#Saint Andrew's Cross Spider

[draakart]

Dish brush and sponge holder for one of my friends, complete with three paws and a spout.

Violets are a popular wlw symbol, so I carved on some native Aussie violets. Oh, and a bonus Saint Andrew's Cross spider too lol

[rattyexplores]

Two Gorgeous Orbweavers

Photo 1 - Plebs eburnus Photo 2 - Argiope keyserlingi

21/03/23

[literary-motif]

Confiteor

Andrew Marston x Reader

Andrew reflects on his religious upbringing.

Like many things in his life, it started with a book. 

On one of his rare days off, Andrew had decided to tidy up the flat you two shared, which called for him to dust the enormous bookcase, filled to overflowing with your most treasured possessions. 

While on his tiptoes to reach the top shelf, he braced himself against one of the lower shelves, and as a spider poked its head over the top of the bookcase, he stumbled over his own two feet. His hand shot out instinctually, reaching for the closest thing to defend himself with. When he looked at what he had grasped, he found a well-thumbed copy of a book he had not picked up in ages: the Confessions of Saint Augustine. 

Instantly he was hit with nostalgia as his eyes roamed over the many post-it notes sticking out around the margin. He opened it, leafing through it quickly, his eyes not focusing on the text but on his old handwriting. His annotations ran over every page, filling the free space so thoroughly in parts that additional post-its stuck to the pages. 

By the time he reached the back cover, the nostalgia had turned to nausea, unpleasant memories of his religious upbringing and his parent’s countless excuses and false justifications making his stomach turn. 

He had nearly forgotten how much he hated it. 

Their hypocrisy, the falsity of their belief they presented as fact, rooted in bias and prejudice — it made his blood boil, the image of his brother’s face flashing before his eyes as his parents told him he was wrong. 

Andrew snapped the book shut, stuffing it to the back of the bookcase to put it out of sight. He had not thought about Christianity for so long. He had separated himself from it, looking at it from an outsider's perspective — a view he had so perfected in his academic career — that the proof of his involvement in it, the proof of the part of his life it had been, felt like a punch to the gut. 

It left him winded, and looking at the bookcase before him, he found himself only able to focus on the presence of the Confessions, which he knew was there, despite not being able to see it. 

The book was taunting him from the shadows, pulling on invisible strings. It had bided its time, resting on the wood in the home he had built with the person he loved — his Darling, his love — before striking when he least expected it, when he was the happiest he had ever been. It came armed with a shovel, digging through the thin layers of apathy Andrew had pulled around his heart and his relationship with religion, until it slowly unearthed them, bringing the stained memories, doubts, and guilt to the surface again.

God, the guilt. 

It came rushing back to him now that he thought of the endless phrases burned into his memory, the beliefs, the threats. How often had he cowered before the altar, unable to raise his head to look at Jesus nailed to the cross in agony before him? How often had he curled into a ball under the blankets at night, wondering if he had listed all his sins during confession, or if he would go to hell because he had forgotten one? 

How many times had he found himself afraid of his thoughts, afraid to view his outstanding accomplishments in his academic career for the praiseworthy achievements they were, because pride was a sin? 

There was a rosary in the drawer of his nightstand. Andrew pulled it out with shaking hands, looking at the black beads his grandmother had gifted him when he had started elementary school. 

“Take good care of this,” she had said, pressing the wood into his little hands, “and remember to pray it at least three times a day for your soul to be saved. You want to be a good boy, don’t you, Andrew?” 

He had nodded slowly, wondering where her argument was going. 

She had merely looked at him, her eyes boring into him from behind her glasses. He could still feel the chilling intensity of her gaze as if instilling a fundamental truth in him that should lead him through all his years of living. 

“Then ask God for forgiveness,” she said. He had wondered for most of his childhood what he had done that needed absolution. He had never dared to ask. 

It was only later in life, around the time his brother began acting out, and he saw his family slowly falling apart — because of him, because he was making his parents hate his brother — that he realized his very existence made a little dent in the world around him, and somehow he needed to justify the space he filled. A justification for his life was hard to find, especially when he could only focus on his brother’s growing animosity and his parent’s exceedingly hollow praises, so he continued praying for forgiveness instead. 

