#the shape was closer to a white tail spider which is. more dangerous

[lokh]

did you know that in all my years ive never actually seen a black house spider until now

[moonlit-han]

sweetest silver

genre: sweet domesticity, meet cute/serendipitously, fluff, a bit of magic pairing: lee minho x gender-neutral reader word count: 3k warnings: intense emotions related to love, kissing, one (1) suggestive phrase request: no a/n: for district nine writers’ guild’s starlight event! is this informed by minho’s hair being silver right now? absolutely. enjoy~

↠ masterlist in bio  |  comments & feedback appreciated! ↞

↠↞

“Little one!” You called as you rushed out the front door. “Where did you get to, you silly girl?”

You had been spooning out your cat’s food for the evening when you heard the screen door slam. You could have sworn you closed that door, but sometimes it just did not want to shut properly. That meant Lily was outside. At dusk. Just when plenty of animals went abroad to prowl and predate. Despite roaming outside during the day, Lily was not allowed at night. There were too many owls, for one, not mention the fishers, foxes, and worse, and you could not bear the thought of your sweet little girl going missing.

So, here you were, dashing out your door just in time to see the tip of a black tail disappearing into the field across the lane. Groaning, you followed your cat into the grasses that were nearly as tall as you were. Ah yes, just what you wanted to be doing at… 9:17 p.m. on a Thursday. 

Stepping over a small hummock and managing not to twist your ankle in the hole just after it, you continued calling for Lily, but she was determined to elude you for whatever reason her small cat brain had chosen.

After ten minutes or so, you thought you heard a faint mew from up ahead. You pushed your way through  the grasses with more purpose now, hoping your fool of a cat had found something she could prey on and not the other way round. 

You looked up at the murmur of a man’s voice, low and lilting. Your heart pounded in your throat, immediately sending your body into high alert, preparing you to run if the man proved dangerous. As you stalked closer, brushing a spider’s web from your face, you heard another mew that definitely sounded like Lily.

It had grown darker as you chased your cat and you had not brought a flashlight, not remembering thinking of the fact that it would be full dark soon. There was just enough light left in the sky for you to make out the shape of another person standing in the grass. 

You stopped stock still when you were close enough to see the man—for it was a man you had heard. In the fading light, his hair gleamed silver. Not pale blonde nor an icy white. True silver. He stood in profile to you, looking up at the softly appearing stars.

And in his arms, cradled like she had known him since the day she was weaned, was Lily. Well, if your highly perceptive cat felt safe enough with him, then you should be fine, right? As he gazed at the stars, she peered at him with interest. Just as you were doing, you realized belatedly. The man lightly scratched your cat under her chin, which pulled a delighted chirp from her.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice coming out more like a croak than you would have liked. “That’s my cat.”

The man turned toward you and the breath whooshed from you all at once. He was the most beautiful being you had ever seen.

“She’s yours?” The stranger asked, cocking his head to the side. His eyes glimmered with interest, one hand still tickling under Lily’s chin.

“Yes, she is. And you are?” You demanded, still dazed by his beauty.

“The name’s Minho,” the man—Minho—replied, then turned his eyes to the stars again.

You were utterly nonplussed. All you could do was think how odd this was. Here you were, in the middle of a field just after dusk, with your cat and a man you didn’t know. And what was so interesting about the sky at the moment? The sunset was the color of weak tea along the horizon, fading to deepest blue overhead. Few stars had shown their light yet.

That prompted you to ask, “What are you looking at?”

“Just the stars,” Minho said, not looking away from the sky.

“Why?”

Minho snapped his gaze you again. “Don’t you like the stars?”

“Yeah, of course,” you rushed to tell him—why you felt the need to reassure this stranger that you like the stars, you didn’t know.

“Good,” Minho said simply, again tilting his head up to the sky. Why did he look… homesick?

You stood there in silence for a minute, the crickets beginning to sing in earnest and Lily occasionally mewing in pleasure at Minho’s continued scratches.

“Um,” you said, stepping forward, “you can give her back now.”

Minho shrugged, then let you retrieve your cat from him arms. Lily tried to hold onto the front of the young man’s shirt, but he quickly but gently held her little paws and unhooked her claws. “There we go, little one,” he said as he returned your cat to your arms, unknowingly using the same endearment for Lily that you did. She immediately clambered around in your arms so that she could stare at Minho.

“I’ll get going now,” you said, a little awkwardly. Then, feeling it was the least you could do for the sake of your own sanity, you asked, “Where do you live, exactly? I know everyone around here, yet I’ve never seen you before.”

Minho’s smile was a small, secret thing, the kind of look he might give a trusted confidant or lover. “I’m new to the area, actually,” he said. “Just arrived.” He seemed to pause to think—how could he not know where he had come from?—then added, “I used to live pretty far away from here.”

“Oh, where?” Your curiosity was getting the better of you and all thought of leaving had abandoned you.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he chuckled, glancing to the sky again. 

“Try me,” you said, squaring your shoulders as Lily’s ears pricked up.

“I’m a fallen star. I come from there,” Minho said matter-of-factly, pointing to the night sky.

You stared at him in disbelief for a moment as your mind caught up with the situation. Then, you took in the silver hair, the otherworldly beauty, the sense of him not quite being fully there on the earth… 

Okay, so what if he was a fallen star? You’d read Neil Gaiman’s Stardust too recently to discount the idea that falling stars could exist as beings on earth, if they wished. And there wasn’t anything wrong with being a fallen star, anyway. He was just another being—like a tree or a horse. Or a cat, you thought, as Lily bumped her head against your hand to demand more pets. Sure, you hadn’t previously thought there was much magic left in the world… But on that point, you were more than happy to be proved wrong.

“Well, you haven’t run away yet, so that’s a good sign,” Minho drawled, and you realized that you had been standing there staring at him for over a minute.

“Would you like to come back to mine for tea?” You offered, shifting Lily’s position in your arms.

Minho’s look of surprise was gratifying. “I- Yes, thank you. I would like that. I haven’t had tea before.”

It was your turn to offer a small smile. “Well, come on, then. Let’s get you some tea.”

This, you thought, was going to be fascinating. You had just met a fallen star… A beautiful one, too.

↠↞

Two years and many cups of tea later found you seated in your bright kitchen, engrossed in a book as you munched on a piece of toast. You sat with your feet tucked underneath you, the chair only partially under the table. After all, why should you sit normally when this was more comfortable? Before you, a gentle breeze wafted through the windows above the sink, fluttering the curtains and the silver hair of the man standing there. It was comfortable.

“So…” Minho said, wiping his hands on a dishcloth as he turned to face you. You looked up at the sound of his voice and, just as you were most mornings, you were struck by Minho’s beauty. The moment was so normal, so simple, it made your heart ache.

The sharp angles of his face, the softness of that silver hair, the litheness of his body… You could watch him all day and all night and never cease to marvel at him. Never cease to marvel that this being who, on a whim, had decided to tether himself to the earth, had appeared in your life and stayed. And every time you looked at him, he took your breath away.

“Hmm?” you said, blinking to shake yourself from your Minho-induced trance.

“Have you decided what you’d like to do for your birthday?” Minho said, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair across from yours. The question was accompanied by a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “It’s next weekend.”

“I know when my birthday is, Min,” you said, pretending to scowl. “What if I do know what I’m doing and it doesn’t include you? Hmm? What then?”

“Then I’d be crushed beyond measure, darling, absolutely crushed,” Minho sighed, but you could see the sparkle in his eyes. 

When you came to think of it, his eyes were always sparkling. It was as if he couldn’t quite relinquish everything about being a star and had decided to allow that little bit of himself show through his eyes—and his hair, of course.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Well, in that case… I guess I have no choice but to include you.”

Minho’s smirk was nothing short of victorious. “Tell me what you have planned, Y/N,” he insisted as he sat at the table. “You can’t expect me not to find out. I’m your housemate, after all.”

Housemate. 

You weren’t sure what you thought of that word, at least in the context of Minho. Yes, it was accurate to say that he was your housemate. Yes, it was accurate to say that you were his housemate. But…

From the moment you saw him that night, holding your cat and gazing up at the stars—at his home, you now knew—you’d thought that this man would be special to you. And damn it, you’d been right.

Minho now seemed to be the center of your world. Not in a weird, codependent, clingy way, but in the way that two people who live together, who share everything with each other, who care for each other… 

That was the problem right there, wasn’t it. You didn’t know if Minho, a fucking celestial being, cared for you. You sure had enough love for him for the both of you, but that wouldn’t do you any good in the long run. Long ago, you had memorized each detail of Minho’s face, his body language, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking, the sound of his tread on the wood floors of the house you shared, even the sound of his breathing.

You were utterly in love with Minho. How could you not be?

So when he called you his housemate—you didn’t want to consider what you’d rather he call you—it touched a nerve in just the wrong way. You didn’t want to just be his housemate. Couldn’t he see that?

Not knowing what to say, you did the only thing you could think of: stuff your mouth full of toast. At least it would give you a few more minutes to think of what to do. 

“Y/N…” Minho’s voice was gentle, as it so often was. “Did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head, concentrating on chewing and not looking too much like a chipmunk, then ducked your head to continue reading.

“Are you sure?” Out of the corner of your eye you saw Minho reach for you.

This man really was going to be the death of you—his sweetness, his tenderness. You allowed him to take your hand and his thumb brushed over your knuckles before he squeezed. 

You felt something go taut in your chest, then your eyes welled with tears and you were crying.

Fucking hell, you were crying at the kitchen table while eating breakfast right in front of Minho. And it was all his fucking fault, all because of this fucking perfect man. How you would manage to tell him that…

“Y/N, darling, no, no, no. Don’t cry,” Minho said hurriedly, rounding the table and kneeling before you. “Please, Y/N, how can I make this better?”

You shook your head again, the tears hot on your cheeks. You could feel your body beginning to shake as a welter of emotions collided inside you. Here was Minho, asking how to make this situation better when his existence was the reason you were finally crumbling. You had no idea if he could make it better. If, upon divulging this secret, you would lose a friend and the man with whom you so dearly wanted to make a life.

