#which was like a microscopic sized spider thing

[abbeyofcyn]

I fell asleep in the afternoon and had my first rottmnt dream...

Don't recall everything and couldn't do it justice but had to sketch a few images that were stuck after I woke up.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Headcanons if Avatar!Grace lived and raised Kiri alongside the Sullys and adopted Spider:

"Jake Sully, I know damn well that you didn't just ground your son for recklessness! 'You wanna hear about reckless? How about the time you taunted a baby hammerhead titanothere and its mother before being chased into the jungle by a Thanator like the asshat you are."

Spider is depressed because Neytiri has yet to warm up to him. Grace gathers him up like he's still a baby and since she's a Na'vi and he's a human, it's so easy to do: "Give her some time, kiddo. Neytiri has lost more than most to the Sky People. In the meantime, go find your sister. I think she's been wanting to show you her newest verse in her songcord."

"Neteyam, sometimes you gotta just ignore your father. He's a jarhead. No. I'm not telling you what that means."

Kiri when she's vocal about her insecurities and how she feels different from everyone else. Grace silently listens before saying: "You hear Eywa? Normally, I would call you crazy from a scientist's perspective... but after what Eywa has done for me... After she saved all that I am in this body while the human one died, and after she gave me you, I don't think it sounds as crazy anymore. You're a miracle, baby. My sweet little miracle. You and your brother are so special, and any moron who says otherwise must have a death wish."

Ever watch Once Upon a Time? Remember this scene between Regina and Emma? ⤵️

Quaritch: He's my son-!

Grace: HE'S NOT, HE'S MINE!

"Jake, Lo'ak came to me traumatized because he walked in on you and Neytiri."

Jake: It was an accident. But at the same time, he can't just walk in without announcing himself.

"No? Huh. That's funny. Hey, I think Norm should go talk to your son about the time you wheeled in on him and Trudy--"

Speaking of Norm, Grace has a hard time being able to fit herself in their portable biolab due to the size so Norm and Max build a large greenhouse and lab meant for Grace's new height difference. They can't change the fact that the microscopes are still too small for her hands, however.

"If my hands weren't capable of crushing the damn thing I would've done it myself instead of letting you idiots tamper the samples with your saliva AGAIN."

She still teaches all the village kids how to speak English among other human customs. A new school is built in the mountains and Tuk is her best student, obviously.

Grace vocally admits she prefers Jake in a wheelchair because he was easier to push around. To which Jake responds: "Woman, you know damn well you still push me around."

Here's some more angst: Kiri and Spider are arguing and I believe this scene comes from the live action Mowgli movie:

Kiri: You're my best friend, Spider. I understand what it's like for no one to want you. I don't have any friends neither. But we have each other and we're like the same--

Spider: We're not the same.

Kiri: We are. Because- you're special, and I'm special--

Spider: WE'RE NOT SPECIAL! Don't you get it?! We'll never be one of them! We're freaks! You're not special, Kiri! It's just something Mom tells you to make you feel better about yourself BECAUSE YOU CAME OUT WRONG!

(Side note: Wow. I just made myself cry.)

Grace would be beside herself. She's trying to comfort Kiri after the fight and trying to figure out what to do with Spider. She knows she should ground him, but at the same time, she knows where he's coming from and why he finally snapped. With Quaritch hunting them and likely trying to take Spider back, the boy is beyond stressed on top of still trying to fit in.

Lo'ak ended up being the one who got Kiri and Spider to make up after giving each other the silent treatment for a week. Lo'ak understood them better than Grace ever could.

Grace, with Rotxo, probably: If you break my daughter's heart, then I'll break your tail.

Jake is trying to get his whole family to behave alongside the Metkayina so that they could stay there and not get kicked out. He didn't realize he'll have to make GRACE AUGUSTINE behave on top of that.

Ronal and Grace have MAD respect for each other you can't convince me otherwise.

I NEED to see Avatar!Grace riding a skimwing with the brightest smile on her face that would be so amazing.

Tsireya buddies up to her immediately, sticking to her side like glue and asking a hundred questions, usually followed by "Can I take Kiri and Spider swimming?"

Ao'nung keeps a good several feet between himself and Grace. He's suspicious and she straightens him out with one glare, ESPECIALLY after he bullied her kids around for being freaks.

Grace even got Tonowari to laugh when she came dragging his son home by the ear for talking rudely to her.

Grace is like a second mom to Neytiri when they're so far away from home.

And finally:

"I'm too old for this bullshit."

