#<- silk cradle at the time had snakes and spiders so they were in a mixed lil family of snakes and spiders! Smiles

[cconfusedkat]

Often . Often . Okay. OKA. Shamura often questions if they should stop giving goodbye kisses to lamb because then they ask for a couple more, and then it's a "noooo stay stay stay im the leader i can hold you here" (allure there are dead bodies to take care of and get bones for. You are DISRUPTING THEIR SCHEDULE,)

Funny bonus cuz as much as i claim shamura is calm they are often angered by rlly little things (like sibling (shamura) like sister (heket))

As long as shamura doesnt with-hold a scythe or gauntlet everything is FIINNEEEEEE theyre a retired god by now!! :'-D

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober 3 Oct.: Digital

"Shh," Dean said, his mouth hot and insistent below Cas's ear, as though Cas had been making too much noise, and perhaps he had been.

deancas, s9 au, human Cas

A hiss-thwip sort of sound emanated from the record player like a pulse, the black vinyl fresh out of Zeppelin songs for the time being. Cas managed to drag himself out of bed and gently lifted the turntable arm to its cradle. 

"Side B?" he asked the lump on the mattress as the concrete floor froze his feet. He caught a flash of green and white under the blanket. "What?"

Dean's grin was all teeth and a peek of pink tongue. "Dude. You're super naked."

Cas quirked an eyebrow. "Yes. It didn't seem necessary to be dressed just to turn this off."

"Come back and warm up." Dean wriggled himself into a seated position, draped in linens. He caught Cas's wrist and reeled him in like a spider wrapping prey in silk, and Cas found himself cocooned skin to skin again before he could even object.

Not that he would've. Up close, the freckles that ran across the tops of Dean's cheeks and nose were watercolor and iridescent, deliberate and dappled; Cas thought he could almost taste them. He rubbed his nose along Dean's rough jaw, causing a sensation that seemed to pass between the two of them like static. A snap, a shiver.

"Shh," Dean said, his mouth hot and insistent below Cas's ear, as though Cas had been making too much noise, and perhaps he had been.

"You don't have any compact discs," Cas said. His voice maybe sounded a little shaky; Dean's hand was snaking lower.

"Nope." Dean was not easily distracted in some situations, Cas was learning. Nor easily sated.

"I understand why, though." Cas bit out the last word, lifted his hands to Dean's shoulders. "The digital compression of the music…ah. It's a much worse way to listen. Even as a human I can hear the difference." He panted through several breaths and let Dean's fingertips trail to a stop at his bare hip.

"Hadn't thought about it before, but I bet you really could hear a difference as an angel, huh?" Dean was interested in this; Cas could tell and found it charming. "I never got into CDs. Couldn't afford 'em as a kid, plus what would I have played them on since we moved constantly, no room for extra shit like that. My cassettes – Dad's cassettes – those were more manageable. I don't think I missed much good music anyway."

His expression faltered, a little. Cas, severed from heavenly powers, could still feel a vestige of loneliness bleeding off Dean. Felt it mirrored in himself, remembering celestial frequencies ringing through time, a vibrating polyphony without earthly counterpart that he was unlikely to ever hear again. But what there was to hear, here, was sweeter than Cas could've ever imagined before. He let himself nuzzle against Dean's throat, to console them both.

After a few minutes of them resting against one another, Cas could tell Dean's mood had rallied. 

"You said once that you liked experienced women." Cas must've caught Dean by surprise, since he blinked, and Cas quickly continued, "So it's funny to me that you're, um. That we're." He couldn't figure out how to say what he wanted to say. "As relates to sex. Since I am not. Experienced. I appreciate your patience, is all." 

Dean blinked at him a few more times, like he was truly unsure how to respond. "You're welcome?" he said finally, a smile at the corner of his mouth and eyes alight. Cas was relieved that Dean was blushing, since it made his own bashfulness seem less out of place. "And, uh. I mean. Yeah."

Cas nodded. 

Dean's eyes softened. "Way to change the topic, buddy." He kissed Cas like he wasn't bothered in the least. His blush deepened when he said, not looking at Cas, "Besides. I'm making an exception for you. You're different." 

"Oh." Cas knocked his forehead against Dean's. "I said that to you once."

"Yep." Dean looked at him so steadily then, Cas's throat tightened with longing. "Hey."

"Yes, Dean," Cas said, gaze dropping to Dean's soft mouth.

"Ready for side B?" Dean asked, and if afterwards neither of them moved to leave the bed, that didn't mean there was nothing to listen to.

[creativia10]

Janus in Wickhills Part 2

Fanfic au of @/tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors 's Love and Other Fairytales series

(continued from Janus in Wickhills Part 1)

The Duke had a very crazed look to his eyes.

“What is this!?” The duke exclaimed.

Janus twitched back some, concerned about sudden moves as though he were around some wild beast. Considering this was another fae, and how he looked at that moment, maybe he wasn’t that far off. Everyone had tensed up at his arrival. They were all still though.

The duke twitched some, his fingers clenched and unclenched. He stepped towards Janus, but someone stood in the way. Janus couldn’t see the face of the person who stood between them, but whatever it was made the Duke look concerned. There was even more of a hint of mania to his face.

“I just-I need to-“ The Duke glanced around. Then after a moment he shot over to the glasses fae and frantically grabbed his shoulders, mace fallen by their feet. Janus jumped.

“Snowmelt! I need you to help ground me into reality. I am seeing him, and it’s not possible, I can’t be seeing him I just can’t.”

His rambling seemed frantic. The man who he called snowmelt seemed very concerned. He grabbed the Duke’s arms.

“Remus. Remus! Look at me.”

Remus, apparently, took a breath and shakily met his eyes.

“You’re not seeing things. I see him too. But!” He quickly said as Remus started to look frazzled again, “he’s not-“ Snowmelt choked on what he was going to say, and hesitated. He looked at Janus again before returning his gaze to Remus.

“It’s not like it was. We don’t know what’s going on yet, but he is not going to hurt you again. Ok?”

Remus’ breath slowed as he took in Snowmelt’s words. He seemed unsure, but at least he calmed down. He stepped beside Snowmelt and turned to him.

“So what do we know then?”

“That is what we’re trying to figure out,” the one dressed as a knight said with a sigh. Janus found his eyes kept darting between them, still tensed from whatever just happened. It gave him a weird feeling. This entire thing was unsettling.

The curly haired one gently caught Remus up on what they knew so far. Snowmelt turned his attention back to Janus.

“Do you remember where in the forest you woke up?”

Janus scrunched his face in thought.

“I think so…but” He pursed his lips, unsure how to word his concern.

“But what?” The prince asked.

“Isn’t locating in the forest a bit difficult on revel nights?”

The others paused and looked at each other.

“Have you been to a revel before?” The prince asked.

“I…don’t believe so. I feel like I recall that would be a bad idea.”

“That should not be as much of a concern for a faerie,” the knight said.

“We have a pretty good handle on navigating the forest now, even on a revel night. We should be able to help you if you think you can remember.”

“I, however, cannot do this now, since I am the prince of the forest, I must attend to the revel to ensure the peace is kept,” The prince said.

“I could take him,” the curly haired one said.

“Pa- uh,” he paused and cleared his throat, “It’s dangerous,” Snowmelt said.

“Well, I know all of you will not want to leave the revel due to your duties, and I have gotten better with my abilities. I am stronger than you think,” Curly said.

“None of us think you aren’t strong, my love,” The knight dressed companion said.

“Perhaps it would be better to not go tonight anyways. It is late, on a revel night, and since we don’t know what’s going on, there could be more danger than we know of,” Snowmelt said.

“What should we do then?” The companion dressed as a knight asked.

They paused and then looked at Janus.

“What do you want to do?” The curly haired one asked. Janus stared at them in bewilderment.

“What do I want to do? How the heck should I know!? I woke up not knowing where I was and I keep getting looks like I’m a ghost by people I don’t even know!”

Janus let out a breath in frustration. The others looked at each other.

“Would you like to simply sit with us for now?” Snowmelt asked.

Janus sighed. “It’s not like I have many options right now anyways.”

He followed them to where they were sitting earlier.

*

The others sat except for the knight who stood off to the side at her post, not being very subtle with how often she looked over at him. Janus stood awkwardly by them for a moment.

The curly haired one smiled at him and patted the seat next to him.

“You can sit!” He said brightly. Janus hesitantly sat beside him.

“You may call me Wren!” He called cheerily. “I also like the nickname Goldilocks-“

“-but that is a nickname saved solely for his very powerful boyfriends,” the knight dressed one said very pointedly, from where he sat. Wren gave him a look.

