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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

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Nymrius

Rating: NSFW Length: 1546 Pairing: Male Drider x Male Reader (both cis)

Pure filth. *Blows kiss* For the spider lovers out there.

xxx

Hanging upside down from a thread of silk wasn’t the first thing I thought would happen on a weekend evening, but I would be lying if I said it was my first time. This instance was significantly less sexy, however, and I was sure the kind of eating that was planned wasn’t the pleasurable sort. “Getting desperate?” I asked, trying to ignore the pressure of the blood rushing to my head in favour of looking up at my captor.

“Shut up,” said the young drider who was dragging me up into his web, thin arms struggling with my weight. Driders always were on the delicate side, and I was anything but; I’d make a few meals for him yet, I reckoned.

“I might have the right to remain silent, but I lack the capacity,” I said, struggling to get a better view of my soon-to-be-murderer. “Afraid for my life and all. You understand.”

“I said, ‘be quiet’!” the drider snapped, though his voice trembled.

“‘Shut up’, actually,” I quipped, letting out an embarrassing squeak when I was heaved the rest of the way up in one unceremonious yank.

“Are all humans this odious?” the drider muttered, chest heaving almost as much as mine was.

“Only the ones who don’t want to die.”

“Well, neither do I,” the drider quavered, stubbornly beginning to wind me up in his silk. “I’m sorry, but I have to feed.”

“Couldn’t hunt something smaller?”

Acid yellow eyes narrowed in my direction, gleaming in the twilight. “If you must know, no. They were too quick for me.”

“You look much too old to be a helpless spiderling. What’s the matter? New management saw you as a threat?”

The drider bristled, hissing at me. “I should bite you just to silence you.”

“But you won’t,” I reasoned, “because you don’t have the venom for it. You’re not a hunter. You’re a weaver.”

“And just what gave you that idea?”

“You’re wasting your silk on me and crying. You’re no hunter.”

Thin hands scrambled up to wipe beneath the drider’s wide, shimmering eyes, his breaths hiccuping sharply in shock. He scowled at me thunderously, and if he’d had the venom, I’m sure he would have bitten me just as he’d threatened.

“Now what?” I asked, looking up into his face from my odd, twisted angle. “You’ve either got to kill me or wait for me to die. Do you have the stomach for either?”

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?” he waspishly replied, crossing his arms over his lithe chest. “Seeing as ‘management’ saw me as a threat for their precious offspring, I now have to fend for myself.”

“And you’ve up and managed to hunt yourself a hunter,” I laughed, helplessly amused. “Let me free and I’ll hunt you all the food you can fit in that pretty belly.” The drider flushed red at my words, which was both exactly what I was expecting and a pleasant surprise. “Oh, so it wasn’t your weaving that was a threat, but your appetite.”

“Bite your tongue!” hissed the drider, jabbing me painfully with one of his hard, slender legs. “What would you know of my ‘appetite’?”

I coughed the air back into my lungs, grinning widely; perhaps the blood rushing to my head was making me more reckless, or maybe it was my own appetite rearing up for one last hoorah before I was put out to pasture for good. Either way, I found myself saying, “Put your sweet cock in my mouth and find out.”

The drider squeaked. Mortified, no doubt, and by the looks of his shimmying against his webbing, aroused. Of course out of all the driders that could have caught me, I’d been caught by a prim and proper little beast.

“Come on,” I wheedled, going breathless at the prospect of what I was suggesting. “Give a man his dying wish to make a pretty thing like you come in his mouth.”

“Oh, gods,” whispered the drider, hiding his face in his hands as his thorax quivered. “It’s a trick. You’ll bite me.”

“Only if you want me to, sweetheart,” I purred, and delighted in the way he shivered from head to spinneret. “What have you got to lose? I’m dead anyway. I might as well rub myself off against this silk of yours before I go.”

The drider swore, eyeing me venomously and shifting closer with something between wariness and anticipation. “I’ll make your death painful if you hurt me,” he warned, and I nodded as he climbed over me, revealing a silvery-pink prick almost as long as my arm. My mouth watered as he pressed the slender, tapered tip to my lips, slipping my tongue out to taste him and groaning as his slickness coated the inside of my mouth with a gentle bittersweetness. He swore again above me as I took him into my mouth, sucking gently and pushing him against the insides of my cheeks as best I could.

“So good,” I whispered when I came up for air, wriggling my own erection up against my bindings as much as possible. “Look at you, so hard for me. Having me all tied up get to you, pretty boy? Like having the power?”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” the drider groaned, though judging by the way his prick twitched and throbbed, I’d hit the nail right on the head. I slipped my tongue into the little opening at the head of his cock and swirled it about, trying to hide my surprise at the way he cried out and ground down against the roof of my mouth. The next time, I applied a touch of teeth, nibbling at the opening and being rewarded by a healthy spurt of pre over my hungry tongue. We both moaned when I slurped him back into my mouth and lifted my head to have him grind against the back of my throat, his long, slender fingers spearing into my hair as he slid further and deeper into me.

Watching him was a madman’s wet dream. He bit at his fingers to quiet himself and gyrated his hips, rocking himself into my throat and teasing his body with his small, dexterous hands. Figures that I’d find a new passion on my last night on earth, but I was determined to see this whole thing through to the end, whatever end that may be. I redoubled my efforts and relished in his twitches and moans, losing myself to the breathless rhythm of riding him with my throat until he pulled away, leaving a string of pre and saliva joining my lips with his cock.

“What’re you doing?” I slurred, but he didn’t answer, instead moving around me and shifting me around until I was on my front, knees glued to my chest with silk and ass in the air. I twitched when I felt him cut away the silk and fabric of my trousers covering my aforementioned ass, then squeaked in my own right when I felt his cock grinding against my taint and balls. “Easy,” I gasped, cheek stuck to the silk beneath me. “Easy, baby, you haven’t even—“

“Hush,” the drider hissed, pushing insistently against my entrance and making a high noise of triumph when he made his way in, slick and persistent.

“Fuck,” I wheezed, tightening around him reflexively and finding that the intrusion barely bothered me more than my own fingers.

“Oh, I intend to,” the drider purred, pushing into me with tight, shallow thrusts that slicked up my insides and eased more of his dick inside me as he went. It was tapered at the end but broadened considerably as the length trailed on, and it wasn’t long before I was sobbing for mercy beneath my unruly lover. I was going to be gaping if I survived this, and I must have said so, because he laughed above me, grinding his thorax against my back and making me moan pitifully. “I’ve changed my mind about killing you,” he whispered as he fucked me, speaking between my wanton groans and the lewd noises coming from our slippery union.

“You might kill me yet,” I managed to choke out, though my traitorous body was already starting to push back against his cock, greedy for the fullness he offered. “Oh, fuck, at least tell me your name.”

“Nymrius,” he answered, soft and sibilant, and dug his nails into my skin when I echoed it a moment later when he thrust deep into my ass.

“Nymrius,” I said over and again, a prayer and a plea all at once. “Nymrius! Fuck me. Please fuck me. Not going anywhere. I’m yours. Trapped. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nymrius snarled, pistoning his hips into me hard enough to make me see stars, over and over again until I came hard enough that I wasn’t sure he hadn’t bitten me to make my insides liquid in the first place. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that,” he muttered somewhere above me after several moments spent catching our breaths, and I laughed.

“I’ll hunt you a damn bear if that’s what you want. Just don’t stop fucking me tonight.”

The drider sucked his teeth. “Are all humans this obnoxious?”

“Only the ones who want to live.”

#exophilia #exophilia fic #mlm exophilia #gay exophilia #monster x male reader #monster boyfriend #monster romance #drider boyfriend #drider #Nymrius #My work

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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There is a reason Yú Zǐyuān is called the Violet Spider. It skips Jiāng Yànlí, but Jiāng Chéng inherits her venom.

Jiang Cheng used to like the games he played with his mother. It was something they would do together, just her and him - no one else would understand, she always told him - and it made him feel special.

He would sit in her lap and watch as she wove silk thread between her long delicate fingers, mimicking the actions between his own still-pudgy ones; he tried very hard to remember the complex patterns she made, the way her hands moved, the way she pulled the silk tight at the end – snap, and whatever had wandered into her silken web was caught.

“Once something is in your hand, you don’t ever let it go,” she told him. “You inherited a soft heart, A-Cheng; it will only mislead you. If something is yours, keep it.”