He stopped only once he escaped to university, fleeing the suffocating feeling his parents instilled in him. He could not breathe while he was around them. He felt the crushing weight of existence and apprehension and guilt pressing down on his chest and slowly grinding him to dust. 

Meeting Isaac had been a breath of fresh air. He still remembered his breath catching in his throat, his eyes widening in horror as he waited for the earth to open up and hell to claim him when he realized that he was in love with him. 

It had only taken Isaac’s sly smile, his kind eyes looking at him with a hint of concern behind all the adoration he found in them, to gather every last shred of his parent’s beliefs and the religion he had been raised with — not his religion, never his — and push them into the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, lock them up and bury them where they would not taint the happiness and love he had found. 

It had been years since then. He liked to think he had gotten better at dealing with that part of himself, but in truth, that part of his life had simply slipped his mind. He no longer heard psalms and bible passages in his mind, he was no longer ashamed of himself when he passed a church. He no longer felt the urge to drop to his knees in repentance when he made a mistake, when he sinned — in truth, his actions hardly registered as sins at all. 

Sometimes, he still thought about his parents. He thought of his mother’s scoff and his father’s displeased look when they found out their ‘golden boy’ had gotten himself caught up in a scandal. He thought of their disgusted faces when they found out he was together with you — and then he realized that they were not worth thinking about at all. 

They were a relic of his past. They were not important to his happiness at all. If he ever were to have children with you, he would make sure they knew their worth as people were not subject to a collective interpretation of an abstract entity’s approval — they would never be told to feel guilty for being alive. 

If Andrew took you out that night, linking your arm with his to walk the streets of London until you found a bench in the park to look up at the sky, it was partly on instinct. 

In truth, this had been a long time coming. 

You made a noise of surprise, eyeing Andrew curiously as he got up. “What is this?” you asked breathlessly, your voice nothing more than a whisper in the silent night. 

Andrew was kneeling in front of you, a gentle smile on his face as he clutched the golden ring in his trembling hands. It had been in his nightstand drawer for too long. He had mulled over the idea of marriage again and again, but now that he had finally retrieved the rosary, facing the very thing that had given him so much pain over the years, it felt nearly airily light to pick up the engagement ring. 

“My confessions,” he said, eyes filling with tears. “Will you marry me?” 

God, he hoped you would say yes.

[peddling-rp-memes]

BDSM Starter List

For muses that want a little more than the average prompt list provides. Everything is explicitly consensual; don't kinkshaming, kinksame. Send your prompt with a ♡ to reverse roles, feel free to combine prompts. Remember to specify for multimuse!

Blade : sender takes a knife to receiver's skin and draws blood.

Brand : sender presses heated metal to receiver's bare skin.

Chains : sender shackles receiver to an object (the wall/bed/etc.)

Chaste : sender fixes a chastity device (cock cage, chastity belt) onto receiver.

Crop : sender uses a riding crop on receiver.

Cross : sender straps receiver into a saint andrew's cross, holding them vertically spread eagle.

Direct : sender watches receiver masturbate while telling them what to do.

Double : sender penetrates receiver with their cock/strap and a toy, or with two toys.

Freeze : sender applies ice to receiver's bare skin.

Gloves : sender uses vampire gloves on receiver.

Good : receiver is fitted with petplay gear for sender.

Hood : sender wears a gimp hood.

Hush : sender fixes a ball gag or muzzle onto receiver.

Latex : sender wears a piece of latex (gloves, briefs, pants, bodysuit, etc.)

Machine : receiver is strapped into a sex machine while sender is free to watch the show- or participate.

Many : sender overstimulates receiver with multiple orgasms.

Mouth : sender fixes a spider/ring gag onto receiver, holding their mouth open.

No : sender denies receiver orgasm.

Ring : sender puts a cockring on receiver.

Pins : sender pushes pins through receiver's bare skin.

Sit : sender uses receiver as human furniture.

Sounding : sender uses a sounding round on receiver.

Stocks : receiver's head and arms are locked into a standing stock, allowing sender to do as they please.

