously, "and taken up toll-collecting."

He laughs. She'd hoped he would. "The dread bandit Pushpin?"

"Bodkin."

She wonders how to tell him that the smell of boiled leather makes her sick. That her mail-shirt's rusting to bits in a Haafing chest. That she's stuffed her sword and all the smaller pigstickers under her pallet, and hasn't polished them all month. Her shield-sisters would look at her askance. Her old drillmasters, Terentius and stern Rikke, would clout her on the head.

Da gives her a long, level look. Then he glances down at the board.

"Do you know," he says, surprised, "I think I've won."

Shiv looks down, then snorts. He has. He'd probably rearranged the pegs when she wasn't looking.

"But, yihla," says the Archmage, not ungently, "we play more than one game in this life—"

"Da."

"—and if you don't like the outcome of the last," the Archmage continues, raising the eyebrow that moves, "you can always—"

She wrinkles her nose like she used to do at his arithmetic lessons. He laughs again and relents.

But he does turn the tafl-board, with a calm and pointed look, so that she finds herself playing sheep.

[homunculus-argument]

Though I’ll re-type them later digitally, I write the text in narration boxes and speech bubbles onto the page by hand, just to make sure that the text fits them. And sometimes, to make sure that the written text fits the panels, I’ll first write it down exactly as I mean to put it on the page onto some random scrap paper.

Recently, there was a spider in the apartment, hanging from the ceiling by a thread. Not wanting to harm it and also not wanting to have the spider touch me, I grabbed one notepaper and planned to catch the spider on it, but my attempts to rescue the swinging little bastard caught my boyfriend’s attention. Being less hesitant about it, he simply gently took the spider by the silk thread and carried it outside by the thread itself. I left the note paper on the kitchen table and forgot it there.

 I sometimes walk the neighbour’s dog when the weather is bad, since she’s old enough to have a great-granddaughter who’s learning words, and slipping on the ice means breaking bones and breaking bones is a matter of life and death for old ladies. I usually tell my boyfriend bye and blow him a little kiss at the door before I close it, but that night he was so focused on the game he was playing I didn’t want to distract him, and simply left after trying to call his name twice. Routine day, business as usual.

You’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with any other aforementioned matter, but once I got home my boyfriend asked about what’s up. I had no idea what he was talking about, either, before he explained. He hadn’t noticed me leave, only that I had left without saying a word (something that he interpreted I’d only do if I was mad at him), and there was a note on the kitchen table. I had already forgotten both the spider and the note, before he showed it to me. Without thinking, I had picked the random paper with the most unnerving possible line from the comic written right in the middle of it.

“I only asked for more wine. Now let us play for real stakes.”

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.13

(Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader × Cersei Lannister. TW: violence)

(BTW: I have officially made an AO3 account that I will be transferring this story to as an OC fic. I will be continuing the fic here as an x Reader fic as well. I will include the link on Pt.14)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

The Hand's Tourney was set to be the event of the year.

Members of all the high and low noble families had gathered in the Keep, and hopeful knights old and young entered their names into the lists.

You were so glad Sandor wasn't one of them.

You knew how strong he was, and how skilled with his sword. But you didn't think you could stomach watching on the side lines as some hedge knight tried to take chunks from the notorious Hound.

Cersei had insisted on picking out your dress for the tourney, as it would be the first time you would be presented to all of the noble families. The gown itself was rose pink satin and the bodice and sleeves clung tightly to you. Over this, a maid laced a cloth of gold over bodice intricately decorated with silk rosettes. Your slippers were gold as well, also decorated with rosettes.

Cersei also urged you to let her maids braid your hair as was popular with the other noble ladies, which you agreed to so long as your head didn't end up looking like a beehive.

"Unfortunately, it would be poor form for us to sit together." Cersei bemoaned, "But consider this your first challenge to face alone."

"Yes, your grace" You balled up bits of your skirt into your palms, which were sweating from nerves.

Sandor was to stand guard of the royal family. Cersei was to sit next to the king. Which left you alone for the first time in quite a while, and in unfamiliar waters.

"Now, do you remember what I told you?" Cersei came up from behind you in the mirror, letting her fingers play with the delicate braids the maid had finished pinning into place.

"Avoid the small counsel members, except maybe Renly who's harmless enough. Don't start conversations but don't ignore someone trying to talk to me either. And if a knight asks for my favor, it's impolite to refuse....I don't think Sandor would like that one."

"Oh," Cersei scoffed, "Favors are one of the few exceptions to the rule. As long as it's clear that you're loyal to your husband, it's just innocent fun."

"If you say so" You bit your lip. Your favor was a simple wreath of paper flowers meant to go over a knight's lance for good luck in battle. You rather doubted it would be put to any use.

The start of the tourney itself was delayed for various reasons, leaving you and the rest of the onlookers to sit in the summer sun waiting impatiently.

You found an isolated spot in the stands across from the royal pavilion. Every once in a while, you would catch the eye of your husband or your lover and smile at them, wanting to join them but knowing it was impossible.

"Sitting alone, my lady?"

You looked up before looking away with a scoff, "Good day, Lord Varys. Might I help you with something?"

"Just taking in the joust." Varys did not ask to join you before sitting, fanning himself with a small paper fan.

"You hate blood sports." you reminded him knowingly.

"I do." Varys nodded, "But I just wanted to check in. You haven't told him yet."

"He doesn't need to know, it makes no difference."

"It makes all the difference." Varys corrected you before growing thoughtfully silent. "Or could it be you haven't accepted the truth yourself?"

At this you stood, gathering your skirts. "I am not entertaining this conversation. Good day."

But Varys wasn't letting you off the hook that easily.

"What do you think happens to barren wives of noble men?" The spider hissed "Do you think they're just reluctantly tolerated? At best, the Hound could petition the king to annul your marriage. At worst-" he tossed you a scathing look. "Let's just say there's more than one way to get rid of a troublesome wife."

"Shut your horrid mouth," you snapped at him, drawing the attention of others now, "My husband would never do that to me!"

"Oh you pretty little fool, you've managed to actually fall for him." Varys sighed, "then you're not half as clever as I believed you to be."

"Is the Spider disturbing you, Lady Clegane?"

You glanced up and almost sighed with relief at the sight of white armour and golden hair.

"Yes, actually" you glared at Varys.

Jaime scowled at the Eunuch, who backed down with a simper. "Perhaps the Lady has heard enough of your poison, Lord Varys"

"Very well" was all the Master of Whispers said, leaving you to the tender care of your savior.

"Ignore him" Jaime urged you after you thanked him. "You look very beautiful today, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Thank you, Ser Jaime. In truth your sister arranged most of this."

"She's always loved arranging things, my sister"

"I should warn you" you glanced across the pitch to your husband, "Sandor doesn't like the idea of you talking to me."

"No?" Jaime quirked a brow and gave an amused chuckle, "I suppose I'm taking my life in my own hands then"

"Speaking of" you motioned to the jousting ring, "you aren't participating?"

"No, not this time." He looked disappointed, "just an onlooker. Your brother by law is jousting this first round though. Is he not?"

"If they ever start, he should be." you chuckled as the King grew drunker and more and more impatient.

Finally the jousters made their entrances. First was Ser Hugh of the Vale, a young handsome man with flaxen hair and shiny new armour. He took his rounds on a tawny gelding to the cheers of the crowd.

The younger ladies of the court were clearly taken with this newcomer and this overwhelming support seemed to make him cocky.

Gregor, even ahorse, absolutely dwarfed the man. He, like his brother, also rode a black stallion, but Gregor's was dappled with grey and didn't seem to have the same discipline Stranger had.

The cheers for the Mountain were less boisterous, more of a polite round of applause.

You expected him to report right to his end of the run, but instead your skin broke out in goose bumps as he directed his horse towards you.

"My Lady." He addressed you with surprising respect, "I request your favor for House Clegane."

It would be rude to refuse, you knew that. And if he was requesting in the name of your shared house, it would be disrespectful to turn him away.

Pale but forcing your hands not to shake, you slipped the wreath of yellow paper flowers over his lance.

"Good luck to you, Brother" you nodded and he nodded back before returning to the joust.

Maybe he did approve of you, you thought as you returned to your seat by Jaime.

The horses were set and the knights ready and with a blast of a trumpet, they were off. The horses went at each other at a full gallop and lances lowered as the knights drew closer to each other.

You had expected the shattering of shields, and the sounds of wood against plate.

You hadn't expected the visceral, wet crunch of bone and blood as Gregor's lance point went not through the chest, but through Ser Hugh's throat. His armour, not properly secured, had given Gregor the perfect opening to end the bout in one round.

The crowd went up with a cry of dismay that simmer down into horrified silence as Ser Hugh fought desperately for his last breaths.

"Gods" Jaime breathed before glancing at your pale face. "Next time I go into battle, remind me to ask for your favor first."

You didn't respond, not finding the jest amusing in the slightest.

Gregor dismounted and, with chilling calm, returned to your side of the pitch. His armor clanking with each step and movement until he reached over the barrier and dropped something in your lap.

Yellow paper flowers, now notably crumpled, and dappled by Ser Hugh's blood.

You couldnt find the words to congratulate him, still shell shocked from the sight of lance peircing throat.

Gregor didn't wait for your acknowledgement, simply walking away.

"Look on the bright side." Jaime tried to rouse you, "I think he likes you."

When you didnt laugh, Jaime noticed people had started to leave the stands. The pitch needed to be reset and it would be hours until the next bout.

"Come" he offered his arm which you took shakily. "Let's get you back where you belong."

------------------

"Drink" Cersei poured you a generous glass of red. Your hands still shook but your mind had come back from the shock.

Jaime had escorted you to Cersei's side, and the queen had a similar attitude to her brother about the whole situation.

"I think we can call that a success at least" she assured you, slipping her arm through yours. "You did everything right, he asked, you gave, it was a solid show of familiar acceptance. Now that Gregor has accepted you as a Clegane, the court will follow."

"I feel like I killed that man" you said without thinking.

Cersei pulled a confused face and shook her head. "Nonsense, people die in tourneys all the time sweetling."

"I feel sick" you breathed, closing your eyes as if to stop the world from spinning.

----------------

Sandor was wrought with fury, and for a moment wished he had joined the lists just so he could throttle his frustrations out.

"Look who it is" the irritating princeling under his care pointed over the crowd. Lady Sansa, hooked to her prince's arm, craned her neck and smiled a little.

"Congratulations on your brother's win today, My Lady" Sansa said politely, though she had been equally dismayed by the bloodshed.

"Your Highness, My Lady" you acknowledged the younger pair in turn before turning to your husband. "I'm returning to the keep. I'm not feeling too well"

Sandor gave a short nod, not asking for further.