Like a firefly darting across your brain, a thought of the future, of a future you could only dream of came to you. If you had children with Minho, would they have silver hair or eyes that sparkled like galaxies in just the right light or, or….

You flung yourself out of your chair and away from Minho, unable to be so near him and yet so far. It was as if you had become the one in the stars and he the one down on earth.

“Y/N…” Minho twisted toward you in confusion, his eyes full of worry.

“Min, no, please,” you stammered, curling in on yourself. You didn’t even know why you were pleading with him.

Minho just knelt there, one hand gripping the table, the other hovering in the air between you. His lips parted as if to speak.

“No! No, please let me!” You blurted, backing up until your back met the wall.

“Okay,” was all Minho said.

He waited as you gathered yourself, as you wiped a few tears from your face and didn’t look at him until you thought you could manage it without sobbing.

Well, now was as good a time as ever, you thought to yourself. Here goes nothing.

“Minho,” you began, “do you remember when we met?”

“Of course.”

“And you remember how I couldn’t stop staring at you the entire night?”

Minho chuckled, then caught himself. “Yes, I remember quite well.”

“I haven’t stopped.” Shit, that had come out wrong and Minho’s expression, the raised eyebrows… Damn it, you were really fucking this up. “What I mean is— What I’m trying to say— I still think you’re the most beautiful man, being, whatever,” you floundered, “I’ve ever seen. And living with you… You’re so kind and caring and,” you gulped. “And you’re always there for me, Minho. You always have been.”

You looked down at your feet, hunching your shoulders a bit. Fuck, you needed to get yourself together. Deep breaths, deep breaths… You finally looked at Minho, who was simply gazing at you with a gentle smile on his gorgeous mouth and a slight frown creasing his brow.

“I love you, Minho,” you said with far more confidence than you thought you had. “I am so, so deeply in love with you. I have loved you for all that you are since that first winter solstice when you showed me the stars and told me stories about them, like you knew them personally. Which, I mean, I know you do know them personally but still. So, yeah. I love you. Honestly, I’ve probably loved you since before then. It’s been hell living with you as just a wonderful housemate and never being able to say anything because—”

You couldn’t finish your sentence because Minho was kissing you.

Minho was kissing you. Minho was kissing you. Minho was kissing you. Minho was kissing you.

He had stood and closed the distance between you with such speed that you hadn’t noticed and now he stood before you. 

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears, gentle as starlight caressing your skin. In a way, it was. Minho’s lips were so soft and warm, the feeling of him so close to you utterly intoxicating. He kissed you once, twice… Then paused for the briefest of moments, waiting for you to reciprocate. 

You wrapped your arms around him and hauled him even closer to you, your mouth finding his—it was only inches away, after all. Kiss after kiss after kiss, you tasted each other with all the urgency that circling round each other for two years had created. You let his tongue sweep into your mouth and he hummed in appreciation as you melted further into his touch. 

Gods, Minho tasted like heaven. You could feel his heartbeat racing where your chests met, and you knew yours raced along with it. Minho’s hand held the nape of your neck, steadying you, his palm warm and comforting. Your fingers knotted in his hair, holding him so very close.

You never wanted this to end. Never. But, you needed to breathe.

“Minho,” you gasped, pulling away just far enough that you still shared breath. Minho ducked his head to nuzzle your neck, drawing a sighed, “Oh, gods,” from you.

“Darling, I think it’s obvious,” he purred, his eyes intent on yours, “but it’s worth saying. I love you, too, Y/N. More than you could imagine.”

“Oh?” You said coyly, regaining some composure at last. “Care to show me how much, then? Since I won’t be able to imagine it?”

Minho laughed outright, then, the sound as delightful as the first time you’d ever heard it. “I think that can be arranged, darling.” He moved too quickly for your love-addled brain to process, but you were suddenly in his arms, your legs having wrapped around his waist of their own accord. As he began walking to your bedroom or the living room—honestly, you didn’t care—Minho whispered in your ear, “Hold on tight, love, and I’ll make you see stars.”

[tommyspeakycap]

again, your new john stones fic blew me away!!! Amazing. Please feel free to write about him all day every day!! <3

thank you again!! here’s another sweet one inspired by my own 1am experience tonight :) i wish I had a john stones

My hero

Your heart is quite literally thundering in your chest. There’s no feeling like it, this kind of fear that sticks you to the ground beneath your feet. You honestly feel like you can’t catch your breath, tears streaking down over your flushed cheeks as you hold your phone in your right hand with trembling fingers, one thumb finally letting go of the little microphone shaped drawing in your iMessages app. Even the whooshing sound of the message you knew was about to send to your best friend catches you off guard, making your shoulders clench and raise in fright.

“Are you seriously alright??”

She texts back, her confusion and teasing is something you know is laced into those letters across the screen creating a glow in the dim room. You roll your eyes at her, trying to keep your vision up while sending another voice note back; “No, seriously. Why does this only ever happen when I’m alone??”

“Probably because you live alone?” She replies back, and you curse yourself for a choice of friends who clearly have no empathy for what you consider to be a very serious situation. You know you won’t hear the end of this teasing once it’s all over. But the fear to you is all too real.

“(Y/n) I got your text! Came right here, are you alright?”

The sudden voice makes you literally clench your entire body, nearly shooting off the floor in fright and making one of those internalised fear noises that sounds like you just been attacked with a taser. You hear keys dropping down by the door and then a pause of his footsteps as you try to catch your breath. Your heart swells a little at the thought of him being here.

“John!” You yelp, your voice coming out something more like a strangled cry. The tall defender hears that sound and finds himself in panic, those long legs carrying him quickly and easily up the stairs of your small home until he spots you standing now in the doorway of your bedroom. He rushes towards you, seemingly checking you over for potential injuries the best he can in the darkness only broken by the lowest setting of flashlight on your phone. The first thing he notices when checking over your face with his hands is the wetness still making its way over your cheeks.

“Are you alright? what happened? Is there someone in there? Are you okay? Did someone hurt-“

You cut off his rambling with a finger over his lips, creating even more confusion for the fluffy haired brunette who had very clearly rolled himself out of bed to hurry over here. He was wearing shoes without socks, dirty shorts from training that he’d thrown off before going to bed only to pull back in to come to your, and an old sweater that usually sat somewhere downstairs in the closet closest to the door. It was obvious he had come in a wild rush the second he got your erratic message.

“It’s a wasp, John!” You whisper, as if the little creature that sitting on your lightbulb unwilling to move from the place you couldn’t reach and wouldn’t dare to even if you could, was able to hear you.

“A wasp?” John repeats incredulously. “Seriously?”

You nod vigorously, and and as much as the exhausted footballer wants to complain or even sigh at you, he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t. Because he’s got his arms around you and he definitely can feel you quivering against him. He had expected something more along the lines of a one night stand gone wrong or even someone breaking it, but as his consciousness began to catch back up with his previously very sleepy self, it made a lot more sense. In the event of a break in, you would probably have been bloody calmer than you are now to be honest. John had seen you after a pretty dangerous car crash completely still and relatively calm as you gave statements to police officers with blood still trickling down your face. But put an insect in your path and you scaled the closest thing to you for protection.

It just so happened that closest thing was often John Stones, and he was happy to be that person really.

It has become a norm between the two of you in the years you had been friends. Winter was the worst for spiders, but he generally didn’t mind the mildly irritating insects. He just got rid of them one way or another while you hid as far as you could get and then he’d come get you when the coast was clean. But you hated summer for this particular reason.

Wasps.

They fly in, fly into things and somehow never make it back on the window on their own despite it being the most easy thing one could ever imagine. Then, they try and sting you as if they aren’t in your house. They just creep you out, even the sight of them with their nasty little bodies. Bees aren’t a problem, they’re fuzzy looking and don’t intrude in your home nearly half as much. Also, they don’t try to sting you all the damn time.

“Where abouts?” He asks, his voice showing no hint of any destain or irritation he may harbour. “On the light,” you tell him shakily, following close to him back as you both enter the room. “Right up there- careful!”

John sniggers a little to himself, much to your dismay. He kicks off his shoes by your bedside table and climbs up onto the bed with ease on those ridiculously long legs. By luck, chance or both, he has some toilet paper in his hoodie pocket that he’d probably used to wipe his nose or something like that earlier, he can’t remember. He holds it out at arms length, only inches away form the unsuspecting black and yellow insect. “Where?” He asks again, “I can’t see anything.”

“There!” You insist, pointing up with a shaking finger. “I don’t see anything (y/n).” He repeats, making you whimper slightly, more tears suddenly appearing as you try to come to terms with the fact it might’ve moved while you were outside the room. The thought of having to sleep in your house while not knowing where it was would send you absolutely mental. “It was there I swear, look-“

“Ahhh, I got it. Stand back.”

He leans forward with relative ease, careful with the force he used so close to a live electric source and grips the buzzing creature in his tissue. “There we go,” he hums, stepping down from the bed. “All go-“

As if on cue, it flies out of the paper and you let loose a literal shriek as you dive backwards, crashing into the wall and then jumping forward in fright at that. “Woah!” John calls, “it’s alright, it’s right there. Calm, calm. Take a deep breath. Look,” he tries to calm you. That deep accent with his fatigue coating each word seeps into you, carefully calming your firing heart as he grabs it tighter from the floor, making sure he squashed it this time and immediately takes it to flush it down the toilet. John doesn’t know if you’re supposed to kill them or not, but at this moment in time he genuinely does not care. Was he fuck going to chase a wasp out of a window at half past one in the morning. Not a chance.

When he returns from the bathroom now empty handed, you still seem upset.

“That was scary.” You announce.

John smiles, pearly whites all on display. “I noticed.” He teases, making you scowl tiredly at him.

That scowl falters when his smile breaks into a light, soft laugh and he moves to stand in front of you. You absolutely don’t mind the fact that he’s babying you a little, using the sleeves of his sweater to wipe your cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and taking you into his strong arms. In fact, it’s very much welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world to you and even the residual discomforted shivers from the concept of a wasp in your bedroom couldn’t get through that defender. He looks after a lot more than just the Manchester City goal line. No, he’s the sole defender of something much more precious that he doesn’t even realise.

Your heart.