Suspend : sender ties receiver in bondage that leaves them unable to touch the floor.

Tighten : sender uses their tie/belt to choke receiver.

Triple : sender penetrates receiver with their cock/strap and two toys, or with three toys.

Watch : sender tests how long receiver can go watching them masturbate without touching them or themself.

Wax : sender pours hot wax onto receiver.

Whip : sender uses a whip on receiver.

Zap : sender stimulates receiver with electric shocks.

[d4ndylionn]

Decided that Paz looked plain asf in her old suit and thought,

“What if I just make her suit a bit scary lookin so that her Venom symbiote suit looks even scarier…”

Her outfit is based off of the Saint Andrew’s Cross Spider, with limb enhancers.

Her name is X Spider but most people call her Zebra Spider.

[elemental-daddy-neos]

Trying to find a specific spider is hell because the pics that look exactly like what you need do not mention what the spider is called, and all the ones that do aren’t what you need. No it’s not a garden spider goddamn it, the saint Andrew’s cross is close but the spots ruin it, the argiope is the opposite of what I need, and I swear to god if you show me the joro spider one more time I’m going to scream don’t fucking insult me with that thing.

[swamp-world]

oooh how do u like it??? any fav eps so far? :3 (@oingomyboingos​)

ok days late but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. i am just about done s3 and im LOSING my MIND i think i’ve gone a grand total of one (1) day without listening to it since I started and that’s only because i ran out of episodes downloaded and was without network connection.

when I started listening to it i had no idea what it was going to be like or what it really was at all; I just knew that it had been recommended to me a number of times and i needed something to listen to on a flight so. for the first few episodes i was really excited to have an anthology-style story and was actually a little disappointed in some ways when it turned out to be serialized instead BUT. but they have done it so masterfully. i think i’m just used to some pieces that don’t handle the integration of anthology type intros to serialization more clumsily, and I was absolutely delighted at the result.

Favourite episodes is. difficult to capture. i need to babble about this show and my thoughts on it so you’re going to get a long list separated by category of “why i like it” 

I just think they’re neat

007—The Piper

I love me some WW1 fiction. Where’s the post about the difference between WW1 and WW2 nerds and why you need to watch out. I fall into the first category and have fallen out of my warboy interests in recent years (thank god, for separate reasons) but still really really enjoy it. love Wilfred Owen’s poetry and putting it side by side with Otto Dix pieces. also this fits into the “foreshadowing done EXTREMELY well” and i adore it

###—Spider Episodes

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i hate spiders. when i was four years old i nearly walked facefirst into the web of a saint andrew’s cross spider that was at perfect eye level, and i was stopped, and they’re not even particularly venomous, just like a bee sting really, but it scared the shit out of me so i have grievances with the fact that this podcast manages to be so good that i’m not even mad about all of the spider stuff in it

048—Lost In The Crowd

This one isn’t for any particular reason of plot or anything, though it’s very good, it just happens to overlap with one of my research interests which is uhh. we’ll summarize it as nonplaces and their ability to entrap. the title feels like a very deliberate reference to edgar allan poe’s short story “The Man of the Crowd” which informed Baudelaire’s essay The Painter of Modern Life which (among many other things) informed Benjamin’s works in general and especially his Arcades Project and all of this goes forwards to Marc Auge and his work on nonplaces and that fits into theories of Agamben’s regarding elements of normalized space stuff and that’s all tangential to the fact that I just felt very validated in recognizing that and also enjoyed the story. i know too many australians who’ve gone on backpacking tours.

051—High Pressure

[leonardo dicaprio pointing image]

065—Binary

this also just fits into a lot of. i just love people who talk about tech like this. creepypasta aside i really love the opening to this.

085—Upon the Stair

[leonardo dicaprio pointing image] listening to how jon pronounces antigonish was extremely funny to me because he says an-TIH-goh-nish and every local i know who says it doesn’t actually enunciate it, it just becomes “annegunish” without any actual accenting or emphasis so that was amusing. end thoughts on that one.

AAAAAAAAA PLOT

033—Boatswain’s Call

chilling. excellent. love maritime horror. nothing more to say yet except that i don’t know how it factors into everything else and am excited to find out.