"You should not walk alone if you are not well" Sansa insisted, clinging to Joffery and trying to subtly motion to Sandor who had been looming behind them for hours.

"I appreciate the concern but I'm sure I'll be fine" you insisted but the Prince shook his head, picking up on Sansa's implication.

"Nonsense. Dog, see to your lady. Lady Sansa and I will be fine without you."

Sandor didn't need convincing before whisking you back to the keep, Sansa watching with wide blue eyes.

"They are very romantic, aren't they?" She breathed, "I wanted to watch their wedding when we were at Winterfell, but mother wouldn't let me."

"It was boring" Joffrey scoffed. "Who cares about two servants getting married?"

"I thought she was a hedge knight's daughter you met on the road?"

Joffrey quickly remembered himself and the lie his mother had impressed upon him and gave a cruel smirk, "That's right, I must have misremembered."

Sansa ignored the irony in his voice, swept up in the idea of a poor knight's daughter and a grumpy bear of a man meeting by chance on the King's Road and being so taken with each other they married as soon as they could in a grand castle.

It was just like the songs and tales she loved so much.

-----------------

"That was horrible."

"That's tourneys for you" Sandor growled, "what did you expect?"

"Not that" you struggled to keep up with him.

He didn't respond, and you found the silence to be brutally intentional.

"Sandor" you stopped, watching and he continued to storm forth. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad?" He stopped but didn't turn to look at you.

"Are you mad that I gave Gregor my favor before the joust?"

His shoulder slackened a little as he rolled back to face you, looking tired. "No" he confessed, "That's not why I'm mad."

"But you are mad" you pressed. "With me?"

He shrugged.

"Please be honest" you begged him, "I'm still very new at all this. If I did something wrong, I need to know."

Sandor took a breath, not wanting to take his frustrations out on you. Not if you were just trying to help.

"Fucking Lannister" he growled, "he had you practically in his lap the whole bout. And I know he did it just to piss me off."

Your face softened with understanding. "Oh, my love. Is that it?" You didn't want to laugh at him, it would only piss him off worse. So instead you closed the gap between the two of you.

"The queen is one thing" he breathed, "I won't lie and say I love the idea. But she makes you happy, and she's making life here easier for you....but that fucking brother of hers" his voice deepened to a growl. "I know, about you and him."

You gave a sharp breath. "It was just the once."

"Once is enough."

You thought a moment. "If it makes things easier, I will do my best to avoid Jaime Lannister."

"You can try" Sandor grumbled, "but one word to Her Grace and he'll try to turn her against you."

"I doubt that." You assured him. "She knows how much I love you. I like to think she'd be understanding "

---------------------

The second half of the joust didn't come until late the next morning.

This time you found your seat on the same side as the royal family, keeping yourself further away from the front so Gregor wouldn't ask for your favor a second time.

This time the Mountain was riding against Ser Loras Tyrell, a sterling youth with light chestnut hair that hung in ringlets. His armour was a shimmering display of steel roses pressed into the plate. His shield bore the sigil of his house proudly.

His mount was a milk white mare, and as she passed Gregor's stallion the black horse began to prance in place anxiously.

Despite Gregor's best efforts, the stallion would not settle as they mounted for the joust. It became rowdy and impatient, and when the trumpet blared the stallion dashed frantically in the direction of the mare.

Loras's lance smashed against Gregor's chest, sending the giant into the dirt and knocking off his helmet.

The crowd erupted with cheers as Loras basked in their adulation. Gregor, ever a sour loser, called for his sword.

You waited for the Melee round to start, internally bracing for another death, but instead of taking the broad sword to the Knight of the Flowers, Gregor took the head off the stallion with a single blow.

You covered your mouth in shock as the stallion stiffened and collapsed, flooding the pitch with a small river of blood. Gregor turned his attention onto Loras.

Before the teenager got a chance to call for his own weapon, Gregor shattered the Tyrell sigil into a million splinters and reared back to smash his opponent as well.

The crowd cried for mercy, and from the royal pavilion a large black mass shot between Gregor and Loras. It took you a moment to realize that black mass was your husband, who had drawn his own sword and was fighting off his brother as well as he could.

Size and strength were on Gregor's side, but Sandor managed to dodge and parry ill aimed blows that were fueled by rage.

You pushed yourself through the crowd to the wooden gate that separated the crowd from the jousters. You wanted to scream, but knew if you did you'd be risking his life.

He needed focus, as even now the battle wasn't looking good for him.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King" Robert bellowed, enraged by this sudden outbreak of violence. Sandor was the first to stop, almost immediately as the order was given he ducked quick enough to avoid what would have been a vicious blow to the head.

Gregor stopped only when he realized all attention was on him, armed guards waiting for him to make a wrong move so they could skewer him from all angles.

Instead he tossed his sword like a toddler tosses a toy and stormed off, Robert calling for the guards to leave him be.

Loras had managed to recover himself enough to make a show of honoring Sandor for saving his life, prompting scores of cheers that left him looking rather embarrassed.

When the crowd departed you all but threw yourself at you husband, grabbing at him with clinging hands.

"Gods, you can't do that" you scolded him, blood pounding in your ears frantically. "I thought I was going to have a heart attack. How can you be so stupidly brave? Damn you!"

Sandor grumbled under his breath, letting an arm drape over you shyly. "Well, I just didn't want Gregor to get the satisfaction of 2 deaths in as many days."

That was a lie, but you let him keep it. You supposed it was easier for him to swallow than the thought he'd done something genuinely selfless for someone he barely knew.

By the end of the day, The Hound almost wished he'd let the kid get crushed if it meant he wouldn't have to bat off so many strangers trying to thank and congratulate him.

Joffrey took great pleasure in the attention. After all, he considered the Hound's success to reflect on him. If The Hound was fearsome, than he was even more so.

Somehow, you even ended up getting caught in the frenzy. The noblewomen who had scorned you now tried to pull you into their conversations. You weren't sure how to feel about that, but mostly smiled and nodded to be polite.

"You must tell us more about how you met, it's so unusual." A strange but well dressed woman pressed.

"It's romantic" another woman dressed all in blue insisted, you had forgotten her name, "I didn't meet my husband until my wedding day."

"Are you going to try for children?" An older woman interjected, "I know you're getting a late start of it, but you still have some good years. Don't let those know-nothing Maesters make you think otherwise."

"Oh, you poor thing" the conversation came back around to the first woman. "I can't imagine the size of those babies"

"Poor thing, my eye" the older woman laughed, "I can imagine the size of that-"

"Lady Florent, you stop right there!" the blue woman scolded her with a fierce blush across her face.

You gave brief but friendly answers, and before long you had them eating out of the palm of your hand.

Maybe Cersei was right.

Maybe you would get on here just fine.

[ryin-silverfish]

Chapter 15: Your Horse is Dead

Fun Fact #1: budding legends around the historical Xuanzang already featured an extraordinary horse.

Fun Fact #2: and it's not a white horse, but a skinny red one.

-The unnamed old horse was gifted to Xuanzang by an elderly foreign man, who was an experienced traveller of the western roads. Later, while Xuanzang was crossing the desert, he lost his way and was about to die of thirst; suddenly, the horse took a different road on its own accord and saved the day by bringing him to an oasis.

-Because red is associated with fire, and horses turning into dragons was already a well-known trope in Chinese legends and folklore, said horse evolved into a Fire Dragon Horse in folk operas and retellings.

-In Yang Jingxian's JTTW Zaju, the horse was originally a fire dragon of the South Sea, who, strangely, was sentenced to death for failing to summon rain on schedule.

-Precious Scroll of the True Scriptures (真经宝卷), which came into existence around early Ming, also featured the Third Fire Dragon Prince, and his role was a lot more prominent than in the novel; after Sandy was forced to retreat into the river by SWK, he gave chase and stirred up the whole water body, and when this version of the seven spider demonesses used their silk to seize the pilgrims' weapons, the horse reverted to his dragon form and burnt away the silk with his flames.

-But since "White Horse Carrying the Scriptures" is a keystone imagery in the legends of Buddhism's spread to China, the horse also got a recolor in the Journey stories, and its association with fire gradually weakened, until all that was left was the arson of the dragon pearl in JTTW novel.

-Sidenote: the book only explicitly associated Metal with SWK, Wood with Pigsy, and Earth with Sandy, since in the specific tradition of internal alchemy it followed, Water is basically packaged together with Metal, and Fire with Wood.

-However, if you really wanna associate each of the pilgrim with one of the Five Elements? Tripataka would be Water (River-Float Boy) and the Dragon Horse would be Fire, based on his earlier incarnations as the Fire Dragon Horse.

-The Six Gods of Light and Six Gods of Darkness(六丁六甲) was based on the Ten Celestial Stems, a system of ordinals that, combined with the Twelve Earthly Branches, formed the 60 days/years calendrical cycle. As the personifications of those ordinals, these gods had a long history of being summoned by Daoists for divination and bodyguard duty, going all the way back to Eastern Han.

-The Yu edition might have translated them as the gods of Light and Darkness because traditionally, the Six Ding Gods were female and thus Yin-aligned, while the Six Jia Gods were male and Yang-aligned.

-When Guanyin turned the white dragon into a horse, the Yu translation said he "[holds] the bit in his mouth". Well, in the original Chinese, it says 口衔着横骨, literally "holding the horizontal bone in his mouth".

-This is a reference to the old Chinese folk belief that animals couldn't talk because there were a piece of hard bone inside their mouths/throats; only cultivated animals would be able to get rid of it.

-So yeah, the white dragon was very, very dedicated to his horse roleplay, down to the fantastical throat cartilage part.