Well Janus felt awkward now.

“…Alright. Well you may call me Jay,” he said to Wren.

Wren smiled at Janus and nodded before he gestured from those beside him.

Snowmelt nodded to Janus.

“You may call me L.”

The others didn’t give him nicknames. Alright then.

It was awkward and uncomfortable. But at least Wren seemed nice.

It was unfortunate his thoughts kept going back to these confusing circumstances. There seemed to be a lot going on at the revel as well. Lots of whispering and staring.

He wasn’t quite sure why this group was helping him when it was clear they were wary of him, apparently because of his resemblance to a previous traitorous ruler. He would take what he would get, but still be on guard.

They stayed late. Gosh, how long did these things go til?

Wren yawned and started to lean onto L. L looked down at Wren softly. It was sweet.

L then looked over to the spider prince.

“Are you good to stay as I get them home?”

The prince nodded at him.

“There’s not as many here now,” The Prince said.

L nodded and carefully got up, lifting Wren into a bridal carry.

He paused.

“I don’t think we decided what to do, since we deemed it dangerous to go searching now.”

L turned to Janus.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Wren suddenly piped up sleepily.

Janus paused.

“Uh- I don’t think so.” He furrowed his brows. “I don’t think I had a home. I remember traveling a lot.” The others exchanged looks, like they seemed to do every time he said something about himself. It was aggravating.

“I-hmm…” L started. “I feel places he could stay in town would not be welcoming to a fae, as he looks.” He thought some more. “I am unsure of the room in our house…”

“Perhaps we could set up one of your hammocks nearby?” Their knight companion, who hadn’t shared his name, suggested. “He wouldn’t be just left out that way.”

“Hm, yeah that could work.”

They were suggesting he sleep outside? He noticed they didn’t exactly ask him. What else could he bring up though? He didn’t know these people or where the line might be. This could all be a trap for all he knew, and his lack of information was driving him crazy.

“I can stay by him while he’s there,” Remus said. They turned to him in surprise.

“Are you sure Remus?” Snowmelt asked.

Remus shrugged, “Eh, I live in the forest anyways. Besides, I don’t live with you all, so it wouldn’t disrupt anything.”

The knight companion looked like he wanted to argue.

“It’s fiine, Ro. You all will be right there, and I can handle myself. I can’t do anything to him anyways.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Remus continued, “Just let me know if there’s anything else you want me to do. It’s the least I can do after all the ways you guys have helped me.”

*

Janus was slightly embarrassed to admit how wary he was to walk in the forest this late at night, even with the others who were with him. He didn’t recall fearing the dark before, but then again maybe waking up in a strange place could do that to you. After some walking, they seemed to reach a nice woodsy house, although it was hard to tell with the lack of light. L carried Wren inside.

The prince looked around. He walked around the side, jumped up, and started stringing spider silk between a couple of trees into the shape of a hammock.

Janus’ jaw dropped.

“I- are you making a hammock out of your own spider silk?”

“Mhm,” came from a different voice. Janus turned and jumped when he saw that Remus had somehow grown a large mossy cradle for himself, that he was already lounging in. It didn’t look very sanitary to Janus, but then again if this fae did live in the woods like he claimed, it was probably nothing to him. Unsure how to react, he turned back to the prince.

“But, will-“

“The hammocks I have made are strong enough to hold up myself and my three partners at once. I think you will be fine,” the prince said, sounding indignant.

Janus still looked on hesitantly.

Remus then said, “Would you rather wear a snake den into the ground right there?”

Janus whirled on him and scowled.

“What a ridiculous thing to suggest.”

Remus shrugged, seeming unconcerned.

“How would I know how you sleep?”

Janus refrained from complaining about sleeping outside in the first place. It was certainly better than the nowhere option.

Remus patted some moss beside him.

“Wanna feel how squishy it is?”

Janus scrunched his face, “No thanks.”

“It’s actually more comfortable than you’d think.”

“Hm.”

The spider got back down.

“There you go.”

Janus stepped towards it and stopped again. He tried to figure out how to ask his question without offending the prince, but couldn’t shake off his concern.

“I- well, I mean, aren’t spider webs meant to stick and capture creatures that aren’t spiders?”

The prince frowned.

“It’s not going to trap you. And even if it were, I can always get you out.”

That was not as reassuring as it was probably meant to be.

The prince continued, “It might stick some, but it’s light enough that it would more so be a slight annoyance, like if you were to get moss in your hair or something.”

Remus then said, “Yeah, but not the oozy kind though. Webbing is much lighter, right?”

The prince gave Remus a look, “…yes, right.”

Surprisingly, Remus popped up then, stretched his arms over his head and then tossed himself into the web hammock, startling Janus and the prince.

“Wha- Remus!”

“Whaat~? I was just showing him it was fine.” Remus patted the web. “If you join me up here, at least you won’t be alone if you get stuck.”

The prince sighed at that.

“I usually make big webs, so there should be enough room for both of you to lay in there comfortably, without even touching each other.”

Janus hesitated but he finally got closer to the web.

The prince stepped forward, a hand held out,

“Do you need hel-“

“Nope,” Janus abruptly pulled himself into the web hammock, bouncing the whole thing and sending Remus rolling into him. Remus snickered at his expense. Janus was mortified to feel his face heat up some. They remained still until the rocking stopped before Remus scooted back to an acceptable distance. The prince seemed to struggle to school in a neutral expression.

“Are you good?” The Prince asked. Janus nodded. The prince nodded back,

“Ok, well I will be in the house if you need anything, alright?”

Then he went inside.

Janus finagled a bit to take his hat off, and pushed his shoes off with some effort, hoping they landed close. He saw that Remus’ weapon from earlier was laid against the tree. Janus didn’t take his cape off, but he did unlatch it so he would be more comfortable. He glanced around and startled when he noticed that Remus was watching him. Remus immediately glanced away and grew surprisingly quiet. Even though he had been unsettled, Janus found himself look over the other.

He was glad there were some outside porch lights so they weren’t in complete darkness. Janus was trying to figure out how he felt about the one before him, why he was drawn to look at him. The mustache, and everything almost gave him a rugged look. Janus can’t say he ever expected to check out a man with green skin, but it certainly wasn’t the oddest thing that had happened that day.

“Can I ask you something?” Janus asked him then.

He heard a rustle as Remus shifted to look at Janus again with his green eyes curiously.

“Me sleeping out here, that wasn’t only because of how much room there is in their house, is it?”

Remus’ silence was answer enough for Janus. Janus sighed. Remus opened his mouth a couple of times. Then he finally spoke,

“We all have very good reason to be wary from seeing his face. None of them are trying to be cruel.”

Janus huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

“That’s the worst part of all this. You all look at me like I killed a loved one, and I still know barely anything about this situation. I am not necessarily blaming you, but it’s still unfair.”

Remus didn’t speak for a moment. Janus wondered if he opened up too much.

“Well…you’re not the only one who has had to deal with unfairness due to similar appearances.”

Janus’ eyes widened and he looked over at Remus, actually looked at him.

Remus smiled sadly and sighed.

“I don’t do this talky stuff much, like this, just so you know.”

He seemed to cut off at something.

Janus opened his mouth to ask about it when Remus turned again.

“Goodnight Jay,” and stilled.

Janus looked at his back for a moment, a bit unsure of what he was longing for.

“…goodnight.”

(continues in Part 3)

[sunflowersseemhappy]

asra, julian, and muriel with an apprentice who does aerial silks? (*´˘`*)

Here we go! Everything is PG, you’ll have to forgive my tumblr text abilities :)

Asra

Thoughts/Feelings:

If your skills as a magician do not impress Asra nearly enough, then your prowess with the silks does. Seeing you so confident, relying on strength and determination whilst hanging tens of feet in the air amazes Asra to no end.

Of course, there are times he fears you falling, but that is part of the allure. Watching you, as he hangs of the edge of his seat, makes Asra love watching you all the more.

Practice:

The shop is too small to practice in, but often Asra will find you stretching in preparation for a new move and may or may not make a cheeky comment that will make your face go red.

You practice at the theatre a lot of the time, whenever he can make it Asra will be there right by your side helping in whatever way he can.

Asra is very encouraging, he wants to see you flourish and progress. Asra will keep it light though; he knows pressure can make you stress out and that would most likely cause an injury.

Injuries:

You are notorious for winding yourself after a fall, luckily Asra is instantly by your side helping to get you through the shock. That feeling of the air being punched out of you? Not great. But Asra is there, reminding you how to breathe and thank goodness for that.

