#weaver of webs (tell me your tales)

[spidersanonymous]

There was a soft knock at their door. Caretaker looked up from their mountains of paperwork, eyebrows furrowing as Whumpee fidgeted in the doorway.

“Hello, Whumpee,” they greeted smoothly, “is there something you needed?” Whumpee didn’t tend to stray from Whumper’s side, Caretaker could only imagine what they might need. With a glance at their emancipated figure, probably a hot meal and a bed.

“Caretaker, i-” Whumpee bit their lip, shakily stepping further into Caretakers office, “I need- help. Your help,” they finished lamely, shifting on their feet as they awaited Caretaker’s response.

Caretaker rose an eyebrow, a record amount of seven words in a span of all of twenty seconds, “Okay?” they set down their pen, giving Whumpee their full attention, “Here,” they stood up from their chair, the old metal shrieking, “i think you need a seat, yes?”

Whumpee’s lip curled down but they still crossed the room and sat down, the chair groaning quietly under their weight. They hugged their arms around themself, head bowed as they anxiously glanced at the door.

Caretaker hummed, eyes tracing over Whumpee before making a decision, “I could close the door if you’re that concerned about it,” they nodded towards the doorway.

“Don’t,” Whumpee rasped, eyes widening as their words registered; still, they continued, “it isn’t- it’s not- it’s… fine.” their frown deepened as they stammered through the words. Caretaker could sympathize.

“If you’re sure,” Caretaker shrugged, leaning against their table with as much casualty as they could manage, “so, you needed my help with what, exactly?” they asked, not unkindly.

“Um,” their arms tightened, “i need- you help victims um, escape from their abu-abusers, right?”

Caretaker leaned forward with rapt attention, eyes sharpening as they drank in Whumpee’s quivering lips, tight posture, the way their nails picked at the fabric of their shirt. Caretaker never saw Whumpee at lunch, nor did they ever come to the employee hang-outs on weekends. Something forced the ever elusive Whumpee to come out of hiding. “Right,” they nodded, “I do.”

“Okay,” they nodded once, twice, “Yes, there was a case- Jorgie May, and her sister,” they picked furiously at a view loose threads, avoiding Caretaker’s eyes as their gaze darted across the office space. There wasn’t much to see.

Caretaker hummed agreement.

“Their mother,” their voice strained, throat bobbing as they forced the words out, “she was- erm- abusive,” their eyes suddenly found Caretakers, “how did-” they licked their lips nervously, “how did they get help?” What did they say to make people believe them? Was left unsaid.

Whumpee’s words lingered in the air for a moment as Caretaker considered, leaning closer as they dropped their voice to a whisper, “They gathered evidence, took pictures of their injuries, recorded arguments they had with their mother, things of that nature. One night their mother was drunk, so she took all of the evidence -and her sister- and went to the police,” they leaned out of Whumpee’s space, “bit hard to claim two malnourished kids covered head to toe in bruises were liars.”

Whumpee shuddered, squeezing their eyes shut as they exhaled forcefully.

“The fact the neighborhood didn’t have the highest opinions of their mother probably helped, as well,” they mused to themself.

“Thank you,” they whispered, “that’s-”

“A lot?” Caretaker suggested, eyebrow raised.

“Sure,” they shrugged, glancing at the door, “i should probably get going-”

A quiet knock interrupted Whumpee’s words as Whumper slipped in from the ajar door, “Ah,” they hummed, eyes narrowing, “Whumpee and… Caretaker. How curious.”

Not even a hello, “Hello, Whumper,” they greeted as smoothly as they could manage, “was there something you needed?” even then, their words were curt.

“There’s no need to be hostile, Caretaker,” they chastised with a frown, stalking further into Caretaker’s office, “I’m just here to collect my charge, I am responsible for them, you know,” their lips curled up, as if letting Caretaker in on a joke. Caretaker hated the look on them.

“Of… course,” Caretaker agreed, words sour, “is there any chance we could take a minute and chat?” and maybe, possibly, knock you over the head with a baseball bat?

“No, unfortunately,” they crooned with false pity, smiling sickly-sweet, “Whumpee and I have a meeting to attend, and we simply don’t have the time for any further conversations,” they spat the words, expression darkening as they grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and harshly pulled them up.

Whumpee, for their credit, didn’t yelp at the pull, even though they looked like one strong wind took knock them over. They grit their teeth, allowing themself to be pulled to Whumper’s side. Whumper curled an arm around their shoulder, looking painfully smug.

Caretaker wanted to wipe that look off their face.

“If that’s all, Whumpee and I really do have to be going,” they dragged Whumpee out the door, “it was lovely speaking with you, Caretaker.”

Can’t say the same for you, “Likewise.” They managed to spit out.

With one last smug smirk, they both disappeared behind the door, finally shutting closed with a click.

Caretaker only wished they gave Whumpee their number.

___

kind of insane about this idea tbh. not sure what about it is so good but… ohh boy. wrote this in a span of two days, lightly edited. also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist lol

[li-lii-week]

LiLii Week: A Long Story

"Tell me a story."

UrLii was used to that line. It was apart of his life now, an expected request with a familiar outcome, only diverting from monotony in detail. Coming up with something new was the hard part, but that could be amended with time; the endless well of trine passing had granted him that gift, and he liked to think he used it wisely.

"Tell me a story," the children would say to him, voices raised in excitement, large obsidian black eyes seeming to grow ever wider in delight.

It was these little ones who made the duress against him the most, though it was a forceful request he took on with gratitude and grace, knowing that this was the somber duty of the one who bore his title. The title, too, he bore graciously, finding in the moniker his sense of purpose fulfilled. He was a weaver of stories, there to entertain.

Or, rather, he used to be. Age had eaten away at him, and his mind seemed to suffer the brunt of time's wrath. The little ones grew, no longer needing him. Soon enough he had faded from their memory, except as the Tomb's senile old guardian, who they upon occasion had to deal with.

This he had come to accept. It was only natural. Young things moved on, leaving the old behind like the abandoned shell of a unamoth chrysalis when they were no longer needed; The Grottan had outgrown him.

"I said: tell me a story."

The voice, high and lilting with the undercurrent natural to singers, rang out to him again. It snatched his reverie from him, leaving him almost disoriented until he recalled exactly who the voice belonged to. He turned his head, looking out over the canyon to his reflected image.

SkekLi must have gotten bored. He often was these days, trapped on top of that mushroom with nothing to do and no one besides UrLii to talk to; well, there was the occasional gelfling, but when they stopped to bring the two their meals they never lingered to speak; UrLii could not blame them for that either. SkekLi had done wrong in their eyes, and in his shunning was part of his punishment.

Quite fitting for one who once commanded the attention of a rapt audience. Now, however, UrLii was his sole companion, and he suffered his tides in mood, whenever they came or went, both high or low. UrLii tilted his head at him, wondering which mood he was in now with a sort of detached interest.

"A story? You hate my stories."

SkekLi fidgeted slightly, a symptom of the boredom that plagued him.

"I...I just want something to complain about. I mean, your little tales are fine, Other, but they are not art."

Too smug for his own good. UrLii smiled, ever so slightly.

"You seek to exacerbate your suffering? You're a strange prisoner, SkekLi."

"I don't want to further my torture," the Satrist snapped, "I just feel even horrible entertainment is better than none. If I wanted you to torture me, I'd ask you to read to me again."

UrLii smiled a little more. SkekLi had become frustrated almost to tears with how slowly UrLii read, and made him swear upon the Crystal that he would never do so again. He reached up with one of his feet and scratched under his chin with the claws upon each toe- a display of dexterity learned after hundreds of trine squeezing his way into tight tunnels.

SkekLi looked on in a mixture of disgust and interest.

"...You changed," he said at last, barely a whisper against the wind, "you barely resemble me anymore. What happened to you?"

UrLii chuckled. "Indeed, what happened?"

Bioluminescent moss grew from the tangles of his mane, his skin had grown pale, seeming too to glow in the dark of the caves. His fingers and toes were elongated, good now for gripping onto slippery rocks as he climbed; he was thin, almost bony, with joints that could dislocate to allow him passage to places others his size normally could not go. His teeth, too, almost seemed to resemble the stalactites and stalagmites around him, though this was moreso due to neglect than a necessity of survival.

UrLii shrugged. "It's a long story."

"Tell it to me, then," SkekLi said, "tell me how you came down here. Tell me what happened to you."

UrLii, in truth, hadn't expected that response. His mouth snapped shut and stayed that way for a long while. When he did open it again, his voice was quiet.

"...I no longer remember."

"Then make something up! You're the storyteller, aren't you? Improvise!" He articulated the sentiment with an impatient gesture of his arm.

UrLii shook his head. "I..."

"Oh, don't quit on me now! Here, I'll guess, and you'll correct me until we can jog your memory. Let's see: you...you came down here, didn't you? Probably fell down a hole, I bet."

UrLii chuckled and shook his head.

"You are right in one aspect, I did come down here, but I did not fall. I crawled through a tunnel in a clifface, very deliberately."

That was clear. He couldn't remember why he had done so, but that point was clear: he had done it willingly.

SkekLi smirked. "Oh of course, of course, whatever you say. And then what happened? Oh! Some monster tried to swallow you whole."

"Wrong again: UrLii encountered no monsters along his underground journey, but many lifeforms indeed. He was surprised to see such an array of beauty could be found beneath Thra's surface, as diverse as above. He crawled and made his way through the tunnels for days..."

Yes, it was coming back, blurry but there. Solidifying.

"Aaaaand then you hit your head on the low ceilings."

"And then I met a little gelfling girl."

"You did?"

"Yes. She was lost, more so than I."

"And then you both wandered about the tunnels, going deeper and deeper, and were never seen again. Some say you're still out there, looking for a way out, and on particularly quiet nights, they can still hear your cries-"

"No, we found our way to Domrak, together. We became good friends."

"Friends," SkekLi snorted, "bah!"

UrlIi nodded. "It's true, we still are, in fact."

Little Argot, not so little anymore. UrLii smiled.

"We taught one another many things. I taught her all I knew, and she what she had learned-"

"And then she used the arcane mystic arts to turn you into a disgusting, gross monster!"

UrLii chuckled again.

"Oh, no. That transformation was much more gradual than that. In fact, UrLii didn't notice what had happened until he realized that it was suddenly much easier to climb rocks."

He wiggled his fingers at SkekLi. "Who knows? Perhaps you too, over time, will grow to become as handsome as I have."

SkekLi shook his head, crinkling his face in disgust. "Oh, by Thra, no! What a horrid fate! Even you wouldn't leave me to that, would you?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. None can tell what the song holds in store for us."

And that was too true. He didn't know what was in the future for him and SkekLi, and he could barely remember the past; but it seemed, strangely, that it was becoming more clear the longer they played this game. UrLii tapped his chin.

"But back to the story: UrLii stayed with the Grottan for many, many trine, a secret they did not know of, until one day-"

SkekLi took the bait, playing right back into the game as if they had never paused for respite.

"Until one day UrLii's terrible singing rang throughout the caverns so loudly the Grottan banded together to put an end to it once and for all!"

SkekLi grinned. "They trapped him and ensnared him, and bound his snout up with ropes and chains, sticky concoctions and webs, until he promised never to sing again!"

UrLii feigned at offense. "No, in fact, they quite enjoy UrLii's singing, I'll have you know. No, it was an accident that they came across him, and Argot's secret exposed..."

A long, long story, unraveling in order the longer they played the game. UrLii couldn't always correct SkekLi, but when he could he found the memory more clear than it had been in trine. Things came back to him more easily, and it seemed for the moment that the fog over his mind lifted; and for the first time in awhile- a long, long while, he felt his title had meaning again.

[contagiousprincess]

i defy you, stars- Chapter 1

“From your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day”

Two households, both alike in dignity

(In fair Verona where we lay our scene)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;

Whose misadventurous piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

-William Shakespeare

The Whispering Woods were once tangled growth, full of creatures and plants alike waiting for their chance to claw to the surface. The soil was fertile and the air was sweet, but the area was crowded. The so called “whispering” was the noise of the wind pushing and squeezing it’s way through the brush and tightly woven tree trunks. Or, according to legend, it was the noise of the wildlife twisting, changing, moving to confuse lost travelers. 

No one was quite sure how the first people managed to make their stake along the banks of the river that ran through the heart of the forest and emptied into the ocean. But they imagined that they had to follow the forest's rules, because otherwise they would have been eaten up and spit out like the bugs that crawled along the skin of the ground. However they did it, those people weren’t alone for long.

Soon enough, another group came to compete, on the other bank of the river. The two different clans of people could have cooperated, learned to help each other, and survived to tell the tale to others. But just like the wildlife and fragrant trees before them, the two seemed determined to push the other down to reach the top, drawing lines in the silence that separated them. 

Where before, the forest was one giant, breathing body, a new word was introduced to the area: border. They fought for control of the harbor and the trade route along the river, but they were so evenly matched that no one ever won, instead locked forever in an endless stalemate.

So, the two groups began a bitter rivalry. One that continued for many, many, many years. Long after a bridge was built, connecting the two sides of the river for trade (though neither group would dare suggest it was necessary). Long after The Whispering Woods no longer whispered since the trees were gone and the wind had grown hot and stale. Long after the bugs and skin of the earth was replaced with cobblestone streets and alleys. So much long after, that now when asked what they were fighting over, the groups could not even remember, only that if the Horde and the Alliance ran into each other on the streets, someone would walk away badly hurt or worse. 

And this was how on a particularly sweltering hot day, six people almost died.

“Did you just flip us off?” Though most of her thick hair was pulled into a band beside her face, Mermista brushed the remaining pieces of hair out of her eyes, as if to make sure she was seeing clearly, but her dark eyes and thick eyebrows were dangerous, daring anyone to mess with her.

“And what if I did?” Lonnie catcalled, the sound ringing through the street. She was shorter, but stood tall, her boots planted firmly on the street with her hands on her hips. The braids on her head framed her face and softened the defined lines, but there was nothing soft about the way her mouth curled as she taunted the other girl.

“I’d tell you that if you apologize for it, we won’t beat you into a stain on the street.” Mermista stood shoulder to shoulder with Sea Hawk, who might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, but could fight just as well as the next guy. His dorky mustache and dumb boot and bandana combo seemed harmless enough, but he had a tendency to burn down anything in his path. Literally.

Lonnie considered this, and turned to Rogelio, who was broad and as mean as nails, visually and physically intimidating. “Do you think we would get arrested if I flipped them off again?”