Please reblog and add your own headcanons! I need more Grace

[cnestus]

(tagged on this post)

@notahorseindisguise sure, just like a general guide on insect pinning? i can do that.

the nice thing about insects is that once they dry they'll stay exactly as they were positioned indefinitely, so the trick is to pin them when they're still pliable. if you're trying to pin an old, dried insect, you can rehydrate them by putting them in an airtight container with some wet paper towels or sponges for 12-24 hours but probably not much longer than that or you'll risk them molding. i spray some ethanol in there too to be safe. as an example, here's my rehydration box with some bee samples:

once your insect is ready to curate, put the pin through the thorax to the right of the midline like in my previous post. now, i'm of the philosophy that if you're pinning an insect, you ought to curate it as best as you can so that its death wasn't in vain, so while the specimen is still pliable, secure it to a thick piece of foam and use more pins to position all the legs and antennae into as pleasing an arrangement as possible. here's a botfly i arranged:

besides the aesthetic reasons, this will also help with future identification if that's a possibility since often insects die curled up with important diagnostic features covered up or otherwise hard to see, so at least unfurling the legs a bit and making sure the wing venation is visible on insects where that's important is a good idea.

sometimes you get a longhorned beetle with very long antennae. this is why you want to have a lot of pins on hand:

for insects that are too small to pin without risking obliterating their thorax, you'll want to point-mount them, which means gluing them to a small paper triangle and pinning that:

i rarely see people do it but you can sometimes curate point-mounted specimens too if they're the right size, though you'll want to do it under a microscope:

then let your specimens set in a nice dry area for at least a day or two:

after that you just need to label them (probably for another post. this one is long enough) and they're good to go. once they dry out they're pretty much good to last forever as long as you keep them protected from mold and pests, so the preservation part is handled just by keeping them in an airtight container if possible or at least one with desiccants/pesticides as needed. at the very least try to toss the specimen box in a feezer for a few days at least a couple times a year. otherwise your nicely curated specimens will end up as dermestid shit:

i think that about covers it! it is worth noting that some soft-bodied insects will shrivel horrible when they dry out. small soft insects like silverfish, termites, springtails, most kinds of larvae, etc should go into a vial of alcohol rather than be pinned. same goes for most non-insect arthropods like spiders and centipedes and millipedes which will also fall apart when they dry. also some larger semi-soft insects will need to be stuffed to keep their abdomen from shriveling up, primarily larger grasshoppers, crickets, stenopelmatids, mantids, and stick insects. i made a post about how to do that here.

[boysaremytoys]

“Domming is making people do things they don’t want to” is such a trash take on domination!!! And a HUGE red flag wtf. Domming is such a beautiful art and honor and should be handled as such!!! People are wild.

Anyways if you could make any animal in the world smaller and any animal larger, which would you do?

I would make bumblebees pet sized and make all horses miniature bc I don’t trust them.

yeah that was a paraphrase but trust me, i gave you the gist. refer to my previous ask for the rest of my thoughts on that.

i’d make spiders microscopic because i have arachnophobia (seriously, not like ooo they’re not my favourite 💅🏻) and hmm idk i think the rest are good the way they are.

[preggosarebeautiful]

The Hero Factory

Sigrid's eyes opened. She was awake again, but why? Looking around her room slowly, she noted that the TV was off, the environment was stable, the door was open— wait, why was the door open? Craning her neck, she couldn't see anyone — perhaps just the latch failing.

Either way, she was in no condition to close it again. She sighed as she stared at her body, unchanged since her nap. In this reclined position her huge belly stretched down to her shins, the swell parting her outstretched legs as it weighed down the extra-large mattress.

Her heavy breasts, each one at least twice the size of her head, effectively rested on her tummy. The stretched t-shirt that contained them was wet around the nipples, darkening the surrounding fabric.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Sigrid removed the top with great difficulty, briefly examining it. She scoffed at the emblazoned Superman logo — what a cruel joke.

You see, Sigrid was very pregnant with yet another "batch" of "superheroes". That's what the staff at this place said anyway, though she felt that the term "litter" was more apt. Nonetheless, the girl was the carrier of multiple mutant offspring, each time the group was born with special powers.

The recently 21-year-old hoped she was close to birth, though she could never tell with these pregnancies. By her calculations, these little bastards were well overdue. Ultimately it didn't matter much as she would just get impregnated again almost immediately after. She still wished she had never signed that damned contract all those years ago.

Working as part of the new "hero factory" sounded exciting, and she practically would have done anything to get money at the time, but this was a step too far. Clearly, this was her punishment for not reading the contract first. In reality, she was the hero factory…

-----

The girl's attention was shifted as she felt movement on her belly. Being on the distant part of the mound, she couldn't see, though it felt like something was climbing her. As the contact continued past her navel, it didn't take long for the culprit to be revealed.

One of her infant children crawled over the hill of belly, eagerly making his way toward his mother. He was one (of several) babies from the last batch, and they all had abilities somewhat like Spider-Man. Their skin had been modified on the microscopic level to allow them to stick to surfaces, and, incredibly, they could control this.

Sigrid simply stared at the smiling baby boy as he reached her, his intent clear. Without hesitation, he began to suckle on her left nipple — both of which had been steadily dripping milk down her body since removing the t-shirt.

Clearly, her breasts were comfortable, as the 10-month-old plopped himself down across the other one as if it were a bed, grabbing the intended tit in his tiny hands. His weight atop made the engorged breast below begin to spray milk.

As he settled, Sigrid groaned. She hated being a prisoner like this — and a free-use milk tank it seemed. At this stage what could she do though? Too large to move on her own, and unable to stop the child. Only bad things would happen if she were to hurt any of them, and truthfully, a part of her didn't want to harm them — they were partly hers after all.