“You okay now?” He asks softly, his tired voice rumbling through you. You nod against him, “Feeling a bit better. Thank you Stonesy.” You mumble, words muffled by the muscled chest that your face his resting against. “Anything for you, lovely.” He responds easily, pulling back from you in a way that aches his heart. The sudden lack of your warmth and presence against him is utterly brutal. He loves holding you, but hates it in the same breath. He would love to hold you if it was something he got to do freely instead of fleetingly.

His eyes are stuck watching you sit down on the edge of your bed to grab your phone and check the time with an element of shock rolling through your eyes when you realise it’s nearly two.

“You got training tomorrow?” You ask sweetly, a yawn following the tail end of your words adorable in a way that makes John’s heart flutter like a teenage boy. He nods, “Not till after dinner though, around 5.”

It’s your turn to nod, seeming to be chewing over something in thought as you lie down in the middle of your bed.

“Wanna stay then?”

John has to pretend to think about it at least a little bit so he doesn’t look like he’s jumping right up at the opportunity, which is exactly what he wants to do. “Why not,” he shrugs, chucking off his hoodie to the foot of your bed, “Scoot over.”

He clambers in, long limbs moving nowhere near as coordinated as they are on the pitch as he lays down by your right. It’s like a familiar dance, one you both know so well as you shuffle around so you can lay against his chest, one leg hooked over him as his arm wraps around you to pull you even closer. A silence falls between you as he feels your eyelashes fluttering shut, tickling his chest. He can’t find that same relaxation, can’t seem to shut his eyes for the thoughts flying through his mind all at once.

“I should teach you how to catch them.” John states, rumbling voice interrupting the peaceful quiet in which you had nearly found sleep. “You know, for the future.” He adds almost flippantly. Almost.

“Why?” You hum groggily, sleep croaking your voice ever so slightly. “I got you.”

John has to pretend your half asleep admission doesn’t send his heart flying into his throat. You do always have him, right there in the palm of your hand. Always.

“I don’t think other guys would appreciate me barging into their house in the middle of the night.” He suggests, making you quirk an eyebrow in question, but you still don’t look up at him and he isn’t even sure if you’ve got your eyes fully open. “No other guys here,” you state, “Single, living all alone.” You add lazily. The words almost make John wonder if he has fallen asleep, each one spoke playing straight into the dream he’s had for years for you to be his.

“Yeah, I know but…but there will be, at some point.” He suggests. You give no response for a moment and he briefly thinks you’ve fallen asleep at some point in this conversation.

“Bet those other guys wouldn’t come get rid of wasps for me in the middle of the night like you do.”

“Maybe,” John shrugs, “but I think there’s plenty of guys like that, especially for you.”

He feels you shake your head against him, your words decisive as you speak;

“There are no guys like you, John Stones.”

His words and his breath are caught on his throat, his heart erupting in his chest as he replays those words in his mind, trying to figure out if he had actually just heard them or if his tired mind was playing tricks on him because it was so late and he hadn’t had enough sleep.

But then you look up at him with tired eyes and a sweet smile. You know what you’ve just done, know the bomb you’ve just dropped and you’re hoping with everything crossed that he feels the same way.

“You’re my hero, Stonesy.” You say softly, your voice now a little sheepish and he can barely just make out the flush of your cheeks in the dim room lighting. “And I love you with everything I have.”

He doesn’t know what to say, his eyes wide as his heart beats as erratically as he had felt yours beating when he first arrived with fear coursing through his veins thinking you were in some kind of mortal peril.

“John?” You ask timidly, voice sheepish as you sit up in fear.

“Sorry,” he rumbles, pushing himself to a seated position, allowing him to lean forward and slide his hand around the back of your head to pull you into him, your lips crashing down onto his.

It’s just about everything he’s ever wanted.

“God I love you.” He says against your lips, a groan leaving his throat from pure satisfaction, pure relief of finally getting those words off of his chest. You giggle, resting back against his chest. “Can we sleep now, please?”

He nods, both of you shuffling so you can resume the position you had been in before a life changing confession that had spun you and the Barnsley brunette into the kiss that had been years in waiting. This was the happiest either of you had probably ever been.

“Guess we have the wasps to thank for this eh?” John lulls just as sleep is about to encompass you. He feels you shiver against him, the hairs on your arms immediately raising to attention at the mention of that which you hate so much.

“Don’t say that! That’s basically an invitation for them to invade my house!” You hiss, giving his chest a gentle swat as he pulls you closer to his side.

“Let them come,” he says almost triumphantly, “You got me now, always.”

You cosy yourself against him, a soft sigh of complete content and comfort tickling his chest as it dances across him. He feels that gentle smile that settles onto your gestures as your heavy eyes allow sleep to truly begin to take you.

“Always,” you mumble, words diluted by sleep “My hero.”

[talesofnovembria]

Sal and Arthur were on a trip. But then Sal sees someone she recognizes :3

They have no choice but to hide in Azjol-Nerub, where they can avoid them. But there are things in the dark that don't take kindly to strangers. Out of the frying pan, and into a different, spider-shaped frying pan!

Send me a creepy scenario/location and character(s) and I’ll write a drabble for it.

Well this was certainly not the place she would have thought the two of them would end up at. Granted, compared to some of the other zones in Northrend, Dragonblight was one of the more protected regions. It was hard to deny that the home tower and realms of the dragonflights would mean their kind would keep this place, and the surrounding area well guarded. Besides, since the dismantle of much of the Scourge army, there wasn’t much of a threat via the undead here.

So long as the two of them stuck to the path, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about.

Arthur and Salena walked side by side, as if they were equal soldiers. Travel would have been easier if she were to use her vial, but that was not effective when one of the two of them was afraid of heights. Another option would be to resort to using a mount, but unless her friend had some kind of prior riding knowledge, that was also not going to be effective. She didn’t trust having him ride behind her with the risk of him touching her back, and she was shorter than him, making him sitting in front of her pointless.

So walking it was.

They were nearing the border towards the Borean Tundra, another place that was relatively untouched by the Scourge, but had its own problems. Nothing the two of them couldn’t handle, and again, so long as they remained on the path, there shouldn’t be any issue. Besides, there was a relatively small tavern some distance in at a gnome outpost they could take a moment to rest at.

For a majority of the journey, it had simply been the two of them conversing, whether it be about their craft, the whole of Dragonblight, or just them poking at one another. She had taken the opportunity to flick the ponytail Arthur had fashioned himself in before coming here. While a bit strange for someone with such a spiky hair style, and one that always seemed to point up, he did manage to pull it off in her opinion.

Their conversation was interrupted when she stopped short, her ears picking up a sound in the distance. Clopping… the sound of hooves against stone… That was a sound she was familiar with, but who else might be out here in dragonblight? They were getting along the path to Star’s Rest, so perhaps someone from there? Couldn’t be a patrol from the Ebon Blade… and as far as she knew, many of those in the Alliance and the Horde were not too interested in the resources out here anymore.

Arthur seemed to give her a confused look when she turned to him, though that was an expression she also shared. Perhaps it truly was no one more than a resident at the passing outpost.

The sight of the riders though… Paladins…

Ordinarily, she could push aside her resentment of their ‘kind’ in order to be on her way, but she could see the way their helmets were turning towards her. Her ears pinned back… this was bad… It was bad enough when Light users recognized the saronite armor, and the symbol that represented the Knights of the Ebon Blade… but what struck worse was they seemed to recognize her.

And she vaguely recognized them.

It was often hard to tell the people who followed him by their faces when they were usually covered in armor, but certain choices about their designs were able to stand out to her… and these two held that same attention to white and gold like he did.

The clopping sound began to grow louder. She had to make a decision right now. Turning and running down the path was only going to delay the inevitability of them catching up. She could always run and divert them away from Arthur, but despite his knowledge of this place, she didn’t trust him to have all the combative knowledge to survive out here… plus he would be stranded without a way back home. Trying to run past them was not a good option either, and taking off into the woods would have its own risks…

The way she saw it, that left only one option to ensure they would lose the paladins.

Salena spun on her feet, pushing Arthur towards the hill behind them, “Start climbing, and as quick as you can preferably.”

He could see the worry in her face, something that rarely seemed to come out when all of them were together, or hell even when she was alone with one of them. He did as she instructed, but one look up the hill made him question her choice, “But up there is-”

“I’m well aware of what’s up there. Believe me, if there was a smarter choice, I’d have taken it. Just trust me and move.”

The both of them began their fleeing, her ears turned almost completely behind her to listen to the hooves change from stone to snow. Compared to them on the ground, they were going to make more noise. With any luck, her and Arthur could sneak around enough to draw their attention to the paladins. All they would then have to do was lay low long enough to have them leave… or die… and then make their way back out.

The blond seemed to hesitate for a moment once they came to the openings in the ground at the top of the hill. There were a few nerubians standing guard outside, their heads turning at the sound of the fast approaching horses. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she raced ahead, jumping into one of the larger holes. She turned back to the opening, seeing Arthur peer over the edge, “Jump!”

All he had to do was trust her. Please…

He leapt from his spot, her back claws digging into the ground to harden her stance. Her arms reached up, catching the human before he could hit the ground. All that armor was going to make him not only fall faster, but hit harder once he landed. She could handle the weight as well as the initial jump. This was her home world after all. She adjusted him in her arms, holding him bridal style before turning her gaze back to the opening. She could hear the alarm in the horses’ calls, but a few guards were not going to be enough to hold them off… not for too long.

And once they got off the horses… or found the large opening inside, they would be on their trail once again. Her tail lashed behind her as she made another decision. She spun on her feet, carrying her friend towards what looked like an underground mouth of a cave. Deal with the nerubians would be far easier than paladins armed to the teeth and will spells that could cripple her…

Which would leave Arthur trying to deal with zealots who would not listen to reason on his own.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Granted, this option would also be putting him in danger, but the odds were stacked more in their favor so long as she had the ability to fight back. And surely even paladins wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow into a place infested with this species on their own. They probably thought her foolish for making such a choice, and seeing her go so deep would hopefully make them believe she would get them both killed on her own.

