#spider-man: grim hunt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 22 days ago

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Legacy (the others)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore violence)

- Previous part: of the west

- Next part: friends at heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The bitter cold of the unending winter gnawed at the hunting party as they moved through the shadowed woods beyond Casterly Rock. Snow crunched beneath their boots, muffled by the oppressive silence that blanketed the land. The pale light from the perpetually overcast sky offered little warmth, and the occasional gust of wind bit sharply at their exposed skin.

Tywin, clad in thick fur-lined armor and a crimson cloak, rode at the head of the group. His keen eyes scanned the trees ahead, ever watchful. His presence alone kept the men focused, though the unease among them was palpable. Kevan rode just behind him, his usually calm demeanor showing faint cracks as his gaze flicked warily to the surrounding darkness.

“Tracks,” called one of the scouts from the front of the line, pointing to a fresh trail in the snow. “Spider tracks.”

Tywin reined in his horse, dismounting with practiced ease. The others followed suit, forming a loose perimeter as the scout knelt to examine the tracks. Tywin stepped closer, his boots crunching softly as he moved. The tracks were unmistakable—long, deep impressions made by unnaturally large legs, the kind that belonged to creatures out of nightmare.

“How fresh?” Tywin asked, his tone calm and precise.

The scout hesitated, then replied, “An hour at most, my lord. Perhaps less.”

Kevan crouched beside the tracks, his expression grim. “They’re headed east—toward the cliffs. If these things make their nests there, we’ll need to act quickly.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the trail. “We follow. Keep your weapons ready.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, gripping their spears and swords more tightly. As they moved eastward, the forest grew darker, the trees thicker and more gnarled. The air felt heavier, colder, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath their feet.

“Do you feel that?” one of the younger hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Quiet,” Tywin snapped, his tone cutting through the growing tension. “Stay alert.”

After another quarter hour of tracking, the party came to a sudden halt. The trail had led them to a clearing near the cliffs, and what they found there made even Tywin pause. The ground was littered with webbing, thick and glistening like frozen silk. Shards of ice clung to the strands, and the faint stench of decay lingered in the frigid air.

At the center of the clearing lay the carcass of a stag, its body wrapped tightly in layers of webbing. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, and its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The hunters murmured uneasily among themselves, crossing themselves or muttering prayers under their breath.

Kevan stepped forward, his boots crunching over frozen strands of webbing. “They’re killing everything in their path,” he said grimly. “Even the wildlife isn’t safe.”

Tywin approached the carcass, his gaze steady and calculating. He crouched beside it, studying the webbing with an intensity that made the others uneasy.

“This isn’t random,” he said after a moment, rising to his full height. “They’re hunting. Organizing.”

Kevan’s brow furrowed. “You think they’re… intelligent?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept the clearing, taking in the web patterns and the direction of the tracks. “Not in the way we understand, but there’s purpose here. Coordination.”

One of the men, a grizzled veteran named Ser Rowan, cleared his throat. “My lord, with respect… what if these things aren’t just spiders? What if they’re something worse?”

Before Tywin could respond, a sharp cry rang out from the edge of the clearing. One of the scouts stumbled back, his face pale as he pointed toward a shadowed patch of trees.

“What is it?” Tywin demanded, moving quickly to the man’s side.

“There’s… something else,” the scout stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw it—just for a moment. It wasn’t a spider, my lord. It was… taller. Standing upright.”

The men stiffened, their grips tightening on their weapons. Tywin’s jaw clenched as he turned toward the direction the scout had indicated.

“Show me,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The scout hesitated but nodded, leading Tywin and Kevan to the edge of the clearing. The trees here were dense, their twisted branches forming eerie shapes in the dim light. A faint trail of broken branches and disturbed snow led deeper into the forest.

Tywin motioned for the others to stay back as he and Kevan followed the trail. They moved slowly, their breaths visible in the freezing air. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of branches in the wind.

And then they saw it.

At the end of the trail, partially obscured by the shadows, stood a figure. It was humanoid in shape but unnaturally tall, its limbs too long, its movements jerky and wrong. Its eyes glowed faintly, an icy blue that pierced the darkness. The creature tilted its head, as if studying them, and then it vanished into the trees with inhuman speed.

Kevan sucked in a sharp breath. “What in the Seven Hells was that?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where the creature had disappeared, his mind racing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured.

“Something worse than spiders,” he said grimly. “We need to return to the Rock. Now.”

Kevan nodded, his usual composure shaken. “Do we tell the men what we saw?”

Tywin turned to him, his expression hard. “No. Not yet. Panic will only weaken them.”

They made their way back to the clearing, where the hunters were waiting anxiously. Tywin wasted no time. “We’re returning to the Rock. Double the watch on every wall and gate. No one leaves without my command.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but followed his orders without question. As they began the trek back through the forest, the sense of unease only grew. The trees seemed darker, the wind colder, and the shadows deeper.

The forest seemed to close in on them as they made their way back, the oppressive cold deepening with each step. Shadows grew longer, twisting unnaturally against the gnarled trees, and the silence felt like a weight pressing down on their chests. The snow, once crisp and white, appeared gray in the low light, marred by the faint traces of the spider tracks they had been following.

Tywin rode at the head of the party, his eyes observing every shadow, every flicker of movement. His men were on edge, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they clutched their weapons tightly. Beside him, Kevan kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenched as if bracing for the inevitable.

“Stay close,” Tywin ordered, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “No one wanders from the group.”

The hunters nodded, their faces pale and tense. The silence was so absolute that the faintest creak of leather or crunch of snow sounded deafening. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Then it came.

A sound like nothing they had ever heard before—a low, guttural chittering that seemed to echo from all directions at once. It was not the sound of spiders; it was something deeper, something far more sinister. The horses whinnied in fear, stamping their hooves and pulling at their reins as the men tried to calm them.

“What was that?” one of the hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Something’s watching us,” Kevan muttered, his hand tightening on his sword.

Tywin held up a hand to silence them, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead. The chittering grew louder, joined by a faint rustling sound that seemed to come from the ground itself. The men shifted nervously, their eyes darting to the shadows that now seemed alive.

“Form a circle!” Tywin barked. “Torches up! Steel ready!”

The men obeyed, their torches flickering weakly in the cold wind. The circle of light they created was feeble, barely pushing back the encroaching darkness. The rustling grew louder, more insistent, and then the first attack came.

A creature burst from the shadows, moving with impossible speed. It was humanoid in shape but grotesquely elongated, its limbs unnaturally long and thin. Its skin was a pale, glistening gray, stretched tight over bones, and its eyes glowed an icy blue. It moved on all fours, its clawed hands digging into the snow as it lunged for the nearest hunter.

The man screamed as the creature dragged him into the darkness, his cries cut off abruptly. The others shouted in panic, their weapons swinging wildly as more creatures emerged from the trees.

“Hold the line!” Tywin shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The creatures were relentless, their movements erratic and unnatural. They seemed to melt in and out of the shadows, striking and retreating with terrifying precision. The hunters fought valiantly, but the creatures were faster, stronger. One man was pulled down, his torch extinguished as the snow was stained red.

“Tywin, behind you!” Kevan shouted, swinging his sword to intercept a creature that had leapt toward his brother.

Tywin turned in time to drive his blade into the creature’s chest, its icy blue eyes flickering out as it collapsed into the snow. But there were more—dozens of them, their glowing eyes a haunting constellation in the dark forest.

“They’re driving us apart!” Kevan yelled, his voice barely audible over the chittering and the screams.

Tywin realized he was right. The creatures weren’t just attacking—they were herding them, splitting the group. The circle was broken, and the men were being picked off one by one.

“Fall back!” Tywin ordered. “Regroup at the clearing!”

