hey. hehe hi. heheeHa. it’s the shamura lover
so i see a lot of fics where “insert character has nightmare and reader comforts them”, but i wanna see reader having a nightmare and (bishop) shamura comforts them!! again im soso happy ur back i LOVE YOUR FICS
Within Silk's Embrace (Shamura x Reader)
Breaking up the crk fics with a COTL fic! Hip hip hooray! Feels like forever since I've written a fic for the game... I miss it..
Notes: gn any creature reader, Bishop shamura, short and sweet, limited dialog, they let you talk about your nightmare while they work, you're basically a lap cat, not proof read we die like men, admins characterization may be a little rusty due to not playing the game in a while fuuuuuuuck i miss the game sm
Word count: 2.2k
CWs: none
It wasn't often that you struggled with sleep. While the outside of the temples walls were eerie— what with the seemingly endless caves and echos— the inner interior was cozy.
As cozy as Shamura's haunting taste in aesthetics could be, at least. Most of the inner halls were shrouded in darkness, only barely illuminated with the occasional glass lantern strung up high by strong threads of silk. Purple gems harvested from Anchordeep tossed shades of violet across the otherwise dark halls.
The other Bishop domains were lit up, even the main body of Anchordeep had it's own access to light despite being primarily under water. Most days the sun was strong enough to penetrate the waves of it's submerged territory.
Naturally Darkwood and Anura had no issue catching some sun; and both territories benefited from it for it's crops. Both domains would collapse without the sun.
But Silk Cradle hardly relied off of crops, not when most of its denizens fed off of a diet consisting primarily of meat. Anything that was needed— such as medicinal herbs— was provided by the other Bishops. Being a family had it's perks. Cotton was rarely a need, not when most in Silk Cradle spun their own threads.
Though no amount of leaning on one another could soothe the anxious feeling of being watched as you traversed Silk Cradle's winding caves. While it had been a while since the quivering mounds of web bundled bodies made the back of your throat catch, there was still something in the air that left your bones rattled.
Perhaps it was the air changing, or maybe the rumors of a woolen creature bathed in red had gotten under your skin.
Rumors, that's all it was.
But front facing eyes were all that you could see in the depths of your dreams as your sweat slicked body rolled across the luxurious sheets of your bed— your bed. Shamura, on the rare occasion they rested, much preferred suspending themselves in their silk far up off of the ground.
To be fair, your bed was more like a nest; there was no wooden frame. Just suspended webbing a few feet off of the ground, covered neatly with the best bedding Shamura could get their claws on. Blankets spun from their own silk, and cotton imported from the other Bishops— the rare exception where it was needed; stuffing for pillows.
Something so modest turned into something so warm. A failed symbol of comfort in the night as you awoke with a start; your sweat saturated the silk sheet that once draped over your back, the tight spun material almost shiny under the faint light of Shamura's lantern.
Most nights the spider would be off in their personal study, free to sift through their scrolls and scriptures with as much care as they'd like.
Your Bishop was the kindest out of the four, you liked to believe. They themselves had offered to remain in your shared chambers, you didn't even have to request them yourself. It was like they were already in your head, they knew you better than anyone ever did.
The recent nightmares weren't anything new. They had started to pick up in frequency after the execution of that scuffed up lamb three months ago. Maybe, it was between that and the rumors seeping in from Darkwood that had made you grow skittish.
And for what reason? To be afraid of a boogeyman that was founded in nothing? You were grown, there was no reason for you to humor such childish fibs.
And yet…
Your fingers still curled the edge of the your sheets, the bounce of your suspended bed long since tuned out as your feet swung over the edge of the web.
"Your Grace?"
Your voice sounded so small inside the chambers. It was small in comparison to most things regarding the Bishops— you were just a simple follower, body unmarked by change.
You've seen it, followers etched with jutting teeth and boils, blisters packed full with green ooze that looked like it burned the flesh when the skin burst. Some grew horns and spines— those who already had them simply… became more pronounced.
Surely you could be devoted without mutilating your form—
You were too soft for battle. Ironic given your Bishop once struck fear across the lands centuries ago.
They still did. They still conquered, but it was far less often than they once did. Shamura rarely left Silk Cradle; when they needed a word with their siblings they'd typically call for them themselves.
There was no need to repeat yourself, even if Shamura wasn't the most animated of creatures you had learned well enough how to read their body language.
They didn't answer at first, not verbally at least. The sharp legs of their bandaged head twitched towards you— not too different from a cat's ear flicking towards a disturbance.
When they did answer it was a simple chatter of their fangs.
"Aren't you coming to bed soon? The silks been colder without you," Not that Shamura put off all that much heat, "Surely curling over your scrolls like this isn't the best for you,"
But what did you know? You were simply a blip in Shamura's extensive light— they were a conduit of knowledge, a breathing archive of wisdom. They had seen better days but they were still a pillar of information prowling the depths of the caves.
The drag of Shamura's claw across the ancient pages of their leather bound book ceased. When they looked at you it was unblinking, steady as they studied you.
Your body was wrapped in your nightly robes, and they looked ready to deliver a sermon.
"You could not sleep again." It wasn't a question, but the statement didn't sound cold. The spider didn't hiss, but the click of their fangs hardly felt affectionate. Simple habit.
"I do not disturb you?"