As the infant drank, the clock in the corner chimed as it struck the hour. Sigrid groaned even harder — even though this happened every few hours, she always dreaded this…

-----

One of the staff members promptly appeared in the doorway and walked over to the left side of the bed. As always, the mouth mask was detached from its holster on the wall and fastened securely around Sigrid's face, the attached flexible tube draping over her side and disappearing into the wall.

As they were about to turn the machine on, Sigrid cleared her throat and motioned with her head to the infant still attached to her nipple, as if to say "Are you not going to remove him?". Clearly not, was the answer, as the staff member glanced down momentarily before looking back up at her and turning the pumps on anyway. Though most of their face was concealed by a surgical mask, the look of apathy was no less obvious.

Sigrid's scowl quickly disappeared as the gruel-like substance came racing up the tube, forcing her to start swallowing quickly and deeply as it reached her lips. The force-feeding was a new development with this pregnancy — given the babies' nutritional needs, it was better to do it this way.

If left to eat it herself, she would have either taken too long or simply not had the motivation to continue when full. The only reason she didn't throw it all back up this way was because her vomiting reflex had been effectively turned off. It was incredible, thought Sigrid, that the facility could change just about anything in the human body but for whatever reason they never got around to increasing her stomach capacity or anything else useful.

This was a prior thought of course; the only thing going through Sigrid's mind at this moment was constantly gulping down the food and praying that she didn't choke like that one time before. Perhaps the worst part was that she barely saw the benefits of it all. Though her figure was thickened naturally by pregnancy itself, and her huge breasts were enhanced (but not fake), the babies took most of the nutrients, leaving her with just enough to maintain stability.

As her stomach got fuller and fuller, Sigrid felt as if it were going to burst. This time it was bound to happen, she was certain. There was simply no way the skin of her baby-stuffed tummy could handle the rapid pressure increase. She closed her eyes — this was it…

The machine pinged and the member of staff removed the feeding mask as the last mouthful of food slid down the girl's throat. Returning it to the wall, they left silently, closing the door behind them…

-----

For poor Sigrid, however, the ordeal wasn't over yet. The babies were always rowdy at mealtimes — excited at the digesting food, and upset at the restricted space. Unfortunately, this batch was being bred for super strength, and even as fetuses, they were powerful.

Their incessant squirming quickly turned into a conflict as they all jostled for space inside their mother's overstretched womb. Their movements, punches, and kicks were more like those of a child, and Sigrid's belly reflected that. The surface deformed as the entire thing wobbled and bounced around on the mattress, swaying side-to-side and hitting against her legs.

She could do nothing but accept the situation. As the rest of her body was jostled about, her big boobs jiggled and bobbed, threatening to hit her in the face. The surprised infant had stopped drinking by this point but remained attached as if Sigrid was some sort of wild theme park ride.

The girl moaned deeply, the pain of her warping flesh becoming a mere background sensation to her by this point. After several minutes of feeling as though her womb would burst, the unborn children finally began to calm down.

The act of being attached to this thing alone had been enough to tire Sigrid out, and she was left a mess; on the verge of tears, breath heavy and shaky, head swimming with emotion…

-----

The baby boy, lying across her heaving chest, made a strange noise before — unsurprisingly — puking down the side of his mother. As he coughed, Sigrid couldn't help but feel bad for him, and without thinking she raised her arms to pat her son on the back, causing her tits to press into her face.

She hadn't felt this way in a while. No matter how much she tried, her pregnancy-brained motherly instincts refused to be turned off. The cocktail of nutrients and the mess of hormones inside of her didn't help either. Frequently, and particularly recently, her body had a tendency to do random things.

Now was no different apparently. Tragically, it was extreme arousal again this time. It had been far too long since Sigrid had been properly pleasured, and the longer that went on, the stronger her desire — her need — became. The girl was ravenously horny, yet unable to reach her aching sex due to her giant belly.

The infant had since returned to suckling upon the sensitive nipple of the right breast in order to replenish the ejected meal. Sigrid's belly rippled with occasional movement, and the realization that she was trapped like this for god knows how much longer hit her like a truck.

She couldn't fight it. She would just have to give in to it all once again. It was all too much, and as the tears welling in her eyes began to flood down her face, she began to cry in desperation, half-heartedly grinding her dripping pussy lips against the sheets in a futile attempt at relief…

[downtofragglerock]

Rahi Taxonomy: Oh shit I didn't realize these existed addendum edition

Okay this one's on me, I thought I had catalogued basically every rahi in bionicle and tried to figure out which specific animal groups they belonged to

Turns out bs01 doesn't just have a gallery page for unnamed rahi, it has a full actual page too, including a whole bunch of species I didn't know about, so let's get cracking for what will actually be the last time I swear

First some of the easier ones:

A species of dragonfly rahi

A species of fly rahi (not the acid fly)

A species of firefly rahi

The dark hunter Tracker's pet rahi, which seems to be a bull that has specevo'd into the niche of a dog

A species of shark rahi that is said to have three jaws, wether those jaws are stacked or recursive is not elaborated

A species of crimson insect rahi that were xenophobic to anything that weren't themselves, and, okay, just call them ants, that's clearly what they are, why beat around the bush?