053—Crusader

need i say anything. aaaaa. love gertrude right now. love this statement. delightful stuff. properly setting everything up. love the historical integration.

080—The Librarian

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

089—Twice as Bright

i love jude perry. scares the shit out of me.

092—Nothing Beside Remains

oh dear. oh no. oh god. i desperately don't know whether or not to trust elias. jon is an idiot and his judgement is bad and iffy. i'm so bad at avoiding spoilers but i'm doing my best but oh my god they're all so fucked.

Tropes I adore (fanfic style)

really it’s just that i’m a sucker for any stories involving whump/angst/hurt(maybecomfort) and this podcast is rife with opportunities and examples for that

053—Crusader (again)

martin’s worry about jon with the bread knife :(

079—Hide and Seek

same thing. a heavier note but. aaaa. the writing for jon’s paranoia and the surrounding responses to it is so very good and the buildup was done so well. tim’s anger is extremely rational and i want to give him a hug. martin’s sympathy and jon’s exhaustion are also extremely understandable. the opening to this episode hurt because the impression i got from it was just. they’re going down to try to find and save/stop jon, and while tim is focused on jon hurting someone else, it reads to me like martin was worried that jon was directly suicidal and going into the tunnels to die, rather than just “going to do something stupid and get hurt in the process”, and Tim’s tunnel vision (again, not wholly unfounded) blinding him to both that possibility and martin’s worries. also, martin needs a pay raise and for his coworkers to get very long vacations and also workplace therapy.

I Relate To Jon Too Much

this isn't a particular episode but just i need to scream about it. this came at just the right/wrong time, because i very much am feeling the same as jon on a professional level. that is to say, i took a job that was supposed to be simple numbers tracking and has turned into a massive investigative project. i have zero training or experience with document and data preservation, or finances, and so hearing georgie say "well it makes sense that you're the head archivist because then no one can or has told you you're doing everything wrong" was WILD because that's literally the exact situation i find myself in. it's covering business law, accounting and finance, investigative journalism/reporting, and now document and data preservation and investigation. also i am very bad at taking care of myself when i get very deep into a project and am also used to having people come in and drop tea on my desk to try to help. i big time feel jon using a tape recorder too because whether or not that's actually anything remotely normal in archival work or just the framing device beyond realism, i've recently been understanding the extent of my visual burnout/aversion and am realizing just how much it affects me. it is much easier for me to dictate things to someone to type than it is for me to type them, and I can type at a hundred wpm; it's just easier on my brain. right now i'm trying to pull together some combination guide book/changeover manual/project outline/complete history, and in reality this thing should be 50k words minimum with the stuff i need to put in it, but as soon as i have to type it i freeze up, but if i speak it or dictate it (or speak it and then type it out myself later) it's leagues more doable. The idea of making audio recordings that function the same way honestly never occurred to me but I might just start doing that because i have a coworker who's offered to transcribe things for me for business purposes and it would be so good. also it just feels nice to talk into a microphone. feels less pointless than talking to air.

in fact this podcast has inspired me to start looking back into possibly pursuing library sciences, because it prompted me to look into the extent to what i am currently doing is more archival than accounting, and that's the part that really has me hooked. i'm currently drafting up a proposal to accompany our next archive submissions for a project-based position with the goal of. like. i have the most knowledge at the moment of anyone on my organization as far as i know? and also just want an excuse to see firsthand more of what it's like.

the other part of things that’s just. aaaaa. is that i’ve. hmmm. maybe this is just something i’ll encounter in further horror media as i’m not really that familiar with it but oh boy does a lot of this hit with life experiences and jobs that i’ve worked and stuff. i used to work as a housekeeper at an uncomfortably fancy and expensive care home for seniors with neurodegenerative diseases and so the ones about care homes are. um. a bit painful on a personal level there because it turns out that’s not a fun place to work. really amplifies the horror because of its familiarity. also, used to work as a funeral attendant and pallbearer and so any of the ones really involving funerals, especially the one by the mortician (again, overlapping care home) was just like. oh yeah i forgot most people don’t. don’t exactly think like this or have day to day exposure to dead bodies. likewise, spent quite a while attending burn clinics for recovery from injuries bc that’s where the plastics department worked most of the time, so while i’m not a burn survivor myself it’s. also very familiar.

this is all to say that oh my god i adore this podcast. it's been ten days since i started listening to it and i don't know already what i'm going to do when i'm done.