“Yes,” Rogelio said simply. A man of few words, so when he used them, it was prudent to listen.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Lonnie looked Mermista up and down and called, “I didn’t flip you off, but I was flipping someone off! Now, why are you still here?”

“You picking a fight?” Rogelio said. 

“Me? Pick a fight? Never,” Mermista said, eyes flashing.

“Watch it,” Rogelio grunted. 

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because Shadow Weaver is behind you!” yelled Lonnie, suddenly. She pointed, fear flashing across her face. Mermista and Sea Hawk spun around wildly, craning their necks, but they were only met with the normal hustle and bustle of the harbor. 

Lonnie busted out into laughter, doubling over and eventually having to sit on the ground to catch her balance and breath. She held her stomach, tears running down her face as her laughs echoed through the street. 

Mermista and Sea Hawk turned around, faces red and now so furious, sparks practically flew off of them. Sea Hawk unsheathed his sword and started towards them, but his friend grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, but he still strained against her.

“Oh, we got ourselves a comedian, huh?” Mermista drew her sword and faced them. “Personally, my favorite joke is the one where we pummeled the two Horde scrum into dust and they got washed down the river. The punchline always gets me.” 

Lonnie finally started to rise from the ground, and pulled out a dagger. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rogelio turned toward her, drawing his sword, and quietly said “Don’t forget that parry maneuver we’ve been working on. It’s all in the footwork.”

“Not the time, Rogelio! We have bigger problems, like a princess and her big fat mouth!”

At that, Mermista released Sea Hawk, and the four lunged towards each other. As soon as the clang of metal swords started to echo through the city, a young male voice could be heard yelling for them to stop. 

After a minute passed with no avail, an arrow careened over the group's heads, making a horrible screeching noise and catching their attention for a moment. Taking advantage of the opening, Bow pushed his way into the center, driving them apart. A top notch archer, the dark-skinned teen was well respected in the Alliance. He wasn’t necessarily the strongest, but agility and cleverness kept him on his toes, as well as alive. 

“Everybody back up! Do you have any clue what you’re doing?!” he screeched, desperately holding his hands up in a feeble attempt to keep them from colliding again. He finally managed to wrest Mermista’s sword out of her hand and pushed her and Sea Hawk away from the Horde teens. 

“We stand on thin ice as it is,” he said to the two of them. “Whatever the Horde trash did to provoke you isn’t worth it.” Raising his voice, he called, “They aren’t worth any of your time.” He gestured to Lonnie and Rogelio with Mermista’s sword, glaring as he did.

Lonnie opened her mouth to defend herself, but she was interrupted by another member of the Horde. 

Scorpia was tall and extremely buff, making Rogelio look like a prepubescent boy. Her shock of white hair on top was cropped close to her head and her eyes, normally kind and warm, were furious and focused. Scorpia, drawn by the sounds of fighting, had started running over seconds ago but now was faced with the sight of Bow pointing a sword at her two friends. 

She stormed in front of the two and stared down Bow, who paled upon seeing her. 

“Threatening my friends, Bow?” She towered over the other boy, and he craned his neck to see her. “Hope you had fun, because I won’t let it happen again.”

“I was trying to get them to stop fighting, Scorpia!” Despite their difference in size, he set his jaw and didn’t back down.

“With your sword drawn?” She scoffed.  “A likely story! You Alliance brats are always so high up on your horse, yelling about peace, complaining about the fighting but then you come into our territory and attack us when we mind our own business, and I, for one, am sick of it.” 

Bow began to speak very slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something simple to a child. “I. am. not. attacking. anyone. But if I was, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he smirked. 

Scorpia, enraged, drew herself up to her full height, and faced him, head on. “Lets have at it then,” she said, voice deadly even. 

Bow hesitated, and then knocked an arrow and drew it. “Fine with me”

Scorpia charged at him, leaping towards his head with her bare hands. Bow quickly ducked and rolled underneath her, coming up behind Scorpia on one knee. Just as her feet hit the pavement, he released his arrow. The arrowhead fractured in midair and split, shooting out a web, the delicate filaments of wire and carefully placed weights searching for a target to ensnare. 

The web slammed into Scorpia’s shoulder, biting into her skin and pulling her down, but only managed to wrap itself around her arm, fortunately for her. Unfortunately for Bow, Scorpia grabbed hold of the web and began to swing it, transforming her trap into a weapon. 

She advanced on him, taking the weighted net with her. Bow tried to back up and pull another arrow, but she closed in on him, taking advantage of his lack of close range weapons. She swung the web at him, and he ducked the first time, narrowly avoided the second, but on the third she feinted towards his head, changed course and then used her net to sweep his feet out from underneath him. 

Bow fell flat on his back, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud, and Scorpia towered above him. She raised the heavy weights above her and started to bring them down on him, but a shout stopped her cold in her tracks. 

A small crowd of citizens had gathered, circling the group, but they during the fight began to chant something that completely baffled the six enemies. 

“Down with the fight! Down with the Horde! Down with the Alliance!”

The racket grew and grew, gathering almost all of the citizens not affiliated with either the Horde or the Alliance. The cacophony reached its peak when a horn call sounded and the crowd cleared a walkway and silenced. They stared up in awe as the 3 most powerful people in Whispering Woods strolled in front of them: Hordak, Shadow Weaver, and Angella. 

Hordak was muscular but not overly so. He walked with an odd gait, and his greasy black hair and beady eyes that were almost red were disquieting. But he radiated power, and as he walked the citizens bowed. Hordak was the Prince of the Whispering Woods, and he would be obeyed. 

Shadow Weaver was the leader of the Horde, one of the feuding groups, and Angella was the leader of the Alliance, the other. The two were both tall, but the similarities ended there. Shadow Weaver was lanky, and had long dark hair. She was clothed in deep red, and wore a mask covering her face. Even though her eyes couldn’t be seen, anyone who felt her stare grew anxious. Angella, on the other hand, was willowy, with long, bright hair. Her face was kind, but sharp. This along with the circlet inlaid with a pearl that sat on her forehead, immediately gave the impression that this was someone who was to be listened to and obeyed without question. 

The Prince strode in front of the other two, but they stood as far apart as possible, shooting each other with dark looks that made the citizens uneasy. Hordak, commanding the attention of every person in the street, sauntered up to where Scorpia still stood over Bow. Without saying a word, he flicked his wrist and Shadow Weaver and Angella untangled the two and dragged them as well as the other four to opposite sides of the circle that the crowd had formed. 

“Citizens!” Hordak boomed. “I have heard countless complaints about the feud which has led to this incident.” He sneered as he said it, making the fact that the enemies had almost killed each other seem as insignificant as childhood tomfoolery, and in a way, it was. “This ancient grudge has interrupted trade, caused countless injuries, and endlessly fosters riots and unrest amongst my people. It is high time for it to break.”

Angella and Shadow Weaver began to stammer, no doubt trying to pin the blame on the other, but Hordak simply held up his hand and they fell quiet. 

“I recognize that I cannot control the… feelings of my citizens.” His lip curled. “However, something still must be done. The city cannot stand with its people constantly fighting in the streets. So, my decision is this: whichever of you causes any more disturbance in my city will pay for it with their life.”

The crowd broke out into anxious murmurings, and the feuding groups began to protest, but Hordak held firm.

“I have made my decision. Now all of you go before I regret not ending you all here and now.” He leveled a glare at both groups and the citizens, who hesitated but began to disperse. Hordak turned his gaze to the women who led both groups and called out to them. “Shadow Weaver, follow me. Angella, I will speak with you later.”

The Horde and Alliance members all hesitated for a moment. 

“Was I unclear? GO!” roared Hordak.

With one final glare at each other, the two groups broke apart. Shadow Weaver fell into step behind Hordak, Angella led her Alliance towards the other side of the river, and Scorpia took the Horde members in the direction of their manor.

None of them noticed what was left behind. As they all meandered away, muttering darkly about their respective foes, a clear mark of the fight remained. Though no one could say exactly who it belonged to, it didn’t really matter in the end. 

A singular smear of sticky, scarlet-red blood stained the cobblestone street, seeping into the cracks in the mortar, already beginning to dry in the sweltering hot sun. 

notes: hiya! im katie and the idea for this fic basically mugged me in the middle of the night and i had to do something about it. this is just a teaser i think theres like a part two of chapter one but it was bulky and i wanted to post something bc why not. im not quite sure what im doing with this fic but i dont care im having fun lmfao. ive never written any fic before so be nice or i will block you i dont give a shit! this will probably go up on ao3 as soon as i can get an invite so for now this will live on tumblr yee haw! anyways lmk what yall think but only if its nice kk byeeee xoxoxo

[snowbreeze64]

i call this one: proof i’m going insane

anyways here’s a list of all times webs/and or spiders have been mentioned in 167 episodes of the magnus archives bc i haven’t listened to 168 yet.

spoilers through tma episode 167 because, yeah

UP TO DATE THROUGH EPISODE 167

CONFIRMED WEBISODES (Rusty Quill Youtube Playlist)

#8 Burned Out *

#16 Arachnophobia

#56 Children of the Night

#59 Recluse *

#67 Burning Desire *

#69 (nice) Thought for the Day

#81 A Guest For Mr. Spider

#100 I Guess You Had To Be There

#110 Creature Feature

#114 Cracked Foundation *

#123 Web Development

#136 The Puppeteer

#147 The Weaver

#167 Curiosity

* = Hill Top Road Related

And now, to channel my S2 Jon energy, which is also just BDG

ALL MENTIONS OF SPIDERS AND/OR WEBS IN NON-WEBISODES

#3 Across the Street - the Table is introduced

#9 A Father’s Love - “As far as I was concerned, the sturdy wooden structure was just the home of spiders’ nests and the rusted garden tools my parents would use once a year to attack the overgrown wilderness that was our back garden.” (Julia Montauk about their shed)

#11 Dreamer - “Looking down I could see a web of dark tendrils criss-crossing the streets and crawling up the buildings.” (Oliver Banks about the death tendril things)

#12 First Aid - Hill Top Road relation (Diego Molina)

#19 Confession/#20 Desecrated Host - Hill Top Road related

#22 Colony - Martin investigates Carlos Vittery’s house, finds lots of spiderwebs.

#32 Hive - “Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.” (Jane Prentiss)

#35 Old Passages - “I have the vaguest memories: flashes of a pile of paper, completely covered in cobweb…” (Harold Silvana about the tunnels)

#36 Taken Ill - “Just a sort of spider web design on the front.” (Jon about his lighter)

#37 Burnt Offering - Hill Top Road related

#38 Lost and Found - Jon attacks a spider and somehow makes a hole in the wall, and now there are worms

#39 Infestation - “No, no… it’s just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think.” (Martin)

#40 Human Remains - “Yes. She was sat in a wooden chair in the middle of the room. No worms. No cobwebs. Just… an old corpse.” (Martin about Gertrude’s corpse) (Does the sudden absence of spiders count as spiders?)

#43 Section 31 - “The most I could get out of her was that she was originally sectioned for something she referred to as “spider husks”.” (Basira about Daisy getting sectioned)

#44 Tightrope - “Why did she begin recording them? And why stop? If she’d been doing so right up until her death, she would’ve likely gotten through much of the archive, and… moreover I wouldn’t have had to find this tape player tucked away in the storage room, covered in dust and cobwebs.” (Jon about the tape player) (it’s covered in cobwebs! Suspicious! What do you mean old things get covered in cobwebs naturally?)

#46 Literary Heights - “I did go down there to see if I could find anything, but it seems much as it did last time. The only difference now is… all the spiderwebs. They seem to have spread down there. I think I saw some of the larger specimens actually eating the remains of the worms.” (Jon about the tunnels under the archives)

#51 High Pressure - “No… No, it isn’t. I’ve always seen it more like a web?” (Not!Sasha about the Table)

#63 The End of the Tunnel - “We’ve had something of a spectrum from him and his ilk: cobwebs entombing, difficulty in navigation, and now a violent, murderous dark.” (Jon about Robert Smirke)

#65 Binary - “Statement of Tessa Winters, regarding a strange computer program she downloaded from the Deep Web three months ago.” (What? It’s a web!)

#67 Burning Desire - “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” and “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.” (Jack Barnabas about his date with Agnes and the people in front of her flat) (this was already listed in webisodes but i just thought it was interesting)

#68 The Tale of a Field Hospital - “There were a couple of spiders, so I changed routes and found, I think it’s a gas main.” (Jon about exploring the tunnels) (also that gas main *eyes eyes eyes*)

#78 Distant Cousin - “Wrapped around it were thick strands of what I think was spider’s web, stretching back into the table, which I now saw pulsed along its carved channels with a sickly light.” (Laurence Moore about Adelard Dekker trapping the Not!Them in the table) and “Hollow. Just cobwebs and dust.” (Jon, breaking the table)

#79 Hide and Seek - “Of course the table was binding it. The table is webs and spiders. Spiders are something else. They don’t help each other, they oppose, they… they weaken. It was caught in a web, and I…” (Jon about the table...and perhaps Beholding something about the entities?)

#87 The Uncanny Valley - Jude Perry working with the Stranger, so Hill Top Road related?

#89 Twice as Bright - Statement of Jude Perry, Hill Top Road related

#90 Body Builder - “As you’d expect, most of the listings just pointed me towards the their websites, but I spotted a small, square ad box in the lower left corner.” (Ross Davenport, about finding his new gym) (yes i KNOW this is a stretch but the word website has the word web in it so…)

#91 The Coming Storm - “One lighter, gold, spiderweb design.” (Daisy going through Jon’s stuff)

#111 Family Business - Jon and Gerry discuss the entities, including the Web

#112 Thrill of the Chase - “We all met through one of those meetup websites, I-I forget which one.” (Lisa Carmel, about Murder Club) (listen it’s a WEBSITE so it has the word WEB in it and besides THE SPIDERS CONTROL THE WORLD WIDE WEB)

#114 Cracked Foundation - “It was warmer down there, warmer every step, and I found myself brushing cobwebs from my face as I got further down, until at last there I was - stood in the cellar of Hill Top Road.” (Anya Villette about Hill Top Road)

#117 Testament - “I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out!” (Martin about his plan.) (also, I’ve been called out by Martin.)