Jiang Cheng should have listened to her better. Maybe if he had, he’d still have a mother, a father, a home, a brother…

She showed him other things, too. She taught him the sword, she taught him Zidian, she taught him – well, that was just for emergencies.

Or Wens.

Next time, he wouldn’t let them touch him, he would let them near him, he’d use everything his mother taught him instead of holding back out of some stupid fear – no, what was he talking about? There would never be a next time.

He wouldn’t let there be.

Sometimes he worried about it, though, especially recently. It’d never been a problem before, but nowadays he found that ted he golden core in his chest, the one Baoshan Sanren revived for him, had developed an odd tendency to ache whenever he used what his mother taught him.

He thought it might just be the leftover effects of bringing a golden core back from nothingness, some side effect, or maybe it was only that his mother’s cultivation and Baoshan Sanren’s didn’t quite mesh. Either way, he didn’t let it stop him from cultivating his mother’s techniques - instead, he suppressed his own core the way he would a foreign spirit, treated himself with calming melodies and soul-soothing rituals, and eventually the ache went away.

Most of the time, anyway.

Not always.

It came back when Jiang Cheng was fighting with Wei Wuxian again, arguing with him about Wen Ning – all the Wens – and the argument got heated, as it always did. Jiang Cheng shouted about promises Wei Wuxian had made to him, Wei Wuxian turned his face away coldly, as he never had before, Jiang Cheng was incensed and reached out to hit him in their usual roughhousing manner, raising his hand high –

“Don’t touch him,” Wen Qing said, voice harsh, and stepped forward; there were needles between her fingers, aimed at him, needles that could incapacitate him leave him helpless vulnerable prey –

Jiang Cheng flinched, and Wei Wuxian shouted; when Jiang Cheng opened his eyes again, the needles were on the ground and Wen Qing was holding her hand, the bite mark left by his canines on the palm of her hand already spreading, vivid purple visible under the skin as it spread through her veins.

“What the fuck,” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Jiang Cheng, you bit her, I can’t believe you bit her – Wen Qing, what’s wrong with your hand?”

“I’ve been poisoned,” she said, and tore off some of her sleeve to start wrapping it around her elbow. “It’s spreading, and virulently – we may need to amputate the arm, if it keeps going like this.”

“Neither a tourniquet or an amputation will help,” Jiang Cheng said, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d done it either, and he was a little embarrassed, actually. He hasn’t bitten anyone since he was four – well before Wei Wuxian had even joined their family, even. “It transmits through your meridians, not your blood; unless you break your own bones and cripple your cultivation, you can’t stop it.”

Wei Wuxian turned to him. “You brought poison?” he demanded. “Here? Why?!”

“I didn’t bring poison, it just is poison,” Jiang Cheng said, obscured offended for whatever reason. That was when he noticed that his golden core was hurting again, a reaction to the bite, and he pressed his hand to his dantian with a wince. “Besides, it won’t be fatal; it’s only a paralytic at this stage…stop acting like I did this to hurt you or something. She was the one who attacked me!”

“She was only trying to stop you from hitting me!”

“I’m not going to let a Wen take me down ever again,” Jiang Cheng snapped, impatient and hurt, always hurt. Everything Wei Wuxian said these days hurt. Why did he love these new brothers and sisters more than the ones he left behind without a second thought? What did they have that he didn’t? “And if you don’t understand that, I don’t understand you. Wei Wuxian, why are you behaving like this? Why have you changed, why have you –”

He grunted, doubled over. The core was burning again, sharp and painful. He would need to calm it again later.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asked, and there was something wrong with his voice. “What’s wrong with your dantian? Your golden core - what’s gone wrong?”

“It’s fine, nothing’s gone wrong,” Jiang Cheng said. He didn’t want Wei Wuxian to worry about it. After all, Wei Wuxian had been the one who’d thought of the way to fix him, had given him his name and sent him to his mother’s master in his place – it would be ungracious to mention to him the ways in which it didn’t quite work, a burden that Jiang Cheng would never put on his shoulders. Better that he think it all went well. “It’s nothing. Really. It’ll pass.”

“Something’s wrong with your golden core,” Wei Wuxian said again, his voice still twisted and choked, and there was white all around his eyes.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng insisted. “It’s just an automatic reaction, trying to help – it’s a side effect, I think. For some reason my golden core thinks I’ve been poisoned, stupid thing, and it’s trying to burn it out. As if a true-born child of Meishan Yu could be poisoned…”

“Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning shouted, looking terrified; Wen Qing had collapsed, purple in her veins all through her body, crawling up her face. Her eyes flickered from side to side, panicked, but nothing else moved.

It was pretty quick, actually. Jiang Cheng’s venom had clearly gotten much more effective since his childhood - he used to gnaw on his father’s leg for an entire incense stick and get no more than the smallest tremor in his fingers.

“Jiang Cheng, we’ll talk about your golden core later – and we need Wen Qing for that! You said she was just paralyzed, right?” Wei Wuxian asked, and Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes.

“Yes, it’s just paralysis,” he said, huffing in annoyance. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Wen whatever again! Did Wei Wuxian think of nothing else? “Normally this is when I would snap her neck with a silk thread – I’m not going to, don’t give me that look. I haven’t bitten anyone in years; it’s just for emergencies. I’m just saying, that’s the usual next step; it’s no fun if she dies from the poison directly.”

“No fun?!”

His mother had always told him that no one would understand their games, no one but them; even Jiang Yanli was her father’s daughter, a natural child of the Lotus Pier in a way he never seemed to match. He tried so hard to live up to the Jiang Sect ideals, but in the end, his personality was too much like his mother.

His blood, too.

“I mean, I guess I could kill her from the poison instead?” he said, rubbing the back of his head. He really didn’t understand Wei Wuxian’s frenzy. “Too much of it will stop her heart – I think. It’s been a while, like I said, and also - again, like I said - I don’t use it. Of course, I assume you’d rather I didn’t kill her at all. Even if it would make everyone better off.”

Wei Wuxian was glaring at him again, and Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and went over to Wen Qing, pulling out Sandu as he went.

“Jiang Cheng –”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, annoyed all over again that Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to trust him worth a damn anymore, whereas Wen Qing could come up right behind Jiang Cheng with needles that would paralyze him the way his venom had paralyzed her and Wei Wuxian would leap to her defense without hesitation. He put his sword at Wen Qing’s neck and wished for a moment, very hard, that he could just cut her head clean off.

He didn’t, though. The cut was light, placed right at the correct acupoint, and sluggish blood so dark a purple it was nearly black began to seep out.

“The venom will bleed out first,” he told Wen Ning, kneeling beside her. “Once the blood starts running red, bind up her neck so she doesn’t bleed to death. She’ll need to eat meat over the next few days if possible, or green plants if there isn’t any. Glutinous rice also helps, or so I’m told.”

That done, he turned back and walked over to Wei Wuxian, pulling him aside.

“Now, Wei Wuxian,” he said, crossing his arms and glaring. “Why don’t you tell me we need Wen Qing for a discussion about my golden core?”

“Why don’t we start by the fact that you apparently have venom in your teeth?”

“Venom sacs behind the teeth - I’ve chomped on you a dozen or more times over the years, and I never gave you a proper bite even once. Now stop avoiding the subject! You said we’d need Wen Qing. Tell me why.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #wei qing #wen ning #yu ziyuan #my fic #my fics #you just poisoned a person with your teeth shouts WWX #what like its hard says Jiang Cheng #Anonymous #normal for the spider

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wisdomrays · 4 years

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TAFAKKUR: Part 126

Spider Silks: Part 2

Analysis of silk

The silk itself is a material identified as a “scleroprotein.” When created in the glands it is a fluid; only when dragged outside the body does it solidify into thread. Once it was believed that contact with air produced the toughening, but it currently looks that the drawing-out activity alone is accountable for the change.

To carry out the exertion done by the glands, a spider is armed with spinnerets, usually six in number. These are as accommodating as fingers; they can be prolonged, compacted, and overall be applied like human hands. In the “spinning field,” where the spinnerets are congregated, single threads are joined into numerous compound threads, and some of the dehydrated threads may be covered with a gluey substance. Thus, a completed thread may be thin or thick, dry or sticky. It may also have the look of a bead-trimmed necklace. For the last kind, the spider spins rather unhurriedly and, drawing out the gluey thread, lets it go with a jolt. The liquid thus is organized in beads spread out lengthwise across the completed line.