But it was too late. The creatures were everywhere, their movements so fast they seemed like blurs. The remaining hunters were scattered, their torches extinguished one by one. The sounds of the fight grew fainter as men were dragged into the darkness, their screams fading into eerie silence.

Tywin and Kevan found themselves alone, their backs against the gnarled trunk of a massive tree. Tywin’s sword was slick with black ichor, and Kevan’s breathing was ragged as he clutched a torch that barely sputtered in the icy wind.

“Do you hear that?” Kevan whispered, his voice trembling.

Tywin nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkness. The chittering had stopped, replaced by an even more unsettling sound—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and coming closer.

“They’re toying with us,” Kevan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay calm,” Tywin said, his tone cold and steady despite the dread coiling in his chest. “They want us to panic.”

The footsteps grew louder, joined by faint whispers in a language neither man could understand. The torch flickered and died, plunging them into complete darkness. The air felt colder, heavier, as if the forest itself was closing in.

“Tywin,” Kevan said, his voice shaking. “What do we do?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His hand tightened on his sword as he stared into the void, his mind racing. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute.

“We wait.”

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the sound of movement surrounded them. The creatures were there, hidden in the shadows, watching. The two men stood side by side, their breaths visible in the freezing air, as the darkness pressed closer.

And then, from somewhere deep in the forest, a single, piercing shriek echoed through the night—a sound so inhuman, so bone-chilling, that it froze them in place.

The forest fell silent once more, save for the faint sound of movement. The creatures were still there, circling, waiting.

Tywin gripped his sword tighter, his gaze unyielding as he stared into the blackness.

The warm glow of the hearth filled the breakfast chamber in Casterly Rock, but the room’s comfort did little to dispel the lingering tension brought by the endless winter. You sat at the head of the table, your sons, Damon and Maelor, on either side of you, their chatter filling the space. Damon was holding a piece of bread in one hand, his legs swinging beneath the table as he peppered the servants with questions about his father. Maelor clutched his cup with both hands, his wide violet eyes fixed on you expectantly.

Across the table sat Varys, freshly arrived from King’s Landing that morning, his expression unreadable as he observed the familial scene. The servants moved quietly in the background, bringing plates of warm porridge and steaming cups of tea to the table.

“When is Father coming back?” Damon asked, his tone curious but with a hint of impatience. “You said he’d be back hours ago.”

You reached out to brush a stray strand of silver-gold hair from Damon’s face, offering him a soft smile. “Soon, little lion. He had to stay a bit longer than planned, but he will be home.”

Damon frowned slightly, poking at his food with a spoon. “He promised.”

“And he always keeps his promises,” you assured him, your voice steady. “Sometimes important matters keep him away longer than expected.”

Maelor looked up at you, his small voice breaking through the conversation. “Does he have to fight bad people? Like the spiders the hunters found?”

The question caught you off guard, but you quickly masked your unease. “Your father is making sure we are all safe. That’s what matters.”

Varys interjected smoothly, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. “Lord Tywin’s dedication to his duty is unmatched. The realm could learn much from his example.”

Before you could respond, a distant roar shattered the relative peace of the morning. It was deep and resonant, carrying through the stone walls like a thunderclap. Plates rattled on the table, and the servants froze in place, their faces pale.

Damon’s eyes widened with excitement. “Viserion!” he exclaimed, nearly knocking over his cup as he scrambled to his feet. “She’s awake!”

Maelor clung to your arm, his small hands trembling. “Mama, why is she roaring?”

You stood quickly, your heart racing as another roar echoed through the castle. This one was sharper, more agitated—a sound you had learned to recognize as a warning. Varys rose from his seat, his calm demeanor betraying a flicker of unease.

“What’s happening?” Damon asked, looking between you and the window.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your stomach. “Stay here with Maelor.” You turned to the servants, your tone firm. “Do not let them out of your sight.”

Just as you were about to leave the room, Ser Barristan burst through the door, his expression uncharacteristically urgent. “My lady,” he said, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Viserion has emerged from the mine. She took off into the night—agitated, roaring.”

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over everyone. You exchanged a glance with Varys, whose expression, for once, showed genuine concern.

“Why?” you asked Barristan, your voice sharp. “What could have provoked her?”

“We don’t know,” Barristan admitted, his brow furrowed. “But something has disturbed her. The guards say she flew toward the northern cliffs.”

Damon, who had been listening intently, tugged at your sleeve. “Is she looking for Father? Did something happen to him?”

You knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Your father is strong, Damon. He’ll be fine,” you said, though your heart ached at the uncertainty. “Viserion is a clever dragon. She’ll find what she’s looking for.”

Maelor buried his face in your skirt, his small voice muffled. “I’m scared, Mama.”

You stroked his hair gently, your voice softening. “There’s no need to be scared. We’re safe here.”

Varys stepped forward, his calm tone breaking the tense silence. “My lady, if I may, Viserion’s agitation could be linked to something beyond these walls. Dragons, after all, are tied to forces we cannot always understand.”

“Whatever it is, I need answers,” you said, rising to your feet and turning to Barristan. “Double the guard around the castle. Ensure the boys are kept safe at all times.”

Barristan nodded. “At once, my lady.”

You glanced back at your sons, your heart heavy as Damon looked up at you with those bright, curious eyes. “Stay here,” you told him firmly. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

As you moved to leave, Varys spoke again, his tone measured. “A word of caution, my lady. Dragons are unpredictable creatures, especially when their instincts are heightened. It would be wise to tread carefully.”

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with possibilities as you followed Barristan out of the room. Behind you, Damon’s voice called out, tinged with worry. “Bring Father back, Mama!”

You paused briefly, glancing back at him with a reassuring smile. “I will, my little lion. I will.”

The snow crunched beneath the hooves of your horse as you rode through the icy wilderness surrounding Casterly Rock. The air was bitterly cold, each breath forming a visible cloud as you pushed further into the dark expanse. The faint tracks left by Viserion’s massive claws guided you, though they grew fainter with every passing mile. The pale winter moon barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that twisted like phantoms among the frost-covered trees.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and determination driving you forward. Viserion’s sudden departure had unsettled you deeply. The she-dragon had always been attuned to you, and for her to act so erratically meant something was wrong.

Barristan’s voice echoed in your mind from earlier that evening.

“She’s not acting without reason, my lady. Dragons sense what we cannot.”

Your grip on the reins tightened as you scanned the eerie, frozen landscape. The world felt unnatural, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional howl of the wind. You tried to shake the creeping sense of unease, focusing instead on the faint tracks ahead.

Suddenly, your horse reared back with a panicked whinny, its hooves thrashing in the air. You barely had time to steady yourself before it bucked violently, throwing you to the frozen ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and pain shot through your side as you struggled to get up.

A chilling screech pierced the night, and you froze, your hand instinctively going to the small dagger at your belt. From the shadows emerged a massive spider, its long, spindly legs clicking against the ice as it advanced. Its glistening black carapace reflected the pale moonlight, and its glowing blue eyes were fixed on you with predatory intent.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart racing as the creature lunged. The cold steel of your dagger felt pitifully small in your hand, and you knew there was no way you could face such a monstrosity alone.

“Viserion!” you screamed, your voice echoing into the void.

The spider reared back, its grotesque mandibles clicking menacingly as it prepared to strike. Just as it lunged, a deafening roar split the air, shaking the ground beneath you. The sudden blast of heat that followed was searing, and the spider was engulfed in a torrent of flames before it could reach you.

Viserion descended from the sky like a golden comet, her massive wings stirring the snow into a whirlwind as she landed between you and the charred remains of the spider. Her molten eyes glowed fiercely as she let out another roar, her long neck arching protectively over you.