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

[skyistheground]

Same anon that sent the Shamura au ask again. Quick question: would like to hear some thoughts I had about it? Just some details and stuff.

narinder and the lamb have slight redesigns-- narinder is a bit fancier and, of course, under blessing of shamura, the lamb gets new clothes

leshy, heket, and kallamar don't get much chages, except they aren't injured. shamura didnt do anything to them

backstory stuff under the cut

in this au, narinder is sort of the impromptu leader because his control over death is what makes their cult work-- followers fear death, he can secure a lot of loyalty and secure the old faith's rule for many millennia to come

narinder would often go to shamura for visions of the future so he could plan ahead, always plan ahead

the problem is, the visions for shamura are draining, physically, mentally, and emotionally. they sit through and watch distressing things, then relive it by having to talk about it. not all of narinders plans to subvert or plan around the future even work, and the blame often falls on shamura for not telling him enough, even if that was all they could see. plus, over time, it seemed like narinder only wanted to talk to them for visions, not for being his sibling

they didn't tell him how they felt, though. in fear of making things worse. shamura can sometimes choose when to have visions, but not what is in them.

the final straw was a peculiar vision about a lamb wearing their crown-- something that may spell bad news for themselves if shared. it just didn't look good.

so they tried fleeing, vanishing away from their family. it didnt last too long-- they were caught and dragged back

narinder secured them in an isolated cave of their own domain to prevent them from running away again and tried to convince them to share their visions-- saying that it was for the good of the old faith

shamura, stubborn as they are, still refused to talk. frustration rose within them with passing time, it was a bottle waiting to explode

narinder got his hand a bit too close one day and they lashed out, chomping down, refusing to let go, tugging and shaking until it tore off

so their mouth was caged. narinder made a few attempts to get them to speak after, promising forgiveness and freedom, but they still refused

he eventually stopped visiting.

silk cradle was then used as a place of exile-- heretics and nonbelievers are cast far away from the lands of the old faith to either struggle in the wilderness or die horribly, hunted down by spiders

the lamb was one of these heretics. by coincidence, they managed to find shamura in their cave

and after millennia of standing around, and recalling their past, they decided to take a shot at freedom

[ruthlesslistener]

a crisis of complexion

Or, a short drabble in which a very distracted Pale King has to confront one of the difficulties of hybrid parenthood that he'd seen on the horizon since before the Deepnest Queen's clutch was even laid. Even then, he manages to botch it up in the only way he can- by being himself.

(Set in the Wasteland Wanderers AU, a scenario where PK carried Hornet's egg, but was forced to flee to the wastes after a premature attack from the Radiance made it impossible for him to stay in Hallownest. The main, self-indulgent focus of the AU is on PK living as his ancestors might, and rearing Hornet as a wyrm would, despite his own misgivings.)

.

"Baba?"

The Pale Wyrm blinked, raising his head from his meal to stare back at his daughter, gazing at him from across the den. Her claws glimmered with soul-rich silk, shards of sharpened carapace twined with it to create a half-formed shuriken, but her gaze was focused on the husk in his claws, chelicerae scrunched in thought. "Why can you eat the rotting meat, but I can't?"

Ah. He should have known this day would come- it had been looming on the horizon since he'd first had the presence of mind to begin worrying over her egg, but the visions that his foresight had granted him had been...divisive, to say the least. He had decided to put those thoughts aside to focus on more pressing matters, but time had snuck up on him all the same, and now he was left unarmed, jowls full of days-old boofly that had commanded his attention instead of his daughter's distant frown.

He licked the dripping gore off his fangs while he thought of a reply, not missing the way that his hatchling's mouthparts scrunched in disgust. It was a difference between them that she surely hadn't missed either, and so he decided to opt for the simplest answer before she could have a chance to change the subject. "It is because I am a full wyrm, and you are not. If I had bred with one of my kind, then you would be able to eat anything just as I, but that is not the case with you. Your mother was a spider, and spiders are hunters. They cannot eat anything but fresh-kill."

(In truth, she likely could digest old flesh, but he hadn't been willing to let her try. It felt like it was only yesterday that her venom had finally grown strong enough for her to eat without him first softening the meat, and he hadn't the heart to leave the nest to starve her into eating old kills, like his mother had done to him.)

(She was not a wyrm, like he was. She did not need to learn how to manage her hunger, to grow content with the emptiness inside of him like he had done when he was her age.)

Wild-heart-sharp-fang’s face scrunched even further. Soon, she would grow to the age where she would shed her hatchling name, and take on the one that the bee queen had given to her, in a future that no longer existed. Still, he would honour the spider queen's wishes, if only to prevent his inevitable dismemberment upon their return. If she was there when they returned. “We haven’t hunted spiders before. Why was my mother a spider, when we eat anything that is not like us?”

Ah, the pitfalls of growing up away from civilization. The Pale King exhaled slowly, careful not to let his breath waft in her direction, and tried to structure a response that would make sense to her. It was difficult, for it was a dilemma that he himself had faced for centuries- that fine balance between the desire to protect those below them, and to view them as little more than prey, fresh for the slaughter. “They are one of the civilized races, the ones that I have spoken of to you before. We do not hunt them, because they do not exist where we roam. Only wyrms and feederbugs pass by our home.”

He scraped a claw along the underside of the beetle’s carapace, parting it easily from the meat. It came away slick, dripping with juices, but he tolerated its greasy cling; the carapace, when cleaned and dried, would make for an excellent storage bowl, and the flesh that remained was sweet and soft. “I have told you about your mother. That should be reason enough to understand why I did not hunt her. One of such intimidating stature should be given respect. She may not have been a wyrm, like me, but that did not mean that her bite was any less sharp, or her territory-claim any less strong. Now tell me- what of my tales of her do you remember most?”

“She was a great queen.” Wild-heart’s voice was soft, but the frown still lingered on her face. “Like you were a great king, even though they’re really just the same thing in the end. Is that why I have venom, then, and you don’t? And why I can jump higher than you can, but don’t have wings?” 

“That is a correct assumption, child.” A stir of warmth in his chest- pride. His daughter was already fierce and quick, but it was her intellect that he was most proud of- that cunning mind would serve her well in the days ahead. If only she was in Hallownest, where he would have tutors and watchers aplenty to teach her all the knowledge she needed to rule…here, all he could do was tell her stories of the life that she had lost, and hope that it was enough to keep the wild from swallowing her whole. “We differ for many reasons. In some cases, this causes problems- like you wanting to chase our meals, while I prefer to wait for them to pass by so that I might ambush them instead. But in many cases, this is an advantage. Your mother desired for you to have the traits of both wyrm and spider, and you are an excellent presentation of them both.”

She nodded, but was silent, her eyes fixed on the thread between her claws. He recognized this as her time for processing the information, and returned to his meal, scraping the shell of the beetle with his mandibles while he sunk his claws into the sandy earth to clean them. He would have to bring the actual shell to the surface to clean out the remains of the meat and buff the carapace into something usable, but he could have Wild-heart- Hornet, he had to get used to her adult name before he made her hatchling-name a habit she would not outgrow- do that for him. They were getting low on fresh meat, and while her aim had gotten better, she was still not yet strong enough to take down prey large enough for them both-

In a small voice, she asked, “Do you want me to be different?"

The world came to a screeching halt. He froze, and found his tongue frozen as well. A million different futures branched out before him, but his mind was caught in the past, staring out before a million other possibilities that had slipped between his fingers like so many meager grains of sand.

Corpses in the Abyss. Broken masks, shattered eggshells. Children, dead by the millions.

His children. His lover's children. Heirs of Hallownest all, taken first by void and then by death. Dead twice, because of him.

Spider fangs flashing in the dark. Whispered promises dripping with venom, a blood pact sealed with the blessing of his lady and the tactical hunger that plagued every wyrm with territory ripe for them to snatch. He had quenched that hunger with offerings of silk and song, but still… 

Eggs in his womb. Not the dead weights of the dud clutches he'd grown used to, but kindled. Alive, as his others were not, born from a pact that he held no love for. 

Agony in the Wastelands, the smell of his own blood and fluids thick in the air, and the terrifying, soul-rendering realization that no matter what happened, no matter the pain and the loneliness that would come from a life of hardship, he would take it all in exchange for just one of his hatchlings surviving. Centuries of pain and torment buried away, ignored for the greater good of a people abandoned, all uprooted and thrown into his face while he groveled like an animal in the pangs of labor.

She had been the only one who had survived.

"...You are exactly as you need to be," he finally whispered, and tried not to look at the way she stared down at her lap, as if his moment of silence was damning enough. She was his. He loved her. He loved her selfishly, this misbegotten wedlock-child who was conceived only for political gain. and he could not say it. "What I want was, and always has been, irrelevant. The flow of your fate, influenced as it is by my presence, should not be mine to command. Nor should I make demands of it."

She was silent for a while, as he had been. Then she nodded, gathered up the shards of her shuriken, and crawled quietly up through the winding tunnel leading to the outside, towards the fading sunlight. Whether or not his words had touched her, he could not say- she was his daughter as much as Herrah's, a child, not a hatchling, and her heart would never again be worn so readily on her sleeve. 

He closed his eyes, coiled up tight against the cool darkness of the burrow he'd made for them, and waited for the pain in his heart to pass him by. Then, with a beleaguered sigh, he picked up the carapace plates from the remnants of their meal, and set to scrubbing them free of flesh.

Maybe if he scoured them long enough, dug his talons in deep enough, the sands would swallow him too. 



[clueless1995]

ok so i just woke up and i have to tell you all about the dream i had before i forget it because the vibes were So Strange i know people love to be like “nobody cares about other people’s dreams” but personally i think this was FUNNY. in hindsight. in the dream i was kind of annoyed

anyway i was like. the fairy queen or something and it was this big fairy party (not like a royal ball more like a house party but the house is Fancy with plants and glitter and satin everywhere. and fountains of wine and whatnot) and i’m sat on my party throne (one of those big martini glass bathtubs with a round mattress in it) (i’m filling in the gaps okay let me have my fun but it was like a big round bed but Tall so i could enjoy watching people dance. the martini tub would be on brand though i just don’t know what the underneath looked like because i never got off it. i’ll get to Why

and i’m lounging i’m gossiping with the girls drinking fairy wine and honestly. i’ll say it. serving absolute Cunt. when one of my loyal subjects sadly flies over and he lands next to me and i (Awake Ana) Recognise him. it’s timmy chalamet (who is apparently a fairy. also i don’t know how to spell his full first name so i will be calling him timmy throughout i’m sorry i’m usually a big proponent of getting people’s names right but i just woke up and i know i’ll forget the dream in like five minutes).

and Fairy Queen me obviously knows him and is like oh poor timmy what’s happened. and he’s absolutely out of his tree on fairy wine but he’s a Sad drunk and he starts crying about how not enough people think he’s hot anymore and how everyone used to want him and now he’s willy wonka and nobody wants him what’s WRONG with him what HAPPENED he used to have it ALL. all explained through sobbing.

and so as a kind fairy queen i say oh poor timmy it’s okay i’m sure someone somewhere still thinks you’re hot. and i let him put his head on my lap and continue to cry while i make eye contact with my fairy girlies and roll my eyes while taking a bitchy sip of my wine. and you would think that’s like a solid narrative end that’s where i would wake up right? no.

the dream continues but all i can do is halfheartedly pat timmy’s head and every now and then i try to gently hint that i would like him to go somewhere else now because he’s really bringing down the vibe like they’re playing bangers and i can’t even get up and dance with the girlies buffy-and-faith style because i have this sad little guy crying on me.

it felt like it went on forever and i was like. ugh this isnt even worth crying about let alone for a whole party but i knew he was fragile because my friend warned me that one of his stan accounts quit after they changed their hair conditioner and realised the old one was sinking into their brain and making them attracted to mr chalamet (i’m assuming because i was looking at a compilations of stan accounts coming to reason after finding black mould in their room or getting on mood stabilisers before i went to bed). and so i couldn’t bring myself to just push him off me or get the fairy bouncers (??) to kick him out so the rest of my dream was like. well i guess i’m stuck here with this guy crying all over my spider silk dress while everyone else dances to lush life by zara larsson

[spyderschaos]

GUYSS

CHAP 2!!