#118 The Masquerade - “DAISY: Shut. Up. It’s just cobwebs. ARCHIVIST: There’s no such thing as just cobwebs.” (Jon walking into some cobwebs while planting C4) (also he’s RIGHT, DAISY)

#121 Far Away - “Just a second of them webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car.” (Oliver about seeing the death tendrils in the waking world) and “Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks.” (Oliver about why he’s visiting Jon)

#135 Civilian Casualties - “In the last week I’ve seen two different people wearing symbols for the People’s Church of the Divine Host, and it’s rare I go anywhere without cobwebs, anymore.” (Jon about the Institute being watched)

#128 Heavy Goods - “We had some luggage, once, a thrumming silk-wrapped thing of the spider, hiding away in an old steamer trunk.” and “The Spider’s always an easy job, no fuss, no complications, everything planned and prepared. It knows too much to truly be a stranger, but hides its knowing well enough to endure.” (Breekon about his and Hope’s deliveries)

#130 Meat - “I found this tape tucked in a corner of my desk drawer (sigh) covered in cobwebs. I suppose subtlety has gone out the window a bit, and the question is now simply… how much I trust the Spider to have my best interests at heart.” (Jon about the statement he just played. Also the Spider giving him the idea to use a flesh-anchor???)

#134 Time of Revelation - “There are two powers that, to my knowledge, have never attempted to fully manifest. Never had followers set them up for a ritual. Mother of Puppets, and Terminus. The Web and the End. The Web, I’ve never really been sure about. If I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is: playing everyone against each other. And so on.” (Peter Lukas about the entities)

#137 Nemesis - “Still, the anticlimax is fascinating. I can only assume they were supposed to be bombed at the height of the ritual - maybe by Japanese aircraft, maybe Allied, maybe both. I wonder what stopped it. A Japanese radar filled with spiderwebs, a US destroyer finding itself suddenly alone in the open ocean? Heh. We’ll probably never know.” (Gertrude about the Slaughter’s failed dance party)

#139 Chosen - Statement about Agnes, Hill Top Road related

#145 Infectious Doubts - “Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations.” (Gertrude about the ritual binding her and Agnes)

#146 Threshold - “There is something wrong with Hill Top Road. You know it as well as I do. Some strange scar on reality at the center of - whatever it is that the Spider is spinning.” (Helen about Hill Top Road) and “What a delightful thought. (short pause) I don’t believe so, no. But the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why?” (Helen about being controlled by the web to eat Marcus McKenzie (door guy)) Also throughout this episode Jon is wondering whether Annabelle is controlling him

#148 Extended Surveillance - “Or that we were being stalked by some freaky spider woman? Don’t tell me you didn’t know about that.” (Basira while beating up Elias) “Look, look - I’ve been doing this a long time now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Web, it’s that it plays its own game. All you can really do is hope it doesn’t get in the way of whatever your plan is. Because the Spider usually wins.” (Elias about the Web)

#150 Cul-de-Sac - “The Lonely is possibly the most insidious of the powers, I believe. Certainly it is the one that most delights and having you do its work for it, even the spiders seem to have a hard time matching it for sheer seductiveness.” (Jon about the Lonely). Also during this episode he and Melanie argue about whether her therapist is Web.

#157 Rotten Core - “Or Annabelle Cane is trying to manipulate me into thinking it’s one of the other scenarios. Previously, the spiders have made their presence clear when they’ve sent me… hints… but I can’t take that for granted.” (Jon about the Adelard statement left on his desk) (hey wait a minute if the statements refuse to record digitally how did Adelard send his on an e-mail-)

#160 The Eye Opens - “I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.” (Douchard about Jon)

#163 In the Trenches - Annabelle calls Martin, Martin doesn’t pick up

#164 The Sick Village - “That’s - weird; I - I know the Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t - see her. A, At all.” (Jon about Annabelle)

#166 The Worms - Annabelle calls Martin to neg him over the phone.

Why did I spend over an hour doing this? Hell if I know. Am I any closer to finding out what the spiders want? Nope. So they’ve been helping Jon figure stuff out and got him appointed to the Institute in the first place, presumably so Elias would carry out his ritual, but why if they’ve never attempted a ritual before? They can’t be happy being ruled over by the Eye. What does Annabelle want with Martin? What the hell is going on at Hill Top Road?? WHAT IS UP WITH JON’S LIGHTER?????

[notasmad]

Weavers

So I made a species that I love and I did a quick bullet point thing, feel free to make a Weaver! Share with me your creations! And I will answer any follow up questions about them!

• Beings that are spider like, 10 ft tall

• Upper body humanoid, 4 arms, bottom half of a spider, 8 legs

• Capable of a humanoid disguise, usually in coats and dresses that cover their body

• Consumption of dreams, human imagination

When times that these are scarce, they are also carnivorous. Meat will also sustain, but not as filling or satisfying

• Variety akin to the greek muses to lure and consume

• Capable of creating weaving silks and webs

• Solitary, territorial, violently so

• Egg laying, all are capable of laying and fertilizing the eggs, due to how dangerous and scarce their numbers were

• Lays several eggs, but in nature, few will reach adulthood, as other nearby adults will kill and consume the young, as they are potential territory threats

• Some, but not many cases, the parents have been the consumers

• Categorized by hunting tactic led to "subspecies" labeled via muse and subject:

• Uranians- use of the stars to hunt, dresses in constellations in their patterns

• Thalians- use comedic and simple tales, simple and joyous creatures

• Terpsicans- use of dance, their steps and dances are unparalleled

• Polyhymns- sacred and solemn poetry and pantomime, these tend to be a solemn folk, yet also found clowns?

• Melpomenians- Uses tragedies and sad songs, very morbid, not necessarily sad but outwardly seems so

• Euterpans- the musicians of the Weavers, their songs and music are always so strange

• Clians- tell tales of history, usually with something akin to a lyre

• Calliops- tellers of tales and of epic poetry. Poets and story weavers

[surreality51]

Guardian Meta: Love Song Edition

Can we talk about how the Guardian end credits song and the promo song are essentially love songs?

Disclaimer: In the great tradition of Western writers who think their opinion about things they have limited direct knowledge of matters, I’m about to screech about traditional Chinese views of love even though I am not from China nor do I know anyone who has lived in China past the age of 6. Everything I know about the matter comes from my Taiwan-born mother, whose relationship advice could be summed up as “never depend on a man.” You can guess what her love life has been like.

I’ve been listening to “Time Flight” and “Just Cared Too Much,” the promo song and end credits song from the Guardian drama respectively, on repeat lately and I just can’t get over how achingly romantic these two songs are. The opening theme song, “We Won’t Be Falling,” captures the can-do spirit of the SID team and the socialist brotherhood/power alliance between Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei that everyone associated with Guardian insists the show is really about, but the closing theme song and promo song will forever be the true songs for Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan to me and no one can convince me otherwise.

Just. look. at. these. fucking. lyrics:

*incoherent screeching*

It also doesn’t help that the official music video for “Time Flight/Flying Across Time” is nearly indistinguishable from the thousands of Weilan fanvids out there. 

I mean, the first shot of Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei has them framed with wedding decorations. The video editors were...not subtle.

In an attempt to organize my thoughts around this topic, I’m going to take a step back and look at how the song lyrics reflect a traditional Chinese approach to love and why it’s impossible to interpret the songs as anything other than love songs (unless you’re a Chinese censor, in which case, yes, these songs are totally about platonic friendship).

Stereotypical Eastern vs Western Approaches to Love

Let’s face it, the stereotypical Chinese approach to love is practical nearly to the point of being mercenary. The first question any parent asks when presented with an offspring’s potential suitor is, “What’s his job? What are his prospects? What do his parents do?” In other words, who gives a fuck about things like personality or compatibility or feelings. Romance doesn’t put food on the table.

The concept of falling in love with someone and choosing your own partner is relatively new in Chinese culture and maybe imported from the West (someone back me up/correct me here, I’m too lazy to Google this). According to family lore, my great grandmother and her generation (born 1890s Fujian province, married 1910s) followed traditional practices around dowry and matchmaking, where essentially your parents pick your partner based on family relationships and social standing within the community. You get limited say in the matter.

Western ideals around love, attraction, passion, compatibility, personality, courtship, and romance were traditionally not factors in a relationship, at least in the beginning. Instead, traditional Chinese ideals value steadfastness, stability, loyalty, partnership, duty, responsibility, and a love that grows over time. Whereas Western depictions of love in modern media often focus on explosive passion, magnetic attraction, wild declarations, daring courage, individual charisma, finding that spark, and, in more modern relationships, choosing someone who fulfills your personal/emotional needs or as an avenue for self-actualization, love in traditional Chinese culture is steady, humble, something that grows out of mutual striving, something that takes root deeply and quietly through the day to day, like two trees slowly growing together until they are entwined.

In the Guardian web novel, Zhao Yunlan’s father expresses the traditional view of love during his discussion with Zhao Yunlan about his relationship with Shen Wei:

“Perhaps one day, when your hormonal levels are back to normal, you will regret this decision.” Zhao’s father maintains a calm and stately tone, relaxing and not at all intimidating. It’s much easier to persuade someone this way; he says, “Passion is attractive; I’ve been young. I know that feeling. But I don’t agree with difficult love, do you know why?”

[…]

“Love is strong yet frail; perhaps in the face of adversity, it can rise up with great power, transcending into a sort of exemplary ardour, and that is why it’s been praised since ancient times. But you have to remember the saying: ‘It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out; it is the grain of sand in your shoe’.”

[…]

“Difficult love can be overcome with perseverance and grit. But love has to subside eventually, have you thought of that?”

—excerpt from chapter 74, RainbowSe7en translation

Again, modern Chinese relationships are very different, where the feelings of the two people involved often do outweigh the views of the family, and relationships are viewed more as individual choices made for personal reasons rather than collective decisions made for the well-being of the whole family. As Zhao Yunlan expresses, the modern view of love is intimate and personal:

“Dad, I know what you mean, but there is always someone in your life, it’s not because of attraction, allure, obsession, or mere lust; it’s if you don’t treat this person right, then you’d feel like a worthless prick.”

—excerpt from chapter 74, RainbowSe7en translation

But my point is that love in Chinese tradition stems from a different perspective. It’s a perspective that views feelings as fleeting, romance as a luxury. It values durability over passion. True love is something that can withstand separation, hardship, and the long march of time. It is built on a foundation of duty to one another, responsibility, patience, loyalty, sacrifice, and a depth of feeling that does not necessarily need to be showy or even stated aloud, but that can be felt intensely in one’s heart and seen in one’s actions.

Themes in Guardian Theme Songs

Given this perspective on love, it’s a no-brainer that Guardian’s theme songs are love songs, but let’s dive into the lyrics anyways.

Note: all lyric translations are based on the Orange Biscuit Subs translation.

Separation

Chinese folktales and mythology is littered with stories of tragic love and separation. It seems like the more tragic the love story, the more popular it is, and parents loooooooove to tell these tales to their kids. (WTF, China? No wonder Chinese dramas are so overdramatic.) One story that my family liked to tell for the Mid-Autumn Festival is the story of Hou Yi and Chang’e. We would stand outside in the backyard and look up at the harvest moon, and my mother would tell us the tale of how Chang’e sacrificed herself by swallowing the pill of immortality and floated up to the moon, where she lives forever alone, yearning for her husband Hou Yi on earth.

Another very well-known tale is the story of the cowherd and the weaver girl. Per Wikipedia:

The tale of the cowherd and the weaver girl is a love story between Zhinü (織女; the weaver girl, symbolizing the star Vega) and Niulang (牛郎; the cowherd, symbolizing the star Altair).[3] Their love was not allowed, thus they were banished to opposite sides of the Silver River (symbolizing the Milky Way).[3][4] Once a year, on the 7th day of the 7th lunar month, a flock of magpies would form a bridge to reunite the lovers for one day.[3]

Yep, separated lovers get to be together for one whole day of the year. This is peak Chinese RomanceTM.

Given this cultural context, the ending of Guardian, with its brief reunion and the promise between Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan to meet again in another life, is considered not only tragic, but could potentially be read as extremely romantic:

Their mutual pact to one day meet again echoes the themes of separation and reunion that form the backbone of so many Chinese love stories:

Then there’s the fact that “Time Flight” is playing in the background of this whole scene, which very unsubtly shows that the song is specifically written about the drama ending and about Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan. I mean, there’s dialogue in the scene that matches the lyrics for chrissakes:

Steadfastness, stability, loyalty, resoluteness

Related to the theme of separation, another favorite trope of Chinese romance is the steadfast lover who awaits news of her beloved (it’s usually the woman who does the waiting while the man rides off to war or whatnot) without losing hope. The chorus from “Time Flight” includes this concept of waiting for news while keeping the faith, but what’s really interesting to me is how things shift from the first chorus to the third.

In the first chorus (above), it’s Bai Yu singing the lines. In the second chorus, Bai Yu and Zhu Yilong share them. In the third closing chorus, they share the chorus again, but the lyrics change slightly:

We know that repetition and variation are significant in poetry and lyrics, so we need to pay attention to how this change affects the meaning of the song. I’d quibble with the translation just a bit, because there’s a difference between “deng yi ge xiao xi” vs “deng ni de xiao xi.” The former uses “yi ge,” which is generalized, i.e. “I’ve been here waiting for news.” The “from you” is implied but not stated explicitly. But in the third chorus, the lyrics change to “ni de,” which is explicit, i.e. “I’m waiting for your news.” It’s a lovely shift that makes a common romantic trope even more specific and personal.

The final line is also a shift, taking the last line of the chorus and changing it from “flying together” (yi qi = together / fei xing = flying) to “I remain in the same place.”

Those last few words deserve some unpacking, since video subtitles can’t fully capture all the context and implied meanings of such a dense language as Chinese. “Yuan di” is not just “same place,” but also “original place,” or “where I’ve been all along.” There are multiple ways to read this, from “Across time, I have remained in this spot unmoving, waiting for you,” which speaks to those themes of loyalty, hope, and steadfastness. Or “Across time, I have not gone anywhere, so you can always find me here,” which speaks to themes of hope for your loved one’s return and optimism about reuniting.

However you want to read that last line, you can’t ignore how it plays into the romantic trope of keeping the faith for your beloved and awaiting their return.

Words Unsaid

I didn’t notice until I started writing this giant brain dump of an essay that the first word here is “zao,” meaning “early.” So that chorus line could be interpreted as “Knowing from the start that we would be separated.” I just….can’t with these lyrics. 

Anyways, we know that what’s left unsaid is often more powerful than what’s been said aloud, and you can see it in these lyrics here. Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei never say “I love you,” but it’s implied in all of their actions and looks, and it’s one of the primary plot drivers of the ending of the Guardian drama. As @riceworkshop discussed in this fascinating meta on Dreamwidth, it’s the selfishness of that love and Shen Wei’s choice to essentially use his life force to heal Zhao Yunlan’s eyes—putting the individual before the whole, his feelings and needs before duty—that cripples him and leaves him an unequal match to Ye Zun. But their love remains unspoken, largely due to Chinese censorship but also partially due to the whole “two people from different worlds/this can only end in tragedy” thing.