The strand known as the dragline may be understood as a spider's “life line” because it performs as a lifeguard in all kinds of situations. The dragline goes along with the spider, no matter where or how far it journeys, winding out from spinnerets at the back of the body. It forms a portion of the building of webs, it grips its tiny builder firmly in problematic places, and it helps in absconding from adversaries. When a spider is inactive in a web, the dragline enables a rapid descent and escape. It allows energetic chasing spiders to jump from buildings, cliffs, or any tall position with absolute security.

Benefits of spider silk to us

The silk of the silkworm could be very profitable and marketable. There are, however, challenges. One is the changing thickness of a spider’s strand; the other is that it doesn’t well endure the interweaving process. Housing and feeding large numbers of silkworms is not difficult. But housing and feeding large numbers of spiders? There are enormous difficulties.

Native inhabitants of New Guinea have used spider silk in a variety of conditions. They make fishing nets, traps, and such objects as bags, headdresses that will keep away rain, and caps. These are not formed from single threads but from tangled, warped threads. The aboriginals of North Queensland, Australia, look to spiders for their angling supplies.

Spider silk has been valuable to the manufacturers of such complex instruments as astronomical telescopes, guns, and engineers’ levels. The threads, being exceedingly fine but nonetheless robust, are outstanding for sighting marks. Throughout the Second World War, there was a significant demand for spider thread for surveying and laboratory instruments. Black widow spiders were utilized for the manufacture of this silk.

One drawback to the use of spider silk in industry is that it might slump in a moist environment. To overcome this problem, strands of platinum or etching on glass plates take its place in such instruments as periscopes and bombsights.

Spider’s silk also might have healing properties. Due to its antibacterial properties and because the silk is abundant in vitamin K, it may be efficient at clotting blood. Because of the problems in obtaining and handling extensive amounts of spider silk, the largest known piece of cloth made of spider silk is an 11 by 4-foot (3.4 by 1.2 m) fabric made in Madagascar in 2009. Eighty-two persons labored for a period of four years to gather over one million golden orb spiders and extract silk from them.

Applications of spider silk

As mentioned, human beings have been using spider silk for thousands of years.

The manufacture of contemporary synthetic super-fibers such as Kevlar (bulletproof material) includes petrochemicals, which adds to pollution. Kevlar is also strained from concentrated sulphuric acid. In comparison, the manufacture of spider silk is totally ecologically sustainable. It is created by spiders at ambient temperature and pressure and is strained from water. Furthermore, silk is totally biodegradable. If the manufacture of spider silk ever becomes industrially practical, it could be a substitute for Kevlar and be used to create a varied extent of articles such as: bulletproof vests, wear-resistant lightweight clothing, ropes, nets, seat belts, parachutes, rust-free boards on motor vehicles or boats, biodegradable bottles, bandages, surgical thread, artificial tendons or ligaments, and backings for weak blood vessels.

Synthetic spider silk

Duplicating the multifaceted settings needed to make threads that are similar to spider silk has been difficult to both research and manufacture. Through genetic engineering, Escherichia coli bacteria, yeasts, plants, silkworms, and animals have been utilized to produce spider silk proteins. Yet, these synthetic threads have diverse, simpler features than those of a spider. Manmade spider silks have lesser and unsophisticated proteins than natural dragline silk, and have subsequently half the diameter, strength, and flexibility.

One tactic is to remove the spider silk gene and utilize additional life forms to generate the spider silk. Canadian biotechnology company Nexia effectively produced spider silk protein in transgenic goats that passed the gene for it; the milk made by the goats comprised noteworthy amounts of the protein: 1-2 grams of silk proteins per liter of milk. To make spider silk, Nexia utilized damp whirling and pressed the silk protein across minor extrusion cavities in order to mimic the performance of the spinneret, but this process was not adequate to duplicate the sturdier characteristics of innate spider silk.

In March 2010, investigators from the Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology was able to produce spider silk by means of the bacteria E. coli, altered with definite genes of the spider Nephila clavipes. This tactic removes the necessity of milking spiders.

It should be noted that the manufacture of spider silk is not easy and there are intrinsic difficulties. First of all, spiders cannot be cultivated like silkworms since they are flesh-eaters and will merely eat each other if in proximity to each other. The silk produced is very slight, so 400 spiders would be required to make only one square yard of cloth. The other problem is, silk also toughens when subjected to air, which makes working with it problematic.

A different tactic is to study how spiders whirl silk and then replicate this process to make artificial spider silk. The silk itself would also have to be synthetically produced. Chemical production of spider silk is not feasible at present due to the absence of information about the makeup of silk. Randolph V. Lewis, Professor of Molecular Biology at the University of Wyoming in Laramie, has introduced silk genes into Escherichia coli bacteria so that the recurring sections of spidroin 1 and spidroin 2 efficaciously come to form. Others theorize about the likely gene introduction into fungi and soya plants. It may also be possible to modify the silk genes for precise intentions.

Why a spider’s house is the frailest of houses

Spider silk is stronger than steel, but the Qur’an (29:41) states that the flimsiest of houses is the spider’s house. The per unit weight of the dragline silk of the golden orb spider is one of the world’s hardest fibers. Webs are combinations of many kinds of spider silk, all able to be produced by the same spider. The web radials are strong, but the somewhat feebler circumferential (quasi-circular concentric) fibers are flexible and gluey to absorb the energy of a flying insect and hold it in place. The strongest of all is the fiber, which the spider uses for transport, the dragline silk. In summary, the spider fabricates both sturdy as well as feeble fibers and the web it weaves to catch flying insects is weaker; this may be the reason why it is referred to in the Qur’an as the “frailest” of houses.

Conclusions

Scientists are foreseeing many potential uses for biosilk. Textile usages are noticeable one. The flexibility and potency of prevailing merchandises such as spandex and nylon have to be improved. Since it is lightweight, hardy and flexible, biosilk may also have uses in satellites and aircraft. More prominently, the new group of progressive things that spider silk investigation may cause has the prospective to alter our lives in innumerable manners that we can barely imagine. More than 72 years have passed since the inventions of Wallace and Carothers that gave the world nylon that led us into the age of polymers. Artificial spider silk may help produce super-performing clothes of the future. Earthquake resistant suspension bridges hung from cables of synthetic spider silk fibers may someday be a reality.

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

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Spider-Geddon #5 Thoughts

Very mixed feelings.

This issue is a difficult one to talk about, partially because there was simply SO MUCH in it and each piece has its own pros and cons. As such this is going to be a bit on the piecemeal side of things.

Let me get a general criticism out of the way. The constantly changing artists was very noticeable. However on the flipside each of the artists participating were very very good. So the art wasn’t consistent but it all looked lovely.

Additionally there was a fun sense of bombast and action to the comic book, it was everything and the kitchen sink but in a good way.

I also appreciate that Gage (and yes I’m 99% sure all of these were Gage) in a sense apologized for aspects of Spider-Verse Chief among them was the resurrection of MC2 Peter Parker, righting a wrong that should NEVER HAVE HAPPENED!!!!!!!!! But we also have the Engima Force being useful as compared to Spider-Verse where it was stupidly ineffective in a cheap attempt to build up Solus. Gage does a deft job of not exactly contradicting that but at the same time showcasing Captain Universe as a power player.

Now let’s talk about individual aspects of the book.

As I said the Captain Universe element was appreciated. I also liked that the Enigma Force didn’t automatically confer Miles as worthy which is appreciated as for several years now stories, creators and fans alike have been worshipping at his feet, often at the expense of Peter. Here Miles got the Enigma Force but only after talking it round and was conscious about doing something to render himself unworthy, whereas Peter was simply always worthy. It is also a great way to let Miles shine in a series which exists to promote/benefit from his movie at the time and which was supposed to be his vehicle first and foremost. On the flipside though the Enigma force being wary of the Spiders as unworthy because they let some people die is illogical. 616 Peter had made similar or more mistakes but was still worthy. Additionally Miles asking what worthy even means came off as Gage throwing some shade somehow. Finally I have mixed feelings on the Venom blast being as powerful as it was against Solus. On the one hand it’s the Venom blast again being a cheap OP ability Miles has but on the other hand even if it was toned down to be very reasonable the Enigma Force probably would amp it up and it wasn’t like it won the day. Over all this element of the story worked more than it failed.

