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flowers-of-io · 1 year ago

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candles for any of the hive <3

“It was in the year that my Mother the Black Needle struck Elulium of the Eimin-Tin with a thought-lightning,” Balwûr began.

Crota opposed instantly, gesturing so ardently he almost slapped Nokris in the face, “No, it was the year that my Father the King of Shapes devoured two-thirds of the Eimin-Tin armada and rent them down to chitin that he then plastered onto his flagship as trophy!”

“No,” Scoroboth said, “it was the year that my Mother War Herself claimed the Umber Sun for herself, and devised a bomb capable of destroying three neighbouring systems in its explosion.”

Incaru was too young to remeber that, so from her spot pressed between him and her sister she only stared at him with curious eyes. Scoroboth’s arm was curled around her protectively. He had no siblings, and Incaru was currently the family's baby; he had latched onto her from the moment she was born, and sometimes Nokris wondered if it wouldn't be easier for everyone to just let Xivu Arath smuggle the kid to her own brood.

Balwûr scowled at the interruptors, “Can I continue?”

Nokris leaned further against the wall pressing at his back. They—Balwûr and Scoroboth, Malok and Incaru, Anûk and Halak and Crota, and him—were all clumped together in one of the back rooms of the High War, crowding around a hearth, the trembling flame casting shadows that danced around the chamber. Balwûr’s face was lit orange as she went on with her story.

“Then: in the year of the extinction of the Eimin-Tin, a silkweaver in service of the High Coven was sent to one of Xivu Arath’s war moons as part of a sisterly bargain...”

Nokris felt his attention drift off like a leaf caught on a lazy river current. He knew the tale of how the Scalpel of Savathûn was forged well enough he could recite it backwards from memory, but there was still something comforting in half-listening to a familiar story told by a familiar voice. From beyond the doorway, he could pick up faint chatter and laughter coming from around other hearths. Fireglow played on the faces of his siblings and cousins, deepening the shadows and bringing out the glimmer of their eyes.

Crota yawned and rested his head against his brother’s shoulder. Small horns had already begun to form over each of his earholes, and one of them was now digging into the base of Nokris’ neck, making him want to sneeze. He shuffled to get more comfortable. Balwûr’s voice was a pleasant hum filling his mind like cotton, words slurring together—and it was not even halfway into the story that his eyes flickered and dimmed, and Nokris drifted off.

A/N: If, unlike Nokris, you actually *are* interested in hearing Balwûr’s story, read on…

This is the story of how the Scalpel of Savathûn, the Archentrope, the Missing Piece of All Puzzles, was forged:

In the year of the extinction of the Eimin-Tin, when ORYX THE KING devoured two-thirds of their armada and rent them down to chitin for his ships, when SAVATH��N struck Elulium with a thought-lightning and XIVU ARATH claimed the Umber Sun and devised a bomb capable of destroying three neighbouring systems in its explosion, a silkweaver in service to the High Coven was sent to one of Xivu Arath’s war moons as part of a sisterly bargain. She was a young thing, her talent not yet honed by age—but Savathûn valued her craftsmanship, for the silks that would come from under her claws were unlike any other. Her hands had been mutilated from birth, right bearing only two fingers and left bearing four, and though she had been told she would have never become a craftswoman, she went on to ignore that prophecy profoundly. Her weave was unique due to the gift of her asymmetry, and her threads firm with the strength of her will.

She lived and worked within the war moon, in a workshop at the end of a dead-end tunnel. Word about her craft spread quickly throughout the brood: gossip claiming that she could weave silence into a fabric, that the patterns she made would blink and move, that her thoughts themselves were threads she spun not with her hands but will alone. She did not care much for these rumours, as long as they kept those who could seek to challenge her away for her to do her work in peace. But not all were so easily discouraged. A silversmith who lived in the war moon as a representative of her guild overhead the stories, and set off to check just how big the seed of truth in them was.

Who she found was a woman of patience and persistence, clever and focused on the delicacy of her craft. Not once did a fine thread snap under her claws, not once was a cord braided too tightly or fraying ends messed in a tangle. She wove slowly, but diligently, and the few words she spoke were all pointed and purposeful. The silversmith fell in love with her instantly.

Their courtship was swift, and their time together was spent gladly. One night, overcome with fondness for her beloved, the silversmith spent hours in the workshop working on a fitting gift she might present to her, something brilliant and never before created, everlasting like the Shape. What she forged was a scalpel — long and silver and infinitely precise, feather-light and as sharp as the edge between realms. No thread it would cut ever frayed. She gave it to the silkweaver, so that in her work she would always have her love’s aid.