She stopped once she came to the end of a slope, and also when protestive wiggling began to increase from her arms. She set her friend down, her head turning back the way they had come. Her body tensed, not exactly keen on the place she’d dropped both of them. With an attack going on outside, and two outsiders at the doors of their underground kingdom, the nerubians were sure to come running for them.

And just as much, she had to make sure their pursuers were not still chasing them.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the sound of them climbing along the stone walls and coming up the pathway behind the two of them. Her fur stood up, Arthur moving closer to her. Neither one of them were afraid for themselves… but rather for each other. Predictable.

She managed to get her hands on her blades, pulling them out, her friend following similarly. Webs began to shoot from their mouths, aiming for both of them. Her experience and reflexes made dodging and slicing the material easier… but the same could not be said for Arthur. She didn’t know just how well he’d do in this kind of situation, against an enemy he had only seen so long ago. This was not a game anymore.

Web stuck to his armor, pulling him away from his friend. He raised his sword to slice it off him, but another stuck to the blade. He tugged on it, but the more web that piled in that one spot made it harder and harder to get free. Her head turned over to him, ears falling down. Of course he would get caught, and he wouldn’t distract her by trying to call for help. He acted… just like she did…

Her attention left their attackers temporarily, closing the space between the two of them. Her blade began making work of the individual strands of web attached to Arthur’s blade, working to get him free. As she was, she felt a tug on her own blade, one of them snagged like his own was. Her growl turned into a snarl, both of them starting to fight the webs to get free, more seeming to pile on with each new addition. She could feel more tugging on her end, turning her head around to see them pulling her away from Arthur.

And it was the opportunity they were waiting for to get some web around her jaws.

They were coming closer and closer… Deep, yet scratchy, voices echoing around them.

“What do we have here? A beast and a human?”

“Not just any beast. A little scourge soldier.”

“Scourge? After all of them being wiped out?”

“It would seem there are still a few stragglers left.”

Curse this miserable existence… why did the Lich King have to make so many damn enemies in Northrend…?

Her head turned to the side, Arthur still putting up a fight even as the webs started to encase him, his weapon laying on the ground. No… not him… she would not fail him… not anyone… not again…!

Her eyes glowed, her unbound feet stomping to the dirt. She had to be extremely careful with this. The wrong spot for any of these, and she could end up doing more harm than good. Her eyes sparked with more power, feeling the webs around her growing tighter. Guess the sight of a death knight’s defining feature made them more than a little terrified. She focused on him, the ground around Arthur starting to freeze. Spikes of ice began to rise up from the ground, two at the sides to slice the web, and the rest to bathe in nerubian blood.

The ice, thankfully, only managed to tear along her friend’s armor, leaving him unharmed. All he had to do now was pull himself out from his binds.

Which left her to struggle with her own situation. Guess now that she was labeled a threat, binding her was the smarter option. Bright blue her eyes glowed, what movement she had left stretching her arms for the others, attacking their inner systems… and while it was able to slow them down, it was not enough to make the remaining stop, nor more from coming to their aid.

Fine… so long as she could get Arthur out…

But then again, that never was his style.

She felt her own bonds loosen, a normal blade coming down on the sticky material. She had freed him… and he had freed her. The two exchanged a glance before cleaning off their weapons while they had a chance. They stood back to back, but enough space that Arthur was not pressed against her back. The stance itself brought back a feeling of nostalgia…

They could survive this.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Sometimes I’m reminded of the time I rescued a little Dekay’s brownsnake from fellow students outside the residence building back when I was in college. Because I still can’t believe it happened the way it did. I walked out of the building one morning to find some students standing in a circle and looking down toward the centre. I had enough experience from grade school to know it was an animal they had surrounded. Usual creature was a large brown moth that I would have to step in and rescue before someone decided to kill it. You don’t have much time. I don’t know what it is about people standing in a circle and surrounding a living thing, but someone will always try to kill it. Sure enough when I got into the circle, someone was poking the poor creature with a stick.

But it wasn’t a moth, it was as mentioned a Dekay’s brownsnake. They look like this:

(Note the skinny little tail)

And they are small even as adults, which I don’t even think this one was. Having a history of catching garter snakes and handling them (I always let them go after), I knelt, prepared to rescue this little thing. I knew it wasn’t a garter snake, but I also knew only one venomous snake lived in my area, and this for sure wasn’t it.

As I moved to touch it, a heavyset blond boy said, “Yo, that’s a rattlesnake! Those things are vicious!”

Keep in mind this was a college-aged individual, and do please refer to the above photo for reference and perhaps you can see why I wanted to turn around and say, “Are you fucking stupid?” What I said instead, very calmly, and barely turning my head in his direction, was, “It’s not a rattlesnake”.

You would think, perhaps, that this fellow might have taken a closer look and remembered why exactly rattlesnakes are rattlesnakes (or rattlers). But no. He asked quite beligerently, “How do you know?”

Sometimes I wish I had made them all feel as stupid as they were, by saying something like, “Does it look like it has a rattle? Have you ever seen a rattlesnake? Do you realize they’re called rattlesnakes because they have rattles at the end of their tails? Do you think everything vaguely serpentine is a rattlesnake because you like the way ‘rattlesnake’ sounds? Do you always assume you know something when you have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about?” Instead I couldn’t even think to dignify such a stupid with an answer. I simply stared back at him blankly and blinked. I then turned back to the little serpent and slowly curled my hand around it, gently but firmly holding its head between my thumb and the second knuckle of my forefinger.

The boy said something disparaging about touching snakes being creepy and the circle broke up and left. I walked to the tall grass at the of a nearby wooded area and released the snake.

Some people get weird about snakes. And given that some can be quite dangerous, I can understand to a point. There are few sure fire ways beyond species identification of telling a venomous snake from a non-venomous one. Slit pupils do not always mean venomous and round pupils don’t always mean non-venomous. A thick body versus a slender body doesn’t work either, and nor does the shape of the head. Venomous snakes can be mistaken non-venomous ones and vice versa.

But for fuck’s sake, a rattle is pretty damn distinctive. A snake either has a rattle or it doesn’t. If it has one, it’s a rattlesnake/rattler and it’s venomous. If it doesn’t then it might still be venomous but it most certainly not a rattlesnake. I don’t understand how this entire circle of people thought a Dekay’s brownsnake (see above) was any variation of this: 

(Note the rattle)

I think about this sometimes because even a lot of potentially dangerous animals rarely attack unless provoked. Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. A lot of animals die unnecessarily because of this. What’s more, harmless animals who gained an evolutionary advantage by mimicking these dangerous animals, and even harmless animals who only somewhat superficially resemble dangerous animals to the untrained eye. Check out the fox snake which is often mistaken for the Massasauga rattler shown above:

(No rattle)

But the mistaken identity of that little Dekay’s brownsnake showed me it doesn’t even matter sometimes what it looks like. If a creature happens to be unlucky enough to belong to an animal group long-reviled by humans, why then every spider is a brown recluse or black widow, and every shark is a candidate for Jaws, and every cat will suck the breath from a baby (but especially black cats), and every flying hymenopteran is a hornet, and every brown flattish bug is a cockroach, every rat is out to bite you and transmit disease to you (and opossums are definitely giant rats!), all black birds are bad omens, all black and white smallish mammals are skunks and will spray if you look at them, all sharks want to eat you, and of course all snakes are rattlesnakes. If the shoe doesn’t fit, force it on.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 7

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 7)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: The secret history of Logan and Roman begins to come to light while little pieces of Roman's world start to fall apart around him, resulting in a late night confrontation that exposes Roman's role in reuniting Virgil with his big brother.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: MORE CHAPTERS INCOMING, ‘cause this was getting super bloated. IDK, I just have a lot of feelings, and I’m rushing ‘cause I want the boys to kiss and be happy so I can start my series of smutty one-shots...I mean, what? >.> <.< XD

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1020, A.A.

“Hold on...just hold on...”

It took all his effort to stay calm, keeping the rhythm of his compressions steady the way Remus taught him. It was different, watching his twin tap-tap-tap the chest of a tiny kitten and blowing a careful stream of air into its snout—this was a boy, an entire person and his skin was pale as marble, lips tinged the blue of Father's lapis ring...

The body under his hands spasmed, a gush of water suddenly erupting from his mouth. Thinking as quickly as he could, Roman tipped the boy's head to the side so he could spit the water on the grass beside the river that ran behind the palace, and not swallow it back into his lungs—but you couldn't swallow things into your lungs, could you? Was it wrong? Was he doing this wrong?

...pulse. He should feel for a pulse, right? That's what Remus said...

Roman pressed fingers to the boy's throat, sagging when he felt the rapid flutter of a heartbeat there...at least until the boy twisted away and scrambled back, still hacking and shaking from the chill air and his sodden clothing.

Blue eyes met green, and eleven year old Prince Roman Sanders was struck breathless by the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his short life.

“Careful—it's all right, I won't hurt you.” he soothed, raising his hands and remaining on his knees. “I just want to make sure you're okay.”

The other boy blinked, water dripping off clumped eyelashes like diamonds falling to roll down his wet cheeks. He had jet black hair, plastered to his head, and even with his heart beating again, his skin was still so pale. His eyes sparkled like the river water itself, clear and bright and so blue it almost hurt to look at them.

“I...was dead.” the other boy hiccuped, bringing a hand to his chest as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I...well, yeah. I mean, your heart wasn't beating, so I used the vital breath to make it start again. My brother taught me.”

The boy blinked, his thin but well formed lips drawing into a curious pout that made him flinch, made him reach up and touch his lower lip—sporting a shallow cut that matched one on Roman's, where he'd been a little too forceful pressing his mouth to the boy's so he could force air into his lungs.

“You...you brought me back from the dead.”

Roman blinked—but when he said it like that, he supposed that he had. Wow.

“I didn't use magic.” he said instead of...literally anything else. “I swear it.”

“On the Spider's Thread?”

“What's that?”

“The bond that unites souls.” the boy explained. “It's the most sacred oath in the world, 'cause if you break it the Fates will tear you from the Living Tapestry.”

“What's the Living Tapestry?” Roman asked, shifting to edge closer to the boy.

“The world.” he replied through chattering teeth. “And all the people in it...and you stopped them. You stopped Fate.”