You simply shook your head as your feet carried you closer into the dim purpled light of Shamura's tinted lantern. The stone floor was cold under your bare foot, like an electric shock with each step— winded up the back of your calf as you grew close enough to see the intricate woven details of the Bishop's robes. Hardly visible in the darkness, but you could still just barely see it in the light.
"No, no not at all. It's just another bad dream is all, nothing to worry about," You murmured.
The spider clicked their teeth once more, once— then a second time, before their fangs stilled under the candle light.
"You're shaking," Their voice hardly broke over a whisper, and when you shook your head they merely twisted in their seat to continue their stare down at you. "You are. I can smell it, the fear."
They didn't offer it, when their lower set of hands breached from the folds of their dark ceremonial robes— razor sharp claws catching the light like glass as they breached the gap between you and themselves.
They could pick you up like you were nothing more than a doll. They had the strength for that, everyone could come to such a conclusion even if they were somehow unaware of the Bishops feats throughout history. It came with the size, their digits could loop around your middle and still have some room to wiggle around your smaller form.
Shamura could squeeze you like a tick between their fingers should they ever felt like it. Not that they ever would, tonight was no exception as you allowed yourself to step forward into their awaiting grasp.
The build of their body was much harder and denser than the other arachnids in Silk Cradle, possibly tougher than any piece of iron that could be smelted down for a shield, strong enough to withstand any oncoming spear or sword sent their way. It was no wonder they had managed to live for so long, between their sheer durability and their intelligence. Their strength too, of course.
But to most their body hardly made for a comfortable nook to cozy up into during the night. Shamura was far from pillow soft, even where their exoskeleton opened just enough to reveal the gaps where each plate connected.
Nevertheless you scooted deeper into their lap as their lower set of hands held onto you, delicately enough as if you had been crafted from loose twine and ribbon. Not once did they squeeze themselves around you when the tips of their claws retreated from your small organs— instead opting to splay themselves across your front, nice and secure to keep you from falling back to the floor should you fall asleep within their hold.
You knew better than to beg them to come to bed; not out of fear of the God lashing out.
It could have been blasphemous to say it out loud— or at least a little rude— but Shamura could be labeled as a workaholic. Surely staying up into the late hours of the night was still a little detrimental even if the body hardly called for the need to rest?
"I'm not getting in the way, am I?" You asked softly as your own fingers grabbed onto one of Shamura's claws. They could skewer your head like an olive, if they weren't careful.
To think that there was a chance the Bishop was once a more reasonable size.
They never spoke much of their ascension, but they had left behind just enough for you to get a rough idea.
They used to be small, and it was so hard to believe— even now as they towered over nearly every living thing that walked the lands. To think the power of the crown could have done something so easily.
Shamura's claw twitched under your fingers, "Not at all."
Short.
Shamura was rarely ever for one for small talk and you had long since grown used to that.
But—
"What have you seen in your dream? I can feel it now, the slick. The shake. You're still shaking." Slow as the drag of their claw against their book continued on, all sets of eyes likely pulling across the old faded ink stretched across the yellowed pages.
A squirm— one that did nothing to stifle the sheepish embarrassment that overtook your previous fear. One unfounded and based only in hushed whispers throughout the cave— "I heard from Anura—" and "Well I heard this from Darkwood—", still all just gossip as far as you were aware.
"It's rather silly—" You started—
"I am listening."
You never knew Shamura to judge someone. Much less someone so close in their corner.
The spider said nothing as your other hand tugged their robe. Nor did they say anything as you turned it into your own personal blanket.
"I've been hearing whispers, during my walks outside the temple. There's rumors of a creature dressed in a red fleece prowling the outskirts of Darkwood, dead worms have been found and… ah, well…" You trailed off.
Oh yes, dead worms! How worrying. As if those were really anything to worry about.
But Shamura didn't shame you.
They never would.
"It's rather silly, but I just can't help but find it a bit worrying… It's probably nothing more than tall tales that spread around— the little ones in Bishop Leshy's swarm like to spread things around, they learned how to sow chaos from the best—" a laugh, but it fell flat.
Besides with it being so soon after the last lamb's execution? Of course a gaggle of bored children would come up with some elaborate ghost story, a vengeful spirit was the perfect material.
It was a while before Shamura spoke. Not that you thought they would respond; though that wasn't to say that you didn't think they were listening. Their claws twitched against you, hold growing snug as your back pressed into their cool chest. Their massive heart thumped against you like a war drum, strong enough to rock your entire body between themselves and their hand.
"I do not believe it to be silly."
There was nothing more to it. Just the sharp point of their claws rested right against your chest, your own heart beat joining theirs.
You never noticed, the way their pulse felt so slow compared to yours.
But it felt nice. When was the last time you had been so close to them?
Too long.
"If you insist… But, is it alright if I stay here like this? I'd really hate to get in the way of your work," You mumbled, fingers gliding across the woven texture of their robes.
"I have assured you, have I not? There is not a thing you can do to cause me any hindrance," Their hold against you shifted for a moment before stilling, "I would not have kept you so close otherwise."
A fair point. They weren't known to do anything off of a careless whim, Shamura always weighed everything before acting.
To think that your smaller form could cause them any actual discomfort, anyway.
But still, you couldn't help but linger on the way their hands cradled your smaller form; like a protective web to keep away any bad dreams that dared plague your slumber.
And it worked that night. Not once did you wake up again, not until it was time for the morning's sermon. Not until the slow drag of Shamura's claws off of your body roused you.