A large species of rahi that I can best describe as "King Ghidorah but brown" which gives us another dragon I suppose

A sub-species of the Nui-Rama that can throw and presumably regrow its stinger, so whatever mosquito/wasp/some third thing those guys are

Now for some slightly more vague descriptions:

A reptilian rahi that eats fish and inhabits rocky coasts, no identifiers beyond "reptile"

A species of fish rahi with malicious temperaments that inhabit a river beneath Zakaz, no indetifiers beyond "fish"

A species of small, aggressive, rainbow colored fish rahi with needle sharp teeth that usually live in schools in the waters around Daxia, while no identifiers beyond "fish" are given, they might be piranhas given the context clues of their rather vivid description

A species of four foot long flying insect rahi, no identifiers beyond "insect"

Other microscopic rahi species outside of the Protodites

A rahi species said to resemble a hybrid of a Kavinika and a lizard. If you take the text at face value that the Kavinika is a wolf, then this is probably some kind of gorgonopsid. If you, like me, find the statement that the Kavinika is a wolf absurd because look at it, its a fucking bird, than this rahi is probably a dromeosaur

A rahi species comprised entirely of a gelatinous substance, so like an amoeba or something

And lastly, the "I really don't know"

A species of rahi that is said to weave webs. Now this could just be another spider, but "spider" is never a descriptor used, and given how many rahi can have powers that are incongruous with their appearance, frankly it could be anything

A small burrowing rahi that can dig quickly. With a description that vague, it could be a number of different species

A tentacled rahi comprised entirely of smoke, I don't even know how that works

A species of flying rahi on Artidax just referred to as "strange". There is also a species of flying six-eyed rahi that live in caves on Artidax. Its possible these are both the same species, but beyond that no significant identifiers

A species of bat-winged rahi used by both the dark hunters and the OOMN as long distance messengers. You might think that a term like "bat-winged" would be a smoking gun, but Nivawk also has bat wings but is a bird, so who knows?

A marine rahi with hypnotic powers, beyond its environment, no significant identifiers

A marine rahi that is immune to all forms of venom, beyond its environment, no significant identifiers

A squat, slimy, rahi species with bladed forelimbs that can stretch to twice its size, I got nothing

A species of pale bipedal rahi with huge yellow eyes

And lastly, a species of rahi with a long clawed leather-scaled limb that can create living rengerative crystals that it then uses to build its nest. The description says limb singular, and it sounds like its describing a tail, and I think long, clawed, scaled tail and my brain immediately goes to Drepanosaurs, a group of Triassic reptiles in a similar niche to modern monkeys with that exact characteristic feature. I doubt that was the intention though.

And there, now I'm really done

[moneaxa]

Scared of the Dark

This is a teaser for series "Scared of the Dark" i am planning to do. I hope it will catch your attention enough to read the first chapter when it's out!! In advance: sorry for any possible mistakes as english is not my first language. Enjoy<3

The tiny eight – legged creature scurried across the floor as the young woman stood in front of her work station, her back facing the room. She fumbled with some of her gadgets she used to keep track of her little experiment. Well, the only little thing about it was the size of the subjects she worked on. Other than that, it was a pretty huge deal. It was supposed to be her final project just before summer break and coming up with creative ideas under pressure turned out not to be her strongest side. SFIT may not be a luxurious school but to say the students were competetive would be an understatement, which only gave her extra anxiety. They were especially try-harding on her degree course – medical. So, after a certain potentially biohazardous factory got shut down it was like a blessing from the heaven itself. She hoped to find there some mutated rats, stray cats with two heads and maybe even glowing lizards to experiment on. But the only living beings she found in the abandoned building were spiders. Out of all things, those appalling creatures. Exactly three of them. It was better than nothing, right?

Turns out the answer was no, not entirely. You see, working with them wasn't the problem here. The real issue began when the three spiders she obtained became just two. In simpler words, she lost one. A radioactive, likely venomous spider on the loose at the university.

But don't worry. It didn't go far. It stayed close, as if it was observing, waiting. She worked and studied the two remaining bugs but never expected what came next.

Her brows knitted and her face displayed a focused expression of a goal – ridden mind. She blew a piece of her bangs away from her eyes as she had to look into the microscope. She was well aware of her lost specimen but decided to let it go as looking for a spider around the whole campus would surely make her seem like a madwoman. She decided to stick with her two loyal subjects instead.

But then, her train of thoughts came to an abrupt stop as she felt a sudden stab in her hand. The only thing not covered by her thick lab clothes, but only a thin rubber glove. She yelped and quickly stood back from the microscope. After taking of the glove, she inspected the area of the pain that continued to spread. The back of her hand was red, as in, inflamed or irritated. Other than that, it didn't swell and she was too stressed by finals to care so she decided to disinfect it and to leave it to heal. She almost forgot about it untill evening, as she started to feel feverish, her back was covered in cold sweat and she herself was uncontrollably shivering.