If you are not too injured, he will laugh whilst helping you up and asking if you are okay.

The first bad injury was a gash to the head, thankfully Asra was there. Pressing a cloth to your wound and asking you questions about who you were and where you are, whilst his magic knits your wound together. Naturally Asra was worried, but your care comes first and fixing you was more important than anything else. After healing you, Asra took you home and watched you throughout the night. Just in case you got a concussion…

During a show:

You are always able to get Asra a front row seat and most of the time he takes them, bringing your favorite flower to toss onto the stage. But Asra equally loves watching from backstage, with a flower to give directly to you.

When he is watching a performance you never cease to amaze him, gliding through the air like a bird or twisting into the fabric, almost the way Faust climbs trees. Asra is entranced.

After a show:

Will always have a flower to give to you.

As the two of you walk back home Asra will snake an arm around your waist and tell you how well you did, most of the time this ends in a kiss.

Snacks will be waiting, and a massage is in order.

Trying silks out:

Asra is willing to give it a shot, and damn…

He is such a fast learner! You are amazed, but to be honest not surprised. Asra is the most skilled person you have met; it stands to reason he can pick something up so quickly.

Asra is no showoff, but the way he moves, it’s like he’s been doing it his whole life.

You quickly race to join him; it is almost like a dance the way you weave yourselves together like a pair of courting swans. It ends sooner than you would like after Asra gives you a rare smirk after grazing his lips over yours and winding down to the floor.

Preferred moves/style:

More than anything Asra loves the practice sessions.

Watching the way your face screws up in concentration, or the gentle way you maneuver yourself in the air when a new move comes into play.

Most of all Asra loves it when you invite him to sit in the hammocks or swings way up in the air. The both of you talk for hours just sitting there, the rest to the performers complain when you take up so much practice time, but up there time melts away.

Julian

Thoughts/Feelings:

He is astonished, being a bit of a showman himself Julian finds the concept fascinating. He’s climbed plenty of ropes and rigging on Mazelinka’s ship, but never did he think of it as a possible art form.

He immensely enjoys watching you, but as a natural worrier Julian insists, he is always there to watch after you. Will put everything on hold just to make sure you are safe, including his own wellbeing.

On late night practices you find him hunched over sleeping in a chair, most of the time you can’t bear to wake him so you lay out a crash mat and pile up the blankets before pulling him off the chair and sleeping with him in the empty theatre.

Practice:

Julian gets under your feet a lot of the time, both metaphorically and literally. Although he means well, he can be a bit distracting ensuring a crash mat is always under you and he is ready to attend to whatever need you have.

Within reason you like to tease him, going as high as you can and tumbling down towards him before stopping inches from his face as you hang upside down (Spider-Man style). It never fails to shut him up when he is rambling about safety because he knows this move is a shut up, everything is under control.

Injuries:

He is worried for good reason, if you practice too long there are blisters on your hands and if you slip and try to counterbalance a rope burn or a twisted ankle/wrist will most likely need his attention.

Dr Devorak is on the case! With minor injuries he will generally scold you, prompting a laugh at the best of times. A lot of the time though when an injury is enough to reduce to tears, he will take you up in his arms and fix you up before cuddling you to near death.

The worst injury? A broken ankle, you remember blacking out from the pain and waking to Julian cradling your head trying to wake you up. His general scolding tone wavering slightly, it was a bad break. But you know you’re in the best hands and although it was the most painful experience ever you were very glad he is always there for you.

During a show:

He is sometimes in the crowd whistling and cheering, looking at you with the most lovestruck face you have ever seen.

Sometimes he will be backstage, not only to cheer you on, but also as the onsite medic. Not that he minds, it just means he gets to see you sooner after the show. Generally, he is holding out a glass of water before you even need to ask.

After every show he will spin you about and kiss you exclaiming how well you did.

After a show:

Could he do any better?

A nice warm bath with plenty of soaps and shampoos, he does everything to help you wind down. Making tea, coffee or hot chocolate and fixing up a generous meal.

All the while complimenting the moves he loved.

He will carry you up the stairs and into bed kissing you as much as you desire and exclaiming how talented and wonderful you are until he is blue in the face.

You fall into a quiet restful cuddle until you both drift off to sleep.

Trying out silks:

He’s climbed ropes before, but this? Impossible, he is almost too lanky and tall to do anything.

He just cannot get it; it is genuinely hilarious, but you appreciate the effort.

In the end he purposefully gets himself tangled up and puts on a seductive pose; “I seem to be helplessly tangled up, I do hope no one takes advantage of my precarious predicament!”

You cannot help but tease him like that, jokes on him though. Most of the time he gets himself genuinely stuck.

Preferred moves/style:

Death defying drops always leave him speechless and on the edge of his seat.

Julian equally loves the low sweeping moves you use to wind around and tease him, a game of catch the apprentice is always in order.

Muriel

Thoughts/Feelings:

Worried a lot of the time, you are high up and have almost no safety measures. He is bound to be nervous despite trying hard not to look it.

Will 100% be ready and willing to dive to catch you.

Despite the worry Muriel admires the dedication and resilience you show. Compared to him you may not look nearly as strong, but he is aware that the determination you show makes you stronger than any physical strength.

Practice:

Practice is a lot easier for him to watch, you have mats to land on and others to help you through the moves.

He wants to be supportive, enough that he decided to set up dangling silks from the largest tree he could find near his hut.

Muriel always makes sure you do not try anything you’re not ready for, even if he has to restrain you in a bear hug.

The fact that he is so tall is helpful, if you ask, he will help you prepare for a move. A lot of the time you end up standing on his shoulders whilst tying knots.

During a show:

An actual performance sets him on edge for sure. The crowd watching you sets him on edge, although it is nothing like the gladiator fights, he does not like the hungry gaze’s onlookers give your lithe form.

You never push him into going to your performances, but he always shows up, generally backstage out of view or even in the rafters of the theatre. Any chance you get you smile at him and although you cannot make out his features for the lights shining in your eyes, he always smiles back.

After a show:

After watching a performance Muriel will escort you back home as you critique your form and moves as he silently listens. He hates it, you are an excellent performer. 

“I could have done better, that...” “You were beautiful,” he blurts out, giving you pause as a blush draws to your cheeks.

His compliments, though few and far between are very much appreciated.

When you arrive back at the hut the two of you will drift off to sleep in front of the fire.

Injuries:

An injury caused by aerial silks will leave him very worried, he is no stranger to an injury and makes quick work in patching you up. Often muttering to himself whilst doing so, you understand his concern, but it comes with the territory.

The herbs he gathers generally do the job with minor injuries; Muriel has after one occasion made a habit of kissing any bruises you get. Which often makes the both of you blush like idiots.

A major injury is something Muriel has always dreaded, so when you break a few ribs after a fall he gently scoops you up and does his best to fix you, sending Inanna to find Asra (or even Julian) to come and help. He’s had broken ribs before and knows they hurt a lot, so he does anything to make you comfortable. The guiltily look on his face sends your own guilt to stab you in the heart.

Doing something else takes his mind off it, a lot of the time you tell funny jokes and stories to make him cast you that soft smile.

Trying silks out:

His curiosity soon gets the better of him, whilst you are out getting supplies, he walks over to the silks hanging from the trees. Amazed that you can actually hold onto them whilst moving, he is wondering if he could do what you can, he’s certainly got the muscle for it.

Testing the silk in his hands he winds a leg around the silk and tests himself pulling upwards and into the air. He can hardly believe how difficult such a simple move is, then you appear from nowhere and startle him. Thudding to the ground, you can only chuckle softly as he looks bewildered toward you. “If you wanted to have a go you should have let me know!”

Preferred style/moves:

A move that proves the strength you have never fails to impress Muriel, the roll up being the one that most astonishes him.

Thinking his blush is cute you have created several slow dances to impress him. He won’t admit it, but he loves it, it makes him feel special.

[monstrousromantic]

The Princess and the Spider

Words: 4719 

           Once upon a time there was a princess. She lived in the castle on the hill. Her life was splendor and blood. She was the only heir of a kingdom up to its neck in foes. Some days she wore gowns, some days she wore armor, but there was a single stagnant truth that could not be denied. Wherever she walked, death followed. One day she spent a little too much time out in the woods, and she took a tumble down a cliff.

           Once upon a time there was a spider. She lived in a cave by the sea. She spent her days weaving art out of silk and listening to the waves crash against the cliffs. She was happy and content, and she had many small friends to keep her company. Her gentleness was a boon to the creatures in the forest, her kindness a gift. Then one day, a human girl fell past her cave into the sea.

