[ The yank on his body as it goes from sprawling freefall to a slowed, placid descent is hell on his guts, which feel like they might burst from his abdomen in a shower of Alien-esque gore glory. That imagery does not help his stomach; groaning, Stiles forces himself to think of literally anything else as he floats back down to the ground. How about the fact that an actual elf is helping him? Or, at least, the man resembles an elf. If he’s not an elf, this vague fanboy crush that Stiles is already nursing is going to be real embarrassed with itself later. ]

Holy shit, [ he breathes as he nears the ground. ] Thank – oof!

[ Spider limbs just catch him before he can faceplant in the viscous, oozy remains of the worm beasts and their young. Eyes watering from the repugnant smell, he lets the extra appendages wheel him up into a standing position – and then, for the first time, takes inspiration from Doc Ock and allows the spider limbs to walk him around, his human feet hanging a foot over the puddled mess. ]

I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that on purpose. Thanks, dude. You, uh, you okay? It’s probably not a good idea to let that stuff dry on your skin.