You stumbled backward, your breath coming in ragged gasps as Viserion turned her head toward you. The fierceness in her eyes softened as she lowered herself, her snout nudging your side gently.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, reaching out to place a trembling hand on her warm scales. “Thank you.”

Viserion huffed, her hot breath clouding the air as her eyes scanned you for any sign of injury. You could feel the deep rumble of her concern vibrating through her body.

“I should have known you’d come for me,” you said softly, running your hand along her neck. “You always do.”

Viserion let out a low, comforting rumble, her massive form towering over you like a shield against the darkness. The snow around her had melted into steaming puddles, and the cold no longer felt so biting with her warmth enveloping you.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you moved toward her saddle, which was still secured to her back. Your muscles ached from the fall, but you pushed through the pain as you climbed up. Viserion remained still, her body tense and alert as if she were waiting for another threat to emerge.

Once you were securely seated, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the reins tightly. “Let’s go, girl. We need to find Tywin.”

Viserion roared once more, a sound that echoed into the vast, desolate night. Her powerful wings unfurled, snow and ice scattering as she launched herself into the air. The ground fell away beneath you, and the cold wind bit at your cheeks as the stars blurred overhead.

The clearing was a battlefield of ice and blood. Tywin and Kevan Lannister stood back-to-back, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they fought against the relentless tide of creatures. The grotesque forms of the attackers slithered and crawled from the shadows, their blue, glowing eyes piercing through the winter gloom. The beasts were monstrous amalgamations of man and nightmare—elongated limbs, pale and leathery skin stretched tight over sinew and bone, and claws that glinted like daggers in the faint moonlight.

Tywin drove his sword into the chest of one, the steel biting deep into its unnatural flesh. Black ichor sprayed across his armor as the creature let out a piercing wail before collapsing. He didn’t pause to catch his breath, turning sharply to strike another that lunged at Kevan.

“They keep coming!” Kevan shouted, slashing at a creature that tried to claw at his leg. “We won’t hold them off much longer!”

Tywin’s jaw tightened as he parried another strike, his face as unyielding as ever despite the chaos surrounding them. “Then we make them regret every step they take toward us,” he said coldly.

The air was bitter and thick with the scent of death. The last of their torches had been extinguished in the fray, leaving only the faint glow of the creatures’ eyes to light the scene. Their guttural chittering grew louder, a symphony of horror that sent chills down their spines.

Kevan stumbled slightly, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a claw that would have taken his head. “Tywin!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation. “We can’t keep this up!”

Just as the creatures closed in, a deafening roar shattered the night, drowning out the horrifying sounds of their attackers. The ground trembled as a shadow passed over the clearing, followed by a sudden blast of searing heat.

From the sky, Viserion descended like an avenging flame, her golden scales glinting in the pale light of the moon. Her massive wings stirred the air into a tempest as she landed with a ground-shaking thud. A wave of fire erupted from her maw, consuming the creatures closest to Tywin and Kevan. Their screams echoed into the void as they dissolved into ash and blackened bones.

Kevan shielded his face from the intense heat, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. “Seven Hells…” he muttered.

Perched atop Viserion, you clung tightly to the saddle, your hair whipping around you in the storm of her wings. “Tywin! Kevan!” you shouted, your voice carrying over the chaos.

Tywin’s head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing as they met yours. Despite the blood staining his armor and the ichor streaked across his face, his expression remained stoic.

Viserion roared again, her molten gaze fixed on the remaining creatures. They hesitated, their movements faltering as the she-dragon advanced. Another blast of fire erupted from her jaws, scattering them into the shadows. The few that remained retreated, their glowing eyes disappearing into the darkness.

“They’re falling back!” Kevan shouted, his voice filled with relief. “She’s driving them away!”

As the last of the creatures vanished, Viserion lowered her massive head, letting out a low, rumbling growl. You leaned forward in the saddle, your face pale but determined. “Climb on!” you called, your voice urgent. “Now!”

Kevan froze, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. “Climb… on?” he echoed, as if the very idea was unthinkable.

“There’s no time to argue!” you yelled, holding tightly to the reins. “More could come! You won’t make it back on foot!”

Tywin glanced at his brother, his expression unreadable but his tone stern. “Do as she says, Kevan. We’re out of options.”

Kevan hesitated, his hand gripping his sword tightly. “Tywin, this is—”

“A dragon doesn’t wait, Kevan,” Tywin snapped, his voice cutting through his brother’s protest. “Climb!”

Kevan swallowed hard, glancing at the massive creature before him. Her eyes flicked toward him, unblinking and intense. With a resigned nod, he sheathed his sword and approached cautiously.

“Come on!” you urged, extending a hand to him as Viserion lowered herself slightly to allow them to mount. “She won’t hurt you!”

Kevan reached up, his movements stiff and uncertain, as he took your hand. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up behind you, gripping the saddle with white-knuckled hands. Tywin followed suit, his movements precise and calculated despite the situation.

Once they were both secure, you tugged on the reins. “Hold tight!” you warned. “She’s going to take off!”

Viserion roared once more, her wings unfurling with a powerful sweep. Snow and ash scattered as she launched into the sky, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared in your ears as the three of you ascended into the night, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

Kevan clung to the saddle, his face pale. “Tywin,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You owe me for this.”

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Be grateful you’re alive, Kevan.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly despite the tension. “I told you she wouldn’t hurt you,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

Kevan let out a weak laugh, though it was tinged with disbelief. “If we survive this, I might.”

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, the cold wind biting at your skin as Viserion carried you toward safety. The night was dark and endless, but for now, you were alive—and together.

The sound of Viserion’s massive wings beating against the icy air signaled her arrival as she descended into the courtyard of Casterly Rock. Snow swirled in her wake, the gusts sending men staggering back as the she-dragon landed with a resounding thud. Her scales glimmered faintly, dusted with ash and streaked with blood from the battle, and her fiery eyes scanned the gathered guards with a wary intensity.

The Lannister men stood frozen, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords. Their expressions ranged from awe to outright fear as they watched the dragon settle. Slowly, she lowered herself, her massive frame taking up most of the courtyard as her molten gaze swept over the figures before her.

Perched atop the saddle, you turned to help Kevan dismount. His face was pale, his hands still gripping the saddle with white-knuckled tension. “You’re on solid ground now,” you said gently, extending a hand to him.

“Solid ground has never felt so unsteady,” Kevan muttered as he slid down, stumbling slightly before regaining his footing. His wide eyes darted toward Viserion as he backed away. “I don’t know how you’ve made a habit of this.”

You offered him a faint smile before turning to Tywin, who sat behind you. “Your turn,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

Tywin’s movements were deliberate, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard as he dismounted with practiced ease. The blood and grime staining his armor seemed to weigh heavier on him now that the chaos of battle was over. He stood straight, his expression unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his discomfort.

As soon as Tywin’s boots hit the ground, Viserion let out a low rumble and stretched her wings. She nudged you gently with her massive snout, as if ensuring you were unharmed, before retreating toward the entrance of the mines. The men in the courtyard parted quickly, clearing a path for the dragon as she disappeared into the shadows of her lair.

“Stand down,” Tywin ordered the guards, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The dragon has done her part. She is no threat.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but lowered their hands from their weapons, their shoulders relaxing slightly.

You stepped toward Tywin, your eyes immediately scanning him. The adrenaline from the flight was beginning to wear off, and the full weight of what had just happened settled heavily in your chest. “Let me see,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument as you motioned toward his armor.

“I am fine,” Tywin replied curtly, brushing off your concern.

“No, you’re not,” you countered, your voice sharpening as you reached for the straps of his armor. “There’s blood.”