           Princess Maeve had decided to go hunting alone. Her day had been awful. A bow in one hand and the reins in the other, she veered off the trail into the deeper part of the forest. After all, prey knew better than to roam a predator’s trail. Coren clopped along peacefully, dark tail swishing as the leaves crunched beneath his hooves. Maeve wasn’t a bad tracker. In fact, she was certain she’d found something. The scuffing in the dirt, the delicate cracks of the twigs, these things were all she needed to figure out if something had been there. A clear track in the mud confirmed it. A deer, going the direction she was facing. She let Coren keep going.

           The sun had barely passed noon when she found it. A stag, alone. Isolated from his herd most likely. She readied her bow, the arrow positioned perfectly. She inhaled, ready to release on the exhale when a sound startled the stag. Her shot would have been head-on if only something hadn’t rustled the bushes. Her arrow, instead of the eye, was embedded in a tree as the stag took off. She swore and sent Coren chasing after it. She wasn’t losing her prey, not now, not ever. She wasn’t sure how long she pursued the antlered beast when Coren came to a halting stop. His startled whinny rivaled her own. She yelped as she was almost thrown from the saddle.

           As she recovered her balance, her prize stallion edging back down the incline, she glared around at her surroundings. The woods seemed no different. The sun glowed a soft shade of green through the leaves. The birds chirped away, uncaring of the human and her horse. A creek flowed nearby, the soft sound of water rushing through her ears. There was nothing to signify any danger, and yet the horse would not move forward. The deer was long gone. Maeve swore, kicking her heels just a tad harder. Still Coren would not move. She got off the saddle, attempting to pull him forward with the reins.

           “Come on Coren, what’s got you spooked? You lost us that deer!” She chided. The horse did not answer back. Instead a light sheen of sweat decorated his fur. Fear glittered in his eyes. Maeve was left baffled. Coren was one of the best horses in the stables, nothing could spook him. She’d seen him step over snakes with not a care in the world. What had him so terrified?

           She pulled at the soft leather once more. Coren took a step backwards. A loud crack echoed through the woods, and that was all it took for her favored beast to dart off into the forest without her. The princess, in her panic, called out for him to come back. He did not. She faced the wood again, the direction the deer had run off to. There was nothing. Her brow furrowed; she drew her bow. Just in case. It was entirely possible that the horse had sensed something she didn’t, he had better hearing after all, but it seemed irrational. If there was danger nearby, wouldn’t it have spooked that squirrel into a tree? The woodpecker hammering away at the bark?

           An arrow nocked; she took a few steps further into the unforgiving wilderness. Those two steps were all it took. It made sense now, why Coren had run off as he had. He’d been tall enough to see over the massive bush, where she’d needed to take a few steps to find a gap she could see through. The bear snarled, getting up on its hind legs. Maeve had been told many times what to do if she ever saw a bear, but the lesson fled her mind as terror set in. She did the only thing she could think of, which was coincidentally also the worst. She ran.

/*\

           Sir’vera let the silk fall through her fingers, ever soft and malleable. The same shade of white as the hair that flowed down her shoulders, that covered every inch of her eight legs. She wove the thread together, gently pulling it from the spinnerets at the base of her abdomen. The cold season was coming soon, and she wanted more carpets to put down in her modest cave. The stone could almost be enough to freeze her feet when winter woke. In that moment she wondered if she should weave herself another blanket. One could never have enough blankets.

           She shook her head. No. Once the carpet was done, she had to get to work on someone else’s blankets. She wasn’t sure what a pair of naga were doing so far up north, but they would also need help staying warm once the snow started falling. It was good to have friends, even if they only ever showed up when they needed something from her. She didn’t realize she was frowning until a little jumping spider tapped her face with a miniscule leg.

           “What’s wrong? You look sad.” The spider told her. She smiled and waved him off, careful not to let the handful of silk tangle.

           “Oh nothing. I always feel a little melancholy this time of year.” She assured. “It’s the weather. It makes you sleepy too.” She teased. Though the spider did not have as expressive a face as she, she could tell it didn’t believe her. She resumed her task, and the jumping spider joined his friends at the top of the ceiling. She pointedly looked away as he pounced on a smaller, weaker compatriot. She was able to persuade them to get along most of the time. Most.

           She was impressed with their work though. It wasn’t often she could get the various spiders of the forest to work together so well. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be yet, but the tapestry was still under construction. She could see shapes along the outlines, nothing in the middle yet. Trees perhaps? She smiled. She wouldn’t interrupt them. It was nice that they were willing to do favors for her at all. She was almost finished with her new rug, and she knew exactly where she’d put it. There was a criminally bare spot by her nest, which was decidedly far too cold when she woke up in the morning. Something absolutely had to be done about it.

           As she stared down at the offensive spot of stone, she pondered. She held up the completed square of silk. It was certainly big enough to cover the spot, but she wasn’t sure how to integrate it with the other rugs she’d made. Most of them were decorated, pretty pictures woven within, but this one was entirely plain. Perhaps she could hide the corners beneath the others? She had to hold in her sigh. She could think about it all day if she needed to. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Maybe she’d dedicate the next several days to rearranging everything. That, at least, would preoccupy her mind for a week or two. That was when she heard it. The roar of a bear, and a scream. She rushed to the entrance of her cave only to see a human woman whisk past her face as she fell off the cliff into the sea.

           She let out a startled yelp herself, and immediately leaped into action. She tied the end of her silk to one of the boulders that shielded her home from the elements, and she scaled the cliff down. She tried to move quickly, but the unfortunate truth was that her limbs were large. She needed to find crevices to fit her feet into, and with a dawning sense of horror she realized she’d lost track of where the woman had fallen in. She hoped she wasn’t too late. As she reached the waves, she searched the water frantically. She could feel the icy saltwater lay claim to her feet. Sir’vera couldn’t help but recoil.

           “There!” A tiny voice said. “She’s right there! See that dark shape?”

           She did, and thanks to the jumping spider that had lodged himself into her hair, she was able to fish the human out of the water and bring her up to safety. She shooed her smaller friends off the mound of blankets she called her nest. The human was sopping wet, and completely asleep. For a terrible moment Sir’vera thought she might be dead when the daintiest cough escaped her blued lips. Then she started retching saltwater. Relieved, if mildly disgusted, Sir’vera got to work.

           The armor the human wore had an obnoxious number of buckles and ties. As she maneuvered the poor thing over to the fire pit, gently patting her back as she coughed, she grappled with the leather for only a few moments before she reached the end of her patience. Sir’vera found herself mentally apologizing as she severed the buckles off with her talons. There was simply no time. She placed the disassembled pieces in a corner, swiftly moving to rip a blanket out of her nest and swath the tiny human within. As the small creature shivered, the spider eyed her brazier critically. The flame had grown smaller, the embers dimming. It wouldn’t hurt to add another log or two.

The fire roared and the woman had finished throwing up water. Swathed in Sir’veras silk he had drifted off to sleep. Sir’vera cradled the head on one of her fluffy legs. She couldn’t help her curiosity. She’d never seen a human up close before. She knew enough to tell that this one was female. The males had hair on their faces, this one did not. At least, she thought that was right. It could be the other way around. She could ask when the human woke up.

She placed the back of her hand on the human’s forehead, checking for fever. The spider blinked, taking notice of the human’s face. Long lashes, rounded ears, she was very pretty. Sir’vera recalled the stories her mother had told her about these creatures. That they were brutish, cruel. Single-minded and violent. They were vicious to anything not their own, and they would not hesitate to end her should they ever find out about her existence. That was what her mother had told her, and that ensured Sir’vera remained entirely confused.

           Gently she combed her claws through the human’s hair, conquering the tangles the sea had wrought. What was her name? Where had she come from? What did she do with those flimsy little fingernails instead of claws? Sir’vera gently wove the dark hair into braids as her new friend fell into a deeper sleep. The shivering had stopped, and she hoped that was a good sign.

She touched the human girl’s cheek. It felt soft, not much different from her own. Her arms, too, were similar, but she only had two eyes. That seemed terribly inefficient. What caught her interest most, however, was the feet. The human had such odd legs. It seemed she should be clumsy with only two, but she had run fast enough to get away from that bear. Away from the bear but over the cliff. She thought ruefully. It seemed they couldn’t control their speed very well.