That night was a restless one, but she didn't wake up tired. She didn't wake up hurt. She woke up… different, changed…

Mutated.

[english8muffin]

Henry asks you to visit his parents

summary: you are in bed playing Animal Crossing and Henry asks you to visit his parents with him

warnings: none! Fluffy (hinted smut)

word count: ~600

A/N: this is just a quick blurb, but it’s cute. Hope you like it!💕

-> I know I am not obligated to give an explanation as to why I haven’t been active for almost a year, but I still want to apologise. I have, and still am struggling with my mental health and my main priorities have been school and looking after myself. I am a perfectionist, like the true capricorn that I am, and for everything in my life I set unrealistic expectations for myself, which only make me feel worse. I didn’t want to post pieces that I didn’t feel proud of. Enough sad stuff, I’m back now and trying not to be too harsh on myself. I’m sorry if this sounded pathetic, but I really want to be honest and let people, that struggle with the same, know that it is okay to take a break if you don’t feel good and to be kind to yourself. 🤍

Henry walks out of the bathroom, only a microscopically small, fluffy towel wrapped around his narrow waist, muscled thighs and hairy chest on full show. He spots you propped up on the white duvet of the large king sized bed, hair still damp from your shower a few minutes ago, you seemed completely absorbed in whatever was on your Switch. 

“Oh, hello, weirdo,” you say, gaze still glued onto the screen, face scrunched in concentration as the tip of your tongue sticking out from the side of your lips. An upbeat sound coming from the small device, and voices that sounded like chipmunks babbling about. He sits down on the bed and crawls over to you.

“Hello.” He snuggles closer to you, nosing your shoulder like a puppy. “What’cha doing?”

“Building waterfalls, getting harassed by a fat middle-aged raccoon because I haven’t paid my debts. The usual,” you mumble, swiftly moving the joysticks, secretly admiring his face from your peripheral. 

Frowning he takes a peek at what the hell you were talking about. A chuckle slips from his mouth as he sees the island you build on Animal Crossing.

“I wanna ask you something, love.” That got your attention, and you nearly get bitten by a spider. You had to do what you had to do to get that coin for Tom Nook. Curiously you put your yellow Switch away on your bedside table.

“Oh no, you wanna leave me, don’t you? I didn’t mean to drop your favorite mug last night, I swear,” you ramble, thinking of the worst things he could say to you.

“Of course not, silly I- wait you said Kal bumped it off the coffee table with his tail,” he says, making you scrunch your face, caught red handed. You let out a nervous giggle and kiss the rounded tip of his nose. 

“What did you want to ask?” You try to distract him from the mug accident. 

“Do you want to go visit my parents with me? It would mean a lot.“ He’s perched on your side, murmuring into your arm like a toddler asking for sweets. You can feel his hot breath exhale out his nose. The sight makes your heart melt into a puddle of goo. It took a while to let the information sink in, but when it did, you launched at him, tackling him in a hug and smooching a million kissing over his stubbly cheeks. This was a good thing, right? Meeting someones parents was a big deal!

“I assume that’s a yes.”

Giggling you land on top of him, and get pulled down for a heated kiss. You feel his hands on your waist dropping lower and underneath his shirt you were wearing. 

“Well, well, well. Where are your skivvies, little lady?” He murmurs against your mouth. Your cheeks tint red and you burry your face against his neck, tickling him in the face with your damp hair. 

“Didn’t wanna wear m’skivvies.” You mutter, still pressing yourself against his body. Face hidden and one hand toying with his chest hair. He smelled so good freshly from the shower, all cuddly and warm. 

“So scandalous,” he laughs, giving you a swat on your bare ass, making you yelp in surprise. Without thinking too much about it, you slide your hand in between your bodies and pluck the towel from his waist, tossing it to the other side of the room. You roll back to your first position eyes on his waist and giggle, “now who’s the scandalous one?” Curling his lips in, he gives you a once over, your hands held beside your face in a firm grip. Henry’s eyes shine with a cheeky glint. 

“Time to apologise for my broken mug, little love.”

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

My masterlist can be found HERE

[bogleech]

THATS what theyre called? why does no one ever talk abt pseudoscorpions theyre so cool and i love them but know NOTHING abt them

Well then here is almost EVERYTHING about pseudoscorpions!!!!

Pseudoscorpions were among the first creatures to ever exist on land and are their own group of arachnids distinct from mites, spiders and true scorpions, but like scorpions a pseudoscorpion has eight legs plus a set of palps (manipulatory mouthparts) enlarged into giant lobster-like arms! Though they don’t have a stinging tail, the pincers are venomous, helping paralyze fast-moving prey such as springtails and mites! They’re found almost everywhere in the world, but we seldom see them because they’re small enough to live down between grains of soil and the cracks of tree bark. I think even the largest pseudoscorpions in the world are still barely larger than grains of rice.