Chapter 2 - The Spider

“No this can’t be!” - a metal leg crashes into concrete, another one against a desk, sending its contents overboard. -“No, no, no, where is it?!”- glass shatters hitting the floor, and sheets of paper scatter everywhere. Impossible! Impossible, he says! It was right there, right on his screen, a glowing dot indicating the location of his spider. His last spider, the only one that wasn’t destroyed in that “lab accident” not two days ago. Yes, “lab accident” in quotations, he refuses to believe it was fully an accident, he does not make mistakes like that! Something else must’ve been at play! Sabotage! Had to be!

No, stop. No use in thinking of that, he’s getting off track. 

The spider. The spider was his only chance to recover at least something from his wrecked research. At the start of his project, he had made sure to tag every single one of his subjects, along with a tracker in case any was ever misplaced or happened to escape. Just that morning he had tracked it to Midtown High and didn’t think much before heading out to find it… and maybe he destroyed the place a bit in the process but details, details, that’s irrelevant! What’s relevant is that he was not able to find it, and when he made it back to his super secret underground lab lair hideout, – better name in the works – the tracker on the spider was gone. The bright, green, flashing dot had just vanished entirely, leaving an empty map behind. 

He spends hours searching for it, looking everywhere in New York, typing in new codes in case the old one was faulty, restarting his program to see if that blasted dot appeared again. But it was no use. There were only two potential scenarios he believes could’ve been the cause of this: either the spider was dead, or somehow its tracker was damaged. However, a scientist like him would not accept a simple answer like the former, no, he knows that arachnid was out there. He stands up straight, staring daggers into the computer screen. He raises a mechanical arm holding a glass terrarium in front of his face. 

“And I’m going to find that pesky spider, if my name isn’t Doctor Octopus!”

Glass shards litter the floor. 

—————

“So.. you have no idea how this happened.” 

Immediately, Amber lets out a very very over-the-top dramatic sigh as she throws herself face-up on the bed next to Gwanda - “No, Gwendolyn I do not know what happened, I woke up like this, no explanation to go along with this.. fabulous new bod. 

Gwanda pushes Amber off the bed. 

“That is not my name and you know it!”

“That’s what you’re caught up with?” - says Pete, spinning around in Amber’s desk chair - “...Ok, so, what do we know?” - he questions after a few moments - “Your hands are sticky and you’re really strong?”

“That’d be about it, yeah…” - This wasn’t going anywhere. What did she expect them to do? Just magically know what happened to her? Amber sighs again, rolling onto her stomach on her spot on the floor. She turns her face to the side, her gaze falling under her bed, when she spots it. - “Oh my god, it’s my favorite hoodie!” - She bolts up holding the piece of clothing in both of her hands - “Wow, I thought I had lost it! Hadn’t seen it since…”-  A small something falls out of the hoodie, stopping Amber in her tracks. She bends back down and picks it up, wondering what it could be.

“It’s a spider.” 

“No shit, captain obvious.” 

“Ok, well, no need to be like that, Gweny, it was simply an observation.” - Amber snarks back. She stares at it in her hand for a bit, turning it around, and poking it at, her thoughts coming to a stop when she realizes. 

“The spider.”

“Yes, we went through this, it’s a spider.”

“No, no, no, the spider, it was the spider. Remember? I felt something bite me when we were in my uncle’s classroom. It was the spider. That’s why it was on my hoodie, I took it off the second I got home and hadn’t pulled it out since. Last week this spider bit me at school.” - She rambles franticly, like she doesn’t know how to explain what’s going through her head at the moment.

“Wait” - It’s Pietro who realizes next - “Are you suggesting it’s the spider that… did this to you?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly it! Think about it. I’ve felt sick ever since that day, but I haven’t left my house all week, and now my hands are sticky, and then this falls out of my hoodie. It has to be that!” - She stares back down at the spider sitting on her hand, finally realizing she doesn’t know what to do with this newfound information. No but really, what do you do in this situation? They have no idea where this spider came from, or what else it could’ve done to her. Amber’s kind of freaking out, she’s not going to lie. She hears Gwanda and Pete argue over the chance of it even being true but she doesn’t care. She knows this is what happened, it makes sense in her head… in a way. Got bit by a spider and now she’s a spider mutate with freaky spider-powers. Of course.

Outside of the room, a jingle of keys in the front door’s lock can be heard. Amber’s dad just got home from work. 

“Look” - Gwanda stands from her spot on the bed and takes a step towards the door - “How about we go to your dad? He’s an adult, maybe he can help ‘cause frankly, I don’t got a clue of what we could do. So let’s just- “

Her dad? No way! This is the kind of thing people keep secret, like in shows, and books, and movies. What kid’s first thought is “let’s look for the adult”? 

Before Gwanda gets to finish her sentence, Amber lets out a quick “No!” and extends her arm towards Gwanda with her palm facing up and her middle and ring fingers bending towards her. She doesn’t know why she did it like that, call it a reflex or instinct maybe, but her fingers touch her palm and with a “thwip” a weird, light yellow string shoots out of a tiny hole in her wrist she hadn’t noticed before. The substance — a web maybe? —, lands on Gwanda’s hand, gluing it to the doorknob.

The room falls silent, everyone shocked. Jaws dropped all over the room. 

Gwanda’s the first to snap out of it - “How the actual hell did you just do that?!?”- she whisper-yells, as to not signal Amber’s dad, because maybe now really isn’t the time.

“Bro… no tengo ni la más puta idea!” - Amber states unhelpfully.

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” - asked Gwanda as if this wasn’t also Amber’s first time dealing with this. She tries pulling her hand, but the yellow web doesn’t budge! Guess it’s official, it does, in fact, have something to do with the spider. Gwanda gives up, knowing her hand is not unsticking any time soon. She looks back at Amber, staring in silence for a few seconds, then - “Why wouldn’t you just let me tell him? Your dad is a nice dude, man.”

“¡Amber ya llegué!” - Her dad calls out from the other room, interrupting the conversation.

“Ok!”- Amber answers 

“¿Están los amiguitos tuyos?” 

“Sí!” 

“¡Diles que se queden a comer!” 

“Ok!”

The room falls silent again, and for what feels like the fiftieth time today, Amber sighs - “I know that, it’s just… you know how people treat mutates and mutants, people like… me now.”

“But your dad wouldn’t do that, you know that right?” - Gwanda insists. 

“Yeah but… he’s terrible at keeping secrets. What if he slips up at work? Or tells a random barista at a café when ordering? He can’t know, he can’t, not yet at least.

They look at each other, gazing into each other’s eyes, and Gwanda gets it. This isn’t her choice to make, so she won’t. - “Ok.” - she stops before continuing - “Ok, I won’t tell him. But what now?” -

That’s the question, isn’t it? What now. Amber could just choose not to do anything. Accept her powers as part of her but just… not really do anything with them and move on with her life. She could do that, yes, but what if she could do more? She thinks this through, sitting back down on the bed. Amber looks down at her hands, tracing her thumb over the small scar-like bump on the inside of her wrist, where the webs came from. She thinks back on her uncle, on that day, on whoever did that to the school… Wait. 

“Hey” - It’s quiet, barely audible. She’s still looking down, chewing the inside of her lip before looking up.

“Hmm?” - Gwanda looks away from the webs keeping her stuck to the door, she had distracted herself with it, trying to peel it off unsuccessfully. Pete looks up as well, he had also been staring at the webs Gwanda really wanted to get rid of, but not doing anything to help. They look at Amber, who, in turn, looks back at them, staying like that for a bit before finally speaking again.

‘Did they… did anyone find out who kil- destroyed the school?” - She decides not to mention her uncle, it’s not like it was a direct attack on him anyway. 

“No.”- Both Gwanda and Amber turn to look at Pete - “They didn’t. They tried following him but the guy was fast. Ben has some friends at the station, says they last saw the guy running into the sewers, then they lost track of him there. There’s no security footage of him either, so he’s either really good at avoiding cameras, or he erased everything.”- While he speaks, Pietro takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the photo app - “It’s crazy, the only reason people think it might be real is cause some senior took a shitty pic of it and posted it.”- He lands on what he’s looking for and turns his phone around, showing a blurry, off-center, photo of a person with their back turned towards the camera, wearing a dingy lab coat with metal tentacles coming out of it, and that’s all you can tell from the photo. 

“So he’s still out there.”- It’s said as a statement rather than a question. Amber gets this determined look in her eye, like she’s planning something. She opens her mouth to speak and-

“No” - Gwanda immediately shuts her down.

“What? I haven’t even said anything yet!” 

“The answer is no.”

“But I can go after him!” - Amber stands up from her bed abruptly - “I can go after him.” - She says this like it’s a given, like there no other choice here.

“No, see, that’s why I said no, Amber, that’s stupid! Going after him? How would you even- Is there even a plan? You don’t even know where to find the guy. He destroyed the school! Sticky hands won’t save you from that!” - No, Gwanda refuses to go along with this, she already said it but it’s stupid, dangerous even. She can’t just go out there and… they’re not the X-men! Or any other superhero group! Or anything like that at all! However, this won’t stop Amber. 

“Gwanda…” 

“Amber.” 

“No, listen to me! This- we- I, I could do something, I can help people, I can find the guy and let the police deal with him-”

“Then why not just let the police deal with him in the first place?!” - The two argue in a low voice, remembering that Amber’s dad is just a few doors away. Gwanda wishes she could walk closer to Amber and use her hands freely for emphasis, but alas she is still webbed to the doorknob.

“Because we know they wont be able to find him!”

“We don’t know that, Amber.” 

“Yes we do.” 

“No, we don’t. So why risk your life for someone else’s job?” - That quiets Amber, even if just for a bit. Because it’s true, it’s not her job. Gwanda, logically, is in the right.

“Because I have this power.” - And that’s the root of it all, isn’t it? It’s why the argument even started. Because she has these powers and she can do something with them so why wouldn’t she. 

Gwanda doesn’t look convinced, Pietro is though. Honestly, he’s been convinced for a while, it’s why he hasn’t jumped in yet and just chose to observe from his spot in Amber’s desk chair. Gwanda looks up at the ceiling and closes her eyes, breathing deeply for just a moment before looking back down at Amber. She still has that determined look in her eye, and Gwanda knows this argument is going nowhere. There’s no convincing Amber, there’s no changing her mind, not from this. She’s going out there, either with their help or without it. 