“But—I didn't use magic. I didn't...really stop Fate, I...I just...you were floating in the river, and—I had to try.” Roman explained, feeling strange with all this talk of bonded souls and raising the dead, and how pretty the boy was.

“Is...is that okay?”

The boy watched him with a look Roman couldn't make heads or tails of...but after a moment he nodded.

“It's okay.” he assured him, shifting onto his knees slowly.

“Good.” Roman replied, then winced a little when the clickclickclickclick of the boy's chattering teeth became audible.

“You're so cold—you'll catch your death without some dry clothes.” He looked down at himself—equally wet from diving into the river to pull the boy out. “I could bring you back to the palace to dry off and--”

“I can't go there.”

Roman flinched at the forceful way he said it, harsh and tinged with fear. He didn't need to be his brother to connect the dots.

The boy knew a lot about death magic, and he was afraid of the palace. He was Necromata...but he was small and beautiful and shivering, and he wasn't sure anyone so awestruck by the vital breath, of all things, could be as evil as he'd been raised to believe.

Could they?

Roman thought for a moment, then struggled to his feet and started pulling off his tailored white tunic, leaving him in a simple black cotton undershirt.

“What--”

“I'm going to walk you home.” Roman insisted. “You're in no shape to be by yourself—and if I'm dressed like a citizen, no one will recognize me as a prince! You'll be safe.”

The boy watched him as he finished stripping off anything that would mark him as nobility, even discarding his boots so he was walking barefoot. When he was done, the boy was still kneeling on the ground, just...staring at him.

“What?”

“You said 'citizen.' Not 'commoner.'”

Roman made a face. “I don't like the word. I don't think people are common—I like to watch the roads from my bedroom window and imagine all the stories that the people who travel them have to tell. Common people are boring, and how can anyone with so many stories be boring?”

The boy hesitated, but finally started to get to his feet.

“Thank you...apologies. I don't know which prince you are.”

“Roman. I'm Prince Roman.” he offered, extending his hand to the boy to help him up. “And I swear—by the Spider's Thread—that I will see you home safe.”

Regarding the hand thoughtfully, the boy reached up to take it.

“Salutations, Your Highness. I am Logan Crofter.”

Their fingers touched—and Roman's heart froze when the other boy screamed.

********** 1033, A.A.

“At the end of the day, Your Majesty, the truth will come out: you're not merely a pawn of the necromancer. You're in league with him—and the Sanders line will fall from power. After all, twins don't long survive the death of their other half—or so the stories say.”

The words were going to haunt Roman long past the resurrection of his father—then again, so was the broken hand that still throbbed where he'd punched the court mage in a fit of blind fury.

“Roman!”

He stopped in his tracks, finally allowing himself to take stock of his surroundings: he was storming down the corridor that would lead to the north wing, where Patton and Logan were being kept. Head still spinning with the angry shouts and protests of both royal advisors and soldiers loyal to Colonel Mori, he'd fled the crowded throne room after breaking the mage's jaw with only the sound of his brother's cackling to comfort him.

Without his permission, his feet were trying to carry him towards the necromancer—towards Logan.

The one who was depending on him. The one who was helping him...the one...

Footsteps pounded behind him. His eternal, steady awareness of his own twin was all that kept Roman from being startled by the hand that grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“Roman.”

Remus stood there in front of him, hands on his shoulders, wearing an uncharacteristically sober expression. For one moment, in his mind's eye he saw Logan and Virgil, somewhere in the palace, having a similar encounter—the image had clung to the back of his thoughts since a discreet intrusion from Remy let him know that Logan was okay, his hope for both of them a fantasy he couldn't stop himself from willing into reality.

Logan had his brother back. Virgil had his...the notion of it made Roman ache, brought him dangerously close to thinking about things he couldn't entertain. Not a hint, not even a memory.

Hold on.

Do not let go.

I never have...I never will.

Roman was clutching at Remus's hands on his shoulders before he could stop himself, staring down his twin. For a second, Remus's eyes widened and his gaze grew distant—looked at him like he wasn't there, didn't seem to see him through whatever wheels were turning in his head...

Then the wall came down, his hands slid away from Roman's...his arms opened, and Roman collapsed into them. He felt the tears fall, then stream, then shook with sobs torn from his marrow. The dangerous memories fell away, replaced instead by the chill of the king's lifeless body, the stillness in Roman's arms, the stiffness of rigor setting in as he held him close before the guards forced him back into the castle.

His father was dead.

Father was dead.

Father was dead.

In the heart of the palace, Roman came apart, and Remus gently put him back together with strong arms, soft words, and shared pain.

********** 1021, A.A.

“You're sure this is all right?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I wish it.”

The pair were walking by the river, Logan's request. He wouldn't tell Roman anything more than that he had to do something as part of his training, and that he wanted Roman's help. Logan's Grandpap didn't know he was doing it, Roman lied about being sick to get out of his lessons and sneak out for the afternoon...

It was confusing as hell, and Roman would be a lot more afraid of the chances he was taking if it were anyone but Logan asking him to do this.

“But what if your Grandpap finds out about...whatever we're doing, and you get in trouble?” Roman protested.

“Then he can...”

Logan trailed off and stopped walking with a  frown before fumbling with uncharacteristic clumsiness to reach into his pocket for the vocabulary cards that had been a staple since Roman started teaching him outsider slang. The clumsiness came from reaching into his right pocket with his left hand—because his right hand was busy being firmly enmeshed with Roman's.

“...'deal.'” Logan finished once he'd pulled the cards out and read the top one. Glancing up to meet Roman's gaze, he offered him the small, triumphant smirk that anyone else might read as arrogant confidence. Roman knew it was all Logan allowed himself in moments of triumph—pride in the hard-won victories.

“You've been studying.” Roman observed, doing a miserable job of hiding a smile.

Logan stopped in his tracks, released Roman's hand, and shuffled through the vocabulary cards for another one, speaking as he displayed it for Roman's evaluation.

“'Duh.'”

Roman dissolved into giggling, and on impulse reached out, pulling Logan into a hug. The ten year old boy immediately tensed, breath stilling at the unexpected embrace.

Roman didn't let go, but he did loosen his arms for Logan's benefit. He waited to see if he'd bolt or...

Roman watched the vocabulary card flutter to the ground as Logan let them go, and very deliberately wrapped his arms around Roman's waist, laying his cheek against Roman's shoulder. He was still tense, but held on.

“Too much?” Roman asked softly.

“Yes.” Logan replied.

“Hurts?”

“Yes.”

“Should I stop?”

“...no. I...”

“Breathe, Logan. Remus says it's important to breathe—and important to take it slow 'cause you're touch starved.” Roman reminded him. “I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but I really don't want to hurt you. I'll let go if you ask me to.”

“I know, just...”

“What is it, Logan?”

“...more.”

The way his voice fractured and his arms reflexively tightened broke something inside of Roman as he did as he was asked: held tighter, pressed his face to Logan's hair, stood still and gave hugging his best friend his whole attention.

That was the moment Logan let out a shaky sigh and sagged in Roman's arms. He didn't know what it was, but he had to be thinking about touching Logan for it to stop hurting. Sometimes it was still too warm and too overwhelming, but it didn't seem to hurt him as bad when he was just standing there, willing his whole attention into Logan.

“...it's the Warping.”

Roman frowned a little, lifting his head just enough to rest his cheek against Logan's hair instead of his whole face. “What?”

“The Warping.” Logan repeated quietly, his breath puffing warm against Roman's neck. “I must commune with the dead as part of my training. The fiber strung onto the loom for weaving is called the warp, while the fiber that is strung across this is called the weft. The Warping is preparing myself to learn how to find the Loom of Memory—a state of consciousness where I can work my power properly.”

Roman nodded against Logan's head. “What do I need to do?”

“Just be with me...technically, I am supposed to do it alone, but I researched the ritual, and it is believed that, in the Old Times, a Weaver could bring their Animata to the Warping.”

“But I'm not an Animata.”

“No, but the Animata's defining characteristic was that they were twin souls—and you are a twin. I believe your presence will be acceptable.” Logan replied. “I...am supposed to acclimate myself to the emotions of the dead. It's not really my strongest area—feelings—and...”

Logan didn't finish. Just held on, tensing a little, then relaxing—leaning into Roman's embrace.

“You're afraid.” Roman finished for him softly.

“Fear is an emotion. I feel nothing.” Logan insisted petulantly—and it was petulant with the way he huffed soft against Roman's neck. “Necromancers have no souls with which to feel.”

“So you keep saying.”

“It's true.”

Silence fell again.

“...if I had a soul, however...I would entrust it to you.”

Roman felt something in his stomach tremble at that, soft and shivery and bright.

“Swear it on the Spider's Thread?” he asked softly.

Logan didn't answer right away—as he did with things he was never terribly sure of.

“Grandpap says that the Spider's Thread is woven by Fate, not by magic.” he replied instead of a real answer.

Roman fell silent at that, just holding onto Logan and trying to ignore the way that having Logan close like this, pledging him his non-existent soul, quiet breaths on his neck and head on his shoulder made his chest warm, made his heart do pleasant, squirmy things in his chest.

“Do...you believe in Fate, Logan?” he asked softly, not sure why he suddenly felt like holding his breath. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Like most things Logan knew—which was almost everything—he answered immediately.

“I have since I met you.”

********** 1033, A.A.

Roman couldn't sleep that night—which was a good thing, seeing as how his room was invaded at three AM.

It happened silently, but he was emotionally raw and vaguely paranoid after what had happened to his father, after the threats made against him and all he cared for by the members of his own guard, his own court—or, perhaps, he just felt Logan's magic still teeming in his veins, keeping his heart beating and his lungs full of air. Maybe the nearness of him set something off, magic calling to magic.

One moment, the dark was empty and gaping like the hole in his chest that lingered ever since his breakdown in the halls with Remus, and the next it opened wider before filling with a presence that teased him with both the promise of danger and comfort.

When the blade touched his throat, he already had his hand under the pillow.

“Virgil, don't.”

Roman expected Logan's voice—he did not, however, expect that Logan had company.