           Curiously, Sir’vera lifted a corner of the blanket. Gently, she scraped the tip of her claw over the sole of the human’s foot. The flesh was as soft as that on her hands, only the slightest bit tougher. It would be so easy to wound her, with no natural protection. The human flinched, and Sir’vera’s heart stopped. Had she hurt her? But the woman hadn’t been roused from her sleep, and so the enormous spider continued her inspection. The little toes were cute, but also not good for self-defense. What made these creatures so threatening? Perhaps she had sharp teeth? The spider replaced the corner of the blanket, baffled. She could not for the life of her figure out just what it was that made these little human creatures so dangerous.

/*\

           The last thing Maeve remembered was the bear.

She’s been running so fast, faster than she’d ever run before. She had leapt over logs and dodged stray tree roots. Her survival absolutely had to be the work of the divine. For a split moment she thought she’d escaped. She thought she could no longer hear the bears lumbering strides, that it’s slavering jaws wouldn’t be sinking into her throat. Maybe it had grown bored, and that was why it had slowed down. As her luck gave out and she finally tripped, she realized that was not the case as the crashing waves pulled her down.

Yet, when she opened her eyes, she realized there was no sea, no cliff, and most certainly no bear. Maeve woke to the sound of a crackling fire. Sparks flickered as her eyes drowsily slid open. Her sight felt funny, sluggish, as though she shouldn’t be awake yet. She felt warm and snug. As she reached up, she found that her hair had been tended to. Had she been saved then? Lady Luck was truly having a marvelous time toying with her today. Slowly she tested her limbs. Would it hurt to sit up? Her breath caught.

           Yes. Yes, it did hurt to sit up. She groaned and let herself lay back down. She took the opportunity to turn her neck, inspecting her surroundings. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She was clearly in a cave. The rocky outcropping of the ceiling could tell her that much, a tiny hole carved out to release the smoke, but the rest of it was hidden. Soft white rugs completely encased the floor, the only spot left bare being by the brazier. Candles sat on small wooden tables, illuminating the spaces that the fire couldn’t quite reach. Then there was the pile.

           A pile of what she wasn’t sure, but it looked to be the same fabric that doused the rest of the cave. It was piled high, almost in the manner of a mattress. Was that someone’s bed? It looked positively enormous.

           “Oh, you’re awake!” A voice chirped. As Maeve looked over, she realized with a rising sense of dread just what the pale fabric was. Her luck had gone down again. The woman standing before her wasn’t completely woman, that was quite certain. Her hair was long, the color of freshly fallen snow. Her form was slim, her curves soft. Her hips bled into something decidedly inhuman, eight legs as furry as her pet kitten sprouting from what Maeve supposed was a rather large abdomen. Her face was pretty, though the four eyes were disconcerting. Four eyes the exact same color as the sapphires in her mother’s favorite tiara. Maeve was deciding how to respond when the odd woman-spider continued.

           “Are you feeling any better? That was quite the fall. I checked you over for wounds. There was a small gash on your arm but thankfully nothing seems broken, though I imagine you’ll be quite sore for a while.” She winced apologetically. Maeve got a glimpse of razor-sharp fangs. She knew that some species of spider were venomous. Was this creature as well?

           “Um,” Maeve started. She could feel her brows furrowing, instinctively grabbing for her clothing only to find that, beneath this blanket, there was nothing else covering her. She supposed the spider-woman took note of that because a crestfallen expression took her face.

           “Do I frighten you?” she asked gently. Maeve felt the bafflement run through her chest, followed quickly by guilt. Why guilt? The spider looked sad.

           “No,” Yes. The girl looked unconvinced. Still, her clawed fingers offered up a steaming clay bowl. As the scent wafted over Maeve found that her mouth was watering. Without thinking she took the bowl and let the steaming broth run down her gullet, chasing away the remaining ice in her bones. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she’d been, happily fishing out chunks of meat with her spoon. After the first several bites, her stomach felt sated enough that her mind could wander. What was she supposed to do? She had heard of creatures that lived in the forests, creatures that did not appreciate the presence of humanity in their lands, but the massive spider didn’t seem to share that sentiment. As the spider watched her, almost eagerly, Maeve got the sense that she was curious.

           But then, she could also be trying to fatten her up as a next meal. The human torso looked awfully thin. No matter how comfortable the spider silk was and no matter how delicious the food, she had to get out of this cave.

           “My name is Sir’vera.” The spider said, “What’s yours?”

           Sir’vera’s voice was gentle, hypnotic. Maeve wasn’t sure if it was the light volume or the softness of her tone, but there was this underlying quality to it that made the princess want to listen to her forever. It put her even more on edge than before. A thought struck her. As much as the nonhuman fairy tales were said to dislike humans, they’d dislike the notion of many humans even more. There was no doubt a search party would be out looking for Maeve, and she sincerely doubted this creature would want to be discovered. Maybe a fancy title would be enough to get her out of here unscathed?

           “Maeve, Princess of Illoria.” It did not have the effect she’d hoped for. The spider’s jeweled eyes widened in awe, her smile growing even brighter.

           “A princess? How wonderful!” She paused. “Though I have to admit, all I know about princesses is what I’ve read in fairy tales.” Her voice took on an air of mortification.

           A dream. This had to be a dream. An odd, fever induced dream that she was living out on some poor old fisherman’s cottage floor. That made infinitely more sense than a wild spider woman in a cave knowing how to read. The girl wasn’t even wearing a chemise! Could she, considering her anatomy? One question at a time.

           “Where did you learn how to read?” She said. The spider – Sir’vera, though Maeve wasn’t sure why she’d need to remember since this was just a dream – had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at her, as though the answer should be obvious.

           “My mother taught me. Didn’t yours teach you?” Sir’vera didn’t wait for a response. “What were you doing so far out in the woods? I thought humans lived in large communities. As a princess wouldn’t you be protected?”

           “I was out hunting.” Maeve could feel her voice taking on a defensive tone. “And I would’ve had that deer too if it wasn’t for that damn bear.”

           Her head was beginning to hurt. As nice as the soup had been she could feel her mouth drying up, her sight growing foggy. Was it time for this bizarre dream to end? She supposed so. She could see Sir’vera’s mouth moving, likely asking more questions, and then the next thing she knew she had fallen over. Maeve was so tired, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. She could faintly register the spider girl standing up, a panicked expression crossing her strange face.

           In that moment, all Maeve could think about was how comfortable spider silk was. Then she dreamed real dreams, about bears and spiders and the sea.

/*\

           Sir’vera was panicking. She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. One moment the human was sitting upright, the empty bowl sitting stable in her hands. She’d been pouting about her botched hunting trip when she’d just toppled over. Sir’vera had jumped right into action. She lifted Maeve’s head, supporting her shoulders with her arm. Unsure what else to do she poked at Maeve’s face.

           “Maeve? Maeve?! Oh no you need to wake up! I don’t know what else you need!” She squeaked, doing her best not to wail in the sick woman’s ear. As she tried to shake the princess awake a twirling shape in front of her caught her attention.

           “Calm down!” A widow said, the blood red hourglass glittering in the firelight as she hung from the ceiling. “Humans require water more often. Perhaps you should offer her a drink from your cask?” She coaxed. Sir’vera blinked and then nodded. Gently, she set Maeve back down by the fire and inspected the drawers on her largest table. It had to be there somewhere.

           Finally, she found it. She grasped the soft leather triumphantly as she carefully unscrewed the cap. She stared down at Maeve, unsure how to proceed. Should she just pour the water in her mouth? Could the sleeping figure sort herself out? She didn’t think so. Sir’vera looked to the widow.

           “Now what?” she asked. The widow instructed her, telling her to tilt the human’s head just so and to only pour a little bit of water at a time. She had to rub a finger over a pressure point in Maeve’s throat, a task that had Sir’vera sweating, but she was able to do it just fine with the harmless edge of her knuckle.

           The human didn’t wake up. Sir’vera was worried and perhaps a bit disappointed. However, her breathing was even, and a bit of pinkness had returned to her cheeks. Was she supposed to be pink? The widow assured her that she’d done everything right. Exhaling, the woman set down her human charge, ensuring she was comfortable and not too close to the flame.

           “Thank you. How do you know so much about them?” She asked, trying to be polite.

           “I used to live in the corner of a doctor’s house. Incredibly rude man but very knowledgeable. I was taking care of his pest problem and he took down my web! You can imagine my indignation.” That was only the start.

           The widow carried on with her rant a while, Sir’vera nodding along and offering the occasional ‘hmm’ and ‘uh-huh.’ She was entranced. Now that she’d had a moment to calm down, she realized something incredibly important. The human girl sleeping by her brazier was even more beautiful when she wasn’t half-drowned.