When the time came to return the lease and Savathûn demanded her favourite craftswoman back, the silkweaver trembled. She knew of the ebb and flow of the Sea of Screams, of errant currents which carried the royal courts close together and drifting apart with no reason but the fickle whims of gods. She knew that if she left the war moon, she might never see her beloved again. Thus she went to plead with Xivu Arath.

“Please keep me,” she begged. “My time in your Court has honed my skill; I will make for you a tabard softer than the King’s silk robe. I will weave wavelengths of sound into the fabric for your banners so that they scream and scream forever. I will braid the light of the Umber Sun into luminescent threads to drag behind your throne as a proof of your dominance. Please keep me.”

“It’s not enough,” Xivu Arath said. “Your return was to be a token my of love to my sister. If you want me to keep you, I demand you give me your love in return.”

It was a cruel offer. But the silkweaver was a cunning bastard — she had, after all, been raised at the feet of Savathûn’s throne — and so she pulled out the silver scalpel and presented it in stretched-out hands.

“This blade had been forged in worship,” she said, “to be the perfect extension of its maker, sharp with her sharpness and beautiful with her beauty, so that she would always be with me whenever I held it. Thus I was never without my love. I offer it now to you.”

Xivu Arath was impressed by the silkweaver’s boldness and wit, and accepted. From that day on the two craftswomen lived in the war god’s brood, never again separate, reshaping the universe under their claws into beauty and terror.

When Savathûn came, at last, to Xivu Arath to question about her end of the bargain, the war that ensued cost each brood two dozen warships and one common war moon acquired from the Qugu system. As they scuffled for the final victory, Xivu Arath pierced Savathûn’s carapace with the silver scalpel, and its infinitely sharp edge sunk deep into the godly flesh, puncturing the heart. Thus Savathûn received her sister’s gift, and the war was concluded.

(Read both on Ao3 here and here.)

#two fics in the price of one!#thank you storm <33 #my fics #reply #xivu-arath #keeping up with the osmium dynasty #hive #balwûr #dûl incaru #eater of hope #eater of what’s left #scoroboth #little war sister #aunt savathûn #the silkweaver #the silversmith #destiny 2

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stackthedeck · 2 years ago

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Shoot! I chose the wrong one I meant 8 with Silk and Web-Weaver (I can take it)

8. “I can take it.”

I have to say I'm a little ashamed that this is the first fic I'm writing for them, maybe I'll add it to a future messy love square fic. Smut under the cut!

The wonderful thing about crime fighting is that it makes an excellent aphrodisiac. The night is cool and Cooper’s skin is hot beneath the costume. Adrenaline sings in his veins, leftover from a fight that was over far too quickly. Everything is sharp and warm and Cooper needs a way to work off this extra energy, something rough and demanding. Something—No, someone that can put up a much better fight than those crooks in ugly ski masks.

And Silk is standing right there, illuminated by moonlight on this empty rooftop. His breath coming in quick pants, he’s no doubt feeling that same post-fight high, and his hair glistening with sweat. He sweeps it out of his face and their eyes meet. And then Silk’s boots are thudding across the roof and Cooper can almost see the smirk beneath his mask.

“Not bad, hero boy.” Silk stands chest to chest with Web-Weaver, his fingers dancing over his shoulders like he’s brushing away dust. But they both know how this song and dance goes, any excuse to touch and any excuse to run.

Not tonight, Cooper decides, he’s tired of dancing this dance in full costume.

“Not bad, yourself.” Cooper steps closer and suddenly they’re touching, really touching not just flirty grazing of fingers. Silk’s hands shift to rest on his shoulder blades. If he didn’t want this, he could step back, step away from the challenge. Instead, Silk tilts his head to accommodate Cooper’s extra height, his covered face pressed into the juncture of his neck and collarbone. He makes contact but when it’s through two layers of fabric, it’s an unsatisfying pantomime of what they really want.

Cooper’s hands come to rest on Silk’s side, slender fingers creeping under the hem of his leather jacket as if he intends to take it off. Silk gasps at the gentle, barely there touch and Cooper can almost feel the ghost of his breath on his neck.