In the novel, Shen Wei knows explicitly from the beginning that anything between them can’t last and will only lead to ruin. In the drama the situation is different, but he no doubt senses that their time is limited, given the clues about Ye Zun’s coming and the fact that he already lost Kunlun/Zhao Yunlan once. When it comes down to it, “Just Cared Too Much” is literally the crux of Shen Wei’s problem.

(It’s Zhao Yunlan’s problem too, because if he weren’t so in love with Shen Wei, then he wouldn’t have gone back in time and looked at young Shen Wei like this:

And like this:

And said things like this:

Which caused young Shen Wei to fall madly in love with him.)

In Conclusion

In conclusion, China loves tragic romance and keeping soulmates apart for shits and giggles, Guardian’s theme songs are love songs, and I have spent way too much time thinking about Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei’s stupid faces.

[b-does-the-write-thing]

Of Magic Things

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5,000

Summary: In Hyperion Heights, Detective Weaver has seen it all. That is, he thought he had until he meets the new witch in town. 

Notes:  My Second Submission for the Rumbelle Revelry 2017. 

Prompt used: Pale, Inexperienced Witch

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper. - WB Yeats

Detective Weaver was no stranger to weird. Every kind of grisly murder, inexplicable heists and unsolvable cases had crossed his desk, and through dumb luck and sheet determination, he had dug into the dirt of the city until he had unearthed his man. Quite literally in more than a few cases.

People went to great lengths to ignore the truth. The guy dead drunk at the bar at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday isn’t drunk, just dead. Zombies weren’t much for running after brains, most cases they just waited like vultures. The way too good to be true beauty from that dating site online who is seen on the arm of a John twice her age? Well, succubuses weren’t limited to just dreams these days.

In his time as a detective in Hyperion Heights, Weaver had seen it all.After thirty years in the force, he was the go to man for any of the shady things of which the regular beat cops did not want to comprehend much less handle. He worked the graveyard shift with a few other misfits, and if he knew more about the things that went bump in the night than any sane man should, well, better him than some of the other jokers running around this force.

A shadow approached his office door, and while he was used to people coming to him with cases, it was nearly three in the morning. Last he had checked, the entire bullpen had been empty with most of the beat cops patrolling the Crypts on the north side of town where the clubs were still open. The shadow lingered at his door for half a beat, before the door twisted open to reveal Rogers.

“Rookie,” Weaver groaned. “Thought I sent you home to get some sleep.”

The newly minted detective wrinkled his nose at the memory of his clear dismissal but Weaver ignored it to return to his paperwork. The kid had guts, he’d give him that. Weaver had fully intended to write the pretty boy detective off, when the kid had brought in one of the ghouls from the docks on one of the missing cases reports from the seventies. Weaver had been annoyed at himself for not putting the pieces together, not that it mattered, as the ghoul slipped out of custody before Rogers could so much as get a case put together. Weaver had taken pleasure in tracking the son of a bitch down and ending it’s afterlife once and for all, and if Rogers had a cold case file for the rest of his career, so be it.

Weaver had toyed with the idea of bringing Rogers into the fold, into telling him about the vampires that ran the Crypts, and how the blood red wine they were drinking wasn’t actually wine. Or that the motorcycle gang, The Pack, wasn’t just a group of drunken brutes, but the reason why Weaver had never missed working a single full moon in his thirty years on the job. The kid had a healthy distrust of the pale, morbid ghouls that ran the dock union already, but he didn’t seem to realize the rotting smell that followed them around wasn’t fish.

But Weaver hadn’t, for whatever reason, but it looked like Rogers had been digging in for his own. The other man ran his hand through his hair. “I did. I mean...I went down to the Crypts for a drink,” he grumbled and the stale smell of beer wafted over to Weaver. “I was driving around...killing time when I-  well you better come see for yourself.”

Rogers didn’t bother to wait for him, but retreated back into the bullpen. He left Weaver’s office door open, giving the grizzled detective little option but to get up and close it, which meant he might as well follow after the rookie. He stood and stretched, his back popping in a few more places than he’d like to admit, before he strolled out into the open fluorescent lighting, cramming his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the room.

Rogers hadn’t bothered to wait for him and disappeared into an interrogation room across the bullpen. Weaver cursed, wondering what kind of trouble the young man had gotten himself into now. The full moon wasn’t until next week, but if he had been down at the Crypts looking for something, there was no telling what kind of creature Rogers had stumbled upon.

Prepared for the worst, Weaver was visibly surprised when he opened the door to find Rogers sitting opposite a petite brunette. The woman raised her eyes to him in challenge, but they were not milky white or dilated with vertical pupils but bright blue. He quickly scanned her for webbed fingers, gills, or any other unusual tells but she mistook his gaze for leering and turned from him with a sneer.

“Thought you were getting someone who could help?” she demanded of Rogers. “Not your grandpa.”

“Weaver, this is Lacey French,” Rogers said with a nod towards what appeared to be a normal young woman. “I found her trying to break into the library.”

The woman groaned. “I wasn’t trying to break in,” she said, clearly not for the first time. “The door was open.”

Rogers cut a quick glance up at Weaver, to ensure he was paying attention. Satisfied he had Weaver’s full focus, Rogers continued. “Besides the fact that I know it’s been locked since it closed last month, what were you trying to do in a library after midnight on a Monday?”

The woman exhaled in what could almost be a laugh. “I wanted a good book to curl up with,” she said with a wink. Her blue sequined dress caught the lights overhead and scattered across her reflection in the two wall mirror behind her. Not a vampire or a ghost then, Weaver reasoned, though that didn’t rule out supernatural entirely.  He didn’t know what was exactly was going on, but Rogers wasn’t the kind to bring in a professional just for a power trip, which meant there was more than met the eye with Lacey French.

Already frustrated, Rogers opened his mouth to respond, but Weaver cut in.  “Look here, Miss,” Weaver said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You in some kind of trouble?”

The young woman gave him her full attention for the first time since he had entered the room. He could practically see her sizing him up and he had to temper down the corners of his mouth from grinning. A kindred spirit, his gut said, though his mind was quick to respond that she was half his age.  She gave a lazy grin and tilted her head so her hair fell over her right shoulder. “Well, that depends, detective,” she replied as a lazy smile drifted over her face. “What if I am? You going to help me?”

Rogers snorted. “Don’t bother,” he said with a knowing glance to Weaver. “That’s not going to work on-”

Grateful she had provided a clear out, Weaver smiled back. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he said as he slipped his leather jacket off. ““I’ll take it from here, Rogers,” Weaver said as he draped it over the chair before sitting down.

The rookie stared at him as if he had grown another head. Weaver ignored it, offering Lacey French a wink in Roger’s clear view. Lacey blinked, the slightest tell of surprise. She had expected more of Roger’s reaction, and was now possibly saddled with someone who would not only take her up on her ‘offer’ but had plans of their own. “But-”

“That’ll be all, Rogers,” Weaver said in clear dismissal and the younger detective’s jaw twitched.

“This is bulslhit,” Rogers growled but he left the room. Weaver had always been a decent judge of character and Rogers was no idiot. Even if he didn’t suspect Weaver’s plan, he would go into the viewing room regardless. For a rookie, the kid had good instincts.

Lacey watched all of this in interested silence but when the door closed, she turned back to Weaver with a knowing grin. “He like to watch?” she asked with a jerk of her head to the booth behind her.

Weaver didn’t take the bait or bother with the niceties. He dropped the dotard act and leaned back in his chair. “ So, what’s in the library?”

She went still as if she hadn’t heard him quite right. “What?”

“The library,” he repeated. “What’s in there?”

She recovered with a laugh. “Books probably,” she told him. “But like I told GQ earlier, I was just looking for a place to sleep.” She looked down at her hands where they rested on the table, and for a split second, her mask fell away and she was a tired young woman, lost and confused. “It’s cold out,” she said quietly and looked back up at him with eyes almost as blue as her dress. There were bags under them, as if she hadn’t slept much lately, but there was no tell tale signs of hunger or thirst. Judging by the scent of roses wafting from her hair, the expertly applied eyeliner and lipstick, and the designer dress, she wasn’t wanting.

He settled back in his chair. “Running?” he asked conversationally and she nodded, a little too eagerly. “Family? Boyfriend? Pimp?”

Whoever this Lacey was, she was terrible at hiding her emotions. A barrage of sadness, amusement and outrage flashed across her face as he rattled out possibilities. “Boyfriend,” she settled on with a glance over her shoulder at where Rogers was undoubtedly watching. “It’s not a crime, is it? To go into a library? Like I told GQ, the door was open.”

Weaver allowed himself a smile. “Not a crime, no,” he admitted. “Could probably get you on trespassing charges, but no one wants that.”

Lacey relaxed and smiled back at him, though her eyes were still sharp. “Well, if that’s it then,” she said as she began to rise from the table.

“Where you going?” Weaver asked and damn it, he was enjoying himself. Rogers was probably clawing at the glass in frustration, but Weaver knew Lacey’s type all too well. Hell, if he had been thirty years younger, her stubborn smirk would have had him wrapped around her little finger.

She shrugged. “I’ll manage,” she said. She was barely taller than five foot in her stocking feet, but the three inch platform heels she was wearing gave her a bit of an advantage.

“LIke you said, it’s cold out,” Weaver said. “Let us give you a lift somewhere. The shetler’s not far.”

“Ah, no thank you,” Lacey said and his smile grew larger while her own grew brittle.

“No?” he said and tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “Well, then how about a hotel?”

Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t appreciate your tone, detective.”

He held up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that,” he assured her with a self deprecating chuckle. Lacey faltered, but did not move to leave. “Just can’t have you going back to the library, now can we?”

“Detective Roger’s called the city to relock it,” Lacey said and in that instant, he had her. “We had to wait nearly an hour before someone deigned to get out of bed.”

“Oh?” he said with a nod. “Well, then, if there’s nothing we can do for you?”

She grinned. “No, detective,” she said. “I think you’ve done quite enough.”

--

Rogers was furious. “You let her go?” he demanded as he trailed behind Weaver through the precinct. “Do you have any idea-”

“Oh, I have plenty,” Weaver murmured over his shoulder as he jabbed at the down button on the elevator. It dinged and parted for them, and Rogers, too righteously incensed, followed Weaver into it without paying any attention.  

“I trailed her from the Crypts, all the way across the Troll Turnpike and into downtown,” Rogers said in one breath. “It’s barely thirty degrees out, and she’s not even shivering. Add the fact that she’s in those ridiculous excuses for footwear, and she breezes right over grates and gravel as if she’s walking on air.”

Weaver made a noncommittal noise as the doors opened and they stepped out into the garage. Weaver zipped up his own jacket, but Rogers didn’t seem to feel the bite of the sub basement temperatures.

“Then, she waltzes up to the library, at one in the morning, and tries the front door. It’s locked tight, and then she ...i don’t know tries it again and it just pops open. I mean, there was a padlock on it the size of my head, and I swore they had boarded it up, but no, she just breezes in there like she’s the librarian or some shit-”

Weaver never could remember where he parked. He fished his keys out of his pocket and pressed the lock button until his car beeped a few feet away. Rogers stilled, looking around for the first time with a frown. “Why are we in the garage?” he asked as he turned back to face the elevator.

“Get in,” Weaver said as he slid into the driver seat. Rogers went to argue but as the car roared to life, his words were lost in the engine’s noise. He folded his lanky frame into the ancient cadillac, and Weaver put it into drive.

“Where are we going?”

“The library,” Weaver said with a nod ahead of them. A flash of blue disappeared around the corner of Main Street. “Our friend, Miss Lacey French is about to show us what’s so important at our local library.”

--

At five forty five AM, Weaver and Rogers were amongst the dark stacks of the abandoned Hyperion Heights Public Library. They strained to hear the tapping of heels as Lacey moved assuredly through the pitch dark building. Rogers was uncharacteristically silent, seemingly letting Weaver take the lead on this. The rookie seemed to suspect or at least trust that Weaver knew what he was about, and was letting him take point.

As for Weaver, after watching Lacey run her fingers over the second padlock only for it to fall into her outstretched hand, his earlier suspicions were all but confirmed. Now, he just had to wait to see what she was up to. Beside him, Rogers was practically vibrating with curiosity, and when Lacey made a noise of triumph, Weaver had to hold up his hand to prevent the other man from darting forward. He put a finger to his lip to indicate silence and while Rogers hesitated, he nodded.

Weaver made another motion of his hand, indicating they should flank their target. Rogers moved off to the right, while Weaver slipped out and around. The rookie was new to town, and Weaver was willing to bet he had never stepped foot in the library. Rogers was about to find himself in a dead end maze of the children’s sections. It meant Weaver had at least two minutes.

He slipped into the next row, and sure enough, there she was. She had a book cradled in her hands, cracked open in her hand as she poured over it. So engrossed, she didn’t realize he was there until he was beside her. He got a look at the diagram of hexes and spells on the page before she snapped it close. He only barely got his hand around her wrist before she could cast whatever jinx she had on her tongue. “A witch, huh?” he said with a raised brow. “Can’t say we get too many of those in Hyperion Heights.”

Her mouth parted in a perfect o of horror. “I’m- I’m not-”

Weaver shook his head. “Not so much as a chill bump in this weather? Heels high enough to be considered torture devices and getting in locked buildings with ease? Hell, if the kid noticed, trust me, plenty of others will too.” He was careful to pitch his tone low, and sure enough, he could already hear Rogers approaching on the other side of the stacks. “Now, you and I can go somewhere and talk, or you can go back down to the station with him for trespassing. Not saying he won’t figure it out eventually, but he’ll book you this time, and you’ve got his curiosity piqued. Getting out of handcuffs and a locked jail cell with surveillance cameras every five feet is doable, but it ain’t easy.”

She sized him up, no doubt wondering if she could knock him out without drawing Rogers to them. Judging by her uncertainty, she wasn’t much beyond a novice. Powerful to be sure, judging by the innate magic she could do without ever flicking a finger, but untrained.  “Fine,” she sighed and Weaver relaxed.

“I’ll take the book,” he said as Roger’s grew nearer. Lacey went to argue but he gave her attire  a pointed look. “Where you going to hide it?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she murmured as she took a step closer but she let go of the book and he tucked it in the back of his pants. Flipping his jacket back over it, he took her by the arm. “Go out the back door and up three blocks to Spirit Street. The Carlyle is my building.” he slipped her his apartment key. “Apartment 112,” he said.