           She allowed the widow to drone on to her little heart’s content, and as soon as she retired for the night Sir’vera took the opportunity to get closer. A thin sheen of sweat coated the woman’s forehead, and Sir’vera wondered if it was the fire or the fever. She shot a glance to her bed. Fever was supposed to be taken care of that way, right? She decided she could survive the night without two of the forty blankets that sat in her favorite corner.

           She pulled the desired fabric from her nest, folding it neatly so it would better cushion her new friend on the cold, hard floor. Gently she lifted the woman in her arms and set her on the bed while she worked. The space on the floor wasn’t small, but she didn’t want to risk setting her silk alight. Everything had to be positioned just perfectly. As she settled the human into her makeshift bed she wondered what she should do, but one thing was certain. The human would have to stay much longer than she initially thought. For such allegedly terrifying creatures the widow hadn’t been shy with her information. Humans were immensely fragile.

           The princess would just have to stay longer, and content with the thought Sir’vera settled herself into her own pile of blankets. She happily snuggled into her pillow and let her legs splay out, but despite it all she found she could not sleep. She was simply too excited, too awake. Her mother had often told her that her impatience would be her undoing, but she just couldn’t help it. Though she closed all four of her eyes and willed herself to drift off, she simply had too much energy. Unconsciousness would not claim her yet, and as much as she wished they could have talked more Maeve wasn’t going to wake up any time soon.

           It was then that she heard it, the harsh song of the wolves as they cried out their victory over whatever prey they’d caught. She took a brief glance around her little cave. The widow had mentioned that humans required small but consistent meals, especially when sick. It would be less than ideal if Sir’vera couldn’t provide. She decided to put all her newfound energy to good use. Hunting by the light of the full moon would be delightfully simple.

/*\

           The castle was in an uproar, but it was a quiet uproar. The breeze blew by peacefully. The ivy crawling up the stone walls lay undisturbed. Servants bustled about as they did every day, and gentle chatter echoed throughout halls and courtyards. No battalion approached; no soldiers were to be sent away. All was seemingly well. Yet within, the royal family and its inner circle were in hysterics. The queen was locked in her chambers, the sound of her cries piercing in the halls. The king sat in the war room with his generals. His dark eyes belied his night of sleeplessness. He stared down at the map, greasy curls hanging in his face.

           He would not sleep, eat, or bathe until his daughter was returned to him. There simply wasn’t the time to waste. The Green Army maintained a stalwart fortress to Illoria’s western border, the little miniature marring the delicate illustrations of grass and flowers on the map. The elves in the southern deserts didn’t press on their borders, but he knew that if Maeve strayed too close, they wouldn’t hesitate to steal her away for ransom. There wasn’t much to speak of in the north. Merely uninhabitable wasteland, frozen and unwelcoming. He wasn’t sure what it was home to. Hearing the stories from his expedition teams, he didn’t want to find out.

           There was just one problem. Maeve hadn’t gone in any of those three directions. She had gone east on her hunting trip. The tracker had been able to get that far before the rainstorm forced them out of the forest, drowning out her trail. All that existed there was coastline, the nearest port being leagues away. Anything could have happened to her. A wild animal. A cliff. An assassin. Thinking about it would only make it worse. Words could not begin to describe the anguish that King Lorenth felt when he heard that Maeve’s favorite stallion was found in the woods by a nobleman’s son, out on a hunt himself. Reportedly the horse had been terribly spooked, panting hard and hot to the touch. His saddle had been empty, the princess nowhere to be found.

           Lorenth had to take a moment to rest his eyes, they stung so bad, but there was nothing to be done for it. He wondered if he should have waited for a better time to inform her of the alliance he’d arranged. He wondered if it was worth losing his only child this way, to the wilderness where they might never find her.

           As his wife’s hoarse wail echoed into the war room, he could feel someone pat his back. General Veran’s scarred face looked down at him, his gaze soft.

           “Don’t worry your majesty, we will find her.”

[cutiepasta-thewriter]

Son of Gods

A small prompt based on mythology. Gods au

Relationships-father/son(Peter and Tony)

Today we will discuss the the rise of the first demigod. Peter god of youth and story. Yes, I know I said demigod but listen. This story is better told from the beginning. It was during the age of war when the gods where locked in battle.

There was a seamstress who traveled the plains who wondered towards the mountains. It was near the summit that she found a temple. It belonged to Tony, god of wealth, generosity, and smithing.

The woman payed her respects to the god and asked for a help in finding a husband. He prayers where answer as a path open down the mountain leading to a nearby town. There she found a man who would love her forever more.

Years later the woman returned to the temple and asked for a child. This wasn't a task the god could simply fulfill, he couldn't make a barren woman fruitful and perhaps she knew that.

Still the god took sympathy on the woman who devoted her life to him in thanks for her happiness.

Tony took a pot of clay and molded a body from it. Then he baked in in the fire of his forge.

He took to one of his many mines where he found two flawless emeralds and used them as the baby's eyes.

He took cords of copper and spun them into hair. Wire, silk and steel was used to make vocal cords. And bits of coral to color their lips.

He looked apon his creation and saw they were perfect. Lastly he needed to poured nectar on the baby to breath life into him.

When he awoke he cried so loudly that the mounted brass on the walls vibrated. Quickly Tony wrapped the baby in a silk blanket and soothed him.

An interesting fact about this divine birth is that Peter was not born of a woman so he had no bellybutton. That's why in his depictions he is never shown to have one.

Tony placed the newborn into a basket with gold lining. With it he placed a token made from steel and on it was the baby's name, Peter.

A mountain lion was sent for by its master and Tony instructed it to bring the baby down the less traveled slopes of the hills.

As the lion carried the basket down the path a hawk spotted it. Swiftly it returned to its master, Clint god of the hunt. The god tracked the lion knowing it was a follower of the smithing god, he hoped it was holding a message on his whereabouts.

Clint arched an arrow as the beast spotted him and gave chase. The lion ran across a rushing river as the hunt shot him. In pain the lion dropped the basket and the baby was washed down river.

The little one thankfully survived and floated to a bank down river where he was found by a group of travelers.

They realized that the child was likely abandoned by a rich family from the gold of his basket. But instead of being honorable they barely looked at the baby before stealing the golden basket.

So there our hero was. Cold, wet, probably hungry with only a blanket to shield him from the elements.

(... No Emily, he wasn't abandoned.)

Tony knew nothing of the fate of his creation until the band of travelers sought refuge at his temple and revealed the basket. Immediately they were cursed by the god to wonder endlessly and know no rest, if they did, lions would come apon them.

When the god found the spot where his child should be there was nothing.

Peter had been found by a goddess of all things. Natasha goddess of women and queen of the Widows (a group of warrior women).

She intended to keep the child until she found a family for him and so she had bundled the baby up in her shawl and took him to her camp.

There Clint was already preparing to skin the mountain lion he had shot earlier.

Natasha placed Peter in a nest of pillows on her bed and called to the other gods to come see the babe.

However, when she returned the baby was gone. Frantically she searched for Peter but he was long gone.

You see, a snake had reached into the pillow nest and stole the baby. It was Loki who has taken the form of a python who had done it.

This was the first of the many meetings between the demigod and the trickster. It seems that whenever Peter goes on a adventure the god turns up.

This time Loki intended to take the child to his home in order to gain something from Tony.

The metal god was still tearing up the mountain to find Peter but the child was in Loki's home hidden from the world.

This is where Peter performs his first feat. As Peter was a creation of a god he was unlike humans in many ways.

He unwrapped himself from his swaddleing and crawled his way to a bowl of fruit Loki had kept nearby. The baby took three raspberries and crushed them, then he spread the juice over his lips and chin.

When Loki returned to the room he found the stolen spawn covered in red sticky fluid, it was alot like blood. Immediately the god knew he had to get rid of the child. If Peter was really dying he wouldn't have done in his care. It must of been those hunters who did this.

Loki could point the finger later what he needed to do was find someone else to deal with this.

When his brother arrived Loki claimed that this baby had been dropped nearby and needed help finding someone to take care of the poor thing. Thor took pity on the unfortunate child and agreed to take him to a healer.

He wanted to bring the child to his friend Bruce the god of knowledge and patron of science. But a scientist would be of little use to help the boy

There had been rumors of a new god had appeared in their realm. A god of magic and healing.

This god lived in isolation far from any other. Thor had heard you must leave your sick on the edge of a cliff and he will transport them to his palace.

Before leaving the baby Thor gave him three strands of golden string and tied them to the boy's wrist in three bands. If Peter broke one it would summon thunder and cut down any enemy and should be used wisely.

The god left the boy on the edge and waked away. In time he would be taken.