Also goddamn you all I’ve started listening to The Magnus Archives

[onenicebugperday]

@simplyrobotic submitted: They're a lil blurry! My friend ID'ed it as a St. Andrews Cross spider. I'm from NSW, Australia! Caught me by surprise heading to work

Took me a minute to see the spider lol. Definitely an Argiope and most likely a Saint Andrew's cross spider, yes!

[rcannon992]

Argiope cross-weaving spiders; stabilmenta and tiny males

Argiope cross-weaving spiders; stabilmenta and tiny males

Multi-coloured Saint Andrew’s cross spider (Argiope versicolor) male and female with stabilmentum. Photograph by Raymond JC Cannon taken in Chiang Dao, Thailand.

I have come across these Argiope orb-web spiders, a number of times, with their characteristic woven crosses on their webs. These ones photographed in northern Thailand, are either the Multi-coloured Saint Andrew’s cross spiders (Argiope…

[bondsmagii]

have you seen saint Andrews cross spiders? they make their legs look longer all sneaky

I looked these guys up and they're absolutely fascinating, holy shit. that web work... stunning & accomplished these spiders are truly artists

[kandidandi]

OH BOY!! the coolest that ive seen?

probably the gum moth!! me and my mother were chilling outside one night and this fucker flies STRAIGHT into my poors mums face at SPEEDS but it was pretty cool and let us hold it! i took a few photos but im pretty sure they're lost forever since i broke my phone a bit ago fjhgfdhjkdgkgfd theyre so pretty though! and so so softt <3

as for spiders! i really like the saint andrew cross spider and redbacks! the st. andrew is really common here in the forests i walk around in! im so glad when i find one cuz they're so cool to look at!! and for redbacks, they're really really small so they hide in snail shells and such! (they're also one of the spiders we're taught not to fuck with) (they're also way smaller than you think they are! their average side is around the size of your fingernail :>!!)

BONUS INSECT!

the cabbage white!! i saw hundreds of these guys one time in primary school! they were all over the oval and it was so so pretty!!

one time when i saw you had posted something, instead of going “oh kandi is awake/online!” like a normal person would have, i said “oh, kandi’s alive!” WDYM ALIVE??? OF COURSE THEY ARE??? CRYING

nono dont worry i live in australia with deadly things everywhere lol its very normal to say that! thumbs up!

[rattyexplores]

Northern Saint Andrew's Cross Spider

A common garden orbweaver.

Argiope aetherea, “Northern Saint Andrew's Cross Spider”

15/06/22

[uneasylisteningradio]

Uneasy Listening: ENOUGH/Too Much

Some songs about ENOUGH and a bunch more about TOO MUCH!

listen on mixcloud

Bay City Rollers - Saturday Night NoMeansNo - Oh No Bruno

DJ speaks over Bananagun - People Talk Too Much

Depeche Mode - Just Can't Get Enough The Rubinoos - Hurts Too Much Laurice - Ain't Got Enough To Give Negazione - Troppo Debole Troppo Disperato

Chris Knox - Honesty's Not Enough The Fire Dept. - You're Too Much The Easybeats - Too Much The Stranglers - Enough Time Career Suicide - Too Much The Space Lady - I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night Crass - Heard Too Much About

The Ex - Enough Is Enough The Andrews Sisters - I Love You Much Too Much (with the Glenn Miller Orchestra) Fastbacks - Fast Enough The Cure - Never Enough

Cochonne - Trop Devo - Too Much Paranoias Alley Cats - Too Much Junk Clint Ballard - You Can't Get Enough of a Good Thing The Clean - Too Much Violence Ike & Tina Turner - Too Much Woman (for a Henpecked Man) Battalion of Saints - Too Much Fun White Cross - Too Much Caffeine

The Everly Brothers - That's Just Too Much The Jerks - Are You Strong Enough? The Mummies - Tough Enough Armagedom - Sofrer Demais The Vindicators - You're Too Much Ira Louvin  - It Ain't Funny Enough

Cluster Bomb Unit - Genug Ist Genug Rabbit - Too Much Rock 'n Roll The Spiders - That's Enough Blades - Had Enough Features - I've Had Enough

Chumbawamba - Enough Is Enough

[soyforramen]

Are YOU the babysitter?