“We should…” Silk’s hands trail over the planes of his back as if only now appreciating the muscle beneath the finery. His hand comes to rest on the back of his neck and he squeezes. Cooper’s knees go weak, he’s not so delicate to fall to the ground just yet, but he can’t stop himself from leaning more of his weight onto Silk. And if his knee finds its way between his legs, pulling another delicious gasp from the masked vigilante, no one’s around to see. The way Silk turns to putty in his hands and Cooper does the same for him is a secret only for them.

“We should,” Silk tries again, “do some more patrolling.”

Cooper squeezes his waist, met with no softness, only muscle that quivers at his touch. “priorities, priorities,” he tuts.

“Should do something,” Silk groans, grinding into Cooper’s leg unconsciously as he grips the back of Cooper’s neck harder.

“Seems like we’re doing something now,” Cooper says.

“Don’t want to ruin this costume,” Silk says tightly like he’s thinking about ruining both their costumes.

“Doesn’t the steamy anonymity thing get old, Silk?” Cooper asks, teasing at the dip of his hip, but never moving lower. “Or is there something else I should call you?”

Silk chuckles at that, but doesn’t respond. Instead, his clever fingers find the edge of Cooper’s mask, rolling the fabric to reveal an inch of skin. Gloved fingers touch bare skin and Cooper's full body shudders, that one touch more erotic than anything in recent memory.

“The mystery is half the fun,” Silk whispers and Cooper can almost imagine his lips against his skin.

“As if I know the names of half my hookups,” Cooper grumbles.

“Web-Weaver,” Silk sighs.

He’s about to step away, but Cooper keeps a firm grip on his waist. His other hand finally touches what’s aching between his legs. Silk whines, beautiful and perfect, and Cooper has to hear it again.

“We can keep the costumes on, honey,” Cooper whispers into his ear and he wishes he could take it into his mouth.

“Only one of us can expose our mouth,” Silk says, “and I don’t want to risk your identity.”

Cooper rolls his eyes beneath the mask. God, he wishes chivalry was dead. With a deep breath, he falls to his knees. He grips the back of Silk’s thighs, doing his best to beg with nothing but the mask. Silk’s eyes widen and his cheeks go red as he rests his hand on Cooper’s head with reverence.

“What’s life without a little risk?” Cooper leans his head back, putting the stripe of skin on full display. “Come on, I can take it.”

That seems to break Silk’s resolve. He traces the inch of exposed flesh, his gloves warm and smooth, before squeezing gently at the pulse point. Hooking his fingers under the mask, he pulls it upwards. For a moment, Cooper thinks he’ll take it all. He imagines hands tangled in his hair, lips clashing, and eyes finally meeting.

But Silk pulls it just above his mouth. Cooper would sob if his mouth wasn’t watering. Now is not the time for faces and names. The moment is too hot and sharp for something so soft.

Silk’s thumb traces over the fullness of Cooper’s lips and he eagerly takes it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. Silk has no way of knowing that Cooper is staring into his eyes through the mask, but still, his gaze is filled with heat, only growing hotter with each moment.

“I haven’t seen a mouth this pretty since…” Silk trails off, content to leave the thought there.

“The rest of me is pretty too,” Cooper says, pulling away from his hand.

“Not tonight, baby,” Silk says, but he doesn’t say ‘not ever.’

Silk’s hands keep touching, down his lips, across his jawline, squeezing at his throat. Cooper can’t take this anymore. He feels along Silk’s costume, looking for the seam between the shirt and pants. When he finally finds it, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband, Silk freezes.

“You’re really doing this?” he asks.

“Why else would you need my mouth exposed, darling?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear your witty banter more clearly.” Silk pets along his head the way anyone else would run their fingers through hair, sweet and gentle and not what Cooper wants, but what he needs. “You do have such a lovely voice.”

Cooper bites back a moan, burying his face into the side of Silk’s thigh. “I do hope you’ll continue saying such nice things when your cock is in my mouth.”

“Of course,” Silk says, “I know you’ll be good for me.”

Oh, if he keeps saying things like that Cooper might not survive long enough to actually suck him off. He pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock. They’re alone on this rooftop, but still anyone could see them and Cooper wants to be the only one treated to what Silk exposes to him, even if it’s not enough.

Cooper doesn’t waste a moment getting him into his mouth, his cock hot and heavy on his tongue. He takes him down slowly, reveling in each shudder and gasp Silk lets slip from his lips. His head is tight on Cooper’s scalp and it’s almost as good as having fingers tangled in his hair. For all the desire and desperation in his eyes, Silk doesn’t take more than Cooper gives, keeping his hips still.