Not long after a white sheet floated down to the earth and wrapped around the baby like food in a bindle.

This is where we get the myth of the stork delivering a baby. The stork was added later and actually represents the god Stephen Strange. The stork was his animal symbol and we'll get into that story later.

Anyways the baby was delivered by the living blanket to it's master.

Stephen took hold of the red stained child and checked for injuries. Finding none he took the baby to the hot spring located within the temple. There washed Peter in the warm, healing waters of the spring of revival.

(Yes, Jasper that's why the mural shows the naked hot guy holding a baby in the water. Yes, it was normal back then.)

He washed the baby but doing so change him. Peter was formed from clay so he lacked the ability to fully emote. His face was too stiff to really smile but the spring caused something amazing.

Peter's pale white skin turned a pink rose tone like a normal child. Gently the god lifted the now smiling and laughing baby and dried him off.

The wizard checked Peter over again and found nothing wrong. He put the child to sleep, wrapped in a sling the white floating blanket that was charged with monitoring him had made.

Stephen called for his cloak as he flew down to the earth in search of the origins of the baby in his care. He knew that the baby was not normal as he saw no proof of birth (bellybutton).

On the road he met Bruce, The god of knowledge and patron of science. He asked him if he had heard of the strange baby.

Bruce shook his head but said Thor had mentioned one resembling them.

Stephen went to Thor and asked him about the baby and was pointed to Loki.

Loki said he stole the baby from the warrior queen.

Natasha said she found the baby by the river.

Stephen followed the trail to the mountains in the west that shook violently. Earthquakes had split the earth as Tony raged. The god's anger caused magma to raised from the cracked earth and created the first volcano.

Stephen reached Tony and asked about the child. Tony claimed the child was his but they had been stolen from him.

The wizard called back to the white blanket that was still cradling the sleeping child to bring the child to his father.

(Once again this is where the stork delivery originates from)

Some Peter had ended up right where he began.

Tony's rage subsided as he saw the mortal child again. He thanked Stephen for his help.

The wizard nodded in return but before he left placed three small spots under each eye of the baby. One for health, two for knowledge, and three for luck. These blessings became the identifying mark of the first demigod.

(This is one of the reasons why Peter is called the spider-eyed)

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he waited for his most faithful followered to return and he can present her with her child.

It wasn't easy to watch him go but it was for the best. It won't be long before they met again.

Though as his godly father Tony would never be too far broom his child.

(Alright kids that's all for today. Tomorrow's lesson is on Peter's boyhood adventures. Like when he defeated a entire army without lifting a sword, or when he weaved gold to save a village or when he trick Loki himself.)

See you in part 2

[timeflowedbackwardscotlau]

Chapter 4: I forgot to name this one

Someone loomed over her, their intentions boded ill will for the chimera as she struggled to move, to cry out.

She couldn’t. As immobile as a stone as she laid on the floor, and the shadow behind her assailant grew into a terrifying, familiar visage.

His will enacted through his willing servant, and Verdandi was helpless as death’s jaws closed around her once again.

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

The sense of danger, and mortal peril carried into wakefulness. And though she was unharmed, perfectly safe in her too-large bed. Verdandi still trembled from the fear that had gripped her so vividly in the nightmare.

She slept on her stomach, and in her terror her claws and hooves dug into the bedsheet, and her snake tail was poised to strike the non-existent threat.

She took deep breaths, seconds ticked by, and she remained unsettled, spooked. She got out of bed, donned a robe over her sleep clothes, and left her room.

The hallway was dark, the lighting hadn’t been fixed yet, the heating was still dead as well. Verdandi pulled her robe around herself as a chill hung in the air.

Whether it was the need to know for certain that she was safe, or perhaps some irrational want for comfort due to the memories the nightmare invoked, she soon found herself facing the door to Shamura’s room.

She hesitated.

I should leave them be. They are still recovering. She chided herself. I am stronger than this. It was just a bad dream!

Before she could decide however, the door opened, and a bleary-eyed Shamura, in a long, simple gown, crown upon their head, peered down at her.

“Did I wake you?” she asked and resisted the urge to fiddle with her tail. She was still so terrified. “Sorry, just—just a bad dream…”

Shamura blinked tiredly, chittered in concern, and scooped her in their arms. Verdandi relaxed in their grip as they brought her inside their room.

The bishop’s room was bare, save for the enormous bed that took up most of the room. It was old, one of the oldest pieces of furniture in all of Silk Cradle, with tears and holes sewn and patched up skillfully. The bed itself was large enough for all four bishops to rest comfortably with room to spare.

Shamura climbed back into their bed and tucked all four of their legs beneath then as they laid on their stomach. One set of arms organised the pillows, and Verdandi was settled against their side as they tucked the rest of their limbs beneath themselves.

Shamura let out a reassuring croon and settled in to return to sleep, crown still perched upon the bandages wrapped around their skull.

Their presence was a welcome balm to Verdandi’s fear. She snuggled into the old, comfortable bed and rested her chin on a pillow.

Rarely did the two sleep in the same room, but when they did, due to circumstance or necessity, Verdandi welcomed the simple closeness.

A simplicity that she has sorely missed in the centuries since her death and wanderings as a spirit.

The nightmare was soon brushed aside, and Verdandi drifted off to sleep.

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

“What…is this?” Verdandi asked as she stared at the page she was reading.

Both she and Shamura were reviewing the nine hundred years’ worth of changes made to the doctrine of Shamura’s sect of The Old Faith.

Thankfully, a writing desk had been installed in the records hall where said doctrines were archived. The task had been started a week ago and the number of confusing changes and alterations the two had come across was yet more proof of how unhinged things had become in the time since Narinder’s betrayal.

Verdandi handed the page over to the spider at their curious hum. Shamura had their own pile of doctrine records to go parse through from where they sat on the other side of the desk.

They read the page, brow furrowing in confusion.

“I think Heket might have suggested this,” they eventually said. “Or at least, made a convincing argument why I should test my guards by having them fight one another instead of a military exercise.”

They placed the doctrine in question onto the pile that were to be removed from the greater teachings of the sect.

“Have you given any thought to how you wish to be integrated into my sect?” Shamura asked and Verdandi glanced up at them from where she was sorting doctrines. “Our spheres of influence intersect after all. It would make sense for you to have duties in The Old Faith that correspond with one of your epithets.”

She had given it some thought, about where she would fit in, what she would do once most of Silk Cradle was up and running, and the worship resumed. Before, she had a small, devout gathering that lived alongside The Old Faith, and she lived among mortals with people being none the wiser about her divinity. In doing so, she did whatever small thing she could to keep time running its proper course, and to help people with their worries. The gratitude from the people she gave advice to was more than enough to sustain her.

She had offered that help to Shamura’s followers and made a name for herself as an oracle.

Once she had married Shamura, however, she gained not only the title of Head Consort, but the responsibilities that came with it. The notoriety of being their first consort, the expectations from not only the people, but from the other bishops as well was a stark difference to how she had operated before.

And once it became known that she was a god, albeit a lesser one when compared to the sheer power of the bishops? The pressure only mounted.

She had duties, much like what she was doing now with assisting Shamura in overseeing their sect, foreseeing any short-term troubles that they might have missed, and offering advice to followers as she had done before.

To add her epithets, and the duties inherent to them to The Old Faith was something she had not thought of. She had always viewed her position as a god of time, and the epithets associated with it, as something separate from being Shamura’s consort and the duties had held at the time.

By her very nature, to oversee the chaotic mess of possibilities mortal and divine souls brought about, her duties as head consort directly fed into her nature as a god of time, and she had sustained herself from the gratitude of Shamura’s followers.

“I have three epithets, three facets of my nature as a god of time,” she replied after some thought. “Dominus, the beast of time. Justina, she who devours evil. And Delphi, the guide and prophet…”

Shamura hummed in thought. “And what of your role before you and your sisters oversaw time?”

“Goodness…it has been along time since I last thought of that,” she said, and her thoughts drifted back to her first life and what she been a god of all those millennia ago, wistful as she spoke. “I…was a goddess of the home, hearth, and harvest. Verdandi Hestia. I protected people’s homes, their families, the farms. Farming was a mortal innovation, and I already had strong ties to mortal kind due to my parentage…it just felt right.”

“Did you have something in mind?” she asked them.

Shamura nodded. “…I would not ask you to become my consort again when there are other avenues we can take. Though it is tradition, I will be bringing stability to a land that has been without it for hundreds of years. The people will appreciate that more than whether I wed or not.”