“Veronica?” Jughead slurred, his hand swaying as he pointed towards her.  “Are you the babysitter?”

He shifted forward, off balance, and Betty stumbled.  She shifted his arm further down her neck, praying this was the right apartment.  Jughead cackled, a strange sound of glee.

“Charming,” Veronica said dryly.  She opened the door and stepped back.  “And you must be Betty.”

“Hi,” Betty grunted.  “This is Kevin and Fred.”

She half-dragged, half-walked Jughead towards the couch.  Behind her Kevin helped a far more lucid Fred.  As she crossed the threshold the stench of camphor incense attacked her and she fought back a sneeze.  

“Should I ask what happened?” Veronica drolled.

“Penny Peabody and the flaming disaster,” Jughead said, his head lolling back and forth.

“We got ambushed,” Fred clarified.  

When they reached the couch, Jughead refused to let her go.  Betty tumbled on top of him, unable to break his grip.  At Veronica’s sly look, Betty fought to extricate herself without too much embarrassment; unfortunately, she fell to the floor.  Disheveled and covered in ash she yanked out her hair tie and pulled it up into a messy bun as she glared at him.

Veronica cooed something in a language Betty didn’t recognize, but from Jughead’s snort it was obvious he knew what she’d said.

“Be nice,” he said.  He pointed to Betty.  “She is.”

Betty blushed and stood, purposefully ignoring Kevin’s gleeful look.

“Do I want to know what you did to him?” Before Betty could protest her innocence, Veronica held up a hand.  “I’m sure he deserved whatever it was, I would just like to know to sate my professional curiosity.”

Betty knew Jughead kept more underground company than just her and Archie, but she’d been lead to believe he was, for the most part, a loner.  And yet he’d trusted Veronica enough to direct Betty to call her and ask for refuge, even in this state.  

As if reading her mind, Veronica held out her hand.  “Priestess of Delphi, Cassandra, Sibyl of Cumae - despite what Dante claimed there was no sexual ecstasy in reading his future or his person -, Saint Hildegard of Bingen.  Just a few names I’ve gone by.  But you can call me Veronica.”

Betty hoped Veronica couldn’t tell how badly her hand tremored as they shook hands.  Those names were only heard in whispered prayers.  Such a famed prophetess had been chalked up to fairytales and children’s nursery rhymes.  Betty herself had put the fabled woman in the same make-believe category as Bigfoot, pixies, and ever getting the last of streaks off the windows. To be in such a presence…

“Do tell.  What spell did you cast to make our dear Forsythe fall all over himself?  I’ve seen stronger witches than you try and fail.”

“A basic protection circle,” Betty stammered.  “Though I might have gone too heavy on the -“

“Cedar?  Vampires are naturally adverse, though it does little to explain him.  Gaelic, Egyptian, or -“

“A mix of Incan and Shinto.  It’s something I’ve been working on but I didn’t ever think I’d have to use it against a demon.  My intentions were more for physical harm, bullets, assaults -“

“-and trains by the look of it.  Did you tweak the structure or the -“

“Both, actually, and I’m wondering whether it was using the North Wind instead of the South to bind it -“

“-which would explain his intoxicated idiocy-“

“-or whether it’s because I used oxen spit instead of sow’s blood-“

“What about the binding? Did you use -“

Kevin cleared his throat and the pair turned to him.  Veronica looked irritated to have been interrupted, but Betty realized Fred was looking whiter by the minute.  As she rummaged through her satchel, Veronica leaned against the couch.

“How in this universe were you able to draw it so quickly?  It takes me ages to prepare the lines.”