Cooper pauses as the tip hits the back of his throat, appreciating the stretch in his jaw and savoring the taste of Silk on his tongue. He could stay like this forever, but his body is still thrumming with adrenaline from the fight and needs more.

“Good, so good,” Silk says as he gazes down at Cooper sitting still and pliant beneath him.

With a deep inhale, Cooper takes him to the root. Silk’s grip on him tightens and he lets out a guttural moan. But ever the gentleman, he does not thrust his hips deep, only shakes and squirms beneath him. A pity really.

“Oh god, Weaver,” Silk cries, “good, god please don’t stop!”

Cooper pulls back but goes down just as easily, bobbing his head and sucking. All the while, praise pours from Silk’s lips along with some absolutely filthy noises. Cooper is desperately hard, but for now, the taste of him and the feeling of being needed is enough to keep him on the edge. Cooper has to wonder if anyone else has ever been this good for Silk. Something about the masks, the costumes, and the cold night air against the sweaty fabric makes it all feel all the more intense, but like a dream at the same time.

Eventually, Silk pulls Cooper off of him, doubling over and breathing hard. “Wait, wait, I’m close,” he stutters out.

“Well…” Cooper licks him root to tip along the sensitive underside, enjoying the way he nearly sobs with pleasure. “I don’t want a drop on this costume, not a single drop.”

“I can do that,” Silk says almost in a daze.

Cooper sucks him back into his mouth with a hum, toying with the tip with his tongue. He sucks and bobs his head, all the things he’s supposed to, but with Silk this close, he’s just teasing him. The taste of pre-come is bitter on his tongue and he can feel Silk twitch. He takes him deep into his throat one last time and he’s coming down his throat.

“Weaver, god fuck, feels so good,” Silk moans, quiet like a prayer just for him, as he finishes.

Cooper swallows it all because he was serious about not getting anything on the suit. Silk watches him, gaze still heated, his hand reaching for his throat once again just to feel him swallow.

Cooper is about to stand but Silk drops to his knees beside him. He shoves his hand down Cooper’s pants, taking his cock in hand. The leather of his gloves is smooth and warm, like fire against his skin. It’s not pretty and it’s over far too soon, but god does it feel good, finally releasing the tension that’s been building all night.

When the afterglow fades and Silk removes his hand, covered in his come, Cooper rolls down his mask and glares at him.

“I said not a drop on the suit and you just—”

“You said on the suit,” Silk chuckles, “nothing about in the suit.”

“This is disgusting,” Cooper pouts, motioning to himself.

With his clean hand, Silk grabs the front of his mask, lifting it just enough to keep everything hidden but enough to slip his other hand inside. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Cooper is stunned into a stuttering mess. “Oh, um well that doesn’t exactly fix the uh problem at hand.”

“Can you be good for me, baby?” Silk asks. He pushes on Cooper’s chest, making him lay on his back, while the other toys with his waistband.

“Yes, oh god yes.”

“Just promise to keep your eyes closed.”

#asks #my fanfic #cooper coen #web weaver #albert moon #silkweaver #that's gotta be their ship name right?

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sprinklesoncereal · 1 year ago

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I'M NOT DEAD-

I'VE BEEN DOODLING A LOT AND I WANMA DIGITALIZE SOME OF THESE-

But I made more welcome home doodles + ocs :")))

AND THE REAL WORLD WH AU WAS CREATED BY @chez-cinnamon ITS SO FUN TO WATCH IT GROW, GO READ AND LEARN BOUT THEIR AU NOWWWW >:333

((Also the dude smoking in the poorly made school doodle is Fionn which is @//chez-cinnamon's oc!!!))

AND OFC WELCOME HOME WOULDN'T BE HOLDING ME HOSTAGE IN BRAINROT WITHOUT THE TALENTED @partycoffin AND THEIR AMAZING TEAM!!!! ^v^

BUT YEA-

WH OC PUPPPETS:

Boris Mist (wolf with goggles)

Gilly Glow (the short one with antenna who's a firefly!)

Lacy Silkweaver (Ms. Silkweaver) (The lil spider lady based off the bugs on the update!!!

((Gilly goes by They/Them and Ms. Silkweaver goes by She/They!!))