“You’re doing this either way.” - It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” 

“I can’t stop you.”

“You can’t.”

“Then you’re going to need a suit” 

“Wha-” Amber’s left dumbfounded, her eyes set on Gwanda. That’s it?

“Oh, fuck yeah!” - Their eyes snap towards Pietro. 

[raisedlikeaphoenix]

Raised like a Phoenix: Chapter 10 - Recharge

“You're sitting this one out.”

“What!?”

The sun was beginning to set, stars trickling the sky. The perfect time to take a giant bird as dark as night and a wolf as quiet as a shadow out to save their respective warriors.

But Cragger stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, refusing to let Laval leave their house.

“Remember that conversation we had about taking breaks? Well, I think you should start now.”

“But two of our friends are out there in the exact same place! Are you sure you can handle both of them? I still think I should come.” Laval tried to scootch out the door but Cragger scooted in his way.

“Nope. Go back to bed or something. Rest.”

“Come on-”

“Nope.

“Let me-”

“Nah.”

“Just-”

“Nada.”

They continued to play this game of keep away, soon smiling like dorks as they playfully fought. Just like old times.

“Heh, heh! Cragger! Come on!” Laval chuckled, attempting to worm around the crocodile.

Cragger stuck out his tongue. “Not today, fur boy. Between Li’Ella and I, we should be fine.”

“Actually, Li’Ella can’t come this time.”

The two turned to see Flinx, fiddling with a communicator in his hands.

“She has to help Tormak with… something. And wanted me to tell you guys. Those vulture guys messaged us too. Saying that the Hunters are in the junkyard looking for the next pair of firewings.”

The two looked at each other, then back at the phoenix.

“What kinda ‘something’?” Cragger asked, curious.

A nervous smile painted his face, as the firebird chuckled. “Well, it's sort of a surprise…”

“Huh. Well maybe you can help out Flinx!” Laval suggested.

“Wha- really?” Flinx shifted, clearly unsure of how to feel.

“Yeah! We can use a bird to rescue a bird! Come on!” Cragger said.

The little guy looked conflicted. Maybe he was scared of the Hunters. After all, if his father wasn’t here, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

But Flinx's eyes filled with rage and passion, grinning as he gave Cragger his answer. “Yeah! Let's get those frosted freaks!”

The three cheered, pumping their hands in the air.

“Alright then let's GO!” Laval ran out of the house when Cragger was distracted, much to his friends' surprise.

“Laval! Get back here and take a break!” Cragger yelled, chasing after the lion. Flinx followed after the two as the Laval maneuvered around people as they reached the lantern lit town square.

Squaks, roars, and yelps were heard as they ran through the streets. Many jumped out of the way of the running zombies, others almost dropping what they held in their hands.

Despite losing sight of him in the crowd, they heard Laval giggle the whole time as Cragger continued to yell at him to take a break.

“NEEEEVEERRRRR- AHH!”

Cragger thought the lion had tripped as he ran around the now annoyed town goers. When the two reached Laval however, they saw Spinlyn holding the lion, wrapped up in spider silk.

Like a little burrito.

The prince struggled in his restraints as the Spider Queen handed him off to Cragger.

“You're welcome.”

-

Cragger had placed Laval in his bed, still bound in spider silk but with the added weight of almost all the blankets and pillows in the house except the ones Gorzan was using. (The gorilla decided to stay the night as well, in a separate room. It really felt like Laval’s new home was turning into all their revived friends' new home.)

At first Laval had put on a pout that the croc had called cute (making him blush a little) and refused to sleep. He sat there in the dimly lit room, in the totally NOT cozy blankets, with the totally NOT cozy pillows, and waited for NOT sleep to come.

But as Laval snuggled deeper into the soft fabric of the plush pillows and blankets and as his eyelids grew heavier, he figured a small nap wouldn’t kill him. Again.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he was asleep for. It was night time when he woke up so it wasn’t too long.

But it felt nice to just rest without having to worry about anything. He knew Cragger could handle getting Razar and Worriz back on his own. (Whether he had the patience to handle their attitudes was a different story.)

He sighed in contentment as he began drifting out of sleep after a while, simply enjoying the softness of the covers.

When he opened his eyes however, he was not expecting a certain bird to be staring at him. Or rather a certain raven-eagle hybrid to be exact.

Laval yelled as he struggled to get up, realizing a little too late that he was still bound in spider webs.

He fell off the bed in his panic, groaning in pain as he rolled on his back to look up at Reegull, who wore a black apron (covered in different colored goop), a dark green dress, and one high heel next to his peg leg.

The hybrid didn’t say hello. Rather he said, “Get up. I want to take you to my lab to study you before the eagles do.”

Ewald had asked Laval if he could come into the eagles' newly built lab for some test but understood that he still needed time to adjust to his new body on his own before he underwent any experiments.

Reegull apparently didn’t.

“How did you-”

“Pick your lock!”

At least he had the courtesy to cut Laval out of his spider silk bounds.

“Are the other two here?” He asked, looking around the room as if they were hidden away.

“Only Gorzan. Cragger went to get Razar and Worriz.” Laval got up off the floor.

“Alright then.” He took Laval’s wrist and walked over to the next room. Opening the door, they saw Gorzan sitting on the bed, flipping through a book about plants with his feet. (Good thing a gorilla’s feet are like a second pair of hands.)

Before he could say anything, Reegull said, “You are coming too.”

Gorzan looked at Laval’s unimpressed face then at Reegull’s eager one.

“Okay.” He spoke.

-

Reegull’s lab was quite similar to his old one. Just like all the other raven’s homes it was mostly made of scrap metal that was probably just stapled together.

But there were bits that didn't seem like something the alchemist would collect. Colorfully woven tapestries, comfy couches with blue and green color pallets, it all felt different… but familiar.

“So, you're not gonna cut us open, right dude?” Gorzan asked.

Reegull was pulling out some test tubes and needles, mumbling a distracted “Maybe.” Making Gorzan wince.

“He’s not gonna do anything we don’t want to Gorzan. Not on my watch.” Laval reassured him.

“Yes… but you must remember that in order for progress to be made, sacrifices are necessary. We all must give up something in order to get what we want…”

Laval couldn’t help but find truth in Reegull’s words. After all, he and his friends sacrificed themselves in order to save Chima! And they still failed. He couldn’t help but find the idea of trying it all over again extremely terrifying.

If they don’t succeed this time, will there be anything left of them to be revived? Will they all return to that cold, dreamless sleep?

And what if the Illumination succeeds, what will happen to them?

It felt like it didn’t matter. Win or lose, Laval and his friends are going to die either way.

“Alright then… First! A blood test…” Reegull said.

The hybrid would pull out many different contraptions and machinery, asking for samples and tests to do with the zombie-like warriors.

Some they would allow, like taking fur samples or letting Reegull look into their different colored eyes. But of course, they would draw the line at things such as cutting off limbs and seeing if they can be reattached or finding out if they can drink poison or acid.

“For the last time! You can’t CUT US OPEN TO SEE OUR BRAINS!”

“But surely it would have changed in the time you’ve been gone! Just let me make a small incision…”

“How can you make a small incision?! You're cutting open our heads?!” As Laval and Reegull argued, Gorzan sat on the couch and looked around the room.

I wonder if any of the gorilla dudes have tamed the pretty plants outside the village, they thought.

Catching up with his tribe after being revived felt like taking a breath of fresh air after drowning. They partied for quite a bit, chatting about how everyone was doing, and what Gorzan missed. It broke his heart to hear that they had lost a few members, but it felt pretty tubular to meet newer ones.

Maybe we can revive long gone dudes, but would they want to come back as chi zombies like us-

His train of thought was interrupted when his eyes locked with another pair. Another pair of eyes that didn’t belong to Laval or Reegull.

Hidden in the corner of the room there was a little raven girl with green eyes crouched behind a couple of boxes.

The two were locked in a silent staring contest, neither refusing to blink.

“Uh, dudes? Who's that?”

“Who?” Laval asked, as Reegull looked over to where Gorzan was gesturing to.

He groaned. “Ugh! Rubiz! I’ve told you! You must stay upstairs!” Reegull scooped up the raven child from her hiding place and began heading up stairs. Rubiz hanging from his hook by the hood of her vest.

Laval began to follow, and not wanting to be alone, Gorzan did the same.

“Is she your kid?” Laval questioned as they headed up the stairs.

“Nope.”

“Whose kid is that then?!”

“One of Dom’s” The hybrid said as he opened the door.

“IT'S THE WITCH!” A young eagle yelled as a young rhino threw a pillow at Reegull, nailing him right in the face. Laval and Gorzan chuckled.

“Oi! You kids better stop that!” Reegull scolded the two youngsters as they stuck their tongues at him.

“Boys please calm down.” A familiar voice said.

Laval gasped. “Is that-”

Don de la Woosh stood beside the door ushering the other children back to the play area in the center of the room.

Laval had to admit: the former speedor racer had seen better days.

Scars traced his face, many surrounding one of his eyes. Blinding it permanently. He wore a light blue silk robe, with yellow and red flower patterns stitched along the sleeves. As he walked, he had a slight limp, but he gave them a welcoming smile.

“The Whoosh?! What are you doing here?” Laval smiled back at the sight of his idol.

“Why, The Whoosh lives here!” He chuckled. “Someone has to look after all these little ones after all.”

“Well, a ‘little one’ decided they wanted to look at my stuff, Jewel.” Reegull raised the little raven girl up towards the peacock.

“Jewel?” Gorzan and Laval remarked.

“Oh, little Rubiz is just curious. Isn’t that, right?” The young raven nodded her head as she was handed off into Whoosh’s arms.

“Come, come. Why don’t the Whoosh make you some tea?” He led them through the play area.

It was painted blue with a large green and yellow circular carpet in the middle, children's toys and mini playgrounds set up for children from all sorts of tribes to play with. Many played with dolls, board games, or simply napped on some mini beds.

“Dude, do you watch over all these little dudes by yourself?” Gorzan asked, as they headed down the hall to a kitchen.

“Yes. Someone must look after the children after all. You know how dangerous the Outlands could be…” Whoosh said sadly.

Reegull scoffed, leaning against the wall as Laval and Gorzan sat down. The Whoosh put Rubiz in a highchair and handed her a cup of fruit to munch on.

“Okay, this is eating me up. Why is Reegull living in your basement? And why did he call you Jewel?” Laval interrogated the star racer.

The old birds gave each other a look, before bursting out laughing, much to the two's confusion. Rubiz kept munching on her fruit.