She nodded and with a wink, she was gone into the shadows. This time, her heels didn’t make so much as a squeak.

--

Weaver didn’t make it back to his place until nearly nine. He climbed the stairs slowly, every muscle protesting but he just gripped the coffee cups tighter as he trudged upwards. Rogers had been silent and tense on the drive back to the station. Rightfully suspecting Weaver of letting the suspect get away, Rogers had gone straight into the captain’s office and closed the door.

Minutes later, Weaver had been called on the carpet and did his usual song and dance. No, he had not let a suspect go. Yes, he understood the severity of this charge. Of course, the badge meant something and then the captain had sighed, noted Weaver’s impeccable case record, and to Roger’s horror, had dismissed them both.

“Kid’s going to get himself killed if he ever meets an actual crooked cop,” Weaver said under his breath as he arrived on his floor. Rogers did have excellent instincts, and he was proving much more determined than Weaver had given him credit, but in the long run, this wasn’t the case to let Rogers loose. Something about this was different, and Weaver despite himself was curious.

The door was unlocked, and when he let himself into his apartment, he tensed, awaiting whatever barrage waited for him in the shape of Lacey French. However, she kept surprising him. There was no one in his living room, and the apartment was quiet. He moved to his phone, preparing to make some calls to local connections when he saw her shoes beside the door.

He made his way into his apartment, noticing the small things that had been shifted. A purse was on the table, his newspaper folded as if someone had been reading it. There was a glass of water out on the kitchen counter and the bathroom fan was humming.

He made his way back to his bedroom, and stopped still in the doorframe. The only light in the room came from the window opposite the bed, and it streamed over his guest’s face where she was fast asleep. Her cocktail dress was hanging from the doorknob of the bathroom, and the smell of his aftershave was stronger than it should be at this hour. His mind could not supply the last time a woman had been in his bed, and he took a step backwards before stilling, not quite able to bring himself to wake her.

In this light, she looked peaceful, the suspicious gaze and weary lines wiped clean from her face. In their place, there was a softness, a beauty that invited him to remember a simpler time. Mercifully, someone slammed their door down the hall and she stirred. Weaver just managed to get himself in line, reminding himself that he was an old, worthless, bag of bones and didn’t have any right to be so much as thinking about her much less looking at her.

“Brought bagels and coffee,” he said as he made his way back into the kitchen. “You decent?”

The springs of his bed creaked and he had to put road blockers up in his mind to prevent any images from forming. “Never,” she said with a chuckle as she joined him.

Almost nervous to look at her, Weaver busied himself with his coffee as his guest helped herself to a bagel. Only when he caught a glimpse of his own college sweater and matching sweatpants did he relax. “You know it’s dangerous to let strangers in,” she said conversationally as she propped herself up on the kitchen counter. “I could have been an axe murderer.”

“You?” he chuckled. “An inexperienced witch who weighs maybe hundred pounds soaking wet?”

“Why, Detective, didn’t know you noticed” she chuckled and Weaver flushed at her innuendo.

“Your book,” he said and he held it up for her to see. “Want to tell me what’s so important about this that was worth breaking into the Hyperion Heights library at three in the morning?” She reached out for it but he pulled it away. “Look, French,” he said. “I’m not an idiot. I know a grimoire when I see one.” She wavered and the same uncertain expression he had seen earlier at the station returned. “Let’s start small. Where you from?”

“Avonlea,” she said in a low voice. “My father always told me I was different..but I didn’t realize he was right until about a year ago.” She looked down into her coffee. “Car accident. Car was totalled and Papa...he didn’t make it but I walked out without a scratch on me. EMTs said they had never seen anything like it.”

Weaver cleared his throat. He knew about loss, plenty about it, and while something about her made him want to put his hand on her shoulder, he didn’t trust that instinct so he simply said,  “That’s...rough..”

Lacey gave him a lopsided smirk as if she could sense his inner debate. Thankfully, she didn’t pursue it. “Yea, well, after that, things just kept happening. I moved around for awhile, town to town, met a few people, tried a few things.”

“What brought you here?”

She exhaled with a chuckle. “Not going to make this easy, are you?” At the shake of his head, she shrugged. “You hear things in certain circles. Most of the people I ran with weren’t...the real deal. A few were. Everytime Hyperion Heights came up, there was something...I don’t know...calling me here.” She shook her head with a sigh. “God, that doesn’t even make sense.”

Weaver didn’t tell her that it did make sense, more then she would know. He just nodded for her to continue. And she did. “I got here about a week ago.” She looked over at him, and he had the feeling she wasn’t sure why she was telling him all of this. “Met some interesting...folk at the Crypts. You know you got a hell of a vampire infestation here, don’t you?”

“That’s the least of it,” Weaver said with a shake of his head. “Real issue back in the eighties, before I wrangled an understanding between the clubs and the blood bank over on Second.”

Lacey’s eyebrows raised. “And the werewolves roaming the street?”

He shrugged. “I look the other way, take care of a few speeding tickets and assorted petty misdemeanors, and they stay holed up in their biker bar on full moons.”

Lacey whistled. “Interesting…” she said as if she was thinking to herself. “How does the Coven not know about you?”

His brow furrowed. “Coven?”

Another of her damnable, knowing mischievous smiles graced her face. “Oh? Finally something the great Detective Weaver doesn’t know?” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest. It was clear she was pulling his leg, and he found it unbalanced him far more than if she had been rubbing his nose in it.

“What coven?” he growled.

Lacey clicked her tongue. “Ever wonder why Hyperion Heights is a haven for all things creepy and crawly?”

“Nightly,” he said through gritted teeth. He belatedly realized he had crossed his arms over his chest as well, an exact mirror of Lacey’s stance and quickly dropped his arms back to his side.

“Witches,” Lacey said with a wink. “Some of the most powerful witches ever to walk this earth settled here after a pesky little misunderstanding in Salem. They founded this town; magic is in its DNA.”

Witches. He had ran into two or three in his work...one had been a grand larceny victim, one had a been a embezzlement suspect, and the other had been a witness to a homicide. All three had given him a bad taste in his mouth for varying reasons, but he had never found any connections between the three, or other of their kind. “How many?”

“Give or take...thirty? Forty? They keep the creatures in line for the most part, something about a pact between species.”

Weaver’s head was starting to hurt. HIs entire career had been built upon a lie. Somewhere in the shadows, a coven of witches had been watching while he had fumbled through the dark. “They’re not doing such a great job,” he grumbled. “Ten homicides last month alone, not to mention the missing persons reports-”

“I made some inquiries,” Lacey said as she slid off from the counter. “About you,” she added with a gesture around the apartment.

There was a tic jumping in his jaw. He hadn’t really expected her to come patiently wait for him at his apartment but he hadn’t suspected she would take the initiative to delve into his history.  “And?”

Lacey had the decency to look abashed. “Despite...your...history, you’ve earned a modicum of respect,” she admitted. “Enough that the Coven has looked the other way when you’ve...meddled.”

“Meddled?” he snapped. “Meddled? That’s rich coming from some sisterhood of hags-”

“Hey!”

“Who haven’t bothered to so much as dirty their hands with innocent blood!” Lacey paled and not having slept for nearly twenty four hours, he was unable to resist pressing his point. “I don’t know what they told you, Miss French, but the last time I checked, I’m the one out there making a difference. I been working here for thirty years and I have seen things that would make grown men weep.” He would know. He had shed tears over enough of them.

He hadn’t realized how close he had gotten, that he was looming until the Lacey held her hands up and they brushed his arm. “I’m sorry,” Lacey whispered, and he took a step backwards as the anger drained out of him.

“No, I…” he rubbed his face. “Don’t sleep much these days,” he said in lieu of an apology. Desperate to divert the conversation, he looked down at the book still in his hand. “So, what’s so special about this again?”

“You were right about it being a witch’s grimoire,” Lacey said and offered her hands again for him to put the book into. “But it’s specific to the witch...so you’ll just see static pages...here, I’ll show you.” He hesitated but she remained patient. “I’m not going to bite,” she promised.

He slowly handed it back over to her, and she immediately flipped it open. “Okay, see look,” she said and tilted the pages for him to better see. The same scrawled handwriting he had seen last night stared up at him, but there was something fluid about it, as if someone was writing it as they went. The diagrams and sketches seemed to twirl and spin, and things popped in and out of existence. “Hyperion Heights is one of the only places left for a witch to train,” Lacey told him as she continued to flip through the pages. “You have to pass...a few tests first,” she told him as she ran her fingers down the pages. It was a reverent gesture, one that was at odds with what he thought he knew about Lacey French. “Hence the  walk from the Crypts, the breaking in and entering, etc..”

“Did you pass?”

Weaver didn’t realize he had moved to stand beside Lacey until she looked up at him and her cheek brushed his shoulder. “Yea,” she said with a proud nod that made the tips of his fingers tingle with a need to reach up and run through her mussed hair just inches out of reach.

At these alien thoughts, he tensed and she mistook it. She snapped the book closed and handed it back over to him with a reassuring smile. “Property of Hyperion Heights, I believe,” she said with a wink.

He stared down at it, perplexed. “That’s it?” he asked as she made her way towards the bedroom. “All that for this and you’re just going to what- give it to me?”

She stopped and turned back to grace him with a full blown grin. “Oh, no detective, this is just the start,” she assured him. “The one who told me about Hyperion Heights told me I’d find my path here, my calling, and they were right.I know why I’m here now.”

He raised his brow. “To join the coven?” he said. At his clear trepidation, he swore her smile got bigger. Something warm started to circulate through his veins, some heady, reckless thing that did not bode well for his future sanity.

“Why, no,  Detective Weaver,” Lacey said. “I’m here to help you.”

--

I mean, how am I supposed to pass up Woven Lace? 

[didyousayfandom]

World Weaver

I gaze around the city,

noise and clamour bustling around;

All sides taken by the rush of humanity.

Yet off to one side sits a spider

pulling and threading his way through a web.

He settles down, forgotten in the hub.

The stamp of feet so near, yet never disturbing

his work as he settles to the task

of spinning, spinning,

spinning threads of gossamer

between his nimble fingers.

What would you you tell me, oh Web-Weaver?

What should you say to me

had I the time to settle beside you?

Would you tell the tales of history

the stories as cast and unending

as the threads you twist to shape

until a mantle ‘round you drapes?

What have you seen Web-Weaver?

Through eyes as cold as marbled glass.

What stories have you? To make men shiver,

Make them pant beneath the weight of ages past?

Could you tell of mankind's woes?

Or how so many fail to vanquish foes?

What can you see Web-Weaver?

Upon your nest of string.

Each line a link to some young dreamer,

each knot a story not yet put upon paper,

or a life not yet within their home.

All these possibilities, there encircling your throne.

Perhaps you spin not memories

but lives and tales left undiscovered.

A universe spun there oh so cleverly,

Each planet hung in a dance

as you pull and primp upon their orbits.

Every movement to meet a target.

But as I sit and ponder you

the bus goes quickly by.

Then too soon are the bits

of knowledge I have on tip of tongue

gone. They make room for petty sums,

for plans, for work, for the stress of days to come.

[moonblooch]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationship: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast

Characters: Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Jester (Critical Role), Fjord (Critical Role), Nott (Critical Role), Beauregard (Critical Role), Yasha (Critical Role), Caduceus Clay, Cree (Critical Role), Marion Lavorre | Ruby of the Sea

Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Mentions of Character Death, alternating pov, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, caleb's backstory, Descriptions of Anxiety, fluff in later chapters, Tags and Ratings may change, WIP, Sharing a Bed

Language:English

Molly escapes a second grave, but he can only outrun his past for so long. In an attempt to throw Cree off the scent again, he spins a story about leaving his old life behind and has to fake an engagement to provide proof.

Molly awoke the following morning to an empty bed and for a moment his heart sank. If Caleb had abandoned him now, or even if he had just passed out in a gutter somewhere, the con was up.

Deciding that at the very least he needed to find out which of these had happened, he swung his legs out of bed and nearly kicked Caleb in the face. He looked almost peaceful in the morning light which was just now beginning to crawl through the window. Molly let out a slow breath and gingerly stepped around him wincing when his bare foot touched a wet patch on the rug. Closer inspection revealed Caleb to be completely soaked, an unfortunate fact that thankfully eliminated the alternative sources of moisture which would have been significantly less pleasant to step in.

Wiping his feet on a dry bit of rug, Molly cast around for his boots. His eyes landed instead on a figure slumped over the tiny desk at one end of the room. Though to the undiscerning eye it may have appeared to be a sodden mass of feathers, to Molly this was unmistakably a friend.

Picking up the poker from beside the hearth, and standing well back, Molly tapped Yasha on the shoulder.

“Argh!”

She was on her feet in an instant, sword wheeling around her in a series of swift arcs. She came to a stop, breathing heavily.

“Well good morning to you too darling.” Molly said, setting the poker down again. “I hope you slept well; that desk doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Yasha’s face softened and the sword clattered to the floor.

“Molly?”

He spread his arms.

“In the flesh darling.”

Yasha surged forward and swept him into a crushing hug, pinning his arms to his sides. She shook as they stood, tears forming a damp patch on Molly’s shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s good to see you too dear.” He pried an arm loose to pat her on the back. “You’ve gotten faster since I last saw you.”

Yasha made a sound somewhere between a sob and a giggle, then pulled back to actually look at him.

“You’re alive.”

“So are you.” Molly inclined his head to her. “I’ll admit, I was worried when you weren’t with the others earlier. They told me that you got out but it’s good to see that for myself.”

“It’s good to see you also, I,” she stopped, considering her next words, “the last I saw of you was your grave. When Jester told me that you were back I did not believe her.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yesterday, I heard her voice in my head.”

Molly felt his face pulling into a grin. “Was her message as long winded as usual?”

“Longer.”

“Ha! Wonderful.”

“She mentioned some other things as well.” Yasha said, brow furrowed.

Molly felt a crawling feeling scurry up his spine. He had not been looking forward to this discussion, particularly since the plan managed to sound more stupid each time he actually said anything about it.

“I asked Caleb about it when I found him last night but he was not talking much.”

“I don’t imagine he would have been dear.” Molly replied. “Yesterday was rather tiring.”

Yasha nodded slowly.

“Okay. He said that I could stay in here tonight. If that’s weird I can go and we could talk downstairs.”

“Why would it be weird?”

“Well,” Yasha said looking supremely uncomfortable, “Jester said that you and Caleb were engaged.”