Kevan, who had been catching his breath nearby, glanced over. “She’s right, Tywin. I saw it too. You took a hit back there.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. “It’s nothing but a scratch.”

You ignored his protests, pulling at the clasp of his breastplate. As the heavy piece of armor fell away, the source of the blood became clear—a jagged tear in his tunic just beneath his ribs, dark with crimson. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was angry and raw, the skin around it beginning to swell.

“Nothing but a scratch,” you repeated, your tone laced with sarcasm as you glared up at him. “You could have bled out, Tywin.”

His expression didn’t waver, though there was a faint flicker of something in his eyes—irritation or perhaps reluctant acknowledgment. “It’s not as dire as you make it out to be.”

You turned sharply to the guards standing nearby. “Fetch Maester Aldren, now,” you ordered, your voice firm.

One of the men nodded quickly and hurried off, leaving the others standing awkwardly in silence.

Tywin crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on you. “This is unnecessary. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“And yet you’re still here to argue with me about it,” you shot back, your hands on your hips. “Let the maester tend to you, Tywin. You are no use to anyone if you’re laid up in bed with an infection.”

Kevan stepped closer, his voice lighter as he tried to ease the tension. “Listen to her, Tywin. She’s right, as always.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, his jaw tightening as he reluctantly allowed your concerns to take precedence.

You stepped closer, your hands softening as you touched his arm. “You’ve just fought horrors most men couldn’t dream of. You’re human, Tywin, not invincible.”

His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of his exhaustion was visible. “Very well,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge. “If it will put your mind at ease.”

“It will,” you replied, your tone softening as you gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”

The sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Maester Aldren, who approached with his satchel of supplies. “My lord, my lady,” he greeted, his tone cautious as his gaze darted toward the blood on Tywin’s side. “I will see to it at once.”

You nodded, stepping aside to allow the maester access. “Take him inside,” you said firmly. “He’s done enough for one day.”

Tywin cast you a pointed look but allowed himself to be guided toward the keep. Kevan followed closely, his expression a mixture of relief and weariness. As the courtyard began to clear, you stood alone for a moment, your gaze lingering on the dark entrance to the mines where Viserion had disappeared.

The dragon had come for them when they needed her most, but the cost of what was stirring beyond the safety of Casterly Rock was growing clearer by the day. And now, with winter tightening its grip, the stakes had never felt higher.

The air smelled faintly of herbs and salves as Maester Aldren worked methodically at Tywin’s side, carefully cleaning and stitching the jagged wound beneath his ribs. You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression guarded but your worry plain for anyone to see.

Tywin sat on the edge of the bed, his posture as straight as ever, despite the pain that must have been coursing through him. His shirt had been removed, revealing the taut lines of his chest and the angry gash that Maester Aldren was tending to. Tywin’s eyes flicked toward you briefly, catching the stiffness in your stance.

“You shouldn’t be standing there, watching like a scolded child,” Tywin said, his tone as even as ever despite the situation.

You took a slow breath, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re fine.”

Maester Aldren glanced between the two of you, his movements careful as he worked. “The wound is not as deep as it could have been, my lord. With rest and proper care, it should heal without issue.”

“That’s what I said,” Tywin muttered under his breath, though his wince betrayed him as Aldren applied a fresh layer of salve.

You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at him. “And yet you didn’t think to tell me about it until I saw the blood.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. The maester finished the last stitch and began wrapping a clean bandage around Tywin’s torso. When Aldren stepped back, his task completed, Tywin dismissed him with a nod.

“Leave us,” Tywin commanded. Aldren gathered his supplies, bowed, and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

The silence stretched for a moment as you watched Tywin reach for his discarded shirt, his movements precise but slower than usual. You stepped forward, taking the fabric from him before he could strain himself further.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you said softly, your voice still carrying an edge of frustration. “Let me help.”

Tywin regarded you for a moment before relenting, allowing you to drape the shirt gently over his shoulders. He straightened, his eyes locking onto yours. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”

Your brow furrowed, your hands stilling as you processed his words. “Of course, I came after you,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “How could I not?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though there was something sharper in his expression now. “You could have died,” he said evenly, though the weight of the words lingered heavily in the air.

You met his gaze, your own eyes soft but resolute. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” Tywin snapped, his voice rising slightly for the first time. “You put yourself at risk—for what? To ride into danger when you should have been here, safe, with our children?”

You stepped back slightly, your arms crossing once more. “You were out there, Tywin,” you countered, your voice matching his intensity. “What was I supposed to do? Sit here and wonder if you’d ever come back?”

“Yes,” Tywin replied without hesitation, his tone icy. “That is exactly what you should have done. Your place is here, ensuring the safety of this house, of our children.”

“And your place is with them, too,” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “But you were out there, fighting creatures no one understands. How could I stay here knowing you might not return?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration evident, though he didn’t immediately respond. The fire crackled softly in the silence.

“I can’t lose you,” you said finally, your voice breaking slightly as you looked away. “Don’t you understand that? I can’t.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his stern features softening just a fraction. “And I cannot lose you,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of its usual bite. “But that is exactly what you risked.”

You stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand gently on his uninjured side. “I didn’t die, Tywin. I didn’t. And I won’t apologize for doing what I had to do.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his green eyes studying your face as if searching for something. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“You always had a mind of your own,” he muttered, though there was a trace of something warmer in his tone.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the conversation. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Tywin’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, instead reaching up to rest a hand lightly over yours. The weight of the moment lingered, unspoken but understood.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room as you remained close to Tywin, your hand resting gently against his side. The weight of everything that had happened, everything you had seen, pressed heavily on both of you. It was a silence thick with unspoken fears and shared understanding.

Tywin’s eyes, usually focused and commanding, were distant now, as if the horrors he had faced lingered just beneath the surface. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and steady but carrying an unusual note of weariness.

“You were right,” he said, his words deliberate.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “About what?”

He met your gaze, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable showing through his usual stoicism. “The visions you spoke of—the things you warned me about. I dismissed them as fever dreams, shadows… I should not have.”

The admission startled you. Tywin Lannister was not a man who easily admitted fault, much less one to concede that someone else had seen further than he had. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Tywin, we’ve done everything we could to prepare. The Westerlands are stronger than most of the realm right now because of your leadership.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head slightly. “Strength means little against what we faced out there. Those creatures…” He trailed off, his gaze hardening. “They’re unnatural. An affront to everything we know.”

You nodded slowly, your own memories of what you’d seen with Viserion still vivid. “They’re not just creatures, Tywin. They’re death itself, and they’re coming for all of us.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing, the firelight casting shadows across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ve spent my life fighting battles I could win—battles I could control. But this... this is something else entirely.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek, the gesture tender. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask, Tywin. You’ve kept your people alive during the darkest winter the realm has ever seen. That’s more than most lords can claim.”

He exhaled softly, leaning into your touch just enough for you to notice. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It is,” you assured him, your voice firm but gentle. “You’ve given us a chance. That’s more than anyone else could do.”

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze searching. Then, with a deliberate motion, he reached up and cupped your face in his hands. His touch was warm despite the chill that seemed to linger everywhere these days. “You’re the only one who’s ever dared to tell me the truth,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Even when I didn’t want to hear it.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

His lips twitched into what might have been a smile, and then he leaned forward, pressing a firm but tender kiss to your lips. The weight of the world seemed to fall away for a moment, replaced by the shared warmth between you. His hands remained steady, holding you close as if anchoring himself to something real amidst the chaos.

When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the still air of the room. “You’re not alone in this, Tywin,” you murmured. “We’ll face it together, no matter what comes.”