WH HUMAN OCS (FOR REAL WORLD AU AND POSSIBLY MY OWN AU ONCE I COME UP WITH A STORYLINE-)

Milley Rivera

Gillus (Gills) Wheatly

((Milley is genderfluid like Boris + Julie(aka goes by any prns!!) and Gillus goes by He/Him))

[[I SWEAR I'LL POST COLORED ART SOON-]]

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theshaddowedsnow · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Cooper Coen/Albert Moon Jr. Characters: Cooper Coen, Albert Moon Jr., Original Characters Additional Tags: Attempted Murder, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, :3 Series: Part 5 of Adventures from Earth-71490 Summary:

Nathan found out where Cooper lived

#fanfic #cooper coen #silkweaver

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buttermilk-bimbo · 1 year ago

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The Undefeatable Silkweaver

#small art blog #small artist #ocs #small art account #oc art dump #spiderman #spider man #spiderman oc #spideysona #spidey #Cole #Silkweaver

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circuslollipop · 1 year ago

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i havent seen the new spiderverse movie yet BUT i made a spidersona!! his name is Golden Silkweaver (or just Silkweaver) and he's based off a golden silk orb weaver spider. lots of gold, and since the actual spider has little white spots i gave him some pearls as well!

he's a fancy swashbuckling baroque/rococo lad but i havent decided if he's actually from the time period or from modern day but just likes dressing up and prefers fancy, flowy historical inspired clothing over the skintight spider suit. not much of a martial artist so he uses a rapier and fencing skills to fight alongside the webbing. also he can make his own fabric and lace with the webbing he produces!! also he has tboy swag

#spidersona #digital art #spiderverse #spiderverse oc

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vandanifashion · 6 days ago

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genocat · 1 year ago

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The Spindle

Mate of The Pathfinder and mother of The Silkweaver.

#rainworld #rw #oc #rain world #artists on tumblr #rainworld oc #cat #slugcat #scugs #slug cat #slug cats #scug #moth #OCs #The Spindle

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skelekins · 2 years ago

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Swapfell Facet - Sans (gemStone)

Rough Concepts (with a Muffet ;A; cause I love her and need to set aside some time for her sometime. Shes about 15-20ft tall UwU)

Decided as Stone for his nickname.

Some info to go with his bro. Ive had a bit more trouble with him obviously. I have many notes on these nerds but Ill try to keep it briefish.

His armor is his royal guard kit. Because their world lacks in metals his armor is made from crystal, with the facets done in a way to deflect blows. This also results in his armor being extremely heavy.

Sans is highly leveled and is close to 10ft tall, more than double his brother's height. He's fiercely protective of Papyrus and basically has devoted his life to his brother's safety. He likes to brag about Papyrus but only to others in Snowdin. He tries not to let anyone know Papyrus exists past Waterfall for safety reasons.

His more purple outfit is a concept for when hes younger/at home. He joined up with Muffets crew and works second to her (he is also second in guard. He likes not being in top charge since it gives him certain freedoms). Despite working with the guard he still works with Muffet. Legally he's in charge over Snowdin, but realistically Muffet is.

Sans' magic is erratic and unweidly as a side effect of his high level and also for posturing. Its not uncommon for him to have sparks of magic around him. When he activates Papyrus' shortcut you know he's coming because it feels like lightning is about to strike.

Due to the excess magic/LV spikes he has to burn it off regularly. As it builds up inside him his body trembles more which frustrates him. He'll wear his gauntlets for the last week or so before he takes care of the problem, since the weight keeps his hands from trembling.

Has manic moments and when fighting others / hyped up he will drool excess magic.

He's less skilled with trap magic than his brother is but he's far better at gravity magic. He's developed his own style of traps that combine the two: areas of kneeling and repelling. Kneeling causes whats on the tin, you won't be able to stand due to the pressure until the trap is released. Repelling won't let you in and if you try hard enough you'll be expelled with the same force.

The green scarf was a concept for something Papyrus may have given to him after learning silkweaving from the spiders.

Tassels are a symbol of Muffet's crew.

:) thanks for reading

(ps I almost called him Indigo but theres a Swapfell Indigo and I thought that'd be confusing. For fun though: if he meets others he'd go by Indigo as a joke for the other colour names, but he chooses (gem)Stone to match his brother.

#undertale au #swapfell facet #gemstone sans #skelekins art #rough concept #fan skeleton #fan sans #this is the last of my predrawn stuff i think haha #hes a big big boy #and i wanted to share him #because all my other lads are small

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