Snapping his fingers to call to life the luminaries in his room, Roman sat up and pulled his hand out from under his pillow, a dagger in his hand and pressed to the hollow of the cadet's throat. Virgil hissed—actually hissed out loud—and backpedaled, his own dagger dragging a thin line against the side of Roman's throat.

“OW! You venomous little shit!” he spat, touching his bleeding neck as he blinked against the onslaught of light.

His hand was jerked away, and cool fingers probed his throat with deft, clinical precision. Abruptly, his head grew foggy with something akin to sleep, but cold and light...Logan's magic working, taking control of him again.

“Relax—I'm not taking your mind, I'm healing you.”

“You're what?! Logan, you're a Weaver! You can't heal!”

Roman had to work at it a little, but his free hand lifted to rub his eyes. When he let it fall again, he had  Logan sitting on the edge of his bed, hand pressed to his chest just below his collarbone, eyes lit up with that dazzling blue-white, misty light again.

“Apparently, I can when I'm animating someone.” Logan pointed out, lifting his hand and running it along Roman's throat. The touch, with Logan so close, raised gooseflesh on his skin—and there was a lot of it, given Roman slept only in loose trousers and nothing else.

Virgil leaned in as he sheathed his dagger, his eyes going wide. “Ohhhhhh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit...”

Roman reached up, following the trail Logan's palm had taken—and found no trace of the wound. Not even a scar remained.

What troubled him was that Virgil was right. It wasn't something Roman was allowed to know, something he couldn't glean from the things he read in secret or the tidbits Remus shared from his Anima lovers...and he couldn't communicate how he knew.

Logan looked at Virgil pointedly over his shoulder, then turned back to Roman when his brother fell silent again.

“I apologize for the unexpected arrival, but Virgil insisted on secrecy once he realized he'd been exposed.”

“E-exposed?” Roman stammered, his head still spinning with surprise, the lingering effects of Logan's power, and very genuine confusion. “I don't understand.”

“Yeah, you do.” Virgil snapped, folding his arms. “You knew who I was before Master Picani felt my connection to Logan and outed me in the war room. That's how I got in, and with a shard of Necromatic magic hidden in a healing object, no less.”

Roman felt his blood run cold, and in a manner that was anything but light or misty like Logan's magic.

“Don't deny it: I asked around after Logan got back to Patton this evening. You personally cleared me when I applied to join the guard. Pair that with the fact that Logan remembers the night he was arrested? And you're lucky he stopped me from killing you.”

The world stopped turning in that instant. Everything came to a halt, from the spinning of the earth to the beating of his heart as he met Logan's eyes—those crystal blue depths that he barely kept at bay, the swirling tempest that he restrained for ten years...

Roman balled his hands into fists and tried to remember how to breathe again around the nameless emotion trying to claw its way out of his heart.

“You...remember me, Logan?”

Logan just stared at him, features inscrutable. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed—he was thinking, he was...uncertain.

“I was half conscious in the war room.” he finally replied. “The Spider's Thread—Virgil told me what that oath references. I...I don't remember you, but I feel certain you swore that oath for a reason.”

The nameless feeling in his heart grew claws, ripped and tore and drew blood.

“I did.”

“...how long have we known each other?”

“Ten years. Since the night we met in the dungeon.”

“And in total?”

Roman shut his eyes, bowing his head to avoid that look, those eyes that would unmake him.

“...thirteen. We've known each other for thirteen years.”

[sloppy-butcher]

Bit weird but can I request like any of the killers where their survivor s/o that whenever they’re in a trial with them they get dressed as them

okay but I HAVE THE BEST IDEA FOR THIS ASK >:D this is going to purely be crack so be prepared

the outfit I have chosen will be included under the cut but I'm sure you already know where this is going once you see who the killer is

thank you for the request, it wasn’t weird at all XDD hope you enjoy

HeadCanons for The Oni (Kazan Yamaoka) with an S/O that gets dressed like him in trials

The outfit in question:

The Oni - The Minotaur

Kazan preferred not to dwell too heavily on what the Entity had changed him into. He had a job to do, a trial at hand; do it quickly and then he can go back to normal. Ordinarily the outfits and weapons the Entity would reward killers with were more ‘quality of life’ possessions. Rin was given a lovely schoolgirl outfit, the Shape was given a hospital gown for some reason, and so on and so forth. Thus far, no other killer was ever given such a deeply intrinsic and physically altering cosmetic. He all most felt like it was some kind of punishment from the spider-god, to have his own flesh twisted and manipulated into something it was not before. He knew he had impressive horns, toes which had formed into black hooves and something that hung behind him flicking away flies, which he dared not address lest he be repulsed. Overall, Kazan was not the biggest fan of this new look he had been assigned. He did like the looks he got from the terrified survivors as he rammed head-on into them. The gold armor was also a nice touch.

The cherry on top for him was when he encountered you in a trial the first time after his makeover. He expected you to laugh at his ridiculousness, pointing at him as you held your stomach from laughing, maybe you might even feel sympathy for him. But as he rounded a corner only to come face to face with a smaller cow-like person, all of Kazan's thoughts froze. Before him you stood, your eyes looking up at him from behind a hood of brown fur. You were still human underneath everything, the only thing that changed was your outfit. You were draped in the skins of large brown cows, grotesque and bloody. Adorning your head was the skull of said cow, eyes gouged out and ears bent over limp. You smelled disgusting. Kazan felt sorry for you, maybe your outfit was worse than his. At least he didn’t smell. For the remainder of the trial, no one got injured or hooked for Kazan was too fixated on your new outfit. He knelt in front of you and tilted his head, weapons cast aside as his hands pulled at the cow’s fur. You were taken off guard when he first approached, he looked so incredibly different that it was hard to believe it was actually your Kazan. But the other survivors assured you it was, and God have mercy on whoever thought otherwise.

Usually, Kazan enjoyed your snuggles (they were his guilty pleasure), he liked it when you would gently touch his shoulders and face, exploring him freely as he remained motionless. However, with his new form, he was hesitant to allow you to even get close to him. He felt weird, like an animal (well he was but he didn’t want to think about that). You reassured him, telling him that no matter what he looked like he was still the man you loved underneath. You watched as the bullhead stretched its lips, pulling back into a dreadful grimace exposing yellow teeth to the pale moonlight. Kazan was trying to smile. It was a terrifying yet endearing experience. He lowered his head and let you touch his sloping ears, between your fingers they'd feel like warm leather with black, wiry hair. A low rumble vibrates forth from somewhere deep in his chest, Kazan closing his eyes and leaning into your touch. He seemed to really like that.

The thing you realized early on was that both you and Kazan were basically stark naked. He looked good dressed in lavish armor and red fabric, his manly chest exposed with pride. You on the other hand felt more vulnerable. You didn't have the luxury of armor plates to help conceal your skin, nor did you have the body bursting with masculine arrogance to try to pretend you were somewhat okay with your lack of coverage. When Kazan asked you to stand, lowering a clawed, furry offering for you to take, you politely shook your head, a hand sinking down to the thin piece of cloth that barely covered your bottom half. Kazan cocked his head unaware of your problem. Eventually, you sighed and whispered to him that underneath the flimsy loincloth, you had nothing. Kazan's brain had a fit. All he heard was white noise. He knew that he was naked but he was alright with that, the man had little to no shame (why would he when he is built like a God). So why did it surprise him so much to hear that you too shared in his exposure. He spent the next 10 minutes in a rush to try to find you something to cover up with, going as far as to even pester the other survivors for their help. They looked up at him in confusion wondering why this bull of a man was speaking to them in such a panic. It was Adam who helped the two of you out, draping his large white coat over your shoulders before scampering off to anywhere that Kazan was not.

Tell Kazan about what he actually is. Tell him that he is created in the image of the mythical beast, the Minotaur - the Bull of Minos. Kazan would listen attentively, always interested about other cultures and the history of other people. He’d find great pleasure in your retelling of the ancient Greek people; about the princess of Crete who, wooed by the Gods, had sex with a bull, about the bastard child and his Labyrinth beneath the City and finally about the man who killed the creature. He’d laugh hysterically (the sound coming from his large chest being that of a deep booming rather than a playful noise).

When the trial ended, Kazan took you by the hand and lead you to the closest exit gate, looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure you were still following him. While walking beside, you investigated more of his new form. Gazing at him up and down you notice all the new scars he had, saw the many spikes painfully sticking out of his puffy, sore skin, and trailed your eyes downwards until you landed on the jackpot. A curious hand reaches out and grabs the tail that hung just above Kazan's ass. There was an unearthly loud yelp as Kazan jumped forward and pulled his tail from your grip, whipping around to try to see what was the matter in a panic. "Oh my god," Your voice carried across the empty realm with dangerous delight, eyes lighting up as a smile spread across your face, "You have a tail?!" The Oni shook with fear from the devilish look you gave him as you stepped closer, hands opening and closing in a grabby motion. Now he REALLY hated this outfit.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part eight)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

(yes, there was a title change because i never really liked “Dark Souls”)

Word count: 3718

------------------------------

Whenever Katherine closed her eyes, all she saw was that damn bull.

Over and over again, in the darkness behind her eyelids and in the darkness beyond the tree line was the bull staring back at her, his breath puffing from his flaring nostrils, his snout pulled back in a wicked smirk. He was there, presenting his manhood to her like he had in the clearing, taunting her with her precious bow and arrow.

  “Come and get it, flower,” He would rumble.

To him, she was a heifer, ripe and innocent, still not yet taken as a mate. And he wanted her. He wanted her to be a part of his herd so he could breed his filthy calves into her, just like how he had wanted to do with Catalina. Maybe even Joan.

And that made Katherine feel furious.

But what could she do?

It’s been a week since the run-in with Henry’s troops and Katherine and her companions were walking on eggshells. Without their weapons, they couldn’t hunt, so they teetered into the lines of starvation for several days, only living off of a few berries they could forage. Without their supplies, they couldn’t collect or purify water, nor could they even start a fire, so they became thirsty and spent their nights in the cold darkness. Without their belongings, they were lost, and Katherine was starting to fear for the worst.