He nodded slightly, his fingers brushing against your jawline. “I know.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment, and you pulled back slightly, glancing toward the sound. One of the household staff called out from the other side. “My lady, your sons are asking for you.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Damon and Maelor. Turning back to Tywin, you placed a hand lightly on his chest. “They’re waiting for you too, you know.”

His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “They’ve been spoiled.”

You chuckled softly. “And whose fault is that?”

He didn’t answer, but the faint smirk that played at the corners of his lips was answer enough. You kissed him one last time before stepping back and extending a hand toward him. “Come. They’ve missed you.”

Tywin stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he straightened his posture. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, there was a renewed determination in his eyes. He took your hand, and together, you left the room to join your children, the weight of the world still present but somehow a little lighter with each step you took side by side.

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cherry-pop-elf · 2 months ago

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TO THE KRAVEN SIMPS EXCITED FOR HIS MOVIE!

And people who just need a Kraven The Hunter run down/Information lore

As a certified Kraven know it all from his comics I am here to help give yall some advice/run down/and how to start your journey into his comics and lore! Well, at least the MAIN Kraven. Damn those comics and their multiverse!

Don’t be shy in asking me questions either, of course until DEC: 13th check my #Belladonna Rambles or #Life Update to see what I mean

Alright let’s start now!

Kravens Last Hunt

YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK

This shit here? PEAK! It as PEAK AS PEAK GETS! You really get to study and analyze what makes Kraven tick, how his family impacted him, and just the over all headspace the master hunter is. Treat this as much of an origin story as anything else. Warning though it gets dark and ENDS Dark. It is BEYOND important you read this. You HAVE to read this. It’s a defining comic story that causes a chain reaction for everything after. If you only read one comic book ever? MAKE IT THIS! If you only read one Kraven comic MAKE IT THIS! I can say how important this comic is. YOU NEED TO READ THIS COMIC

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl

A great comic series in general, but here we get to also see a story line of Kraven following into a Vigilante hood instead of staying a Villian. There’s a court arce and everything. It’s a far more light hearted story line, with amazing fun that is really enjoyable. It’s also SUPER GOOD for people NEW to comics as a whole! Very light hearted, silly, and impactful. It’ll also help get you familiar with a lot of marvel characters without it being suffocating! You also get some good insight on Kraven from a far more modern and gentler angle. Squirrel Girl is PEAK. You’ll love this I promise

The Amazing Spider-Man # 15

This is his debute, so obviously gotta read that. It surprisingly shows how there’s alot of details that haven’t changed. Such as he still has his half brother. It’s always so cool to see where they started and how they developed now

GET KRAVEN

This is actually a story about one of his KIDS. Alyosha! It’s a really interesting comic as it’s about one of his sons, and said son is a movie producer no less. It’s quite the adventure. It also leads to a good transition to the next topic-!

The Family

Ight so, given how comics are time lines can get messy. Like “Oh this Kraven is THIS kid actually and that Kraven is another time line so-“ Since Kraven is a TITLE more so then a NAME. So lots of stories about ‘Kraven’ are sometimes about his kids in general. Comics can be confusing I know, so imma help you guys with knowing bullet point facts to help keep you grounded. I got you

Sasha

The wife of Kraven. Mother to their (four MAIN) children. Aleksandra She doesn’t really become prevalent until after The Last Hunt. Can’t spoil it but she kinda goes bat shit insane and became a horror beyond measures after the incident. Oh she can be a roller coaster.

Grim

Vladimir is the eldest, and followed his father’s foot steps the closes. Even had a run in with Spider man. Unfortunately he became a victim of his mother’s insanity, and was mercy killed by his father. His father knew this was worse than hell, and wanted to do what an every good father does. Take care of his baby

Alyosha

Second son, and honestly the most wasted. His arc as a Hollywood star is super short and soon he’s just “another Kraven” which is lame. Him being a successful movie producer/actor what have you is honestly rather important, given his uncle is a failed actor. Lots of wasted potential, so I’m shining light on him. He deserves it

Nedrocci

Another victim of “another Kraven” and his role is so small that there isn’t even much detail to begin with. Hence the lack of image. His only real arc is trying to kill his older brother Alyosha and failing. Then his uncle, the chameleon, ended up killing him. Shame. Just another Kraven and meat to grind

Ana

Anastasia, named after his mother, is the baby and daddy’s girl. Also she seems to be the only person writers remember whenever doing some kind of family story for the Kravinoff’s. Writers forget her siblings and keep making throw away characters to be her brothers. Anyway! Like her siblings her major story line doesn’t really started after The Last Hunt. Like I said, that book is KEY to Kraven. She’s very capable and independent and followed her fathers foot steps all the same

Dimitri

Dimitri Smerdyakov is Sergei’s half brother. Like many villains the origin story often gets changed for the time lines but over all his important arc is he’s always trying to impress Sergei. To prove his worth to the Kravinoff name. Even had a moment where he nearly killed iron man, to show he’s the deadlier brother. As you can tell the family is very messy

Calypso

Yeah she’s your stereotypical Voodoo Priestess. Even sacrificed her younger sister for more power. Yeah this didn’t quite age well. She is rather important because she is a love interest or his, but was extremely toxic and abusive. Men can be abused to. She is also someone who was a major factor in the climax of The Last Hunt. She took joy in what happened even. Yeah she’s…..She is an abusive woman that really damaged Kraven. A important note that men can be abused to, and that despite being so big and strong he can very well be a victim to.

Key Facts/Points

His super human abilities come from potions he’s made from herbs. So yall complaining about how he got his super powers in the movie gotta remember comics didn’t have much flavor either. Literally magic potions and voodoo magic. Like come on

His mother died due to mental illness. Aka Took Her Own Life. It’s always kept vague, but it’s made more clear what it was through The Last Hunt and what happened to Kraven

He becomes an Anti-Hero/Vigilante through Squirrel Girl. He goes by the name “Kraven The Hunter of Hunters” like that shit goes hard don’t lie

He’s a Russian immigrant that escaped Russia around the February Revolution. (It varies often but it’s always escaping Russia in a downfall) Aka before the fall of Russia into communism. So he’s OLD old, and has quite the love hate for his roots

He has mental illnesses. Not like just in general. Like it’s not stated but it’s very much implied he’s suffering from extreme depression that lead to suicidal ideations

He is a big game hunter and is highly respectful of nature and its order. He respects nature and it respects him. He believes in a proper fight with animals, and understands they’re important. By proxy that def means he believes in trans rights and LGBTQ+ concepts so slay Ally! Stay mad dude bros ((fun fact. Lionesses have been shown to grow their own manes and take leadership of prides. Lions can literally say “I’m trans now” and do it. So go my children. Give us trans Kraven headcanons!))

He’s one of Spider-Man’s main villains. He’s been in nearly every cartoon there has been, and was a founding member of The Sinister Six. Safe to assume Chameleon replaced him when he took his anti-hero arc

Yes. It was stated he was based on “The Most Dangerous Game” Hence the Russian and x y z. You aren’t crazy for seeing those connections

The Kravinoff name is from a Noble class blood line. Very rich, aristocrats, rich people life. Until Russia’s downfall arc, so Kraven has money. Depending on the plot device of course

He has arachnophobia, which leads to another motivation to kill spider man. Not only is he the ultimate prey, but it’ll also be him concurring his fears

I hope this all helps. Remember, this is just a base line. There are so many versions of him. His videogame counterpart part, Spider Man 2, is very different and has his own arc and story line. Much like how so many comics have different time lines and universes.

But that’s what makes it beautiful and fun. It’s endless frankly Kraven can be whatever YOU want, because in a way it is canon. It’s just simply not spoken, but still true

If you have any questions for like specific Kravens or just advice on how Kraven would act or such don’t be shy and ask. I plan to do a headcanon list soon and get more information out there to help people new to him understand him

Hope this helps! Thank you for reading! Means a-lot you took the time to! Thank you, and have a happy comic book reading!