Molly coughed.

“Right, that. How much did Jester say about that exactly?”

“If I’m remembering it was something like,” she pitched her voice in an imitation of Jester, “’hello Yasha, I hope you’re doing okay. So you should know that Molly’s back and also him and Caleb are like kind of engaged but’ and then the message ended.”

“That sounds about right.” Molly said with a sigh. He was trying to articulate the plan in his mind in order to explain it to Yasha and once again only coming up with thoughts of how foolish the whole affair was. Maybe Caleb could help him explain.

“When did you bring him in?”

Yasha’s brow creased slightly as she appeared to be thinking for a moment.

“Two, maybe three hours ago? I lost track after I fell asleep.”

Molly wasn’t going to wake him up to help explain; he couldn’t remember Caleb ever being a morning person so he wouldn’t be much help yet.

“Very well my darling.” Molly said, pulling back slightly. “You’re probably going to want to sit back down for this.”

“That’s a lot.”

Molly nodded. Yasha had been, for the most part, silent throughout his tale; how he had stumbled away from the grave on the Glory Run Road until he had collapsed. How he had woken once again, mind foggy but just coherent enough to find the note and read it. This had been Yasha’s only interruption, a brief congratulations that he could now read. He had continued to explain the slow process of remembering, stumbling his way back to Zadash, and the series of monumental fuck ups that had led to his current circumstances.

“It certainly is.” He replied.

“And you didn’t just tell her the truth?”

“Because she has our blood and I don’t know how she’d react, but I’m working on that.” Molly lowered his voice, “yesterday I destroyed one of the phials she had. She doesn’t have Beau’s blood anymore. If I can get the rest of them then it will be safe to tell her, well, safer.”

Yasha shook her head.

“It’s too dangerous Molly. We don’t know the extent of her power.”

“But I’ve got a fairly solid idea –”

Molly was interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. He looked Yasha in the eye, raised his eyebrows and brought a finger to his lips. She nodded and placed one hand on the hilt of her sword. As quietly as she could manage, she positioned herself behind the door. Molly let their visitor wait for another moment before walking to the door.

“Molly! Caleb! I know you’re in here so open the door.” Jester’s voice pierced through the wood and Molly felt himself practically deflate as he reached for the latch.

“Seriously you guys if you don’t let me in I’ll use Thaumatergy, oh. Hi Molly!” Jester greeted him before bounding into the room.

“Why is Caleb on the floor?”

“Because I was studying spells last night and did not make it to bed.” Caleb replied, propping himself up on his elbows. Molly felt his tail stiffen at the thought that perhaps Caleb had been awake the whole time. He hadn’t exactly told Yasha anything he wasn’t comfortable sharing, but he would have preferred to tell the others at a different pace.

“Jester you seem to have missed one.” Caleb nodded his head towards Yasha.

“Who – Yasha!” Jester cried, flinging herself at the taller woman. Yasha returned the hug with a fond smile.

“It is good to see you Jester. Molly has been telling me some crazy things.”

“Oh my goodness, yes. You know how him and Caleb are, like, engaged now right?”

“To stop Cree from getting mad and using our blood against us, yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” Jester said waving a hand. She turned to Molly, shooting a quick glance between him and Caleb.

“So like, you guys were taking really long to so I had to make Cree think that you were having, like, the most crazy reunion sex ever.”

“You could have told her just about anything else, dear.” Molly found himself responding. There was no malice in it, at least he hoped there wasn’t, but their scheme had just got that little bit more complicated.

Jester ploughed on.

“So basically you need to look like that is what happened when you come down. I have my makeup with me if you think that would help.”

“Thank you liebling,” Caleb replied, “but it might be for the best if we can come up with something else. Something which will not come off if it rains again.”

“Speaking of rain, would you like to take Yasha down with you?” Molly asked.

Yasha walked to the window, opened it and swung a leg out.

“It’s probably best that it doesn’t look like I could have been with you.”

“Oh, I do not know about that,” Caleb said in a tired voice, finally pushing himself up from the floor, “a threesome sounds like pretty crazy reunion sex to me.”

Molly choked back a laugh. Best not to make too much noise, the last thing they needed was nosy neighbours.

Yasha actually grinned at Caleb’s remark, and gave them a slow, deliberate wink. Then she swung her other leg out of the window and disappeared from sight.

“You had better go downstairs Jester; if you are gone too long it may seem as if you were peeping.” Caleb suggested.

Jester nodded and bounded to the door.

“See you guys down there. Take as long as you need.”

She waved her fingers before disappearing from the doorway with a giggle. Molly found himself shaking his head with a smile. Weaver, he’d missed Jester.

“Any ideas?” he asked, turning to Caleb. “I’m sure that she’s going to give us some lofty expectations to live up to.”

“I could cast an illusion.” Caleb replied after a while. “It would not be ideal, but anything else; well, I would not want you to be uncomfortable.”

“That depends what it was you were going to suggest, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Let’s hear it.”

Caleb shook his head. “It was a stupid idea. Forget it.”

Molly folded his arms. It had been too long since he had participated in any ridiculousness.

“Mister Caleb, may I remind you of my last interaction with scrambled eggs? I’m certain there are stupider ideas out there.”

Caleb gave him a weak smile.

“Very well. I was going to suggest that you bite me.”

Molly very abruptly found himself possessed of a non-functioning brain. Oh sure, he had established that Caleb was off limits some time ago (something the conversation of the previous night had only affirmed), but the column of Caleb’s throat, currently bared for the world to see, was making a very convincing counter argument.

“If it is too much then I understand, but it would seem very possessive on your part, and would go with what Jester is no doubt telling the others as we speak.” Caleb stumbled on, oblivious to Molly’s momentary moral crisis. “That and it would show up well on my skin; it would be difficult for Cree to argue with something like that.”

“No, I agree.” Molly replied. This wasn’t going to get weird; he wasn’t going to let it. There was nothing strange about a bit of platonic biting among friends.

Molly prided himself on being a person with no shame.

That being said, the closest he would ever come to embarrassment was hearing Jester’s impression of what he and Caleb might have sounded like in bed.

He doubted the patrons of the Lavish Chateau were strangers to noises of pleasure; a fact which only made it more remarkable that Jester had managed to draw just about every eye in the room with her wailing. That and the fact that she currently looked like a member of the lizardfolk, which were rather uncommon on this side of the continent.

Caleb looked as if he would very much not like to enter the bar. Quite possibly because his scarf, which could have covered the blooming bruises on his neck, had remained in their room, making it quite obvious that it was them Jester was currently parodying.

“She needs to work on her accent.” Caleb murmured as a particularly impressive shriek flew through the air. “I do not sound like that.”

Molly bit his tongue in an attempt not to laugh. Caleb was fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot as if he was about to break into a sprint.

“We could leave, if you want.” He offered. “Disappear for a bit, let Cree think we’ve run off for a honeymoon somewhere. It’d give us a break from pretending.”

“Nein.” Caleb shook his head. “I would not want to leave the rest in this mess alone.”

Molly felt as though a particularly strong wind had just battered him from all sides. Prior to his death, he had heard Caleb muttering to himself, or perhaps to Frumpkin, of plans to leave. Even after Yasha, Jester and Fjord had gone, Caleb had been glancing at the road behind them with a certain amount of longing. The change wasn’t something Molly could say he was upset about; quite the opposite in fact, but he had to wonder what had caused it.

“Very well.” He offered Caleb his arm. “Shall we?”

The second they stepped through the door it was as if a mask had dropped over Caleb’s face. He stood tall, with a purpose that practically demanded those around him to comment, but only if they held no particular regard for the continued partnership of their limbs and their torso. Molly did his best to mirror this, clicking the heels of his boots against the floorboards just so. Few eyes left them until they had reached the table the others were gathered around.

“I hope we haven’t missed the whole show Jester.” Molly said, pulling up a chair. “From what I heard you hadn’t even got to the good part yet.”

Jester cackled and he took the opportunity to shoot Beau, who looked positively anaemic in that moment, a wink. She stood up and quietly excused herself and Molly’s tail coiled in delight. He leaned over to Caleb, keeping his eyes lidded as he whispered in his ear.

“Tell Beauregard she’s lost the game, won’t you dear?”

Caleb’s face flushed, as if Molly had just suggested something obscene, but he gave a small nod, drew a length of copper wire from his sleeve and wrapped it between his thumb and little finger.

“Mitteilung.” He whispered.

Taking that as a cue, Molly turned to Cree, who looked about as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Cree dear, how are you doing this fine morning?” he asked, trying his damndest to sound like someone who had gotten seven different kinds of laid the night prior. From the look on her face, it was working.

“Well, thank you Lucien.” She replied, toying with the buckle on the strap of her bag and very pointedly not looking him in the eye. “I hope you can excuse me but I will have to leave soon; I have business on behalf of our blue friend, er,” her eyes flicked to Jester, who currently had an improbably long tongue lolling from her mouth, “our other blue friend.”

“Yes, I seem to recall.” Molly replied. He was talking out of his arse of course; he remembered no such thing. “Well if you require any help from us do shout, I’m sure we’ll be in town for a little while yet. Until the wedding at least. That reminds me, Jester; when did you say the room would be available?”

“About three weeks I think.” She replied, tongue still trailing. “I can try and push it up if you guys want though.”

“Three weeks is perfect dear.” He turned back to Caleb. “What do you think love? We could turn it into a sort of pre-emptive honeymoon?”

“That sounds perfect mein licht.” Caleb gave him a soft smile before leaning into him and whispering; “Beau says that you can go fuck yourself, and that the victory does not count if Jester won it for you.”

“Darling, not in public!” he gasped, doing his best to sound utterly scandalised. “Not in present company at least.”

“It is nothing they have not heard before liebling.” Caleb replied with a smirk which should have been made illegal in the name of public decency, loosening his shirt collar with no apparent care for the fact that this unveiled the teeth-marks.

Molly looked away in an attempt to forget how Caleb’s pulse had fluttered under his tongue, taking the opportunity to sweep a quick glance around those gathered at their table. Cree looked as if she was about to bolt, which was good; the more uncomfortable she was the more she would avert her eyes and the more he could get away with. Caduceus was difficult to read but seemed to be taking the situation in stride, Fjord was sitting as if he’d had a sword shoved somewhere unmentionable. Jester was a lizard, but he got the strong impression that if her current form had had eyebrows they would have been waggling furiously.

One of Nott’s eyes was twitching. Molly decided to ask Caleb to explain before he had to spend any time alone with her.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

Yasha, the angel that she was, loomed over their table before anyone decided to comment.

“Yasha, darling!” Molly stood, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m so happy to see you’re alright.”

“Yes.” Yasha replied, clearly remembering that this was supposed to be her first time seeing him alive in months, bless her. “I’m glad to see that you made it back to us. I was hoping you’d do it again, but I couldn’t stand if you stayed there.”

Molly scrambled for words for a moment, but Caleb saved him any awkward spluttering by directing a question at Yasha himself.

“₰ʤƪζ ʤƪϣƍɮƍƏ ζⱴ Ƿⱴƻΰ ؿƍʢ? Ƿⱴƻ ƪΰƍ ₰ƪ ؿδ ٩ɮʢ ϗζΰƪɮʢƍ ؿǷ.”

“٩ ĕƪƻʢʤζ ϐǷϗƍ ؿǥ ⱴɮ ζʤƍ ₰٩ɮƏⱴ₰ϗ٩ ؿ ƪɮƏ ǥƍ ؿ.” Yasha replied, looking sheepish.

Caleb let out a bark of laughter, before continuing.

“₰ƍ ₰٩ﺉ ʢƍζ ζʤƪζ ﺉⱴⱴδƍƏ ƪζ ζʤƍɮ. ĕⱴƻﺉƏ Ƿⱴƻ ﺉⱴⱴϐ ⱴƻƍΰ ζʤƍ ĕƪζ ϣƍrϗⱴɮ ƪ ؏٩ζ ϣ ﺉƍƪϗƍ? ٩ ₰ⱴƻﺉƏ ﺉ٩δƍ ƪ ؏ΰƍƪδ ǥrΰⱴϐ ϣΰƍζƍɮƏ٩ɮʢ ζⱴ ؏ƍﺉⱴƻƍϗ٩ĕδ, ƪɮƏ ٩ ζʤ٩ɮδ ϗʤƍ ₰٩ﺉ ʢⱴ ٩ǥ Ƿⱴƻ ʢﺉⱴwƍΰ.”

“My angel, you know how hot and bothered you speaking Celestial gets me, but would you mind sticking to languages the rest of us can understand?” Molly interrupted their exchange. In reality hearing spoken Celestial made his eardrums itch uncontrollably, which was a shame since he had been told that it was a beautiful language. Yasha had informed him once that Infernal spoken casually (since Infernal insults tended to manifest more painfully) had a similar effect for her.

“Another thing to keep private then? Death has made you modest mien herz.” Caleb asked with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow. “I think I might like that, you know. That there are aspects of you which only I get to see.”

Molly felt something like electricity skitter from the tip of his tail to the base of his skull. He took a brief moment to thank the Moonweaver that Caleb was only acting, and that he had not used this kind of flirting for nefarious purposes yet.

Cree coughed.

“Yes, well I, I ought to be going. There’s a contact in the city that our mutual friend has been trying to get on our side for years. I’ve managed to book an appointment and I’d best not be late.” She excused herself, standing.

“Why don’t you take my seat?” she asked Yasha, leaving her chair pulled out. “Lucien, will you join me for dinner later? There are a few things I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course I will dear.” Molly responded, kicking himself for not being able to come up with an excuse faster. “I’d be very interested to hear about this friend of our mutual friend.”

Cree gave him a sharp nod, then turned to leave. She walked out of the bar with about the same speed that Beau had left the table with earlier. Molly tried to catch a look at her tail, to see if it could offer any insight into her thoughts. It appeared to be lashing back and forth, which didn’t tell him as much as he had hoped it would. She could have just been anxious about ensuring this new contact for the gentleman, and it wasn’t as if he could rely on tabaxis and tieflings to have the same tail language.

He sat back down as Yasha did, and as Caleb was leaning over to whisper something to Caduceus. A smile played on Caduceus’ lips as he replied in a murmur which made his already rumbling voice sound even more impressive. He waited for a break in their conversation before leaning in to the group once again.

“So, any suggestions going forward?” he asked the others. “Were we laying it on a bit thick, or should we turn it up a notch.”

“You were revolting.” Beau cut in, returning to the table with all the grace of an owlbear ballet, “but if you’re talking about the stuff with Caleb then more of the same should work.”