“Oh, Laval. Reegull is my husband.”

There was a moment of silence as Laval processed what his idol had just said.

“Oh! Congrats, you two!” Gorzan said, supportively, not missing a beat.

…

“WHAT!?”

The Whoosh and Reegull. THE WHOOSH AND REEGULL? WHAT? What? What?

“You…” Laval pointed to the Whoosh, who patted Rubiz on the head.

“And… you…” Reegull was grinning like a super villain as he gave Laval a small wave.

“I… wha… who… you… just…”

He turned to the Whoosh. “How…” He whispered.

The Whoosh chuckled. “We met after the war. I was fleeing for my life, gaining a few scars along the way.” Gesturing to his face. But he recalled the tale like it was nothing more than a pleasant dream. “I was having a hard time finding anyone in the Outlands, when my knight in silver feathers rescued me from the jaws of a mighty beast. And took me to the village.”

The peacock brought Reegull into a hug as the alchemist rolled his eyes.

“You say it like I was some hero… I didn’t even-”

“Oh, HUSH! You came to my rescue.” The Whoosh cupped Reegulls face and for a moment, it was only the two of them. In the moment.

“That’s all that matters, mi amor. That’s all it took for me to be with such a handsome devil.” The two practically touched beaks and if it weren’t for the feathers, Reegull’s face would be completely red. He waved his hand aside.

“Oh! Stop! I’m not that handsome.”

“Yes, you are. You're beautiful.”

The two continued to stay in their own little world for a bit, with The Whoosh swaying his husband side to side as if they were about to slow dance.

Gorzan grinned at the sight, Rubiz was too focused on her fruit bowl to care, and Laval watched the whole thing like he was watching someone drink expired milk. Or like he was watching his idol kiss someone who tried to turn Chima into chickens. Oh, wait! He WAS!

When the two were done, The Whoosh cleared his throat. “How about that tea?”

-

“I don’t get it.” Laval mumbled as he saw the two old gay birds bump each other playfully with their hips as they prepared the kid’s snacks. The sight made most of him sick to his stomach. But a small part of him couldn’t help but be a little jealous. Gorzan took a sip of his tea from a helpful straw.

“Whatcha mean, dude?”

“How can someone sooooo messed up, date and marry someone so cool?!” The two walked out of the room, playfully teasing each other as the lion whispered. It reminded Laval of Eris and Rogon, with all dumb flirting they did. (Thinking of those two made him wonder how Cragger was doing.)

Gorzan smiled kindly.

“Well, maybe he needs this. It’s like you and Cragger. You were there for him when he needed you. And it helped the dude realize how much of a bummer he was being.”

The idea of Cragger and him being like Reegull and The Whoosh made Laval feel like he had a tummy full of butterflies. If only it could be that way…

“Hmm. Gorzan, do you think Cragger likes me?”

Gorzan chuckled. “Of course, Dude!”

“But… likes-LIKES me?”

“Oh.” The gorilla blinked. He hadn’t talked to anyone about his feelings towards Cragger. He wanted to say something to the croc but it felt the moment he realized how he felt there was always something going on. Whether it be a war on ice zombies, bugs, or with the very crocodile he loved the moment he met up with him at the Forever Rock, on the night before they left for the Outlands.

“Well… have you asked?” Gorzan asked.

“No. Should I?”

“Of course, you should.” Reegull butted into their conversation, with Rubiz sitting on his shoulders.

“Hmm. And what do you know?” Laval demanded.

Reegull rolled his eyes as he leaned towards the lion.

“I know that Dom makes me the happiest bird alive. Every day with him, I treasure more than any raven will treasure a well-earned trinket. I study everything he loves more than an eagle will study the stars, because I want to make him happy. Asking him out was the greatest thing to happen to me. So, if I knew I only had so much time with my precious Jewel, I would make every moment worth more than gold.”

Laval was speechless.

But, as much as he hated to admit it, Reegull was right.

If he was going to die all over again, the time to make a move on Cragger was now. Or never. Laval nodded. “Okay, I think I will. He should be back pretty soon anyway so we should get going.” Laval drank the rest of his tea and stood up from the table, and immediately felt dizzy.

“Whoa…” He mumbled. Maybe he got up too fast? But why did he continue to feel like the room was spinning.

“You alright, dude?” Gorzan’s voice sounded so distant. Why did he… sound… so distant… What… was… happening…

“Your chi-” He heard Reegull say from miles away. His vision was beginning to blur as he tried to balance himself.

He felt so… weak.

So… tired…

So… cold…

The last thing he saw was the worried face of his friends as he fell to the floor.

Chapter 9 <- ⭐️ -> Chapter 11

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne (43)

A Miguel O'hara x OC Series - Link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 43 - Leap - previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x Female OC

Words: 4.7K+ words

Warning: PG - jumping off buildings, free falling, parkouring, brief sad backstory

Summary: Miguel takes Lisa on a tour of Nueva York

///////

When I arrived in Earth 928 at the Spider-Society headquarters, I was greeted by the charming smiles of both of the O’Hara brothers. Gabriel’s smile was playful and cherry as he tossed me a flirty wink and quip. Miguel rolled his eyes at his brother, elbowing him in the shoulder, and after recovering from his protective tantrum, his smile returned as he handed me a container of food. 

I respected Miguel’s wishes in keeping our relationship professional while at HQ. But that wouldn’t stop me from showing him my appreciation after realizing how hungry I was after rehearsal was extended for over an hour. I looked around to make sure the three of us were the only ones in the area before standing up on my toes to peck Miguel’s cheek with a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Migs,” I smiled sweetly at him before I dug into my meal. 

His cheeks had flushed, the kiss surprisingly catching him by surprise as the three of us walked down the hall. Miguel gave me a look as he raised a hand to his cheek, his fingertips brushing along the spot where I had left my token of affection. 

I felt his stare as I swallowed my bite of food before looking up at him. “What? I made sure no one was looking,” I offered him a teasing smirk. 

Miguel huffed, his chest puffing as he tried and failed to hold back a chuckle. “That you did,” He shook his head. “Already looking for a way to bend the rules are you?”

“What can I say?” I shrugged as I snuck in another bite. “You have that effect on me,”

“You two are just adorable,” Gabriel cooed. 

Miguel immediately shot Gabriel a look, his gaze piercing his very soul. “Gabri–!”

“I know, I know, I didn’t see nothing,” Gabriel rose his hands in surrender, “But Lyla see’s all,”

“That she does!” The AI herself momentarily appeared at Gabriel’s side, patting his head lovingly before vanishing. 

I made small talk with Gabriel as we walked, partially because I felt bad about Miguel scolding him. Sure they were brothers and they could get on each other's nerves almost 24/7, but wouldn’t it hurt to have a conversation without at least one joke or nitpick towards one another? Again, I am an only child, and if this is some form of showing sibling love and affection, I wouldn’t know. 

As we walked through the hall and passed the occasional patrol unit, I felt almost naked walking around the Society in my normal clothes. It was like waking up here all over again. I couldn’t believe everything had happened in just over a month. It certainly didn’t feel like that, in fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was actually longer. 

I finished my dinner by the time we arrived at Gabriel’s workshop. Hovering on the same platform where I had stood before to get my old suit upgraded, was my new and improved suit. It looked the same as before, but with better stitching it seemed and fresh fabric and spandex. My eyes sparked, my lips curling into a smile as I approached the platform, the food container long forgotten. 

“This looks amazing!” I beamed before turning back to the brothers. “It’s like it never left,”

“And there’s hoping it stays that way,” Miguel gently teased me, hands behind his back as he approached me, “But that’s not your suit,”

“Eh?” I raise a brow at Miguel. “What are you talking about? That’s my suit,”

“It’s one of your suits. This suit you can use for your show, yes,” Gabriel clarified as he walked over to his console, pressing a few buttons as a compartment opened up and he pulled out a chip. He held it up with a proud smile, “Now this on the other hand is your actual suit, should you want it”

“Huh?” Now I was majorly confused as I exchanged a look between the two brothers. 

“Big brother, do the honors,” Gabriel smirked as he tossed the chip over to Miguel. 

Miguel caught it in his large hand, controlling his strength to not crush the little device with his fingers. He stepped closer to me, gently taking my wrist as he installed it into my gizmo. I watched his fingers closely, entranced by their movements. 

Miguel’s eyes glanced over my face, a soft smile on his face, “It was my idea,” He spoke before taking a step back. “Give it a try,”

I glanced down at my Gizmo, seeing a new feature light up on the screen. I pressed the button and the gizmo lit up briefly in recognition before some form of hard light washed over my body. I gasped, startled as I stood back and shut my eyes. I didn’t feel any pain, or felt any different for that matter. 

“Lisa, it’s alright,” Miguel reassured me gently as I felt his hands engulf mine, lowering my hands from my face. “Take a look,”

I glanced down at myself and nearly stopped breathing. It was my suit. It was on my body.

I was at a loss for words as I examined myself, taking in every inch of me as I turned and moved around. “I don’t– How?!”

“Holographic Nano-Technology,” Miguel answered me with a knowing smile. I watched as he flicked his wrist and his left sleeve of his suit suddenly dematerialized, snaking up his arm to show off his muscled tone forearm and bicep. “Look familiar now?”

I tried not to blush as I noticed the slight tufts of body hair along his arm. I tried not to make it obvious that I was staring at his flexing muscle, but it was hard when he was clearly doing it on purpose to make me look. 

My eyes widened at the realization as I pointed at him. “It works just like yours!”

“Exactly, however the difference between ours, I have sensors implanted in my body allowing me to telepathically trigger the suit on command, should the need arise,” He explained before casting me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, I opted for yours to be the less painful method,”

“Now you don’t have to worry about running back to your apartment to grab your suit before coming here, or worrying about your friends or family accidentally finding it,” Gabriel crossed his arms, giving me an almost teasing glance. “Or villains and their cronies stealing it,”

My eyes flared as I glared over at Miguel. “You told him?”

“I had to give him a valid reason to go through with the idea,” Miguel rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“His original idea of you two matching was enough, but I toyed with him and said that it wasn’t enough to convince me,” Gabriel grinned. 

“Hey!” Miguel’s nostrils flared as he gave Gabriel a pointed look. 

I could see the look in Miguel’s eyes, knowing he could be seconds away for murdering his brother for outing him like that. I quickly stepped between them, placing a steady hand on Miguel’s chest. “I think it’s a really cool idea, Miguel, I appreciate you thinking about me,”

Miguel’s face softened as he looked down at me, his muscles relaxing as he lowered his arms. There was a sound from behind me as Gabriel had coughed in his hand before motioning for me to continue, obviously waiting for his turn of praise. I offered him a knowing smirk, though my eyes spoke genuine appreciation. 