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 4 months ago

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Zeb Wells was never, ever QUALIFIED to write for Spider-Man. As in, if I was hiriing for the job of Spider-Man writer, he'd never have even made it to the interview stage.

See, I'm an old geezer Spider-Man fan. I was there back in the early-mid 2000s when Wells first came onto the Spider-Man scene. That was when he was younger, fresher, more full of energy and less cynical. And even then his stories were mediocre at best, mercifully confined merely to fill-in issues here and there.

Fill-in issues that weren't even on ASM but on the side-books like Peter Parker: Spider-Man and dubiously canonical anthologies like Spider-Man's Tangled Web. Beyond that, he did occassional mini-series and one shots.

His ONE legitimately good story was the origin of J. Jonah Jameson, a single issue in which Spider-Man himself barely ever appeared. That was around 2004(ish). Zeb Wells unironically peaked on Spider-Man 20 years ago and it wasn't even a particularly high peak either. It was more like a small hillock.

Sure, he finally got to write ASM between 2008-2010 during Brand New Day, but like...who DIDN'T get to write ASM back then? It was coming out 3 times a month with a rotating creative team, amongst which Wells was never touted as one of the superstar writers. Love or hate them, Dan Slott, Mark Waid, Joe Kelly, Bob Gale, and even an out of retirement Roger Stern were who the Marvel promotional machine hyped up. Again, love or hate them, back in 2008-2010 these were BIG names to suddenly be working on Spider-Man. In other words, when Wells finally got 'promoted' he was essentially a mere fill-in writer AGAIN.

That being said, he did get one really big chance to bat when he was tasked with doing the biggest Lizard story of all time, 'Shed'. Reinventing a classic Lee/Ditko villain. Leading directly into Grim Hunt, the storyline that was the culmination of much of what BND had been building towards? Writing a story that was going to be one of the last in the BND era in fact? This was Zeb Wells' shot to make a name for himself in the annals of Spider-Man History.

And he succeeded! By which I mean 'Shed' was debated as potentially one of the all time WORST Spider-Man stories ever, and unquestionably the worst Lizard story there had ever been.

Shed was to Curt Connors what One More Day was to Peter Parker. A nonsensical plot geared towards a complete and utter character assassination. We are talking about a story with cannibalism, fratricide, potential sexual assault, vomit inducing art and egregious continuity fuck ups to the point where even the very first Lizard story directly contradicts it. This story was SO bad that even a manchild crybully troll like Dan Slott tried to walk it back, doing no less than 2 stories across 5(ish) years in which he cleaned up some of the mess Wells had left. Further repairs were applied during Nick Spencer's run, in particular during 'Hunted'. Yes, 'Shed' was so godforsakenly terrible it took multiple stories across almost 10 years to fix it.

THIS was the guy Marvel picked to be the 'main writer' during the Ben Reilly Beyond era, aka Brand New Day 2. His 'promotion' was to be brought out of Spider-Man writer's jail (where he belonged) so he could once more be the rotating writer in a tri-monthly set up. Except now he was to BND2 what I guess Dan Slott had been to BND1.

The difference being that BND1 had more writers and many/most of them had WAY more status to their names than any of the BND2 writers. Like, it is ridiculous to suggest Kelly Thompson or Saladin Ahmed in 2021 were anywhere near the Big Name status Mark Waid or Joe Kelly enjoyed in 2008. Even Slott back then, who hadn't yet become AS big as he would later (undeservedly) be, was still someone most of the fanbase had WANTED to write for Spider-Man for a good long while before then.* Wells was now simply swimming in a much smaller pond, his seniority being the microscopic edge he had over Thompson and Ahmed.

And yet, Chip Zdarsky when he took over Spectacular Spider-Man had way less experience than Wells had with the character. Nick Spencer too, he'd mostly just written a great mini-series in Superior Foes of Spider-Man. And of course, Roberto Aguirre Sacasa had never written Spider-Man when he was hired in 2006. Neither had Paul Jenkins in 2000. Neither had JMS in 2001. Love it or hate it, Marvel are not opposed to hiring new blood, untested blood even, for ASM or other monthly Spider-Man titles.

So, you have to wonder, why DIDN'T the younger guns Kelly Thompson , Saladin Ahmed or any other fresh blood take over after the Beyond era? Why CHOOSE Wells when he's been hanging around the block for about 20 years?

Incompetence? Yes...but also because it is patently obvious that NO ONE ELSE WANTED THIS JOB!

Wells was not hired because of his talent. He was hired because Marvel were DESPERATE. As they say, any port in a storm, right?

Because of their dogmatic enforcement of the post-One More Day state of affairs, because of how they treated Nick Spencer as a result of that, because of their general incompetence in running their entire company for the past 15+ years, Marvel have burned their bridges with too many creators. The anti-OMD writers don't want the job because they naturally want to undo OMD. The pro-OMD/neutral writers don't want the job because the fanbase naturally will yell at them for enforcing the post-OMD status quo. And neither want the job because the blatant interference Nick Spencer endured is gross and not worth the hassle, not when substack, indie and possibly even other editorial departments at Marvel/DC are options for them.

Shit, when you really think about it, Zeb Wells isn't the fundamental problem. He is just the latest symptom of it.

*Not me. In 2008 I wasn't opposed to Slott writing ASM per se. But his work on She-Hulk and Spidey-Torch, whilst good in their own right, hadn't hypnotised me into thinking he was obviously be a great fit for ASM. Unfortunately, most people were hypnotised.

#my essays #Spider-man #zeb wells #dan slott #brand new day #asm #amazing spider man #ben reilly #peter parker

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zed-sabre · 12 days ago

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Imagine kinda wanting this dynamic between Kaine and Peter, where Kaine justifies his more lethal approach to fighting crime, his enemies and maybe even blames Peter for him having to resort to such measures because Peter doesn’t have the balls to get the job done.

it's funny you say this, because that kiiinda happened at the end of Minimum Carnage

^minimum carnage: omega

except it wasn't to peter, it was to agent venom (doki doki)

when it comes to peter though, the confrontation vibes are a little like Grim Hunt

^amazing spider-man #635

^amazing spider-man #636

but i say vibe because what they're talking about is practically the opposite. kaine is literally going, 'you should stop fighting the bad guys because you're going to die. but intrinsically you can't, because you're a hero - so i'm going to die instead of you'. this is something he does with great orchestration and intent.

when it comes to the daredevil and punisher, they make great foils because frank is the picture of 'this is what matt could become, if he loses himself'. if loss and vengeance drives his hand instead of justice. and in that scene, frank thinks matt SHOULD be like him! they're on the same side, matt just sucks at it.

i don't think kaine is like that at all. i mean for starters, the number of people that kaine has actually killed since he started being scarlet spider is... a werewolf, but he was in berserk monster spider mode, and also that werewolf killed and cannibalized him like a few minutes earlier so imo fair game. the other is shathra, and he was also in berserk monster spider mode. he shot the evolutionary point blank in the head with a laser gun because he was about to kill aracely. and... solus, the big daddy of the inheritors in spider-verse, to avenge ben... also in berserk monster spider mode.

oh yeah and he killed ben in ben reilly: scarlet spider but that whole ending was a clusterfuck. it's unclear how much of that killing intent was due to mephisto influencing him.

so really his track record is... mostly the Other did it in a fit of extreme emotion.

the thing is, kaine IS willing to kill, and he really talks up his urge to kill, but at the core of him, he doesn't really want to anymore. not because the bad guys deserve it less, but because he wants to be a better person. when he tells off flash, that is right after he's been traumatized by the failure to save a ton of people - and immediately after, he has to go get drunk to deal with it. guilt and the ability to blame yourself for every bad thing ever is also a spider-power and he's lashing out at flash, not stating his moral philosophy. the boy has never heard of emotional regulation in his life.

but peter is what he wishes he could be. i mean, he was literally built for the purpose of wishing he could be peter. yes, he thinks peter is stupid and naive. but in no world do i think kaine wants peter to be like him. kaine doesn't even want to be like kaine.