“I did not see much, but you did seem fairly ‘lovesick’ as Caleb put it.” Yasha said, accepting a plate of food which Fjord had shoved in her direction. “Maybe a bit more physical contact?”

Caleb brought up an arm to rest loosely across Molly’s shoulders. “Not a bad plan Yasha, something like this?”

“That might work, yes.”

“Not that you’ll need it whilst she’s gone.” Fjord suggested. “It can’t be comfortable keeping that up.”

“It is not, but we cannot eliminate the chance that there are others watching us. We cannot have Cree asking around and hearing that Mollymauk and I bolt apart the second she has gone. Obviously we do not have to be glued to each other, but when we are in the same room it would be better to keep up appearances.”

Damn. Caleb made a good point, but Molly could tell that this was going to get exhausting. And they had to do this for three weeks! He was going to go insane before a week and a half if they had to keep this up at all hours.

“Do we at least have something to do whilst we’re here?” he asked, hoping for an excuse to spend some time apart.

“Well there’s always wedding planning,” Jester began, only to be interrupted by a chorus of emphatic ‘no’s. “I’m serious you guys, if I get this right then the Traveller will give me some really cool new powers.”

“We can manage that as well Jester, but I don’t think that’ll take three weeks.” Fjord replied.

“We had an idea.” Nott spoke up, drawing every eye to her in the process. She had yet to activate any kind of magical disguise, leaving her with just the usual mask and the people around her to conceal her goblinoid appearance from strangers.

“Me and Caleb were talking the night before last, while the rest of you were finding clothes, and we thought, well,” she shifted in place, suddenly uncomfortable in the attention of the others, “we thought that we should get Jester un-banished.”

[spidersanonymous]

“Are you okay?” Caretaker asked with a frown, eyes looking over Whumpee’s small figure.

“What?” They laughed nervously, ceasing the fidgeting of their hands, “yeah, no, i’m okay, Caretaker.”

Caretaker hummed gently, eyes still full of that gentle concern.

Whumpee swallowed thickly, hoping desperately that the bruising over their neck wasn’t visible.

[katrandomtiger]

Patches of Stars

Read it on AO3

[First] [Second] [Epilogue]

Big thanks to @mercy-for-old-soldiers for inspiring me to write this. Go read their stuff, they’re super awesome.

Also @signedtimes for her unending enthusiasm. Thanks broski.

Here have the playlist I used.

The forest is dangerous place to get lost in. It holds dangers like poisonous bugs, tripping hazards, toxic plants, wild animals, and monsters that can rip your very soul from you once the sun goes down. So when Gabriel gets lost in forest after sunset it is no wonder he is a little panicked, but he learns over time that the only thing that was ever in danger was his own heart.

Warning: Contains mentions of torture and death. Also, slightly romanticized death.

(It’s actually supposed to be a cute fic you guys :/)

Act One:

The forest stood quiet save for the low hum of wind tumbling through the branches of the ancient oaks. The Moon sat proud on her black satin throne surrounded by an ensemble of twinkling lights as they watched the world below. They watched passively as the inhabitants of the world sleep through their reign until the sun came to retake his place in the heavens.

Legend says that one day the Moon decided to spy on the Sun so she took one of her most loyal subjects, an asteroid called Reinhardt, and cast him down to the world below. There he stayed and watched as the Sun chased the Moon across the horizon before settling into his golden throne.

Reinhardt explored the land under the cover of the trees, careful not to stray into the patches of light for fear that the Sun would destroy him. It took him many hours to find his way to the edge of the forest where he could view the town below whilst still remaining under the canopy of leaves. He watched in fascination as the townspeople hustled from place to place without fear of the Sun’s power.

Once night fell again Reinhardt rushed out to greet the Moon as she took her place in the sky. He told her stories of the town and how it’s people didn’t fear the Sun and how he hid under the cover of trees. The Moon was thrilled by his stories and commanded that he remained on Earth to collect more stories for her. Emboldened by his lady’s praise, Reinhardt continued to spy in the day and spin stories for the moon at night.

After a year, the Moon sent another to the Earth to help the ancient asteroid spy and collect. The newcomer was a star named Angela, a kind soul who wished nothing more than to study and help those around her. After a time, she began to approach the town at night without the consent of the Moon to speak with the people. While Reinhardt spun tales for the Moon, Angela began to learn about Earth’s inhabitants and even helped to heal them.

More time passed and the Sun was none the wiser to the trio’s dealings. Soon, the Moon began to send more and more of her court to the Earth so they could tell her more about the life and the mysteries it held. Everything went well until one day they were found.

Angela and Reinhardt watched the town as they had been for years when a little boy fell of his father’s cart and under the wheels. Angela stood before Reinhardt could react and flew to where the man was sobbing over his son. She gently took the boy from his father’s arms and cupped him in her hands were she gently healed him. His father was over joyed as she sat the boy down but before he could thank her the star was struck down by a fiery arrow.

All at once, the Court of the Night Sky was found out and shot down by the Sun. The people cried out as the forests burst into flames and the sky blazed gold. Come night there was nothing left of the trees or of the court that had once lived there. The Moon wept bitterly for months with what remained of her people. She flooded every river, every lake, and every coast as she wailed through the night.

After the third month, the people approached the Sun and begged him to make the Moon stop crying. He refused and told them she had betrayed him and must suffer for it. They continued to plead until he finally gave them his conditions. He would return the forest and the court but the court would be transformed into deadly creatures that could only inhabit the trees at night.

The people quickly agreed to his terms and the forests returned. Once night fell the Earth turned quietly as the Moon took her throne. Her light spilled through the tree leaves and the town held their breath as a tall figure appeared. The Moon gasped in delight as the figure stumbled to the edge of the tree line before stopping and raising its enormous hands.

The Moon let forth a broken cry as the creature looked up at her through tangled platinum locks with two pairs of dead black eyes and began to weave her light in its hands. Soon, dozens of other spindly creatures with oddly patterned skin appeared and began to spin the moonlight into thread. The Moon sat in quiet mortification as the monsters then began to weave an enormous structure out of the fine threads.

One of the townspeople ran out to the creatures and began to shout at them. The Moon and the town could only watch as one of the creatures bolted across the field to the man and pulled his soul from him before spinning it into a brilliant blue thread. The rest of the weaving monsters saw how bright the thread shown and started to approach the rest of the townspeople.

The group of people ran for their homes but only a fraction made it, those who survived hid until the Sun rose again. When the town exited their homes, they were releived to find the creatures and the structure gone but the clearing was strewn with bodies. Some were alive, most were not. When they questioned the Sun, he scoffed and told them that this was the price they agreed to and thus was the price they paid.

When night fell again the monsters where gone but the nest they had built reappeared, wrapped firmly between the trees and built like a funnel spider’s web. The Moon quietly watched over the town and over the monsters that roamed the forests and woods, building brilliant nests of threaded moonlight.

So came to be the Weavers.

MAMLMHMS

Gabriel was so fucked.

Not only had he managed to get himself lost in the forest but now the sun was starting to set. To say he was panicking would be the understatement of the century. A dust cloud trailed behind him as he sprinted through the trees, trying desperately to find the trail that had lead him into the forest in the first place. So far, he had managed to pass the same deer carcass about three times and he was sure that he was just getting himself more lost.

As the sun settled below the horizon, Gabriel let out defeated sigh and slowed to a walking pace. He needed to find shelter fast if he ever wanted to survive the night, Weavers would be appearing soon and the last thing he wanted was for his family to find his body out here.

Gabriel let out another sigh that morphed into a choked sob as he continued his trek.

MAMLMHMS

It was a very nice night, Jack decided as they slumped against the giant cottonwood tree that bordered their small clearing. Large white hands began to absently fiddle in their lap as the Moon crested the sky. The breeze was chilly, but not unpleasantly so, and the stars were bright tonight. The frogs that inhabited the nearby brook were chirping up a storm even as the owls began to gather.

Jack hummed an eerie tune that resonated through the trees before beginning to spin the moonlight that fell across his dark form. The strand of light curled slowly down from their hands until it pooled on the grass below. Their nest glowed gently across the clearing as the Weaver worked, the white walls softly lighting the clearing and its maker.

For hours, the Weaver sat under the cottonwood, spinning moonlight in silence until a bush near their web rustled. Curious, Jack watched with impassive black eyes as a softly glowing human stumbled out of the forest. It seemed tired, he noted as the being tripped over a tree root and fell face first into one of the bracers of the nest. Stifling a rumble of amusement, Jack rolled onto their knees and reached across the small clearing to gently pick the human out of the support before reclaiming their seat.

Jack delicately rolled the human over, considering whether to steal its glow. It groaned softly as they prodded at its stomach, intrigued by the reaction, Jack poked at its torso a few more times before the being swatted their finger away. Genuinely amused they decided to let it be and set the human into the rapidly growing pile of moonlight before continuing their spinning.

MAMLMHMS

Gabriel groaned as he awoke, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. He sat up slowly and opened his eyes only to find himself surrounded by a glowing white material, it was soft to the touch and held no weight. Gabriel smiled sleepily and shoved his face into the stuff before his memory caught up to him and he remembered where he was.

“Shit! Shit! Fuck!” Gabriel squawked as he scrambled out of the pile and hit the ground. He looked up, and to his horror, saw two sets of black eyes watching him struggle to untangle himself, “Holy shit.”

He froze as the Weaver rumbled and picked him up in one massive hand before bringing Gabe closer to its face. The moonlight reflected in its eyes and hundreds of twinkling, star-like dots decorated its molted body. A mess of white-gold hair sat ruffled over a large glowing blue scar that crossed the Weaver’s face.

In a way, it was beautiful.

“Please,” Gabriel squeaked.

“...”

Tears trailed down his cheeks as the Weaver moved him closer, he whispered his good-byes and regrets before he found himself being placed on the monster’s shoulder. Scrambling, he regained his balanced and latched onto the shoulder before the Weaver leaned back against the massive tree behind them and continued its work. Gabriel sat stunned.

“Why?” he tried, hoping for a response but knowing he wouldn’t get one. He resigned himself to his new position as a decoration and hoped the sun would come before the Weaver’s interest ran out.

“Jack”

Gabriel startled as the sound reverberated through the trees before looking over, “What?”

“…”

“Is that your name?” He tried again, this time earning a slight nod from the creature, “…my name is Gabriel.”

“Gabriel Reyes,” the Weaver confirmed, once more startling the human resting on their shoulder.

“How did-“

“The Moon knows,” the Weaver responded simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh…” Gabriel shifted uncomfortably in his spot, “Are you going to kill me?”

Jack shrugged, causing Gabe to fall against their neck. Gabriel began to straighten himself only to find a hand picking him up and placing him in front of the creature. The first rays of dawn were beginning to color the sky.

“If I let you go, will you come back?”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide with panic and he responded without thinking, “Y-yes.”

Jack nodded before standing. They stretched to an impossible height and then knelt before Gabe again, their eyes seemed to hold a new light, “Go”

Gabriel ran.

MAMLMHMS

Weeks went by after the Gabriel’s encounter with the Weaver named Jack. His family had been both relieved and pissed off when he got home, he received plenty of hugs and a firm scolding that morning. Mama had washed his face about three times before she left him alone again. Sombra and Leonora were just as bad and spent the entire day laying on him until papa made it home.

Life returned to normal for the Reyes household, though curfew was a little earlier than before, much to Sombra’s displeasure.

“Ma- “

“No”

“But mama- “

“No”

“You’re not even listening.”

“I don’t need to, you’re going to ask the same thing you do every night and the answer is no,” Mama stated firmly as she continued locking the doors and windows. Weavers were not known to break into houses but one could never be sure. Sombra pouted at the table across from where Gabriel sat immersed in his book.

“This is your fault,” she spit before jumping out of her chair and sprinting up the stairs.

“Sombra! Aye, that girl is going to be the death of me,” Mama groaned as she slowly sat in the newly vacated kitchen chair. She glanced over at her son who gave no indication that he had heard anything which usually meant he heard everything, “You feeling ok, Gabi?”

“Hm?”

“You look distracted, is everything ok?”

Gabriel sighed as he closed his book and turned to his mother. Her worried look just served to create more guilt in his chest, “No. Mama I-,” he took a steadying breath, “I messed up.”

“Oh, mijo, what happened?”

Gabriel shifted in his seat under his mother’s concerned gaze. He couldn’t just tell her that he promised to go back to visit a Weaver, she’d have a heart attack. Slowly he looked back up to meet her gaze.

“I lied about when I was out overnight,” his mother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I did get lost in the woods looking for Sombra’s doll. But I lied when I said I just hid in one of the tree hollows. I panicked and tried to find my way out but I just kept getting more and more lost,” Gabriel’s voice shook slightly as he remembered the desperation he felt.

“I saw a Weaver,” he finally said, his mother gasped and slid her hand across the table to hold his, “I tripped when I saw it and knocked myself out, when I woke up I was in-in somebody else’s bed. They saved me and took me to their house, his name was Jack.”

“Oh, Gabi, you should have told us, we- “

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Mama sighed and stood up to walk around the table, gently she took Gabriel’s hands and pulled him up, “Gabriel,” she pulled him into a hug. Gabriel may have stood nearly a foot over his mother but that didn’t stop him from burying his face into her shoulder. They stayed like that for a while before Gabriel finally stepped back.

“I promised that I would visit him again, he lives alone and I figured it would be the least I could do. The only problem is he works during the day so I would have to visit a night.”

Sandra looked up at her son, a soft smile crinkled her eyes, “Of course.”

MAMLMHMS

The forest was dull as ever, Jack decided as they reclined against the cottonwood tree. Summer was in full swing and life was flourishing in the forest, but it wasn’t the life they wanted to see. Jack looked to the sky, longing to ask the Moon where the human was but knew that she was growing annoyed with their incessant pestering. The void in their chest ached of a loneliness that they’d endured for so long.

A rustling in the bushes caught their attention once more as a darkly clad figure entered the clearing. Gabriel. Jack ceased spinning as the human carefully approached, joy rose in them as they reached out and poked the visitor in the stomach, earning a muffled ‘oof’.

“Uh…hi?” the human spoke, unsure of Jack’s intentions.

Jack responded by picking Gabriel up and setting him gently on their shoulder and nudging him against their neck. Gabriel tried to protest but Jack gave him a warning poke before relaxing against the cottonwood once more. The pair settled into a relatively comfortable silence.

After an hour, Gabriel started to ask questions that Jack was more than happy to demonstrate the answer to. It seemed to surprise him at first that they would actually put in the effort to answer but that just hardened Jack’s resolve to do what he could.