“You too, Gabriel, thank you for fixing up my suit, again,” I chuckled softly. 

Gabriel smirked, offering me a gracious bow. “If my work is done, I’ll leave you to it,”

Miguel rolled his eyes at his brother before offering him a nod of gratitude as he left. “So, how does it feel?” He glanced down at me. 

I quickly realized my hand was still on his chest, and while I normally would have blushed like a tomato at the gesture, I managed to keep myself calm enough to the point I wouldn’t faint as I pulled away and took a moment to look at myself in the suit again. “I think I’ll need to go on that test drive before I make a decision,”

“Is that so?” Miguel purred gently as a grin curled on his lips, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Well, I was promised a tour of Nueva York, wasn’t I?” I reminded him casually, hands behind my back. 

“That you were,” Miguel nodded before offering me his arm. “I always keep my promises, smart girl,”

///////

Before we left, I changed out of my clothes, keeping my underclothes on, before equipping my new spider suit in order to get the full experience of its potential. It was Miguel’s suggestion, based on his own experience fighting crime in a holographic suit. 

“What do you usually wear under your suit, Miguel?” I asked him with a genuine expression. “Like anything with a specific material or fabric that helps make. . . things more comfortable?”

“Wait, you’re asking me?” Miguel looked at me, eyes widened in surprise. 

“Well, I mean, you’re one of the first Spider-People I met and first started teaching me the ropes,” My cheeks flushed at his reaction as I caressed my arm nervously. “I was just wondering if you could give me pointers is all,”

Miguel placed his hands on his hips as he glanced over to the side, the gears in his head turning. “Other than protective padding for well, you know,” He inclined his head down, and I didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know what he was referring to. “I. . . I don’t wear anything,”

I could see the flush on his cheeks darken as his voice went quiet and in the split second it took me to realize what he had meant, his face turned completely red, matching with my own. “You mean you go commando?” I found myself saying aloud.

“Lisa–!” His face was almost as red as a tomato, taken back at my forward question. He brushed a hand through his hair before snaking back to rub the back of his neck. “I– well, yeah. . .”

“Oh. . .” my cheeks flushed a shade darker as I shuffled my feet, glancing at the floor for a moment before slowly getting the courage to look back at him. “Are you. . .?”

Miguel sighed, bringing his hand around to cover his mouth in an attempt to hide his blush. He shakes his head as a soft, low chuckle escapes his lips as he lowered his hand. “Am I commando right now?”

He said it for me. I nodded, almost afraid to say the words aloud. 

Miguel takes a deep breath before meeting my gaze. “I am,” he answered honestly before taking a careful step closer towards me. “Does that make you feel uncomfortable, Mona?”

I gawk at his question, fumbling nervously, “Oh! No, no, I’m okay. I mean, you do whatever makes you more comfortable. You guys wear the suits all the time, right? Do what you gotta do,”

“So you’re fine with it?” He asked me, raising a brow in my direction. 

Now that I got a good look at him, and seeing the outlines of his muscles, his chest, the abs, his back, and the. . . competition to ‘America’s Ass’. His suit left nothing to the imagination. Miguel really wasn’t wearing anything underneath. 

My heart started pounding in my chest, palms sweating, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. 

He’s been commando this whole time that I’ve known him in the suit?! 

Am I fine with this? 

“Yeah! Totally fine,” I nodded almost too eagerly, brushing off his worry. “I’ll take a note on the padding,”

We stood on the private balcony coming out from Miguel’s private elevator that overlooked the city. The sun had already set and the bright neon city lights were taking form like stars across the skyscrapers and street lamps. They looked like small specs from where we were. 

Miguel glanced over, caressing a steady hand on my shoulder. “You ready?” 

“Wait, you want to leave from up here?” I asked him, whipping my head to look at him. 

“I think it’s the most scenic route into the city,” Miguel offered me a kind smile as he began walking towards the edge, turning to face me. “I promised you a tour after all,”

“I’ve never done a leap this high before,” I cautiously followed after him, the hairs on my neck and arms tingling as I glanced down to the city below, “Not even during training here at HQ,”

“That’s all it is, Lisa,” Miguel reassured me with a gentle look. “A leap of faith,” 

Something about those words struck a chord in me as I watched Miguel standing up on the railing of the balcony. Miguel offered me his hand and with an anxious tremble, I took it and he helped me up to stand beside him. The wind was beginning to pick up as Miguel’s mask materialized over his face, his eyelets widening as he looked over at me. “I’ll be here to catch you if you need me,”

The next thing I knew, he jumped, taking a swan dive off the balcony towards the city surface. I couldn’t help but stare as I watched him fall. In another life, maybe he could have been an olympic diver or swimmer. Then again, this is the multiverse, so perhaps there was a dimension somewhere where that was in fact a reality. 

Okay, now I’m just rambling to stall myself from jumping, come on, Lisa! 

After scolding myself to toughen up, I took a deep breath, flexing and wiggling my fingers to ease my nerves and to somehow manifest my hands to stop sweating. I repeated Miguel’s words in my head, over and over again. I took one more look at the city below me before closing my eyes. 

I jumped. 

The felt the wind first, blowing through my hair and against my body as I began free falling towards the city. My body front flipped and swayed as I basked in the thrill, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I thought it would burst and soar away. The bright lights drew closer and bigger. 

I was beginning to understand skydivers a bit better now. This was exhilarating! 

Okay, wait for it. . . Now! 

I fired a web sling at the building closest to my location. I watch as the web connects and my fingers grip around the sling and I find myself swinging over a highway, just high enough to avoid the traffic of hover cars. I let go and fired another web sling, swinging again. 

I was doing it! I was web slinging through the city!

As I swung, I took a moment to glance around. Nueva York’s skyscrapers and buildings were sleek and definitely screamed future. Literally every building I saw was made with white metal plating and glass, and their lights were as bright as christmas lights. Holographic projects of brand advertisements, TV promos could be seen on every other block, and their parks and areas where there were green were kept clean and surprisingly organized and well kept. 

I couldn’t help myself as a joyful laugh escaped my lips as I swung around a corner, attempting a mid air barrel roll before firing another web sling. When there’s no villains or anomalies to worry about, this was so much fun!  

“Look at you!” Miguel’s voice rang through the air as he swung to my side, appearing from a different corner. He must have hung back and watched me to allow me to get my bearings first. “I knew you could do it, I’m so proud of you,”

“Really?” My voice cracked through the wind as the eyelets of my mask widened from his praise. 

“I mean it, Mona Lisa,” I could hear Miguel’s smile through his mask. “Now, let’s start that tour. Follow me,”

Miguel led the way as he showed me around the city. From what I could gather during my time in my dimension’s New York, it looked like a lot of the streets and locations were roughly the same in both dimensions. Though there were subtle differences between the two, giving Nueva York its own charm. 

Miguel showed me Central Park, which I thought was prettier than the one back home. They had a giant holographic chess board where you could control the pieces with digital remotes. We snuck in a quick game before heading over to the Rockefeller Center where their ice rink was kept frozen year round, and after taking a quick break to grab a snack from a place called ‘Tony’s’, I could just barely make out the statue of liberty. 

The two of us swung up and touched down on the roof of a build, taking a moment to catch our breath. I shook my arms, loosening the joints as my muscles started to ache from the swinging. I glanced over towards Miguel, “Okay, I can admit it, Nueva York looks so much cooler than my New York,”

“Now, now, this isn’t a competition,” Miguel shook his head, chuckling quietly as he neared me. 

“But if it was, you’d win?” I asked him with a knowing look. 

“Oh absolutely,” I could practically hear the grin on his face as he placed his hands on his hips. 

I laughed at his comment as I looked at his suit, my gaze shifting down and up. Felt nothing to the imagination indeed. I could feel the chill from the wind as it flew through my hair, glancing around. “What’s here?”

“See that building over there?” Miguel pointed, “The one with the ivory plating?”

I followed his direction to see that exact building. It was one of the few buildings I saw that didn’t have the go to white futuristic aesthetic. “Yeah?”

“That is Babylon Towers,” Miguel explained, his voice suddenly turning soft, “It was my home. . . with Xina,”

The eyelets of my mask widened as I glanced over at him. I noticed his shoulders had relaxed, but kept up a straight, hardened stance that showed off his powerful back as I stepped closer to him. 

“It was my first apartment after moving away from Gabriel and our folks. It was there where I woke up that one morning and realized me getting my powers wasn’t some crazy dream,” He went on, reminiscing, “Xina gave birth to Gabriela right on the living room floor,”

“You’re kidding?!” I gawked at the man. 

Miguel chuckled at the memory, shaking his head. “By the time I called the hospital and got her bag ready to go, she was so far dilated, she insisted on having her right there and then. The door man came up and helped me deliver our baby girl right before the paramedics arrived,”

“Wow. . .” I could help but smile. “Xina. . . she sounds awesome,”

“She really was,” Miguel nodded his head in agreement. 

“You don’t live there anymore?” I asked him gently, reaching for his hand, silently offering. 

He caught my movement by the corner of his eye. He sighed, his large fingers reaching over and grasping my own. “Shortly after she passed away, and then Gabri–” he paused, as if struggling to finish the sentence, “The memories were too much. Some villains had also gotten too close noticing my comings and goings. I sold the apartment to a co-worker of mine, and moved in to my current private residence shortly after to be closer to Alchemax,” 

I listened to him attentively, allowing him to finish his explanation before speaking up.

So the Spider-Society Headquarters is in this dimension’s Alchemax building? 

“I’m sure that must have been hard,” I spoke gently, my thumb gently rubbing against his hand. “I’m sorry,”

“It took me a while to come to terms with it,” Miguel took a deep breath before glancing over at me, “But I learned to move on,” 

We both stood there for a little while, hand in hand as we stared and admired Babylon Towers. It was a beautiful building. Perhaps if I was lucky and had quite a bit more paychecks under my belt, I could upgrade my living space and find something similar back home?

I gently gripped Miguel’s hand together, giving him a soft squeeze before pulling my hand away. “So, any other places you wanted to show me?”

“Unfortunately, Nueva York is so vast, it is physically impossible to show you everything in one night,” Miguel chuckled softly, slowly shaking off the earlier tension. “I’ve pretty much shown you everything I thought you’d like, so we can call it there for the tour. It’s getting late too, I wouldn’t want to keep you up, especially with this new rehearsal schedule you’ve told me about,” 

“Ahh, you’re right,” I hissed at the reminder, “I probably should be getting back,”

Tomorrow was a holiday so the studio would only be open for half the day, but Kasey still wanted to use the space to practice after our session was done for the morning. 