#answerd #kaine parker #scarlet spider #peter parker #spider-man #flash thompson #agent venom #frank and matt mention

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flashfuture · 2 years ago

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Also if you’re going to write Spideypool I’d say here is a reading list of Spider-Man and Deadpool’s comic interactions that I think are needed to understand them as characters. Because I read the fanfics it’s just varying movies mushed up but the comics are really good you guys and there aren’t very many !

Cable and Deadpool #24 this is their first meeting. It shows a standard Spider-Man interaction with Anyone but esp Wade. Spidey punches really hard a lot first and then asks questions (gets explanations yelled at him in hopes he stops punching) second

Deadpool: Suicide Kings it’s only a five issue series. This is the entire basis for Team Red. I see you MCU Team Red fans and I am begging you to read Suicide Kings at least 3,4,5

Amazing Spider-Man #611 is a really good issue to show that Spidey sees Wade as more of a nuisance than an active threat (and while you’re there keep on reading through the Grim Hunt it would be so good for Spider-Man fans to read the Grim Hunt)

Deadpool (2008) #19,20,21 Hit Monkey is gunning for Deadpool and Spider-Man is going to... kind of just be alright with it. If you think Spider-Man would ever be worried about Wade’s safety you are wrong he is more than happy to shove him in the way of a trigger happy monkey But he will break Wade out of prison so there is that !

Deadpool (2013) Annual #2 absolute staple Spideypool issue. This is the one where chameleon is fucking with Spider-Man and Deadpool dresses up like Spidey to save the day. I know a lot of you have seen panels but it’s fun read the whole issue

Urban Avengers #1 is kinda in here somewhere don’t really gotta read it just know Deadpool joins the Avengers and that makes Spider-Man quit the Avengers.

Spider-Man/Deadpool is a 50 issue run with dubious canon nature. I say the best issues are #1, 1 MU (the heartmate comic), 2, 3, 4, 5. Anything after that is ooc at best and non canon at well not worse but it’s fun

#marvel comics #spider-man #deadpool #spideypool

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rookfeatherrambles · 11 months ago

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So many ideas. Dumping them here for a pinned comment to keep track. When these have AO3 links, I'll list them here The Angel that Cries Ink (Jmart, Jonelias) Jon has been locked under the Magnus Institute for 200 years, waiting for one person. Martin Blackwood. IN PROGRESS)

Bound by Spider's Thread (Jmart, time travel, somewhat fix it, No sex, Annabelle asks Martin to kill a bitch for her in exchange for saving Jon's life somewhere else) WIP)

The Beast in your Heart (La bete dans coeur) Jonelias, Eventual jmart, Hunt!Jon, Kai!jon. Jon finds out about the watcher's crown ritual and chooses the nuclear option. To throw himself at another fear. He is subsequently transformed, and elias is not nice to jon when he finds out what he's done. Dead dove, very dark, very smutty WIP)

Chiaroscuro (Jmart, timsasha, Artist/Muse au. Jon is a infamous artist who paints the most captivating art but has remained out of the spotlight. A medical diagnosis makes him decide to retire, but he's going to do one final piece. Enter Martin, and Jon's inevitable falling in love with his final muse, no sex, ace jon (WIP

Under skies and sea (Vast Jon. No sjhip. Jon is becoming a sea bird. this is problematic for many reasons) WIP)

Sable Island AU (Jmart, Foggyskies, Jon is a low profile environmental researcher that takes a job on a remote island studying seabirds. He starts to become one, and chronicals his journey. Then Martin, the sun of Peter Lukas, one of two men that are wagering over Jon's life, crashes the supply boat onto the island. They reflect on life, and death (WIP

The Storm Singer : (Jmart, Jonpeter, Foggyskies) Jon is the last siren in the bay and he's sworn to destroy the man who ruined his life. Peter is the fisherman turned monster hunter that massacred Jon's people. He wants Jon dead because he killed his wife. Martin and Simon are also there and they are in love! (not with eachother) Sirens and Sailors! Smutty (WIP

The Lonely Bride: Jonpeter forced marriage. Martin refused to run away with jon in s4 and Peter offered him an alternative way out. Dark, exactly what it says on the tin. smutty (WIP

The Hunter's Stag (Jonpeter, fantasy au. Faerie au.) Jon is a magic white stag that was cursed by a faerie king, to run until he's caught and killed. Peter is the hunter that doesn't want to do that. They become friends. And then more. (WIP

Wintergreen AU: (noship. Jon is 8, has a boat, and is going to america. he gets caught in bad weather and picked up by the Tundra. Now there's a child on board his ship and Peter Lukas doesn't know what to do with him. Silly, lighthearted fun i guess. WIP)

I'm not your Protagonist (I'm not even my own): Jmart, Jonelias) Jon wakes up somewhere else and realizes he's not happy. He does his best to figure out why. (EVERYONE HAS TRAUMA AND GETS THERAPY FIC) WIP)

YEOMYTIM (Your eyes on mine, your Teeth in me _Jondaisy, WIP)

The Hearthwitch's Cat (Jmart, Fantasy) Jon is a powerful arch mage that learns a terrible secret and for his safety, becomes a cat. Martin is the hearthwitch he chooses to adopt as his owner. Fluffy, romance, silly fantasy shenanigans (WIP

The red strings of fate (Can go fuck themselves) Jonelias, eugenics au) Jon is someone who never ever wanted to have a partner, but the system matches him to some bastard name Elias Bouchard. Jon's only way out of having children (legally) is to be a holy terror of a wife. Shenanigans ensue. Smutty, fluffy, light hearted i guess. Elias is not evil and Jon is ace spec WIP)

Non TMA stuff:

Dawn of Shadows (Wip, fantasy)

Everyone loves Fucked Up Houses :) (wip, horror)

That weird creepypasta thing, (wip, horror romance)

A real War (wip, Everymanhybrid)

Mabel vs the Grim Reaper (wip, Gravity Falls)

Grimoire Falls (horror fantasy, gravity falls au)

If I think of more of these, I will add them!

ALSO IF YOU ARE CURIOUS, SEND ME AN ASK ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT! Seriously yell at me about my ideas please im desperate :))

EDITED 3/29/24

#slenderverse #creepypasta #gravity falls #the magnus archives #writing projects #maybe having them written down somewhere will remind me to do them?#writeblr #writblr #Jonathan sims #Martin blackwood #Peter Lukas #Elias Bouchard #Mabel Pines #Everymanhybrid

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fountainpenguin · 3 months ago

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"'cuz half the time I can't love right, and I can't have sex and we both get quiet... Boy, I must be one f'd up guy ... It'll be fine- Quick, let's get married!" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Rated T - 13k+ words

50 Words of Dale and Hadley

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🌃 City Lights AU

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🎲 Randomlists.com's 50-word generator

51. Connection - "Here, here- You hold Devin. Oh, look at his little feet... Have you got him? How's it feel?" "..."

50 scene snippets about two rich kids in Dimmsdale... and the newlywed life that came tumbling after.

OR, Dale and Hadley are doing their best. Maybe that can be enough.