What about Ben Reilly? Well again I think this was Gage apologizing for Clone Conspiracy, though this is rather strange. Ben throughout the story seemed normal enough so what does ‘factory settings’ mean exactly? I guess the idea is that Ben is now...redeemed? Maybe? It’s very under developed and more problematically there is little acknowledgment of his and Peter’s relationship when that should be a big deal if they meet face to face. This is the first time they have seen one another since Clone Conspiracy after all. I get this isn’t a Peter centric event but then don’t have them meet up.

Speaking of Peter, I didn’t like how it was Gwen leading the charge instead of him. Whilst the letter’s pages claim this event was to highlight non-Peter Spider Heroes the event really wasn’t about Gwen. She disappeared by issue #2, so if she gets prestige via her tie-in books shouldn’t Peter too? More prestige in fact given how he both beat the main villain of the original story (for the third time) and you know...is the real Spider-Man? Speaking of which the shot of the NINE Spider-Heroes from Earth 616 really just said it all to me. There are too many in the same universe and it is ridiculous. Especially when you consider Venom, Madame Web, Doppelganger and other probable candidates were excluded. I mean as of this writing we know 2099 is coming back to the present and Spider-Gwen will be coming to 616 too!

Of those 616 Spider-Heroes Spider-Man 2099 and Silk were present...where the fuck were they during the rest of this story. Silk maybe had a line or two, 2099 I don’t recall right now seeing him before this damn issue? Oh well, at least they addressed Kaine’s fate and made it clear he was still on Earth 616.

Keeping with Earth 616 lets talk about Otto. Think issue was consistent in basically kissing his ass. He was the main driver for the resolution to the story, he came up with the plan to fix everything and dammit it was a good plan; as was tricking Jennix. I hate saying that because Superior is a colossal douchebag of a character and I don’t care what happened here or in ASM #800, Peter shouldn’t give him free reign. He joined fucking HYDRA!

However I must admit I did enjoy his interactions with the Gamerverse Spider-Man as it bookended the event rather nicely going back to issue #0.

Before I move onto more interesting characters we must address very briefly Spider-Gwen. The origin of her new codename was eye roll worthy and the brief dialogue saying she can transverse dimensions now was out of nowhere. It was underexplained for someone like me who was not reading her tie-in series, and frankly I shouldn’t HAVE to read a tie in to get pertinent information when I’ve already paid $5.00. That’s about it.

Let’s talk briefly about the Spider-Girls. I’ve already lauded MC2 Peter’s return, but it was also nice to see Mayday get a lick in on Daemos. Too bad it was for exactly one goddam panel. We got more resolution from her fighting an illusion Daemos in the Spider Island mini-series! The Spider-Girls basically going all Morphin Time was cheesy and yet I loved it. However it was yet more BS dues ex machina crap from the end of Spider-Girls. It makes me hate the ending of that series even more now, especially since it amounted to so little here. However I did like the over all dynamics with the RYV crew and Mayday, what little there was in the story.

Now let’s talk about the Inheritors. They also represent a mixed bag. They continued to be aggressively bland characters right up until the end, but their ultimate defeat was a good compromise to beating them without killing them. That being said I appreciated that Gage had characters acknowledge how wrong it felt to be in the act seemingly killing them. Speaking of that resolution it was perhaps the biggest mixed bag of the whole issue.

On the one hand the reveal that the Inheritors never actually had to consume totemetic essences is disgustingly convenient to the point of being contrived and trite. On the other hand though it does wipe every Inheritor off the board with the possible exception of Morlun, allowing the possibility for him as the most famous and ‘popular’ Inheritor to return in future stories if needs be whilst the obviously shitter characters get hand waved out of the series.

Finally Spider-Norman’s plot thread goes completely unresolved. He was seriously underutilized in this story and even his machinations didn’t amount to all that much in the story. It’s just set up for something else, and I pray that something else is just a storyline in Superior Spider-Man and not another goddam event, let alone Spider-Verse 3.

Over all this issue had more I enjoyed than disliked I must admit (maybe that was the lovely looking art though) but the series as a whole was all over the place and mostly bad.

Gee I wonder if that one Ghost-Spider Issue I have left to read will change my over all feelings on this event...

...Regardless I would recommend you give this a read anyway, if for no other reason than the satisfaction of seeing MC2 Peter come back.

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dryad-of-the-dogwood · 5 years

Text

Happy Friday, and happy first A Thread of Fate update of the new year! Chapter 27 is ready to view!

Chapter 27: Eyes in the Dark

Fanning is barely large enough to even be called a village, which if I had to guess is probably why I hadn’t heard of it before now. Velanna describing it as a “mining village” also seems a little… optimistic, to say the least. From what I’ve gathered from the one farmer willing to talk to us, it was more of a forced labor camp during the Orlesian occupation and the mine has stood abandoned ever since. It’s only recently that the local bann had the idea to reopen the mine, and the villagers started to find signs of the darkspawn taint and what the farmer describes only as “eyes in the dark.”

“I have to admit, I didn’t miss this part of being a Warden,” I mutter as we head underground.

“What did you miss, exactly?” Velanna wonders idly as she examines a wall of the mine in the green light from her staff. “All the best parts stick with you, I imagine—or do you not still dream of the horde on feather beds and silk pillows?”

“It gets a little better the farther you are from them,” I admit. “Sadly I’ve yet to find the specific golden embroidery pattern that blocks them out completely.”

Nathaniel snickers, then turns it into a cough. I assume he’s made up his mind not to like me already, and doesn’t want to jeopardize that by admitting I’m hilarious. And after I kept him from taking a throwing knife between the eyes or the ribs only yesterday, too. I really will never understand nobility.

Another few minutes of walking, and I stop them both with my torch thrust out to one side. “Do you feel that?” I whisper, and when they both look at me blankly, I shake my head and check again that I’m not crazy. There’s definitely something at the edge of my awareness, something blighted but too far for me to get a good idea what it is.

“The villagers were right,” I decide, pulling my shield off my back just in case. Velanna’s a mage and Nathaniel an archer, so I step forward to take point, carrying the torch at the ready like a sword. Darkspawn aren’t the biggest fans of fire, so it should make a good enough offensive surprise until I can draw my blade.

After a moment, I can hear Nathaniel and Velanna start muttering behind me, but I pay them no mind. Darkspawn senses don’t get rusty; as far as I’ve seen, they only get more refined. If they can’t feel whatever it is down there in the dark, it’s because their senses are undeveloped, not because mine are wrong.

Maker, I hope it isn’t a ogre.

The other two fall silent after a while, and I can only assume that means we’re getting close enough for them to feel it too. But the closer we get, the more confused I am. Whatever it is seems… vague? Not as clearly identifiable as a genlock or even an ogre, but definitely something corrupted. Sometimes I swear it even bubbles and separates and…

“Maker’s blood,” I groan as the realization hits me. “It’s blighted spiders.”

Nathaniel shoots me a look somewhere between confused and disdainful. “Are you trying to tell me we’re in a mine and you just remembered you’re afraid of spiders?”

“Wh—no!” I sputter in disbelief. “I’m saying what we’re sensing down there is spiders!”

Velanna too just looks at me like she thinks I’ve hit my head on something. “Are… you saying they put spider ichor in your Joining chalice, or that you were bitten by a particularly intelligent one and now—”

“Oh for the love of Andraste, no! I’m saying it’s actual, blighted-by-the-darkspawn-corruption giant spiders! Like in Ortan Thaig!”

Velanna and Nathaniel exchange looks, and he says slowly, “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been to Ortan Thaig,” I mutter. “They eat darkspawn that wander too far from the horde. They’re twice as big and five times as venomous. Oh, and they spit acid.”

“Lovely,” Velanna sighs, conjuring a ball of flame in her palm in addition to the light on her staff.

But it’s still a long way down, and before long she lets the flame flicker out to conserve mana. I’m not sure if trekking through the dark knowing you’re looking for giant, corrupted spiders is better or worse than not knowing, but by the time we make it down the last shaft and the ichor and webs start coating the cave walls, I like to think we would have figured it out anyway.

Then the glowing eyes start blinking at us from the darkness, and I see exactly what the farmer meant. It’s creepy, sets of eight eyes peering out of the shadows and then skittering away, even knowing what they are. Maybe especially knowing what they are.

“I don’t think there’s a queen,” I decide, though I’m not quite ready to feel relieved just yet. “So they must have come up from deeper underground, looking for food. But I count… fifteen.”

“Oh good, so it’s only five to one odds,” Nathaniel snarks, and Velanna smirks at him.

“What was it you were you saying yesterday, about how any recruit could handle this mission?”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to thank Emile for his foresight if we aren’t spider chow by the end of the day.”