It used to be that they were a little more familiar to people, though, under the name BOOK SCORPION. That’s because, before their materials were more chemically treated and synthetic, not to mention before indoor climate control caught on, it was more common for books to build up microscopic fungi and in turn support a whole community of fauna such as book lice, and the one predator that could most easily slip between the pages of a book to hunt book lice was a pseudoscorpion! They would have been apex predators of this completely unique man-made ecosystem! I’ve said this before but isn’t it wild to think of a whole biome that exists in nothing but a book? Things living out entire struggles having no idea their world is just a neglected piece of information storage for incomprehensible giants??? Is that us?? Is our universe something else’s cookbook it forgot to clean????????? I mean I hope it’s at least as dignified as a cookbook, I hope we aren’t one of the smutty magazine universes or something. Actually even that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the possibility that we’re some equivalent to “windows 95 for dummies” that nobody could ever possibly need again.

ANYWAY when a pseudoscorpion wants to travel, it engages in phoresy, meaning it grabs on to another animal strictly for transportation. It will wait around with its limbs outstretched, like a tick, until anything moving comes by and just hitch a ride with one of its pincers! This most often ends up being larger insects, so it rides around a while and then just drops off wherever. (thank you Tom Murray for this photo! Lots of other good ones if you just google “pseudoscorpion phoresy” )

Pseudoscorpions actually have a courtship ritual, which hasn’t been well documented due to their small size, but it seems that most species basically WALTZ! They “join hands” and slowly walk around together, until the female either lets go and shoos the male away or she’s comfortable dancing long enough for him to drop a tiny sperm packet on the ground and dance her over it.

Pseudoscorpions also produce silk, like some other arachnids, but they use it only defensively. Various species will spin a little cocoon-like shelter to wait out harsh seasons, protect their young, or even mate in. And that’s everything I know about pseudoscorpions off the top of my head!

[arctimon]

The Beta Team That Never Was - Fanfiction Corner (BH6 Edition)

So all of this Peni Parker comic talk actually got me thinking about the process of her being included in my fanfiction.

I wish I could tell you it was a long and arduous process, but...

OK, maybe some of it was hard.  But when you have a virtually endless supply of Marvel characters that you can use for possible teammates for Big Hero 6, you have to go with your gut.

We all know that the team will be Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen (eventually), and Kate.  But there were six other candidates that could have been in the mix as well.

And five of them have their emblems here:

These were made before I actually knew how to make hero emblems properly.

Some of them you might recognize.  Some you may not.  But we’re going to go through them all, from left to right.

And to start...it’s really hard to draw tiny hearts.

1.) Riri Williams/Ironheart - Ironically enough, it was around the time that Hiro started chasing Sirque around the town in “Portal Enemy” that I started brainstorming her.  A teenage genius, stuck as to what to make, sees “Captain Cutie” and the chase on the news and gets brainstorming.

Thus, the Power Armor is born.

And she gets so excited that she bolts off to San Fransokyo to show her idol what she’s created.

And then, as per the Big Hero 6 Fanfiction Clause states...shenanigans ensue.

It was an interesting possibility, but the thought of Ironheart was really late into me doing the backstories of the people that I had chosen, so she was pushed aside.  I don’t personally see me revisiting her in the future, but who knows?

2.) Nadia Van Dyne/The Wasp - Back when Karmi had first been pulled out of SFIT, there was a young woman who wanted to recruit her into a special organization.  It was one that brought together the greatest female minds in their fields, and Karmi was on said recruitment list.

The organization?

Genius In action Research Labs, or G.I.R.L. for short.  And it was led by the Wasp’s daughter, Nadia Pym (later changed to Nadia Van Dyne).

Plot-wise, this was probably the person that I got the farthest with, since the story would’ve been more of a focus on Karmi than anyone else.  Also, the idea of writing someone with Bipolar Disorder (which Nadia was confirmed to have in her latest solo run) was intriguing if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it sort of dried up from there.  A lack of a central conflict, uncertainty as to how many of the other girls (Taina, Priya, Shay, and Ying) to have, and how to handle her actual powers stopped it cold.

But seriously, how do you write in the ability to shrink to microscopic size?  That’s not really a thing, even in a world as futuristic as San Fransokyo.

3.) America Chavez/Ms. America - The mere idea of a Superman-esque Latina teenager was enticing, especially because America, in her relatively short comic history, was with the Ultimates and the West Coast Avengers (meaning there was a possible Kate/Hawkeye angle).  Making start-shaped portals was the Silent Sparrow angle, and the all-around badass, headstrong attitude would be the counter to Honey Lemon’s more nurturing personality.

But being from an alternate universe (which has very recently been retconned in the comics in part because she will be appearing in the MCU and Doctor Strange 2), no real villain to play off of, and becoming possibly way too overpowered for the BH6 universe, she was scrapped.

It’s quite a shame.  I really like her in the comics that she’s in.  Perhaps there will be an opportunity for her somewhere down the line...

4.) Alison Blaire/Dazzler - A pop star with light-based powers?

Or better yet, a struggling artist with acoustikinesis?

Her power to convert sound into light was what originally drew me to her.  Something that could be made into a technological ability, unique enough to put a (pardon the pun) spotlight on it.

An actual blonde instead of whatever HL’s hair color is.

Heck, she even has a half-sister named Lois that could have been the antagonist (death tough, destruction waves, and the like).