(First 5 prompts under the cut)

- Blood warning (Hunting & field dressing a deer)

Saturday July 13th, 2002 - Sunday April 20th, 2014

Summer of the Last Berry - Spring of the Patient Lizard

1. Brown

None of the kids who'd worked the lemonade stand had brown eyes. Not like these ones, glassed over the way marbles shone. Life made its fortune in thin and fleeting things. Even the deer knew that. Dale loomed above it with his knife to watch its black tail quiver one last time. It died, probably, before it hit the ground. Soft summer grass bloomed beneath its snow-white neck patch. Crunchy leaves would make hunting 10 times harder when autumn lashed around. You could see the deer better through the trees, though. Hadley told him that on the drive up.

Sunlight striped the buck's bronze sides, which had thrummed in breath just seconds ago. Its eyes locked on skyward things. Had the deer gotten one last look at the sun before it tripped and fell? Or did it die in darkness, head in shadow while it grazed?

"That was close," said the girl beside him, leaning the gun against her shoulder. You could smell Dimmsdale pride straight on her. Dale flared his nostrils, breathing in the scent of blood and fur. And dirt, and morning's chill. Hadley patted his arm twice, her fingers warm even through his baggy sleeve. Mud and water splattered both hems of her camo pants. "But you really kept us in suspense. I thought you weren't going to shoot."

Those big, dark eyes…

2. Saw

Dale never hunted with his dad growing up. He wasn't old enough; it wasn't legal. But Hadley moved like a spider, following all her dad's field dressing instructions to the letter. After clean-up for the pictures, she jabbed her knife straight in the deer's stomach and drew it down the belly. Dark blood seeped out to the grass… and then came handfuls of goopy guts. Dale took every breath without blinking, but kept out of Hadley's way as she and her dad did their thing. Doug Dimmadome - his own dad - patted Dale twice on the shoulder.

"Now, that right there, son, is a thing of beauty. That's a Grade-A shot! Looks like you hit the brain. We'll make a hunter of you yet."

"Mmhm."

"Have you ever made an antler pen, Dale?" Mr. Leadly asked, running his thumb across one antler branch. They glimmered milky white. They looked funny where they sprouted from the head; you could see how tufts of fur bent to make way for giant forks.

"I haven't, sir." And, sensing this might be Leadly's way of turning the conversation to business, he followed that statement with, "Do you manufacture them for Pencil Nexus?"

Mr. Leadly beamed. Dale let out his breath. Good. I guessed right. When the man - short, but totally strong, and almost unrecognizable wearing camo instead of scalding yellow - motioned him over, Dale moved to stand above the deer. Blood and guts ran like water through Hadley's hands. Ew. She glanced up at Dale just long enough to smile and push that wild russet hair back from her eyes. Oh, she got that color from her mom, definitely- Not from Mr. Leadly. The way she wiped her fingers left a smear of blood across her cheek. Dale moved one hand to touch it, then stopped himself.

I'm not the babysitter anymore. She can do it herself. She peered up at him like a grim reaper decoration in the yard on Halloween. Uhhh. Dale hadn't seen a Halloween for 7 years.

He turned his silent stare to Leadly again. The man made another gesture with his hand to guide Dale's eyes to the dirtied antlers. "We don't sell many finished antler pens at my company; a couple personalized batches each year. I enjoy the process, but it's more of a hobby than a savvy business move. I can set you up with a pen-making kit; we sell plenty of those. You carve the antlers with a saw, and you need a lathe. Ever used one of those?"

"No, sir." Leadly's bright-eyed energy seemed to relax everyone- His dad, Hadley, and Leadly himself. Dale scratched his arm, avoiding face to face contact until he caught his breath. But when he did, he met Leadly eye to eye. "I'd love the opportunity to work with you. Can you teach me how to saw?"

The best opportunities in life hail from networking. For a Dimmadome, hunting with the Leadly family is never just about the hunt.

3. Addition

"That fits you pretty good," Hadley told him, looking his camo outfit up and down. Dale pulled his mouth from the waterfall just enough to see her reflection in the stream. Well… He tried to, at least, though water dribbled down his hair and stung his eyes. At least it tasted clean and fresh. It hadn't been this way underground. Stinky or salty- Those were your two options in the Dimmsdale tunnels. You always pick stinky if you can't take fresh. Dale blinked, wiping splatters off his cheeks.

"Oh, yeah… Your dad gave this to me. Don't you have a brother?"

"Yeah, two older ones." Hadley moved closer, reaching out to touch a wrinkle in his hat. "I'm glad you're putting it to use. My dad wanted to throw it all away."

"It fits great. I'm low on clothes right now."

"Do you want more? I mean, if you're going to use them, I can get them for you. They'd just get tossed if my dad gets his hands on them."

"… Okay. That sounds nice."

4. Numerous

"Oh, she was serious," Dale realized when the summer meet-up rolled around. Not much changed with Dimmsdale's traditions, evidently- The Fancy Schmancy Country Club had hosted this picnic every year since before he was born. Up on the hill, he had a pretty good view of Mr. Leadly's truck idling on the other side of the fence. He, Hadley, and Hadley's older sister - Harper - were unloading cardboard boxes of stuff from the back… and even from up here, Dale could read the giant labels. He set the plate aside and sprinted down to join them. Hadley, a huge box in hand, lurched back from the truck on wobbly legs. She'd dressed in pencil colors for this, just like her dad, but a desktop drinky bird would've fit the moment better.

"Whoa, whoa-"

"I got it." Dale caught the box's edge. He must've been too quiet running up, though, because Hadley jumped. The box slipped from her fingertips. Oops. Dale grabbed the corner and helped it down more gently. No damaged goods today. "Are these all clothes for me?" That's what the Sharpie scrawled across the side said. "No way… Is all this from your brothers?"

"Sure is! I collect stuff! It's a whole thing." Hadley thumped a second box on the ground, then flipped attention to Dale with a wolf-bite grin. "I've kept it for years because I wanted to wear it someday, but I don't think it'll ever fit. They're my half-brothers, and my mom's first husband was way taller. It shows. If the hunting gear fit you, everything here should too."

Dale tilted his head. April sunlight had washed away a long time ago; he wasn't fresh from the underground anymore. These days, the air tasted like ocean, bug spray, and water melon. He'd stocked his closet with enough outfits to get by (You could thank his dad's assistant for that). But everything she'd bought looked slick and classy… Lots of black, white, buttons, and shiny cufflinks. Bowties, too. Hadley'd worn a huge white bow on her chest for as long as Dale could remember, so she must be into that. Maybe I can pass mine to her sometime; fair exchange.

Or he could try to sell them off. Make some extra cash. That wouldn't be a bad idea, especially since Dad wouldn't let him have a credit card (even though he turned 16 back in May). If Dad disappeared someday like Mom had - so Dad claimed - then keeping his own cash on hand might be a lifesaver. The precariously perched Dimmsdale estate sat on a cliff out by the ocean, so… running back to Dad to ask for spare change wasn't super practical on a shopping day.

He'd probably make a mess if he pried the boxes open here on the sidewalk, but he could see an embroidered rocket peeking through the folded lid. His heart beat a little faster. I've NEVER had rocket clothes before…

"Thanks. Really. I'll put this stuff to use."

5. Reign

Okay, he'd admit it… Hadley reigned supreme in anime trivia. Still, she had NOTHING on his Crash Nebula know-how.

"You'd like my friend Timmy," she said, tossing her head in a laugh. "I think he won a Crash Nebula trivia contest on live TV or something? I should ask him!"

"Hey, any friend of Timmy's is a friend of mine." When he showed Dale his room, he had Crimson Chin comics on the bed and a Crash Nebula video game they'd played for ages until Dad was ready to take him home. The words sounded so cliché, but they made a lot of sense.

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