Once, when she was ten, she had gotten bitten by a venomous spider when she was climbing a tree. At the time, she had thought that was the worst pain anyone could ever go through. But now, nineteen years later, with her stomach feeling like it was eating itself, she would have much preferred the spider.

Katherine had never gone hungry before. Ghent was always full of food, whether it be meat from woodland animals or crops and fruits and nuts. Everyone always got breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so she had never even felt a fraction of what starvation felt like. But if someone had told her it was this awful, then she would have eaten that dead bird they passed a few days ago.

Katherine would have laughed at how pathetic she was being if laughing didn’t pull tightly at the muscles in her empty, cramping stomach. At night, as she gazed listlessly at the stars, she thought she could see another version of herself standing over her, shaking its head. 

  “It’s only been a week,” The other-her would say. “Are you really that hopeless?”

  “Yes,” She would reply, and then she would fade out into the oblivion where the bull prowled.

Honestly, it was kind of sad how she believed her journey was really over. She was so ready to be defeated that she thought the town she saw in the distance was just a mirage made by her own exhaustion.

But then the smell of livestock on the wind wafted under her nose and she did a double take so hard she thought her neck had snapped.

  “A village,” She croaked, the words grating like thorns through her dry throat. “A village!”

Catalina and Joan turned in her direction, equally as tired-looking, and their eyes widened when they saw the houses and wooden fences.

  “Come on!” Katherine beckoned them. She burst into a brisk jog that proved too much of a strain for her weary bones, but she pushed onward anyway, ignoring the way her vision began to swim into murky darkness. Behind her, she heard Joan drag in a deep, desperate breath. 

  “I need to sit for a moment. I can’t breathe!” The little Tiefling bleated.

But Katherine didn’t stop, even when her own hunger pains and lethargy seized her lungs in a painful vice grip. “We don’t have the time, honey. I’m sorry.” 

The town was getting closer and closer with every wobbling step she took, but the ringing in her ears, presided over by the thump, thump, thump of her heart, kept getting louder and louder and louder. But she’s so close, so close… 

Then, her movements falter, and within seconds her body stopped responding, her thoughts growing scattered and illogical as she fell, endlessly backward into oblivion.

------

Katherine awoke in the dark. Her senses told her that this was no ordinary dream, and perhaps it was not a dream at all. There was real danger here. Her breath curled in front of her, and her hands were bitterly numb from cold. She could feel something lingering above her, a monstrous shape. She fled instinctively, fearing the bull.

Trees whipped by as she ran, but she could feel the thing close behind. She knew that it meant to capture her, but she managed to evade it long enough to find a place to hide. Beneath a fallen tree she found a wet, cold burrow she could just fit inside. She rolled in and tried to still her breath.

When enough time passed that she might be safe, Katherine started to inch out of the burrow. Something then grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the hiding spot and into the air.

 “It seems warriors are not so deft in the air. Who knew?” The voice came not from the monster directly, but from around it. The words warbled with a tangible weight.

  “Then again, you are more prey than warrior, aren’t you?”

The enormous creature tightened its claws around her until her limbs ached.

  “Now let us see, Katherine. You have been called upon by fate to do its dirty work. I’m sure that’ll continue to impress it and me, among others.”

The blue-eyed beast shifted, which sent vibrations through its muscles.

  “I must say, I find it odd that you are not...more. You could have so much for yourself if you would but take it. Command it. Out think anyone who covets what you have. But you lack the skills. Unfortunate, but there is still time for you to show us what you really are.”

The sweat beaded up on her skin and ran down between her eyes. The salt stung, and her vision blurred as she searched for a way out. Katherine tried to press the animal panic down in her gut, but everywhere she turned It was there, staring into her face and scratching at her. She whined, then she shouted, and she did not stop shouting until thick, black smoke cut off her airway.

The flames rise around her until all is ash. Katherine woke up abruptly, sweating and scanning for danger, and it took a moment for the flames to register. She searched, again, locked in the same scenario for an exit while the flames rose around her. She coughed and tried to shout, but the smoke again was too much.

Katherine experienced this same terror a half-dozen more times before she truly waked, in her own skin and not of prey’s.

The world was white, and slowly fading to a muddy brown.

Her eyelids weighed a ton, eyeballs stinging and rolling in their sockets as she struggled to consciousness. After a moment of fighting, she thought she could see something. The edges of a dark room, a single light highlighting a single door. A pinch at her shoulder.

Wait.

She could feel again, feel as if through a fuzz of downy blankets. Waves of nausea came next as the pressure on her shoulder increased. She moaned.

Pressure released, and her arms tingled at the increased blood flow as garbled sound came from beside her. Roused by the noise, she finally peeled back her eyelids fully and looked at the bird standing at the bedside.

Even for a Kenku, it was quite small, but a little chubby, evident of good feeding. Its plumage was midnight black with a smock of white feathers over its sinewy, wiry shoulders and down its torso. Its talons were short and stubby, but it had a razor sharp flint dagger strapped to the side of its light blue belted tunic which looked like it could cut down to the bone. When it noticed Katherine awake, it perked up, beady black eyes widening behind a fringe of feathers.

But it didn’t say anything.

Katherine waited for it to ask her something, but it didn’t. It just made soft churring sounds as it bustled around the cramped room, searching for something. After a moment, it grabbed a plate full of chopped vegetables and cheese and a glass of water and brought it over to Katherine, holding it up to her.

Katherine didn’t hesitate to dive into the meal.

The Kenku watched her as she devoured the squash and peppers and tomatoes and goat cheese, the expression on its avian face unreadable because of its beak. But it seemed unbothered by her and went to refill the glass of water after she drank it all in one sitting.

  “Thank you,” Katherine panted, finally taking a moment to breathe.

The Kenku dipped its head.

  “How long have I been out?” Katherine asked.

The Kenku held up one claw.

  “A day?”

It nodded.

  “Damn,” Katherine whispered, running her fingers through her oily hair. She really needed a bath. “Where am I? What’s your name?”

The Kenku began making gestures with its arms, cooing and churring, but Katherine had no idea what it was trying to communicate to her. It stopped after a moment and chuffed, handing Katherine a handkerchief.

  “I see…” Katherine said slowly, not understanding at all.

Before the Kenku could make another one of its birdy gestures, a scream suddenly ripped through the building.

Katherine jumped to her feet instantly, startling the Kenku. The scream sounded a lot like Joan!

The Kenku squawked after her as she ran out of the room and into the wooden hallway of what appeared to be an inn. She stumbled blindly into rooms, being tailed by a pied crow creature cawing its head off, until she threw open a door to see Joan cowering in a bed, pressed frightfully against the wall like she thought she could sink through it and escape, with a giant minotaur looming over her.

Katherine felt angry, then scared, then angry again until her blood pulsed hotly in her veins. How DARE he come back after what he did and torment them some more, especially a child! 

In a flash of fury, Katherine grabbed a nearby vase of flowers, smashed it on the wardrobe, and drove the points into Mannox’s side. 

The glass didn’t sink into his tough hide like she was hoping, but it did seem to prick him and he let out a startled yelp of pain, which was good enough for her. Mannox whirled around, golden brown eyes wide, and that was when Katherine faltered.

Mannox didn’t have golden brown eyes. His eyes had been dark brown.

This wasn’t Mannox at all!

The minotaur was huge like Mannox was, but this one was female. Instead of mud brown fur, her fur was a rich russet red color with undertones of cinnamon and umber. She was powerfully built, each of her limbs rippling with muscles, and her horns were broad like a longhorn’s. A teardrop-shaped ruby earring dangled from her left ear, and she wore only some baggy cotton pants, not afraid to flaunt her bare barrel chest, not that much was able to be seen beneath her shag of thick hide. She looked down at Katherine, rubbing the area where she had been stabbed.

  “Ouch,” She hissed. “That was a little rude, don’t you think?” Her voice was jovial, but warm, and had an accent that Katherine didn’t recognize.

  “I am so sorry!” Katherine stammered, dropping the makeshift weapon, causing the rest of it to shatter across the floor. She was wary as to not step on any of the shards with her bare feet. “I thought you were someone else.”

The minotaur flicked her ears up. “Oh?” She said. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned around slowly, being mindful in the small space she was in, and Katherine noticed that the tips of her horns scraped the ceiling slightly. Her tail whipped back and forth as she peered down at the frightened little Tiefling in the bed.

  “Hey, kid,” She said softly, and Katherine was surprised to hear such a gentle voice come out of such a big creature. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Katherine heard Joan whimper, and she quickly darted over to the bed, nearly trodding right over the minefield of broken glass. When Joan noticed her, she shot into her arms instantly, quaking with fear. Katherine held her securely against her. The minotaur stepped back respectfully.

  “It’s good to see you both awake, at least,” The minotaur said. “I was starting to get worried. Oh, I’m Anna, by the way. But I prefer it if you call me Cleves. And this is Bessie.”

  “Moo!” Cried the Kenku that had been tending to Katherine, throwing its arms up joyfully. So ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’, then.

Cleves chuckled. “I’m unsure if that’s her actual name,” She told Katherine and Joan. “But I think she chose it because she LOVES cows, and ‘Bessie’ tends to be a cow name.” The Kenky clambered up her body like a ladder and sat on her shoulder. “I think that’s why she likes me so much.”

Katherine cracked a small smile. “I’m Katherine. This is Joan.”

Cleves nodded, then frowned at the little Tiefling still buried in Katherine’s chest. “Is she alright?” She asked worriedly.

  “I think so,” Katherine answered, stroking Joan’s hair. “She just--went through some stuff. That’s all. She’s still a little shaken.”

  “Ah,” Cleves nodded. “I see.” She looked at Joan and dipped her head to try and seem smaller and less intimidating. “I hope you feel better, kid.”

Joan peeked out from Katherine’s chest, then gave a tiny nod before hiding her face again. Katherine massaged behind one of her big ears, hoping to comfort her.

  “Do you know where the other woman who was with us is?” Katherine asked.

A grave look suddenly overtook Cleves’ face, and Katherine felt worry jolt through her veins.

Cleves took her to a larger room further into the room where Catalina was. Katherine instantly noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the stricken expression on her face. She rushed over to her, and Catalina gave her a glazed look.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Katherine took one of her hands, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s the baby,” Catalina said hoarsely, her voice rough from crying. 