“They’re circling,” I interrupt, turning with the torch to illuminate the shadows to Velanna’s right. Eighteen eyes glow in the firefight and then sink back into the darkness. “They’ll swarm, if you let them. Whatever you do, don’t let them knock you on your back.”

“So like wolves,” Nathaniel reasons, turning with his own torch to cover Velanna from the other side. “Huge wolves with eight legs and venom.”

“And acid spit,” I remind him.

“Right, who could forget about the acid spit?”

“Just stay still,” Velanna says quietly, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t charge in like a fool and—”

“Down!” I order, leaping back to the left. There’s a wet thunk and a hissing sound as acid drips off my shield. Only the hissing doesn’t stop, and now seems to be coming from all around us.

“I think you’ve made them angry,” Velanna says rather blandly for someone that almost just had her face melted off. And sure enough, the hissing turns into the clicking of far too many pincers, and then it’s like the dark starts to move toward us, the firefight glistening off of hairy black carapaces and hungry eyes.

Before I can move again, an explosion of flame bursts to life in the middle of the largest group, sending at least a half dozen of them into writhing fits on the floor. Another group starts to charge from my right, and I drop the torch as I draw my sword, kicking the brand into their midst and sending them scattering away from the fire. I cut one down as it flees, and when another tries to tackle me, I knock it back with my shield and drive the blade through its middle. A third heads in my direction, but doesn’t make it within ten feet of me before it’s struck by a fireball that sends it flying. Perhaps Velanna was more grateful than she let on.

It seems easier, somehow, than Ortan Thaig, and that’s probably saying something considering Shale was happily squashing the creatures with us back then. But I think the closer quarters actually work in our favor, giving us the chance to fight back to back without anything swooping down on us from above. At least, until the swearing starts when one of Nathaniel’s arrows glances off the shell of one especially large spider, who seems to have eyes only for the archer. He backsteps, slips on the green-black ichor pooling of one of the vanquished creatures, and falls. I can hear the crack as he lands hard on one elbow, and his bowstring goes slack.

Velanna’s back is turned, occupied roasting two more of the creatures with her magic, and without a thought, I leap in for another shield bash before it can overwhelm them. This thing must be built much sturdier than the others, because it doesn’t fly back into a tangle of legs like its fellows; it hisses angrily, then I swear it glares at me over the top of my shield. Morrigan? I wonder reflexively, and before I can even laugh at the absurd thought, the spider has overwhelmed my guard and what feels like the weight of a boulder is crashing down on my chest.

Fortunately, all that templar training seems to have taught me something, because I keep my grip on my sword. Unfortunately, it’s pinned under one of the spider’s legs and I don’t have the leverage to pull it free. I do manage to bring my shield up, which keeps the thing from taking my head off with those pincers, but smacks me hard in the face under the force of its attempt to do just that.

A fireball explodes on the other side of my shield and the spider clicks madly as it redoubles its effort to bite through the steel barrier and into my face. I mean to say I don’t think that worked, I really do, but for whatever reason, it comes out as, “I think you’ve made it angry!”

Velanna snaps something in elven that’s probably an insult and that I probably deserve. Then another arrow strikes the creature just on the leg pinning down my sword, and as it hisses away from the annoyance, I free the blade. I have to move my shield to thrust upward with the sword, and I time it mostly right; the spider shrieks as I impale it through the middle, and it only manages to gore the buckle off the left side of my breastplate instead of my head off my neck. Then, because there wasn’t enough assorted ichor and viscera all over everything already, the blighted thing explodes. I stare at the empty air above me for a moment, stunned into silence, until Nathaniel breaks into a laugh and Velanna says simply, “Well, that worked.”

I pull myself back onto my feet and sweep the area, but it appears the spiders saved the worst for last. Still, for good measure, I retrieve my torch and start looking for a sign of whatever hole they used to crawl up from the Deep Roads while Velanna tends to Nathaniel’s elbow.

“I’m no Anders, but I think that will set you right,” she says as the glow of healing magic fades.

“Well, thank the Maker for that,” Nathaniel mutters, flexing his arm. “I thought I’d made it worse, saving His Majesty here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you did, but I fixed it anyway,” Velanna assures him with a smirk, and I shoot them a look over my shoulder.

“Hey, I saved you first!”

Nathaniel grunts noncommittally, and says nothing else until we’ve filled the crevice the spiders crawled out of with rubble, lit the webs on fire for good measure, and escaped to the surface. To my dismay, it’s already dark out by the time we leave the mine. Velanna insists on securing us the only two rooms in the village’s tiny inn, and while she’s haggling with the innkeeper, Nathaniel clears his throat to get my attention.

“Thank you, for the rescue back there. It was ungrateful not to say so earlier.”

“No need, it’s all part of the job,” I say firmly. “Besides, I can only imagine what Velanna would have to say about any form of gratitude.”

Nathaniel grins. “Part of the reason I waited until she was distracted, I assure you!”

While I appreciate the gesture, all I can think of is that now it will be another day before I can be back to Nalissa. I suppose I should be grateful, I think with a sigh as I examine the black ichor streaking my armor. She’ll probably kill me when she hears I threw myself at a corrupted spider to save a Howe.

“Worried about that girl?” Nathaniel asks suddenly, and I have to stop and wonder if I’m just that terrible at hiding what I’m thinking.

“Lissa will be fine,” I say as confidently as I can manage. And she will, I know her; she could turn anything to her advantage if she put her mind to it. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying, or apparently from being obvious about it.

“Lissa?” Nathaniel repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. “Lissa Cousland?” At my nod, he sighs and puts two fingers to his temple as if he’s come down with a sudden headache. “Well, that explains a few things. Actually, if you’re with her, I think I’m surprised you didn’t let that thing kill me.”

I frown at that, and step a little towards the wall to make sure we’re out of earshot of everyone else. “You don’t think she actually wants you dead?”

Nathaniel gives me the most deadpan look I’ve ever received, and I grew up with chantry sisters. “She threw a knife at me, Alistair.”

“Well, at your father,” I correct him, and he gives me a confused look.

“Did you hit your head when that spider tackled you?”

“She thought you were your father,” I explain, or try to. “For all she knew, you had been in the Free Marches for years. I guess you look a lot like him, and seeing as the keep used to be your father’s, she… ah, she reacted.”

For some reason, Nathaniel manages to look more annoyed by that. “By trying to kill him? And I thought the Couslands were supposed to be so much better than my father.”

I don’t understand the bitterness in his voice or the sudden aggression in his stance. What exactly does he expect, for her to embrace her torturer? Stunned, I ask aloud, “You really can’t understand that her first instinct would be to defend herself? After what he did to her?”

Nathaniel crosses his arms, but the anger on his face turns to resignation as he looks away at the wall. “I… know it must have been terrible. Her family being murdered like that. I liked Bryce and Eleanor; they were always good to me. But how is she any different if her first reaction is to murder him back?”

I stare at him for a long moment before it hits me like a giant corrupted spider. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?” he snaps, switching to glaring at me. “How hard it was for someone like her to make it on her own until the Blight was over and she got her damned teyrnir right back?”

His tone has me dangerously close to snapping, so it’s probably not surprising he flinches when I grab a fistful of his gambison at the shoulder and drag him toward the hall. Both rooms are empty, because Velanna’s still bargaining for them, and I want to be very sure no one else hears what I’m about to say.

“No, what you don’t know is where she spent the Blight,” I hiss, releasing him a little more roughly than is strictly necessary, but he had better be listening if he knows what’s good for him. “After she spent months running from your blessed father and trying to keep him from murdering any more innocent people, his men caught up to her. And she spent half a year locked in Fort Drakon. Sereda was in that dungeon for seven hours and needed a healer before she could carry her shield again. Lissa was a prisoner for half. A year.”

Nathaniel’s jaw moves, but no words come out at first. Finally he manages to ask hoarsely, “My father knew this? Condoned it?”

“He was there,” I snap, then force myself to take a deep breath before I speak again. “I’m not standing here arguing with you about your father being a traitor and a murderer, because there’s nothing to argue. He was, and worse. She felt worse than she already did when Wynne told her it was you she’d tried to attack, you should know that. But if I hadn’t already run him through and it actually had been your father? I would have helped her.”

Needless to say, I get the second room to myself. Even after I finally manage to wash the ichor and spider guts out of my hair, I still can’t sleep, so I spend half the night cleaning my armor instead, thinking only of the morning and leaving for Vigil’s Keep at last.