“The Private Eye is always so nosey,” Miguel grumbled, hindering some personal frustration of his own. “Best to portal home back at HQ,”

Private Eye? Ah, that’s right, they’re this dimension’s version of the New York City Police. Miguel had mentioned them briefly during our visit to the Rockefeller Centre after witnessing them catch some teenagers trying to spray paint the back of the skate rental vendor. 

“Sure thing,” I began walking towards the edge of the building, Miguel following close behind me. A small smile curled on my lips as I suddenly reached back, smacking Miguel’s chest before breaking off into a sprint. “Race you there!”

“What– Hey!!” Miguel yelped, staggering back briefly. “Mona, that’s cheating!”

I could hear his heavy footsteps tailing after me as I leapt off the roof and fired a web sling, swinging away from the neighborhood of Babylon Towers. I fired one web sling right after another, swinging across the city as I attempted to retrace my steps back towards Spider-Society HQ. Seeing the brief flare of red light shine against the glass windows of the buildings around me told me that Miguel was close behind me. 

“Do you even remember the way back, smart girl?” He called out to me. 

“That won’t stop me from trying to beat you there first!” I yelled back. 

“Oh, ho, ho, I’d love to see you try!” Miguel boasted with a hearty grin. 

Miguel swung ahead of me, jumping on to the side of the building. Using his claws, he climbed up the side before jumping off, propelling himself to take a nosedive. I yelped and was about to reach for him when he suddenly latched his arms out, and red webbing sprang from his armpits, expanding into a glider as he suddenly started flying down the street. 

“Now who’s the one that’s cheating!” I yelled after him. 

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game!” Miguel barked a laugh. “This race is as good as mine,”

Miguel soares ahead and I was gaining more and more distance from him fast. I needed some sort of edge to catch up to him. I glanced up to see traffic of flying cars driving above us, with a wide enough gap for me to mix into them. 

This was an incredibly stupid idea, but I’m doing it anyway. 

I web slinged up closer to the traffic before firing a web sling towards the vehicle at the front of the gap. My webbing stuck on to the back bumper, and I hitched a ride, the wind blowing in my face even harder as I practically flew through the air. I climbed up the webbing and then began parkouring across the row of cars. 

I jumped and skipped my way across, peering down between the small gaps that revealed the city below us to just barely make out Miguel’s body and his glider. I could see his head whipping around, wondering where I was. Now to catch him by surprise. 

I jumped down from the side, firing another web sling to swing me forward to his side. “Hey Miguel!”

I didn’t quite catch what my web sling had latched on to, but as Miguel was turning his body to face me, my own body almost violently whipped around a corner and sent me flying down another street. My vision spiraled as my arms flailed in a panic. “AHH!”

“MONA!” 

Miguel’s voice was almost able to snap me out of my trance as the street drew closer and closer to my head. That was until I felt a powerful arm grip around my form as Miguel caught me just in the nick of time and swung us both out of harm's way. My voice was lost to me as I breathed deeply, panting heavily as I clung to Miguel for dear life. 

“I got you,” despite how hoarse his voice sounded from his scream, Miguel attempted to soothe me as he swung down the street. “You’re gonna be okay. Try to swing for me okay?”

I glanced over at him, confusing riddling my face before I glanced over and briefly watched the motions of his arms as he fired his own websling from the top of his wrist, swung, and let go. Rinse and repeat. Just like from Peter B.’s lessons. 

With a shaking hand, I reached out my right hand and fired my own websling. Miguel and I swung together, going through the motions. Sling, swing, release. Sling swing, release. 

Gradually our speed slowed down as Miguel guided us to a small park. Secluded from the hustle and bustle of the city, but a wide enough space to still swing around. Miguel fired one more web sling, his red glowing webs latching on to a large overhanging metal light post while with his other hand, gripped onto my websling. 

Under the spotlight, the full moon hovering above in the night sky, our bodies slowly turned  around as if we were on a carousel. Our bodies were inches from one another as we met each others gaze through the mask. My cheeks flushed as Miguel seemed to tilt his head down, looking at me closely. 

I looked away out of embarrassment. “Thank you for saving me back there,”

“Are you alright?” He asked me gently. 

I nodded softly, a gentle hum  coursing through my throat. 

“Lisa?” Miguel’s voice was a whisper as his hand let go of my websling, and carefully brought it down to cup the side of my face and angle my gaze back to meet his. 

Something triggered in the HUD display of my mask. An infrared line ripped across the screen and suddenly I could see Miguel’s face through the mask. My pupils dilated at the sight as I caught the concerned look on his face. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I apologized. 

“I supposed we were both a little eager in our competition,” He smiled softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek through the mask. “But this gives me an idea,”

I raised a brow at him and I slowly began to realize that maybe his suit had that same feature as mine and he was able to see my face as well. His soft smile morphed into a playful grin as his fingers slowly began to pull up my mask, just enough to reveal my lips to the cool night air. 

“What kind of idea?” My voice was breathless as I spoke. 

Even as Miguel’s thumb gently brushed against my bottom lip and made my knees buckle. 

“Our own Spider-Man kiss,” He grinned. 

Part of his mask vanished, revealing his chiseled chin, cheekbones and puffed lips. 

Oh God-! 

Wait, we’re in Nueva York of 2099. In this instance, I should be saying oh Thor. 

I gasped softly, my lips forming a smile of my own as Miguel’s hand retracted, cupping my chin as he lowered himself closer. “Miguel~”

I remembered my heart pounding, and perhaps also hearing Miguel’s heart pounding in his own chest thanks to my spider-sense. 

Wait, my spider-sense? 

Our lips had just barely grazed one another when something large but swift flew overhead us. One moment we were hovering in the air, the next, we were plummeting to the ground below as our weblings were suddenly snapped by what looked like a metal wing. 

///////

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[jiubilant]

"Dammit," grumbles Gelebor. It's been his mantra for the past hour. "Damn it to darkness."

He's weaving in the darkness, warm and soft and shapeless as the blanket growing in his hands, of Chibree's hut. He is not so adept at it as his companion. His hands fumble in the faint firelight. They tangle the corded silk. Chibree's hands, slim and magnificent, dance like white spiders across the weaving-frame—and dart out, now and then, to flick Gelebor's foolish fingers.

Gelebor gives him a reproachful look. An old habit. "Ouch."

Chibree's face, pale and sightless as the moon, wrinkles into a smile.

This, he says with his fingers, guiding Gelebor's hand to the next cord in the weave, over that.

Gelebor makes a face.

The folk of the Vale winter underground, in the warm deep: snug creches, crystal lakes, tunnel walls worn smooth. Gelebor had thought, trekking down into the dark to his people's sunless camp, that he had lived long enough in a lonely cave to navigate a crowded one. He had thought he and his eyes could be of use. But to Chibree and the others who have lived, for all their lives, in a darkness vaster than the camp's—the frowning hunters, the giggling children, the wives who whisk up their bowls when he blunders by—he's a lumbering creature who, without a cookfire nearby, cannot walk ten steps without treading on someone's toes or tumbling into the chaurus-pit. (He shudders, remembering the curious legs.) The clan's elders tolerate him with amusement. The children, when they hear him pass, have taken to tugging him around by the hand. Usually into doorframes. He can't see well enough, by the pinprick lights of ventilation shafts, to know when to stoop—

I think, says Chibree, tapping the words upon Gelebor's wrist, you are doing this on purpose.

Gelebor blinks down at his hands. Then he raises his eyebrows.

"Let's not sleep under this one," he says, touching a gaping hole in the weave.

Chibree laughs—a dear, dry click in the back of his throat. We will give it to Virrut.

It's so mundane an exchange, so comfortable, that Gelebor furrows his brow. There's a living hand resting on his wrist, he thinks. It is warm. He is not dreaming it. When he covers it, dazed, with his own hand—a blunt old bludgeon, clumsy in the dark—it does not disappear.

Thank you, he says, tracing the nonsensical words in Chibree's palm. At times when his throat closes and something in his chest opens, bruised and soft and overripe, they are the only knock-talk he remembers. Thank—

Chibree, with a gentle smile, catches his hands.

This over that, he says, and weaves their fingers together.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

-Ode to Grief- "You are, of course, permitted to visit him," the king says. Pain lances through Gao Jianli's heart, as sharp and fresh as it was on the first day.

"Where is he?" the musician demands, forgetting where he is and who he is speaking to. There is no sword at his throat, no shackles on his wrists. Nonetheless, he knows he is as safe as a fly in a spider's web.

"The gentleman of Yan has been laid to rest outside the city walls." The king's voice is stately and just a touch pained, totally appropriate for the occasion. "The grave is unmarked, an old peach grove stands in place of a monument. Such a loyal man should be commemorated with the fruits of longevity, don't you think?"

Gao Jianli is barely listening, his heart is beating like a drum and his thoughts are galloping. Laid to rest. His beloved Jing Ke is buried in one piece. Not left out in the open to be torn apart by wild beasts, not burned on flaming pyre, the ashes scattered to the four winds. With his body whole and un-mutilated, Jing Ke's spirit will able to enter the afterlife. Gao Jianli will be able to see him again. The musician's hands tighten around his ji zhu, taking comfort in the familiar weight of the lacquered wood. He had not let go of his instrument when the guards dragged him into the throne room, kicking and screaming. Had clung to it reflexively, like a mother with her suckling babe, even while he was consumed by a fear so extreme it had bordered on divine madness. He had been prepared to beg for his life. How could he do so now, when he knew Jing Ke was waiting for him?

The king rises from his dais and walks down the steps. He uses the end of his own silk sleeve to wipe away Gao Jianli's tears. "If it suits you, we can visit his grave today and make sacrifices," the king says gently, "I think it would be very fitting for you to compose a song in his honour."

You want to hear me play. Gao Jianli realises. You want to dip your fingers in my grief and sample it like a fine wine. He feels wild. Like a man-eater. He wants to tear out the king's throat with his own teeth.

Notes under the cut

so the emperor's shadow is living rent free in my head now.

the title is a mix of the movie's chinese title "Ode to Qin" and Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" (yknow. another famous musician who lost one of his senses)

the characterisation of ying zheng is a mix of the movie (i really like the humanising portrayal of qin shi huang) and the historical record which shows that in his early years, he was capable of being very charming, humble and extraordinarily manipulative.

now i want a 5k slow burn where ying zheng is convinced he's in beauty and the beast "im just misunderstood! ur love will redeem me! pls be my pet musician!" meanwhile gao jianli is like "yeah, keep talking, it helps me aim..."

im just going to keep including more and more references from the song of achilles until i get sued

 Gao Jianli plays a guqin in the movie, it should actually be the much older ji zhu which is struck/plucked with a bamboo stick.