A spear of ice jammed into Katherine’s gut. “What’s wrong?”

Catalina sniffled, then said, “I-I haven’t felt them kick since Mannox found us. H-he hit me, remember? Wh-what if something happened? What if they’re--” She buried her face into her hands and began to sob.

Katherine threw her arms around Catalina and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth in a vain effort to comfort her. She set a hand on the Aasimar’s belly, rubbing it softly in a few places, but felt no kicks and no flutters of life.

  “Did you say Mannox?”

Katherine turned her head to Cleves, and was surprised to see the minotaur’s friendly face contorted into an expression of pure hatred. Even Bessie on her shoulder had her feathers ruffled in rage.

  “Yeah,” Katherine nodded. “We ran into him a week ago. He surrounded us with his troops and tormented us for a while, but let us go after taking all of our stuff.”

  “That sounds like him,” Cleves said gruffly. She stamped one of her hooves, and Katherine could feel the vibrations throbbing through the floorboards. “So he must have been the minotaur you mistook me for. No wonder that little Tiefling was so scared.”

  “You know him?” Katherine asked.

  “He was in my herd growing up,” Cleves explained. “He was always causing issues. When Bessie showed up,” She raised a large hand and the Kenku nuzzled her beak into it with happy chirps, “he was constantly trying to hurt her, but wrote it off as him just ‘playing’ with her. Bessie and I have been trying to track him down for a while under the orders of the queen.”

Katherine’s ears perked up. “The queen?”

  “Shiny, shiny, shiny!” Bessie chirped helpfully.

  “Queen Jane Seymour,” Cleves said.

Katherine’s heart lifted. “You work for her?”

  “One of her best knights,” Cleves said proudly. Bessie nipped at her ear and she chuckled. “And Bessie is my squire, basically. I don’t go anywhere without her.”

The Kenku nuzzled lovingly against Cleves’ neck, cooing.

  “We were actually needing to see the queen,” Katherine said. “Can we go with you whenever you leave?”

  “Your story with Mannox could be useful,” Cleves said, rubbing her chin. “That can be arranged.”

Katherine brightened. “Thank you.”

There was a tug at her sleeve, and Katherine was soon brought back to the terrifying reality that she had momentarily been distracted by. She turned to Catalina, shaking and crying, and wrapped her back up into her arms.

  “Is there a doctor in this village?” She asked Cleves and Bessie.

But before either of them could answer, Catalina choked out, “Sh-she already saw me. Sh-she said there was n-nothing she c-could do.” She made an anguished noise that ripped mercilessly into Katherine’s heart. “I don’t wanna lose my baby, Kat! I can’t!”

  “Shh, shh,” Katherine murmured, rubbing Catalina’s back. She could feel the wetness of tears running against her neck, warm and miserable. “It’s going to be okay, Lina. I promise.”

Catalina babbled something wet and grief stricken in response, but Katherine couldn’t understand her from where she was buried in her chest.

In the doorway, Cleves frowned deeply. “I am terribly sorry for you.” She said to Catalina. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “There’s a small festival tonight. You can come if you’d like. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, so make sure to get some rest. We’ll get you some more food and water.”

Vegetables and cheese, soup, bread, and glasses of water were brought to the room Catalina was in. Joan ended up joining them inside, sitting at the foot of the bed with her tail wrapped around Catalina’s ankle in a form of comfort. Catalina stopped crying eventually, and Katherine got her to drink some water and eat a few pieces of food, but her expression never lifted.

The three of them attempted to go and enjoy the festival, but it quickly proved to be too much for them. Katherine was consumed with far too much worry to think about anything other than the wellbeing of her companions and the journey to the Unbreakable City, Catalina was completely distracted in her depression, and Joan was badly shaken. The music and many people overwhelmed all of them, and they soon had to return to the inn to calm down and rest.

In the middle of the night, Katherine woke up to crying. Instantly, she knew who it was, and she got up to go to Catalina’s bed, climbing in next to the trembling Aasimar.

  “Come on, honey,” Katherine murmured to her, grabbing the glass of water on the nightstand and easing it to Catalina’s lips. “Drink. Slow sips.” The poor thing was going to dehydrate herself with how much she was crying.

Catalina obeyed her, drinking a few sips of water, but then quickly dissolved back into tears. Katherine barely had enough time to set the cup down before Catalina collapsed against her, weeping uncontrollably.

  “My baby,” The Aasimar moaned. “I-I can’t lose my baby! I can’t, I can’t!”

She was completely hysterical, and Katherine didn’t blame her. To lose her child after everything she’s been through… It must have been heartwrenching. 

  “Oh, Lina,” Katherine hugged her against her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my dear Lina… It’s going to be okay. Your baby is strong, just like you are.”

  “Why can’t I feel them?” Catalina beseeched. “Why-- why aren’t they--” She began to make concerning gasping noises, and Katherine quickly lifted her chin to make eye contact with her.

  “Honey, look at me.” Katherine said. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay. Just try to breathe. Can you do that? Follow me if you need to.” She took deep breaths to demonstrate, and Catalina copied her. She stroked her hair back, cooing. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Catalina whimpered, her rich brown eyes shiny with tears in the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Katherine kissed her forehead, and she folded deeper into her warmth.

  “I’m right here, my darling Lina,” Katherine murmured, easing Catalina back into a lying position. “I’m right here.”

  “W-will you stay with me?” Catalina sniffled.

  “Of course,” Katherine said. She felt Catalina press close against her with her nose buried in her neck, still whimpering softly, but now slightly calmer. Katherine slid a hand onto her belly and rubbed it gently, hoping to provide some comfort as they both slowly drifted back off into sleep.

And then--

A kick.

Katherine and Catalina both sat up straight. They looked at each other with wide eyes, then both set their hands on Catalina’s stomach, waiting.

There was a kick. And then another. And then another.

Catalina burst into tears all over again, but this time they were tears of joy.

  “They’re alive,” She whispered.

Katherine grinned brightly. “I told you, Lina. They’re a little fighter.”

  “They’re alive!” Catalina exclaimed again. She threw her arms around Katherine and hugged her tightly. Katherine laughed, and was able to feel the fluttering of the baby from Catalina’s stomach pressed against her. Catalina suddenly groaned and leaned back. “Great, now they’re moving a bunch.” She poked her belly. “Hey, jerk! You think that was funny? You nearly scared me half to death! Ow! Don’t hit me! I am your mother!”

Katherine was unable to smother her laughter. “Little Mary is a trickster, huh?”

Catalina grinned. “Or Hal.”

  “What’s going on?” Joan sat up from the bed she was in, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Why’s it so noisy?”

Katherine and Catalina both laughed.

  “You’re going to be a big sister, Joan!” Catalina told her, beaming. She rested her head against Katherine’s shoulder, unable to stop smiling. “They’re still here…”

  “I told you, honey,” Katherine said. “They’re strong. Just like their mama.”

[zoomology]

After a long night of both dusk and dawn bat surveys, being home and about to hop in a hot shower was just what I had been wanting.  I had not long put down my prescription glasses when I noticed a dark speck on the white grouting between the tiles that make up the walls of the shower. Squinting, I could just make out what looked like the world’s tiniest scorpion.

With a steady hand, a few small British coins as a size reference and the aid of my macro lens, I was able to get a little closer. Sure enough, I had been sharing my shower with a pseudoscorpion.

Click to zoom in

What are pseudoscorpions?

Pseudoscorpions are arachnids (this class of animals also includes spiders, ticks, true scorpions)

They belong to the order Pseudoscorpiones

They have flat, pear-shaped bodies, and pincers

They don’t have a tail like their true scorpion cousins

They are very small, ranging in size from 2-8mm

How many species of pseudoscorpion are there?

There are more than 3,300 different species of pseudoscorpion known across 430 genera, and they are found all over the globe

In Britain, there are known to be 27 different species, 12 of which are quite common

How long have pseudoscorpions been around?

The oldest known fossil pseudoscorpion dates back 380 million years to the Devonian period and has changed very little over this period closely resembling today’s pseduoscorpions in morphology

Are pseudoscorpions dangerous?

No, not unless you are a springtail, mite or other tiny invertebrate prey!

They are actually very beneficial, not only as integral parts of the ecosystem, but also because they eat clothes moth larvae, carpet beetle larvae, ants, mites, small flies and booklice that may enter your house

How do they capture their prey?

Pseudoscorpions catch their prey with their pincers before injecting paralysing venom and then digestive fluids

They then suck out the liquefied tissues much like a spider would

Unlike spiders who have their venom glands in their mouth parts and scorpions who have their venom glands in their tails, pseudoscorpions have their venom glands in the mobile finger of their pincers

Where can I find a pseudoscorpion?

Species have been found under tree bark and in tree hollows, beneath leaf and pine litter, within soil and under stones, in caves and at the seashore

Chelifer cancroides is the species most commonly found in peoples homes in the UK. This species is known as a book scorpion and is associated with dusty books where they prey on booklice and dust mites

Did you know…

Pseudoscorpions can spin silk from their jaws to make disk shaped cocoons for mating, moulting and waiting out cold weather

The young pseudoscorpions ride on the mother’s back for a short while after hatching

Some species are phoretic, meaning they grab a hold of a larger, sometimes flying host, and can hitch a ride!

Would you like to read about another of our Arachnid adventures?

Check out these blog posts.

A polkadot jumping spider in New Zealand:

An amazing spider mimicking an ant in Borneo:

A tarantula with iridescent ‘toes’:

References and Further Reading

Buglife Website – Pseudoscorpions – https://www.buglife.org.uk/bugs-and-habitats/pseudoscorpions (Retrieved 19 September, 2018)

UK Safari Website – Psuedoscorpions – http://www.uksafari.com/pseudoscorpions.htm (Retrieved 19 September, 2018)

British Naturalist Association Website – Psuedoscorpions – http://www.bna-naturalists.org/guide10.pdf (Retrieved 19 September, 2018)

Sharing a Shower with a Pseudoscorpion After a long night of both dusk and dawn bat surveys, being home and about to hop in a hot shower was just what I had been wanting.