She thought about the stress that had come with the position of head consort, the worry that she would never live up to the expectations of the role, that she would let Shamura down.

She would accept the position if they asked it of her, if they needed her to perform that role once again. But she would not seek it out, not while she struggled with the notions and expectations tied to it.

She looked at them in concern. “Are you certain? The act of a god taking a spouse is older than both of us after all.”

Their gaze was hard, determined. “My siblings may say what they will, they may do as they please. But if the people cannot accept, nor understand that I am different, then such mortals are not worthy of my blessings,” they explained and sighed. “I do not plan to remove the doctrine entirely, merely temporarily. I wish to revise it until it is something I am content with.”

“There might still be an uproar over the change.” Verdandi said.

“That is to be expected,” Shamura agreed. “But I will suffer in silence no longer, I will not tolerate the sense of isolation and otherness we both faced in times past.”

She made a noise in thought. “It was hard on both of us, but we made it work.”

“Indeed,” Shamura said. "But back to the topic of your role in the sect. Would you be capable of taking up your original role as a god of the hearth or would it conflict with your duties as a goddess of time?”

“It doesn’t conflict per say,” she replied. “Unlike my sisters, who had to shed their original roles entirely to take the roles they have now, my former role as a goddess had so little impact of my duties as a goddess of time that I kept it. I just haven’t had a need to be Verdandi Hestia in so long that I…forgot my roots so to speak.”

Delphi was the primary way she performed her duty of overseeing the threads of fate, guiding and nudging people in the right direction in accordance with the possibilities that she saw.

And those possibilities danced before once more as Shamura thought on what she had said.

And one of those possibilities stood out to her.

“You had an advisory role in mind?” she asked, and they nodded. “With a mask and robe, I could disguise myself as a goat, introduce myself as Hestia, and act as you see fit.”

“I will be declaring not only the return of the old rituals, but also the practice of leaving offerings to me at offering shrines,” Shamura explained. “It would be your duty to collect these offerings and hear the concerns of the people, there will undoubtedly be those who have questions or concerns they feel are too insignificant to bring to me directly.”

“I would be your eyes and ears while you conduct larger rituals, sermons, and lectures as before?” she clarified.

They opened their mouth to reply and paused. The fuzz-covered feelers on the sides of their face twitched.

“An alarm has been triggered.” They said and got up from their seat, a portal already formed on the floor beside them.

She followed close behind them.

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

The two of them arrived at the entrance to one of the tunnels that acted as the main road between Spinneret Academy and the rest of Silk Cradle.

A person, a rabbit with curly green fur that brought to mind fresh spring growth, was being chased by a group of four garbed in blood red robes.

The rabbit froze at the sight of the bishop, and the red-robed cultists halted in their chase, wary but with weapons drawn.

Shamura moved. They shot forward towards the cultists, a leg snapped out from the confines of their robe, as sharp as any blade, and sliced the head off one cultist before he could react. Another one of Shamura’s legs pierced a second cultist through the chest.

The two remaining attempted to flee, weapons thrown away in haste, but Shamura hissed, insulted by the cowardice on display. Ropes of black silk shot out from beneath the spider’s robe and with life-like movements they wrapped around the fleeing people. The cultists fell to the ground, limbs trapped by the black silk.

“Wait!” one begged, a brown and white bull. “Have mercy! Please Lord Shamura!”

Shamura pointedly pressed the sharp end of their limb towards the cultist’s neck. “Who do you work for?”

Verdandi sucked in a breath. Could there be a new bearer of the red crown?

In the time she’d been dead, she hadn’t kept track of all the various beings that Narinder had used as vessels and pawns in his bid for vengeance.

“Don’t tell it anything!” the other ensnared cultist, a mule snapped. “We do not answer to it!”

Shamura’s gaze snapped to the equine and without a word, severed his head from his shoulders. They turned back to the one live cultist in their grasp.

“I will only ask once more,” Shamura said darkly. “Who do you work for?”

The young bull looked to be torn with indecision, the desire to live at war with his loyalty to his cult.

“V-varis!” the bull stuttered.

“And does this Varis wear a crown?” Shamura asked, gesturing to their own crown.

“Yes!” the cultist replied hastily. “A red-eyed crown! Pleasedon’tkillme.”

Shamura looked down at bull. “…Why did you join the heretics?”

The bull looked surprised but answered quickly. “…I used to live in Darkwood, drunken worshippers of Lord Leshy would cause damage to our homes, our businesses, and I couldn’t stand it when his lordship barely did anything to help!”

“So, you were dissatisfied with the lack of order in a realm ruled by the god of havoc.” Shamura surmised. They released their hold on the cultist. “Yet in your suffering, you inflict that same torment, if not worse, upon another?”

The bull flinched. “What else was I supposed to do? My family has been in service to Lord Leshy for generations. We provided goods for his followers, and we got treated like poop in return!”

“And will you give your life for your dissent?” Shamura asked sharply. “Or will you yield and renounce your faith to the red crown?”

The fear for his life returned anew. The bull grovelled at Shamura’s feet.

“Please! Spare me and I will follow your teachings faithfully!” he begged.

“Hm…very well,” Shamura decided. “You will be under watch until you can prove that you are truly willing to follow my teachings.”

A portal opened underneath the bull and he was whisked away. Shamura turned their attention to rabbit the cultists had chased,

“What is your name?” they asked.

The rabbit bowed. “My name is Basil, the tenth son of Taro and Berri of the Karrot clan,” he appeared to be a bit shaken by the whole experience. But he was earnest. “Thank you, Lord Shamura, you saved my life!”

Shamura smiled kindly at his sincerity. “A devout young man such as yourself is more than welcome of my protection, as are all who follow The Old Faith. What brings to Spinneret Academy?”

“To learn how to build a harvest totem, Your Lordship,” Basil replied. “Those people in the red robes, they’ve been raiding the farms outside the city, took our all crops and smashed our food stores to bits. If we want to make sure everyone won’t starveandstill have something to offer during the Summer Solstice, we need another harvest and soon.”

“I see, thank for bringing this to my attention, I believe my friend here may be able to help you, as agriculture is a passion of hers.” Shamura replied and nudged the rabbit towards Verdandi.

She had merely been observing, glad that the rabbit was unharmed, and was taken off-guard by Shamura’s recommendation.

“It’s more of a hobby…” she admitted as Basil looked at her in awe. “I haven’t tilled a field in a long time.”

“But you are quite knowledgeable on the subject, are you not?” Shamura said with a teasing smile. “At the very least, you know which tomes and what equipment he would need.”

They weren’t wrong. “But, what of my duty to assist you?”

“A few hours a day spent helping Basil will not hinder our progress.” Shamura reasoned.

She turned her attention to the rabbit, who looked helpful. “And do you have any issue with this arrangement?”

“No ma’am!” Basil replied. “If anything, I’m honoured to have your help! A recommendation from Their Lordship is high praise!”

“Then the matter is settled,” Shamura stated and opened another portal. They gestured to Basil and Verdandi. “This will take you both to the Grand Archives so you may begin immediately. I have a cultist to see to.”

As they summoned a second portal for themselves, they handed a note to Verdandi.

“These are your instructions for the rest of the day, I shall see you at dinner.” Shamura said and left.

When she opened the note, the message was written in the script of the bygone age she had been born in.

Verdandi,

I agree on an advisory role for you, we can discuss the specifics once I rouse my most trusted staff from their slumber in the coming days.

For now, I would greatly appreciate your help in whatever way you see fit.

An unrelated note, Leshy sent me some berries and other plants. I have set them aside for you for tonight’s dinner.

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

The Grand Archives was the large library that had sections dedicated to every topic and field of study one could imagine. Spanning multiple floors, the sheer number of tomes neatly packed into the shelves was mindboggling.

Desks and tables were scattered about each floor, small study areas for people to do their work. Verdandi and Basil sat at one such desk, a book open on a page that depicted a diagram of the harvest totem in question.

“Before we begin, do you have nay questions?” Verdandi asked.

“Well, you never introduced yourself, Ma’am,” Basil replied. “But other than that, nothing else comes to mind.”

Oh, right.

“I am Verdandi,” she replied and thought about her upcoming new role in Shamura’s sect. “However, I may soon be appointed a new name and position within Shamura’s sect…so for now, I go by my birth name.”

A plausible excuse on the off chance she would disguise herself as Hestia the goat once her role in the sect had been finalised.

“Nice to meet you Verdandi!” Basil said. “So, this is a harvest totem?”

She pointed to the diagram of the windmill-like structure and began to explain its inner workings to Basil, who hung onto her every word.

It was refreshing.