Too soon for Jack’s liking, the Sun began to retake his throne. Ever so gently Jack woke their human from where he had fallen asleep in the thread pile. They found the process of Gabriel waking up to be excessively adorable and they almost felt bad for waking their companion just to have him leave.

“If I let you go, will you come back?” they asked as Gabriel prepared to leave. Gabriel tensed where he stood but turned and nodded before exiting the clearing.

Jack vanished in the daylight with a lighter feeling in his chest.

MAMLMHMS

This ritual between the pair continued for weeks, Gabriel began to make his trips more frequent as he became comfortable with the giant creature. Nights were spent sitting on Jack’s shoulder or sitting on tree limbs watching them continue to add to the already enormous nest. Jack wasn’t much of a talker but that suited Gabe fine, he had plenty of stories to tell about his own adventures and his sisters.

“-And then, just when I thought we were safe, Sombra comes sprinting around the corner, knocks the box over, and shatters the plates. Mama was so mad when she found out, I thought she was going to shoot us,” Gabriel laughed from his perch in the cottonwood. Jack’s shoulders shook gently in amusement even as they continued to weave another moonlight thread into the webbing.

“Do you have any family, Jack?”

The Weaver paused his work and hesitantly shook his head. The nest seemed to dim slightly when Jack turned to Gabe and poked him gently.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Gabriel mumbled as he grabbed the offending finger, “I guess it was kind of a stupid question…”

Jack hummed lightly before picking the human out of the tree and setting him gently of the ground. Gabe huffed as he looked over and saw the sun cresting the horizon once more.

“Guess I have to go. I’ll see you in a couple days, yeah?” Jack gave him a strange look, “Wha- oh-oh, ok ask.”

Jack shook his head in amusement before crouching down, “If I let you go, will you come back?”

“Of course, see you soon, Jackie!”

MAMLMHMS

Jackie?

The Weaver watched Gabriel leave the clearing, stunned.

Jackie

They stood up slowly and watched the human run.

Jackie

Warmth blossomed in their core, causing the star patterns on them to shift into various shades of blue.

Jackie

The world grew larger.

MAMLMHMS

Gabriel’s next visit was delayed a few days because somebody decided to give him her flu. He was bedridden with said villain as their mother worried over them for hours, trying to bring down their fevers and force feeding them weird broths. By the time Gabriel was well enough to leave the house it had been nearly two weeks.

“Mama, I need to go.”

“You should wait another day, just to be safe.”

Gabriel stomped and huffed where he stood by the door, “Maaa,” he practically whined, “Jack’s probably worried about me.”

She sighed as Gabriel continued to fuss by the door. Sombra and Leonora sat at the top of the stairs giggling as their brother made an ass of himself.

“Fine, but I want you to go while it’s still light out. You’re not in any shape to protect yourself.”

“Yes, mama!” Gabriel said excitedly before scooping up his backpack and bolting out the door, just missing his mother’s exasperated sigh and Sombra’s indignant squawk.

The path to Jack’s clearing was starting to show signs of Gabriel’s frequent visits, the grass was browning and broken sticks had been forced deeper into the dirt. Trees on either side had arrows score into their bark that he had placed so he knew which way he was going. Gabriel crawled through the last bush and emerged into Jack’s clearing just as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

“Jack?” he called, “Jack are you here?”

The nest began to materialize in front of Gabriel as he carefully walked over to Jack’s tree. A breeze rustled the leaves gently, shaking a few loose enough to float down to the ground.

“Jack? I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. Sombra decided to get me sick… Jack, where are you?”

The clearing was empty save for himself and a lone possum. Gabriel set his bag down by the cottonwood and approached the nest, it glowed calmly, illuminating the surrounding trees.

“Jack?” Gabriel’s calls were borderline frantic as he paced the perimeter of the clearing, “JACKIE?”

A rustle caught Gabriel’s attention and he spun around to face the nest. A figure crept out from behind the construct. Blond hair, pale skin, a dusting of freckles, and vibrant blue eyes all wrapped in black clothing and a dark blue duster greeted Gabe. A smile graced the stranger’s face as they bolted towards Gabriel and wrapped their arms firmly around his neck.

“Who- Who the hell are you?!” Gabriel shouted, he struggled in the stranger’s grasp but was unable to dislodge them, “Where’s Jack?!”

After a minute, the stranger unwrapped their arms but moved their hands to firmly hold Gabriel’s face. They gently bumped their foreheads together and smiled brightly.

Gabriel gasped as he finally noticed the odd molt patterns that were barely visible on their skin, “Jack? I-is that you?”

An ethereal laugh wound through the trees as Jack pulled him back into a tight embrace. Gabriel scrambled to get his arms around the other’s chest and pulled them in close, a giggle broke through the silence as they rocked each other.

“I can’t believe- How-? What-?” Gabriel started to ramble, as usually Jack looked up and gave him their undivided attention, eyes crinkled in amusement as the human tried to voice his questions.

“I dunno,” Jack says with a shrug, the usual weight and echo that follows their voice was gone. Gabriel’s head snaps up, nearly smacking Jack in the nose, his eyes wide in awe of their voice.

“Wow…”

Jack giggles before releasing Gabe and dragging him to their usual spot by the cottonwood. There they collapse into a pile under the blanket that Gabriel kept in his pack and caught up on the happenings of the last few weeks.

MAMLMHMS

“So, Jack. Why are you building this?” Gabriel finally asked one day as they looped the moonlight tread around Jack’s nest. The work had become more difficult since the Weaver’s mysterious shape change. In fact, the being in question was hanging upside down eight feet from the ground from one of the thicker supports.

Jack paused a moment, “I don’t know. It’s just something I knew how to do when I was reformed and for the longest time that was all I had to do. Just an instinct.”

“Oh… Do you remember what you did before you were reformed?”

Jack sighed as they tucked the end of the thread around itself, satisfied with their work, they climbed up the support and onto the tree before jumping down to Gabriel. The pair sat down on the grass as Jack tried to find a place to start.

“Everything is kind of vague and fuzzy before this,” Jack finally said, “I know that I was a comet and one of the Moon’s favorite warriors but I don’t remember much of my life. I don’t remember why I’m down here or why I am like this.”

Sorrow flickered across Jack’s face causing something in Gabriel’s chest to twist. Suddenly he regretted asking.

“I do remember pain, so much pain, like being set on fire and then being dumped in a frozen river. I remember feeling broken and scared but I don’t know why. I remember screaming for someone, screaming their name until my voice gave out but they couldn’t hear me past the hundreds of other screams. We were all screaming for help, but for what I don’t know.”

“I remember flickering in and out of existence. The feeling of hollowness, of everything I was being ripped from my carcass. There was so much crying happening around me, I remember holding someone’s hand while they sobbed against me until we couldn’t muster the strength to feel, to think, to be. I remember how once everyone was silent we could hear Her crying. We failed, I don’t know what we failed but I know we were angry. Anger replaced our pain and our fear… We were betrayed.”

Jack was shaking, tears streamed down their face. Gabriel moved to wipe them away with his sleeve but instead found himself with his arms full of Weaver. Every so gently he carded his hand through the golden locks offered to him.

“I-I remember a flash of light. We were pulled back into existence in a field. She was there, the joy on her face pained us but the fear she showed hurt the worst. I remember the sudden need to collect, to fill the void that lay in our chests. We spun Her moonlight into a material we could use and built these nests to hold what we collected.”

“What did you collect,” Gabriel asked hesitantly, still curling his fingers through Jack’s hair, the silence was deafening.

“Souls, dreams, feelings, lives. We took whatever we could get our hands on. Humans are the best sources for them, you create such vibrant colors,” Jack paused to look up into Gabriel’s face with tearful eyes before dropping back onto his chest, “We thread them into the insides of our nests and create grand tapestries of feeling. The more we have the more in control we are of ourselves. The less pain and emptiness we feel.”

Gabriel tensed slightly under Jack and eyed the nest, “Is that why you didn’t kill me,” he whispered.

Jack nodded against his chest, their arms were carefully wound around Gabriel’s waist. They stayed intertwined like that until the sun rose.

MAMLMHMS

Gabriel didn’t return to the clearing for a couple weeks after Jack’s breakdown. What he’d been told was a lot to take in, the legend never mentioned the torture the celestial court endured. It hurt to think that only through the sacrifice of so many lives could he be around Jack, but it hurt worse to know the pain that Jack had endured for centuries.

Finally, Gabriel returned to the clearing, as soon as he passed the bushes he was immediately tackled by a very upset Weaver.

“Jack! What the hell?”

“I thought you left me,” Jack cried into his shoulder, the death grip he had on Gabe’s shirt ensured that he had no way to escape.

“No. No, I just-,” Gabriel sighed and returned the hug, Jack wormed his way in closer, “I just had a lot to think about, I wasn’t going to abandon you.”

Jack sniffled and looked up, they looked exhausted.

“Oh, Jackie,” Gabriel muttered, smoothing his hand over their pale gold locks. Jack slowly released him and stood up before offering their hand to him. The forest held its breath.

“I want to show you something.”

Gabriel looked at him bewildered even as he took the offered hand. Slowly, Jack guided him towards the nest and around to an opening he’d never seen before. Jack looked back at him with concern before guiding him inside.

It was breath taking.

The cavern was adorned with hundreds of softly glowing threads in nearly every color imaginable. Some hung freely from lines that crisscrossed the open ceiling of the tunnel-like structure, most others were woven into the walls. All of them were placed with purpose, creating a mural that told him the story of Jack.

Gabriel brushed the threads on the wall nearest him and they brightened softly under his touch. If he listened hard enough, he swore he could hear the distant sound of whispers and church bells playing through the tapestry.

“Wow,” he whispered, looking over to Jack who was awkwardly standing in the center, “It’s beautiful, Jackie.”

Jack smiled lightly, a blueish blush spread across his face like watercolor. The colors in the nest shifted in response and the blues and purples brightened. Gabriel laughed at the display, his eyes wide with awe.

It was perfect.

MAMLMHMS

“Mama has been grumpy lately, Sombra keeps trying her patience,” Gabriel grumbled. It was getting close to morning but he was trying to steal every minute he could with Jack.

“Why? What is she doing?” Jack asked quietly, their head was resting on Gabriel’s shoulder while they spun moonlight, their voice muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt.

“She keeps picking on Leonora, hiding her dolls and running off whenever she wants to play. It took me almost an hour yesterday to find her after she left Leo down by the brook.”

“It’s dangerous to wander the forest,” Jack said, looking up with concern.

“Yeah, but I mean, that’s how I found you so it’s not the most dangerous thing to do,” Gabriel responded smugly, his eyebrows raised when he saw Jack blush blue before burrowing their face deeper into his shoulder, “Jackie?”

Jack peeked at him before sitting up and facing Gabriel. Slowly they brought their hand to his face and cupped his jaw.

“Jack, wha-,“

Gabriel melted into the soft kiss being placed on his lips. Both of Jack’s hand were holding his face gently. His own hands found their way up to the lapels of Jack’s duster and pulled the Weaver in closer. Gabriel’s instincts told him this was wrong, it was deadly, but he didn’t care, his mind was solely on the being before him.

After a moment, they pulled away from each other. Jack brushed a thumb over Gabriel’s cheek, their eyes tender with adoration. The first rays of sun colored the sky purple as Gabriel pulled them back into another kiss.

“I need to go,” Gabriel said reluctantly after he stole a third kiss, it was nothing more than a brush of lips but it still made Jack blush. He stood to leave, as usual he turned to Jack, who was looking very flustered as they stood, and waited for them to ask him to come back but was met with a thoughtful look.

“Jack?”

“If I ask you to stay with me, will you stay forever?”

Jack stepped closer until their noses nearly touched, all sound in the forest ceased. Cobalt blue held walnut brown as the two stared at each other for seconds that seemed to span a lifetime.

“Jack, I-,” Gabriel choked, “I can’t. My family would worry and- and I- “

Jack raised a hand to cut him off, sadness was written in their eyes even as a smile graced their features. With a gently wave Jack sent him off into the night with something like guilt building in his heart.

MAMLMHMS

The kiss was never spoken of or repeated after that visit.

Life at home for Gabriel was getting rougher. Sombra had escalated her behavior and was now making life difficult for everyone. Mama was at her wits end and papa was about ready to snap. Tension was high in the house.

Meanwhile, it became the new ritual for Jack to ask him to stay every night and every time Gabriel had to decline. As time passed, Gabriel became more and more irritated with both the Weaver’s wishes and with his own family, he found himself snapping at Jack more often.

Jack, on the other hand, was looking more and more rundown with every passing visit. The light in their eyes faded, gold turned to white, and they became increasingly paler. Their voice, once deep and rich became barely a passing whisper, easily stolen away by the breeze that rustled the browning leaves of the cottonwood tree.

Whenever Gabriel confronted them on the subject, Jack would blame the changing seasons, saying the Earth had shifted and changed the sky. He didn’t buy that answer but there was nothing else he had to prove Jack was lying to him.

One day, after a quiet night of building, Jack turned to Gabriel who braced for the inevitable question.

“If I leave, will you miss me?”

“What?” Gabriel spat, taken aback by the question, anger stirred in him, “What the fuck do you mean?”

Jack’s eyes widened, their mouth opened to say something but was cut off before they could start.

“After all this talk of wanting me to stay, you’re leaving? You’re fucking leaving because I don’t want to stay out in the middle of nowhere with you,” Gabriel was livid, all the emotions he had bottled up, coupled with his exhaustion, were getting the better of him, “What part of ‘I have a family’ didn’t you understand? You know what? Fine. If you want to leave then go. I don’t care.”

Jack desperately grabbed for Gabriel’s arm as the other began to storm out of the clearing only to be pushed away, landing hard on the dirt.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, you heartless fucking monster!”

Gabriel froze as his words echoed through the trees, he looked down and his heart shattered when he realized what he had done.

Jack’s face held so much fear, confusion, and betrayal, gleaming silver tears pooled in their eyes before spilling down pale cheeks.

Gabriel turned and ran.

MAMLMHMS

Jack stood slowly in the clearing, watching as Gabriel tore through the bushes. Pain exploded in their chest forcing them to double over. Sobs wracked the poor Weaver’s body as the pain flared to the edges of being unbearable.

Heartbreak.

The Sun rose above the horizon as Jack rolled onto their side and became numb to the sharp pains.

“Gabi… I’m so-,” they trailed off as their body dissolved in the light.

I don’t know how you people write more than 2000 words in a story. This took me a month. I am dead.