“You’ve got spiders in your windows,” Jughead said lightly.  “They’ll have made you curtains by tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s simple enough,” Betty said, ignoring his aside.  She reached further into her bag and pulled out a rolled piece of plastic no bigger than a cutting board.  She passed it to Veronica, and when it was unfurled it cast long, strange shapes on the carpet.  “I cut it beforehand and then spray the mix on it when I need it.  The spraycan’s preloaded so all I have to do is make sure -“

“Ladies, this is fascinating, but I’m in a metered spot,” Kevin cut in.  He turned to Fred and in a faux whisper said, “I swear, she’s always like this.  Get her talking about magic minutiae and she’ll go on for hours.”

Despite his pallid skin, Fred wore an amused smile.

This time, Betty and Veronica both blushed.  While Betty went about crushing herbs, Veronica went out of the room to fetch a spoon and a glass of water.  Handing both off to Betty, she turned to Fred.

“And who are you, again?”

“Fred Andrews.  Archie’s father.  I’d stand, but,” he motioned to his head, still a mat of blood and hair.  

Veronica shook her head.  “Quite understandable after the beating you both took.  But how were you ambushed?  I thought were’s were nigh impossible to sneak up on.”

“A lesser demon made a deal with the devil,” Jughead sang out from the couch.  He began to sing the phrase to himself, and Betty pressed his hand to quieten him.

“I suppose that explains it.  What’s harder to explain is how we’re going to treat those burns.”

“Aloe root, marijuana, and rosewater,” Betty said.  She scooped the mixture into the glass and stirred.  “It’s never been tested on a wound made by a demon, but -“

“It’s a brilliant mixture for burns, none the less.  There may be a grimoire somewhere that deals with that sort of thing, though it’s been an age since I’ve had to heal anyone,” Veronica said.  She opened a locked cabinet neatly filled with jars, powders, and leather bound papers.  “Not that it’s a pleasure to meet you, but why is the human here?”

Kevin shot Veronica a dark look.  

“He’s been my best friend since we were born,” Betty said.  

“Practically her familiar,” Kevin added.

Jughead threw a cushion in his direction.  It sailed the wrong way in the room, narrowly missing a lamp.

“Manners, Torombolo, that’s a turn of the century Tiffany’s and I hate to see it ruined by your jealousy.”

Standing, Betty handed the glass to Fred.  “I’ve never made anything for a were before, or even for anybody other than a witch or human.  But, in theory, it should work -“

“Her potions always work,” Kevin corrected, “in theory and in reality.”

Betty preened at the praise.  Fred took a sip and cringed.  

“I’ve had worse,” he said when Betty tried to take it from him.  “Cheers.”

In one go, he’d finished the potion.  Soon after his eyes closed and a light snore was heard.

“Found it!” Veronica trilled.

She set the large book down on the table and directed Fred to go lay down in one of the closed rooms to rest.  With Jughead still humming the strange tune, Veronica and Betty got to work with Kevin acting as their aide.

[v-as-in-victor]

St Andrew’s Cross

This time last year I had plans to get a tattoo

I thought, the next time I see you I'll say Mum, remember when you asked which of my tattoos was for you?

(And I lied because one of them was for the way you had hurt me a long time ago so I said oh I haven't got one for you yet)

I thought, I'll say remember when you asked when I'd get one for you, well I did, it's this one

This big splash of fussy tropical flowers oh I know, you hate them. But look there, in the middle of them? See that big orb weaver?

I'd say remember when I was little and in the garden you introduced me to the Saint Andrew's Cross spider by name

You said you can see the big X her long legs make, and then she decorates her web with heavy lines of silk that make a cross too You can always recognize her by that She's a good hunter She takes care of the garden, and we stop and admire her weaving

Remember telling me about arachnids and Arachne? And more than the lesson about bragging before the gods You wanted me to know the long history of the names of things

(And how you said I had to read every other book of Greek mythology on the bookcase before I could read the children's Iliad, because it was too soon for me to know how sad the world is? Has been? How we are a tragedy, we are our flaws?)

Perhaps I'd say, remember how I was curious and bright and weird and loved all the tiny things

and you held your hand out and said, "she is a good hunter and she is our friend?"

This time last year I thought I still had time left