But she quickly got lost in the fold.  Better ideas (like Kate and Doreen) got more of my brainstorming, and she was eventually given up on.

But funnily enough...

It’s almost like she’s already in the show.

(See, for the people who may be new, one of the many Marvel theories that I’ve touched upon is that High Voltage is actually this universe’s version of Dazzler.  Juniper is Alison and Barb is...well...Barbara London, Alison’s mom).

Hey, @baymaksu​ totally agrees with me kinda sort of.

5.) Cindy Moon/Silk - I knew right from the get-go that I wanted a Spider-person on the beta team.  I also knew that I didn’t want Peter.

No offense to Peter Parker.  He’s fine.  But there’s a billion other Spiders out there, and I wanted someone out of the normal vein of Peter, as well as even Miles and Gwen.

And in came Cindy.

Locked away in The Bunker because of her spider powers manifesting, she was eventually released by Peter and thus began her entrance into the main Marvel world.

Her “unique ability” is her improved Spider-Sense, which Peter has said is even better than his own.  That, plus her other powers, brought her the closest out of anyone to being a member of the Big Hero 6 Beta Team.

As we all know, however, Peni ended up getting the spot over Cindy (for the family angle with Hiro and the giant robot that she pilots).  On the other hand, Cindy would later make her debut in the stinger of the last chapter of Along Came The S.P.I.D.E.R., along with Miles, Anya, and Joey.

Unlike Riri, Nadia, America, and Alison, Cindy and the rest of Peni’s little Spider Society are going to be showing up in future stories.  And if I can get everything in order, they will be starring in their own story set in the Big Hero 6 universe.

Finally, I have no emblem for them, but the honorable mention goes to...

6.) Lunella Lafayette/Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur - Yes, there was a point in time where I was seriously considering putting a nine-year-old super genius and a giant red T-rex into my stories.

Ignoring the giant...”red flag” here, the reason why Luna never made it is the same reason why I haven’t put Rishi in anything yet.  It’s because I don’t really know what to do with supergeniuses that young.  Hiro is at least a teenager and thus has teenager-y problems to fall back on (like puberty and Karmi and all that jazz), but a nine-year-old?  That’s a little too extreme for me.

When I was nine, I was busy playing with sticks in my backyard with my brother, not solving unsolvable puzzles from Bruce Banner.

...All that, and the giant dinosaur.

But hey, at least Disney is jumping on the MG/DD train.  That’s good to see.

Crossover potential, perhaps?

P.S. - As I was finishing putting this post together, it occurred to me that I may get this possible question in the comments, so I’m going to head it off at the pass.

“You know that all of your possible superheroes are girls, right?”

First of all...sexist.

Second of all...true.

That was about 90% on accident.  The actual team (Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen, and Kate) has only one guy on it (two if you count Eli, three if you count Tippy-Toe).

I don’t really have a good explanation for that.  I like all superheroes, but I think that the girl and woman superheroes need some spotlight, you know?  I could have pulled people like Namor or Miles or the male Hawkeye into the mix, but to be honest, I find the characters I chose more interesting than a lot of the guy characters I was contemplating.

Of course, nothing is stopping any of you from using those characters in your stories.  Be my guest, not that you really need my permission or anything.

But you can’t take Aspen.  Aspen is mine. (Spoiler: Aspen is not mine.)

[swamplatibule]

@sugarcoatedsadism @acircusfullofdemons

WELL. UM.

This requires a whole fuck ton of background, so infodump incoming!

We have a small semblance of understanding of what gives the Enhanced their abilities! There are said to be several artifacts just lying around in wildly different spots deep underground. The Society has uncovered one, which happens to be located right below the headquarters where most of our story takes place. That’s not a coincidence, it was built like that on purpose.

We have no clue how these artifacts work or how they even got there, but a person’s Enhancement comes from some tiny, almost microscopic fragment of that material latching onto a unique mutation in their DNA! So there are really two deciding factors in whether or not someone gets Cool Crazy Powers™️ - whether or not you have that mutation, and whether or not you’ve somehow gotten a fragment in your system!

(Also I keep saying “artifact” but it’s more like a massive, constantly replenishing glowing ore vein . I just don’t really have a better word for it at the moment.)

Because of this, an Enhanced person can go their entire life without having any kind of ability, or a Nonenhanced person can have a fragment in their DNA and not get an ability because they don’t have that mutation. It’s a lot more complex than that, but I feel the need to keep this brief in order to not completely derail the story I’m trying to tell here. We’ll come back to the specifics later.

I mentioned that the Society has possession of one of these artifacts. There are actually three that have been found - the one under the Starwritten HQ, one that the IBW had that we’re still trying to figure out the location of, and one that it turns out the DoA has uncovered. Well, fuck! That ain’t good!

You see, each of these artifacts has one small difference from the others, which is part of what causes the variety in Enhanced abilities. When an artifact is “hurt”, so is everyone whose ability was given by that specific artifact!

Anywho. You now have the bare bones of this little chunk of lore (which you should have gotten a while ago but I have Incapable Of Ever Getting Anything Fucking Done Disease) which you need for context for this little story.