I miss tangling my hands in Nalissa’s hair to sleep. I miss waking to a kiss and a smile and a playful threat if I fall asleep again. I miss the smell of her skin and the flash of her smile and the freckles across the bridge of her nose. When I finally pass out from sheer exhaustion long after midnight, my subconscious even sees fit to let me dream of her for a few blissful moments before the darkspawn dreams begin.

I’m sure it also goes without saying that it’s a painfully quiet trip back to Amaranthine.

By the time we leave the debriefing room after giving our reports to the Warden-Constable, it’s late enough I know I won’t have to go look for Nalissa anywhere but our room. The door is closed when I arrive, but the bed is empty and at first, I think I was wrong and she isn’t here. But Dante’s stub tail and the entire rest of his body wag furiously toward me in greeting, and when I look up from petting him hello, I realize the room isn’t otherwise empty after all. Slumped over the writing desk, fast asleep with her hair loose all over the tabletop and a long-dry quill in her hand, is Nalissa.

I swear, not even three days away and already I surely must have begun to forget how beautiful she is. Just lying there asleep, hair falling gently across her face, she takes my breath away.

She’s wearing another of those Grey Warden tunics that’s much too big for her, this one with long sleeves rolled up past her elbows, and… Maker’s breath, possibly nothing else. Her feet and legs are bare, braced a little awkwardly under the chair to keep her from slipping, and I find myself following their curves with interest. I consider whether it would be proper to carry her to bed—surely so, it wouldn’t do to leave her at the desk to wake with neck and back aches in the morning—until, just below the hem of the tunic and midway down her thigh, I spot a deep purple bruise.

“Lissa?!” I ask aloud in alarm, and her head jolts off the desk. Somewhere under her tangle of hair there must have been one of her white steel daggers, because she’s gripping it in her left hand as she blinks up at me, still bleary-eyed. And there’s another bruise darkening on her cheekbone.

I swear to the Maker, I don’t care if it was the Warden-Commander himself that laid a hand on her while I was gone, I will kill him.

I’ve been chasing down the man who paid the Crows to kill me, a silent figure in a long cloak, and just knocked him solidly to the ground. I’ve landed half on top of him, one knee pinned into the middle of his spine and the other heel crushing his wrist to the ground. My hand slips under the hood of the cloak, closes around the fabric to pull it back, and even my heartbeat goes silent in anticipation because any second now I’ll finally know who’s responsible for all of this—

Someone shouts my name and I startle, only to find myself not in any alley in Antiva City at all, but asleep on a desk with a sheet of parchment stuck to my face. My dagger is still in my hand though, and I raise it defensively as I blink into the light toward… Alistair?

“Alistair!”

I drop the dagger at once, only vaguely aware as it clatters into something or other on the table, and all but leap at him, my arms wrapping around his neck. He staggers a little and I think I probably surprised him, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’ve been so worried about him, so furious at Caron for telling neither of us how long he would be gone, that all I want to do is assure myself he’s back and safe and isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“You’re here,” I breathe, and he smells like him plus grassy fields and spring air, and I hope that means he was never in any danger at all.

But his hands push me back gently, one on my hip and the other breaking my grip around his neck, and I look up at him in alarm. Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong? I had thought Caron was being less antagonistic after our duel, but has he found some way to punish Alistair for it?

If he has, I’ll stab him for real, this time.

“What happened?” Alistair asks, and I frown my confusion at him. I wonder if I’m still half asleep and not comprehending everything, because his brown eyes are urgent, worried, and I don’t understand why. “Are you alright?” His thumb brushes my cheek, but it’s not until his other hand moves down from my hip to gingerly touch a sore spot on my leg that I recognize he’s pointing out my bruises.

“I’m fine,” I try to assure him, but his eyes remain serious and I laugh softly at myself. I’ve used that line so many times when I’ve been very not fine that it’s lost all meaning. “No, really this time! Just a few bumps from training, that’s all. But you, are you alright? Oghren was telling me some story about darkspawn in a mine! Was that true? Were you hurt?”

I take his face in my hands, brush back a lock of untrimmed hair curling down toward his forehead, examining him for any hidden injuries. He has a tiny cut above one eye, but it’s been cleaned and is barely noticeable. There’s a dent on his breastplate though, I realize, and it hangs askew with one of the buckles broken. It looks like it’s been wrenched off the chain beneath, the steel severed by something stronger. My fingers dart there, checking for a wound beneath the mail, but he catches my hand and brings it to his lips instead.

“No darkspawn, and I’ve never been better,” he says gently. “I’m back here with you, aren’t I?”

I’m sure my face is burning a little, but I can’t feel it for the warmth in my chest. I don’t know if it’s the words or the softer, lower tone when he says them, but sometimes when Alistair talks like that, I feel like my knees are in danger of melting from underneath me. I wonder if he even knows he does it. Maybe he is doing it on purpose, to distract me so I won’t ask about his damaged armor. I’m still trying to decide if he could be that devious when he gives me that smile—the slow, sweet, slightly uneven one that lights both his face and his eyes. I forget to breathe, and if I controlled my heartbeat, I’d probably forget that too.

“You’re wearing it again,” he whispers, and I can’t even piece together what the words mean until he distracts me from his eyes by tracing his thumb over the back of my fingers.

This time I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks when I realize he’s talking about the engagement ring. I hadn’t forgotten I put it back on exactly but it feels somehow right on my hand, so it was hardly at the forefront of my mind with him here to occupy my thoughts. But the way he looks at me like it’s one of the most important things he’s ever seen makes me feel simultaneously incredibly happy and… a little self-conscious?

“I—well, it—I did tell you I only took it off so I couldn’t lose it on the road,” I try to explain. “And obviously no one’s trying to steal it from me here, and it sort of made me feel a little more like you were here, so—”

The rest of my rambling sentence dies in my throat when Alistair kisses me, turning into a gasp that shudders out sounding surprised but pleased. I swear his mouth is molten against mine, and all the effort I’d put into keeping my knees solidly beneath me is lost as I melt against him like candle wax before a flame. His arms around my back and my waist, and one of mine that’s managed to find its way back around his neck, are all that keep me on my feet.

Until they don’t, until even though I don’t feel myself falling, the bed is beneath my back and Maker’s breath, he’s still kissing me. I have the wild thought that maybe I’m still dreaming—I’ve dreamt of him like this before, of his weight settling over me in bed, of his lips tracing adventurous paths along my skin, of what passion and desire might do to those gorgeous eyes—but there was decidedly less armor in those, and his breastplate pressing into my chest is entirely too pointed and uncomfortable to be a dream.

I want it gone, I have the presence of mind to think. Then his tongue passes my lips and I want all of it gone, every stitch of cloth and scrap of leather between us. I want him, his skin against mine and my name on his lips and all night to learn all of the ways he can say it. I want to hear it in a gasp and in a moan. I want to hear it with “I love you” in front of it.

It’s that last one that makes me pause, even though I’ve already undone the remaining buckle on the offending breastplate and torn it off the chainmail cuirass, even though Alistair hasn’t stopped me. My hands turn gentle against his shoulders, run along the curve of his neck, and trace lightly through his hair. I love him, all of his kindness and humor and strength and compassion… and his fears and insecurities too. How could I not, when they’re what first convinced me this strange man my brother wanted me to marry might actually be a decent person?

My lips curl into a smile against his and the kiss slows, becoming more tender than intense, and finally he smiles back at me with affection in his eyes. “I missed you too,” he says softly, one hand cupping my jaw and running a thumb along the side of my face. He kisses me again, this time slowly and softly, and I feel as though I must be catching fire from the inside. “I could hardly sleep without you beside me,” he whispers against my lips.

“I didn’t want to,” I admit, then a bizarre thought drifts into my head and bubbles out of my throat in a short laugh. “Maker, Alistair, are you quite sure you want to go back to Denerim? The regent very nearly lost his mind when my room was moved into the same hallway as yours.”

“The regent can stow it,” he decides promptly, and I decide that I’m starting to like the low, firm way he says it. Then the next thing I know, his lips and nose are trailing feather-light from my jaw down my neck. They aren’t kisses, just a slow movement like he might be trying to decide what my skin smells like, but it makes goosebumps rise on my arms and I go abruptly very still anyway. “I’m still the king, and I say I’m never sleeping without you beside me again.”

Alistair’s breath—and his words—against my neck send a little shiver down my spine that I can’t control. He draws back a little, looks at me curiously, and then a spark of mischief lights his eyes. This time, his lips on my skin are deliberate, and I bite my lip hard but still shudder despite myself.

“You really need to stop that,” I whisper as my nails rake against the back of his head, dimly aware that my own voice is now pitched lower than it was just a moment ago. “Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

He has the nerve to chuckle against my throat before he draws back. Propped up on one elbow above me, a smile tugging at his mouth and his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them before, he might be the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen.

“I’m given to exaggerating, I know, but I’m not this time,” he says quietly, smoothing my hair back as he speaks. “The whole time I was gone, you were all I could think about. If you were safe, if you were worried, if… if you missed me as much as I missed you.”

“Every second,” I answer, my fingertips now dancing through the fine hair at the base of his neck. I love you, beats my heart in my ears, and this time I want to say it. I want to tell him how much I love him and why, name everything that he does, everything he is, that I adore, but it’s everything, and I don’t know where to begin.

“I love you.”

My heartbeat goes suddenly quiet—the whole world goes suddenly quiet, except for the faint sound of a single surprised breath. I look up at him, disbelieving, certain my imagination has gotten the best of me. But he’s watching me with a smile turned tentative and eyes suddenly uncertain, and I realize I didn’t imagine it.

He’s said it before I could.

“I—that was sudden,” he adds, the confidence of only a few moments before vanishing, his hand stilling in my hair. “I didn’t mean to just—to blurt it out, but you… Lissa, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I never knew I did. And I just kept thinking how stupid it would be if I—if something had gone wrong, and I never had a chance to tell you that. So it’s—it’s okay if you—if that’s not how you feel about me, or—”

“I love you, too,” I interrupt him. He freezes, and I think perhaps it’s his turn to wonder if he’s hearing me correctly, so I go on. “I do love you, Alistair. For a while now, I just… couldn’t quite admit it. I was afraid if I said it, and—and something happened, it would make it worse. Or the Crows would find out and… It would kill me to lose you. You are the most important person left in the world to me. You’re brave, and sweet, and loyal, and just stubborn enough you won’t let me get away with it when I’m being an idiot. And I love you.”

At some point while I spoke, a smile crept onto my lips, because I’m beaming at him when I say it the third time. For a moment, his lips twitch as they spread slowly into a smile, like he still isn’t completely sure he believes what I’ve just said. Then he kisses me, hard, and my hands catch in the back of his collar and in his hair, and his is so tangled in mine I’m not sure if he’ll ever be able to free it. But I eventually have to ask him to anyway, when his armor starts digging into my bare legs.

Alistair apologizes, but he’s still grinning as he climbs off me. And I watch with a smile as the giant dork then struggles to extricate himself from the chainmail and somehow manages to get the breastplate I’d tossed to the floor tangled around one boot. How he can manage to be such a steady presence in a fight, or such a comforting one in general, I can’t quite explain as I smother a giggle into my hand and move to help him. But he is, even if he’s also awkward and adorable, and I love him for all of it.

And he loves me, I think with an indescribable happiness expanding in my chest. He loves me, and I love him.

And so help me Maker, if anyone in Thedas thinks to hurt him, they will have to go through me first.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair #alistair theirin #cousland #nalissa cousland #alistair x cousland #fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #a thread of fate #ao3

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kyashidioctober · 6 years

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A Moth in a Spider's Snare (hetalia FRUK)

Reading into the late night one evening, dressed in my evergreen nightgown, I saw a moth. It was a black peppered moth with a white body; it was beautiful. Gracefully drifting towards my candle light, but there was something in between my candle light and the beautiful moth; a shimmering spider’s web, and the moth was so entranced by the flame’s flickering glow that it didn’t notice the web. I tried to stop it and catch it, but every time it fluttered out of the way of my hands. I attempted in vain to save the moth and watched as it flew straight into the spider’s trap.

The poor thing only entangled itself more as it struggled in the spider’s pearly strings. When it struggled it only solidified its death more because now the sector spider, that had made this beautiful and elaborate trap, came down to meet the little moth that struggled in vain.

Slowly it encased the peppered moth in it’s silky threads until I could no longer see it. Then once the moth had finished its struggling and accepted its fate the spider sunk its fangs into the innocent moth and like that the moth’s life was no more.

I sighed and watched as the spider enjoyed it’s meal then slink back into its hiding spot to wait for another innocent creature to fly into its embrace again.

I sighed. I was at another ridiculous ball, but luckily I was with a friend this time. Amelia Grace, a very excitable young woman that had many men after her affection. Tonight Amelia was dressed in a very fancy evergreen silk ball gown with black velvet gloves, as always, she liked to flounce around and let everyone know that she had money.

On the other hand I was dressed in a simple white ball gown with ebony lace trimming. Nothing too fancy, but my name was so well known that I didn’t have to dress up to let everyone know I had money.

Amelia came back to me and grinned, “oh Alice! Don’t you think you’re being a bit boring just standing there taking sips of your champagne? Were at a party in Paris, Paris!” I rolled my eyes, yes it was another simple party, nothing exciting about it. I had been to far too many to be excited about parties, I would've preferred to be back in England at my summer estate in my library reading.

“Yes I know that, and this is not champagne, this is water.”

“Realy?! You’re drinking water at a party full of wine and booze?!”

I glared at her then sighed “yes, you should know my family well enough by now that you know that none of us can hold our liqueur.” I grumbled to her. She rolled her eyes then gasped. “What?” I questioned turning my gaze to where hers was. My emerald eyes clashed with a pair of sapphire blue ones and I realized with a start that the host of the party Francis Araignée one of the wealthiest bachelors in France was staring at me.

I looked over to Amelia and she was smirking at me, “what?!” I snapped “it looks like someone’s got a bit of a crush~” she cooed. My face turned red from embarrassment. “Wh-what?! N-No! I-I-I-” I continued to stammer on until Amelia’s smirk grew and she took out her green fan with its black fluffy tips and unfurled it in front of her face then turned away.

At first I was confused but then I heard a deep and smooth voice behind me “bonjour.” I swiftly turned around startled by the sudden voice, and there standing behind me in a dark blue winter suit, in the middle of summer, and black pants. His blond hair was tied back by a navy colored ribbon and it gently fell down just hardly touching the end of his neck.

He had a small bit of stubble over his jaw and his blue orbs were even more piercing up close. My heart fluttered and I could feel my cheeks turning red, “ah um, b-bongour.” I was horrible when it came to needing to speak French with anyone, but if it were on my own with my tutors or when I was at least calmed down! I could speak French without a problem, but this was not the case.

“Hmhmhmhm, you are not very good at speaking my language, no?”

“N-Not at th-the moment.” I blushed cursing myself for being so nervous.

“Hmhmhmhm, there’s no need to be so scared mon cher~”

“Oh bloody god he-he really just called me hi-his- oh- oh god.”

I cleared my throat and tried my best to calm my nerves, “sorry, that was quite rude of me, stuttering and acting so scared when there’s nothing to be nervous of.” I smiled politely and a beautiful smile came over his face. “There’s no reason to apologize, I actually found it quite endearing and cute of you. Ah, where are my manners, my name is Francis Araignée.”

Francis bowed lowly, took my left hand, and kissed my ring fingers’ knuckle. I felt my face turn a dark shade of crimson “u-umm. Kmhm, Alice. My name is Alice Ignatius a pleasure to meet you.” I curtsied and looked towards the ground then glanced back up to him, “my my, Alice Ignatius? How is it that I’ve been blessed to have you come to my humble ball?” He chuckled playfully.

I smiled sweetly “I was dragged here against my will by my strong willed friend Amelia,” when I mentioned that I hadn’t wanted to come in the first place Francis looked truly decimated, “but I’m beginning to be thankful for my friend bringing me here. The party’s seemed to become more enjoyable now that you’ve joined me.”

Francis looked like he was about to pop with joy knowing that he had made the party more bearable for me, even though I would've been fine. We quietly talked with one another and shared our enjoyments and our distastements.

Francis even convinced me to come out to the dance floor and join him in a dance. The dance ended up being a slow dance and all I could do was fall more and more helplessly in love with this man.

The dance had ended and Francis had left me for the moment to go and get us some drinks when Amelia came up looking quite worried. “Alice! Alice we need to leave now!” I was taken back not just twenty minutes ago she was happily dancing and enjoying herself.

“What? Why?”

“Mr. Araignée isn’t who he says he is! We need to get out of here.” She whisper yelled.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a killer, he’s like the Jack the Ripper of Paris!”

I was taken back, Francis was a killer? Like Jack the Ripper? My Francis was a murderer?! No! I wouldn’t believe it! He was so kind so sweet so gentle and… and loving. “Amelia I’ve gone along with your charades before, I’ve believed whatever strange stories you’ve came up with, but this, this I will not believe.” I huffed,

“Mr. Araignée is nowhere near the standard you’ve made up.”

“What- no you’ve got to believe me! He’s not safe, and you’re his next kill! I just-”

“No. I will not believe you. You are making up some strange and absurd story to get me to leave so that you may steal him from me.” I snapped angrily.

Amelia looked taken back, I had never snapped angrily at her. I had always indulged her and her sister in their ridiculous stories, but this was stepping over a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. I turned away as she attempted and tried in vain to get me to leave, but I wouldn’t, my Francis was no killer.

Sighing I found my way outside. I could hear that the party was beginning to die down, and I knew my friend had left and that meant my way home had left to. I leaned against the white railing that looked out over a beautiful garden that reminded me of my own. A gentle smile drifted over my lips and I gently began to hum a Celtic lullaby that my mother had taught me. “Mon cher what are you doing out here?”

I yelped and turned around, there he was my Francis. “Oh Mr. Araignée it’s just you.” I giggled covering my mouth while I did so. He gently took my hand from my covering my lips; I was confused when he did, “please mon cher call me Francis, and please do not cover up your beautiful face.”

My cheeks turned red and I smiled. Francis gently pressed his hand on my cheek and I hesitantly leaned into his touch.

“Mon cher?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any way of getting home tonight?”

I thought for a moment. Amelia was most likely gone, and what she had said really did rattle me, and I guess I could just grab a buggy to get home, but,

“No, my friend and I got into a bit of an argument earlier and I believe she’s left me.” A gentle smile came over Francises lips,

“Then mon cher would you like to stay the night here?”

I was more than delighted to stay the night, and Francis seemed quite happy as well. He lead me back into the ballroom to find it completely deserted, the lights put out, and bathed in the cold but enchanting blue light of the moon. Everything was meticulously cleaned and put away and it looked as if there had been no party at all.

We made our way through the house and he showed me everything. Our arms were hooked around one another's as we made our way through the house, but by the end of the tour my hand was in Francises and his in mine.

Francis and I were in the sunroom, and unlike most sunrooms the whole room was completely made of glass! The icy blue moonlight streamed down and carefully landed on his face that was steadily gazing out into the night, and I could hardly retain the small gasp that came from me.

At the sound of my gasp Francis turned his head to look at me. His bright blue eyes glowed in the dark and his gently tanned face looked pearled in the moonlight. He looked at me in a confused manner “mon cher what is wrong?” I couldn't look him in the eye and I could feel a bright red blush cover my cheeks, “nothing’s wrong, it’s just that you look quite handsome in the moonlight…” I trailed off, I knew women weren’t meant to speak their thoughts but I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t regret saying it either.

A soft chuckle came from him and he gently tilted my chin up so I could meet his gaze. “Thank you for the complement mon cher, you look beautiful as well,” and the next thing I knew he kissed me. It was scandalous, I know, but I couldn’t help but kiss back. This was my first kiss, and I was more than happy to give it to him.

His lips were soft and gentle, but they were cold. It was a strange feeling, feeling something that you would think to be warm be so cold, then I noticed it, his whole body was cold. No wonder he wore a winter suite in the summer, he must have been freezing.

Slowly pulling back we gazed at one another, a gentle smile climbed onto his face. “Mon cher, I love you.” I was speechless he loved me, he loved me! I couldn’t stop the shimmering tears from slipping down my face, “I love you to Fran-” I was cut off by a staggering pain in my side. I stepped back to find a dark red blotch growing in my gown.

Gasping I looked up to Francis and he had a dark and twisted gleam in his eyes, a dagger in his hand, and a charming smirk on his face. “Mon cher, what’s wrong?” He crowed. He began to step forward and I turned and ran. A dark laugh followed me as I clutched onto the bleeding wound,

“You may run mon cher! But I will find you and I will get you!~”

“How could I have been such a fool?!”

Somehow I found my way to the entry way and I desperately flung myself at the door. I pulled and pushed but the doors were locked. Things began to spin and fuzz around the edges, and then his evil laugh sounded behind me. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I could feel him twisting a lock of my long hair playing with it.

“It is a slow acting poison that will take away your sight my dear then slowly kill you~ Hmhmhm~ The doors are lock and the windows are barred you are trapped my dear, and there is no one here to help you~”

“You are a monster.” I slurred as I turned to face him.

He was beautiful, and I knew that I would never not be in love with him. I had fallen helplessly in love with a beautiful and sadistic man. The smirk on his face grew,

“Your little friend was right about me. She saw me kill one of the guests, that is why everyone left so soon. The officers came and arrested an innocent man that I framed;”

When he stated that he was the one to frame the man he put his hand on his chest then flicked his wrist and hair, obviously proud of what he’d done,

“you were so lost in your own world that you didn’t even notice when your friend attempted to get you, but she was not allowed and of course the officers stopped her and sent her home~”

“You. How dare you!” I roared and punched him.

He stumbled backwards obviously taken back by the act of violence, and while he was taken back I ran, well more of stumbled, away. I didn’t know where I was, but I knew he was behind me, and that’s what kept me going.

The poison was getting worse; the spinning was becoming faster and now everything was fuzzy. Colors slowly began to fade as my head began to feel more and more like a fish bowl.

Until finally, I could no longer see.

Now Francis was toying with me, he was drifting just close enough so that I could feel him. A brush of his hand against my cheek, arm, or hand, a gentle gust of his breath against the back of my neck, a soft whisper in my ear. I had no idea where I was going, but all I knew was that I had to run.

My footfalls began to echo and I knew where I was; I was in the ballroom where everything had began.

I felt like I was in one of my horror novels, I could tell that if anyone of the authors that’s beautiful poetry were writing my story this would definitely be one of Edgar Allen Poe’s works.

While my mind had drifted off one of my feet caught the hem of my dress and I fell. “Ahh!” Catching myself I could hear his footsteps behind me. My head whipped around and I felt his hand on my cheek. He lowered himself down to me, and my blind emerald eyes glowed in fear. Tears began to fall from my eyes and drift down my face.

“Oh mon cher~” his voice was soft and sounded like he was hurt looking at what he had done to me, but I knew, he held no remorse for me; this was his favored part,

“Spare me your taunting Francis, I know I’m going to die.” I spat at him.

“Hmhmhm~ even when you are moment’s away from death you are still a burning fire~ I truly wish that I did not have to kill such a beautiful creature…” Francis mused as his frozen hand stroked my cheek lovingly.

I was taken back; my mouth hung open like a fish’s,

“But alas I have no other choice~ the monster must be fed~”

Francis leaned down and captured my lips in a hesitant kiss, unlike our first there was regret in this one, and I nearly fell for his fake love again. He could cover everything in honey and make anything beautiful but even though I was blind I could see that he was a psychopath, and he held no love for me.

“Je t’aime Alice Ignatius~”

The next moment I felt a sharp pain rip through my heart. Pain seared through my veins, due to his poison, but then quickly faded as things became cold. I began to hear less and my sight was already gone from the poison, but I felt Francis stand and begin to walk away.

The vibrations from his foot falls rippled across the dance floor like music, as he retreated my hearing faded away with Francises vibrating footsteps.

Collapsing onto my back I looked over to where I thought he was,

“N-no...”

Francis stopped and turned around as her weak voice echoed around the room and attacked him. He was taken back none of his other victims had ever spoken in their final moments, had ever lasted this long with his poison running through their veins.

He was stunned to silence as a broken but triumphant smile came over her cooling lips his eyes were wide and a look of fear shone in them.

“No you don’t…”

With those few words said death stole her away and brought her to a kinder land, and Francis Araignée staired in fear at the glassy green eyes that shone as bright red blood stained the white gown and the golden hair of Alice Ignatius.

He turned shaking his head telling himself that she was dead and gone, that she was another successful kill, but he could feel those, her emerald eyes burning into his back as he retreated into the dark hall, and a cool chill washed over him as he faintly heard her soft giggle drift and ripple through the air, and a gentle hand barely held his cheek only to slip away ahead of him.

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