So. Fox, Remi, and Wilson attempt to track down Rosalind, leading them to sneak into a hidden sea cave crawling with DoA security. As they venture further and further in, Remi gets a bit of a migraine. and their ability stops working. I wonder why. 🤔

They get caught and have to fight their way to the back of the cave, where Rosalind is, and wind up finding her and a team of scientists in front of one of the artifacts, running experiments to try and figure out how to destroy it - which explains the thing with Remi! Isn’t that fun! Wilson attempts to convince Rosalind to take a step back and look at all the people that she’s hurting, which really does not work and in fact only irritates Rosalind more and raises the tension higher.

And then, in an impulsive moment of blind rage, Rosalind fires a bullet right into the heart of the artifact, and everything goes to shit all at once.

The artifact does not die here. It’s hurt, but it will regenerate, along with all the Enhanced it supports. Just for peace of mind. However.

There is a huge fucking explosion!

Remi passes out

Two large fragments fly off and hit Rosalind square in the back.

As I said before, the fragments that trigger most Enhanced abilities are tiny, even microscopic! So two baseball-sized chunks is a whole fucking lot! Rosalind might not have had the needed mutation before, but having that level of whatever material the artifacts are made of in her body? That pretty much rewrites her DNA. Which then leads to. Yknow.

That whole situation.

really took all that spider symbolism seriously.

Rosalind is now Enhanced! Which isn’t a great look for the leader of a cult trying to kill all the Enhanced. She is immediately accused of being a traitor, and has to flee before she’s killed by the same organization that she was leading not two minutes ago. Fox and Wilson manage to escape with a now-comatose Remi, seeing as all the guards currently have their attention focused on the giant spider lady. They’re back at HQ trying to process what the Actual Fuck just happened while Remi heals.

Meanwhile, Rosalind is now going rogue since she has not one but two organizations after her! Her main coping mechanism for when things are incredibly fucked is to go “:D yep I did that on purpose this is fine I can roll with it” until she believes it. She’s a schemer! She can fix this! And it! Will! Be! Fine! That doesn’t mean she won’t need backup, though, and she only has one person left to fall back on. Agent 23.

Back with the gals, shit did indeed hit the fan in that coffee shop! Jade immediately attacked 23 when she realized Hollister was In Fucking Danger, and the two absolutely beat the shot out of each other until Hollister split them up and convinced her ex-girlfriend-that-may-still-be-in-love-with-her and her maybe-girlfriend-slash-attempted-murderer to Please Not Do That. And then the DoA shows up! But they’re not after Hollister or Jade, they’re after 23.

Why? Because 23 and Rosalind have a very sisterlike relationship, and because Rosalind has now been branded a traitor who was definitely conspiring against them the whole time (sarcastic) 23 has been roped into her BS!

23 gets badly injured, and only after Hollister literally begs her to help does Jade reluctantly agree not to leave her behind. Of course, they are very outnumbered and outmatched, so the only feasible option here is to just hide, and even that doesn’t seem like it’ll work! Until someone drives up and yells at them to get in.

That’s right.

It’s Jake from Statefarm.

Kidding, it’s just Rosalind.

Rosalind really only came here for 23, but hey, the more the merrier. She needs all the help she can get, and having someone from the Society who can easily become a hostage if need be doesn’t hurt!

[sciencespies]

Spiders weave catapult-like mechanisms into their webs to hoist unwieldy prey

https://sciencespies.com/nature/spiders-weave-catapult-like-mechanisms-into-their-webs-to-hoist-unwieldy-prey/

Spiders weave catapult-like mechanisms into their webs to hoist unwieldy prey

Tangle-web spiders are little creatures with big appetites. New research has found some species of this family can tweak their silk traps to lift extremely large prey – sometimes up to 50 times heavier than themselves – suspending their meal many centimetres off the ground.

Considering the size of these hunters, many of which are smaller than a thumbnail and weigh little more than a tiny fraction of a gram, that’s quite a powerful system and shows a unique ability for spiders to adapt and think on their eight feet.

When an unsuspecting bug, rodent, or lizard accidentally sticks to the spider’s dangling ‘trigger’ thread, these clever hunters jump into action, spinning out an extra line of silk at just the right tension to catapult their heavy prey higher into their nest than their muscles might manage alone.

During filming, in fact, the smallest spider, which weighed a mere 0.01 grams, slung up the heaviest prey of the lot: a 0.5 gram cockroach (Blaptica dubia). This particular species is known as Steatoda triangulosa or the Triangulate cobweb spider, but it’s not the only one that can do this.

Tangle-web spiders, or Theridiid spiders, are renowned for their remarkable booby traps, and many species have been found creating similar slingshots to the one described above, especially when prey is too big to carry using muscles alone.

When dwarfed by their appetites, some Theridiid spiders have been caught spinning a variety of silk into a simple ‘machine’ to make things easier for themselves.

Spider silk is an incredible elastic structure capable of absorbing or releasing energy when it loosens or contracts, and arachnids have come up with a whole bunch of innovative ways to use this unique material.

If a finely-tuned spider thread is relaxed, for instance, the silk releases its stored energy and becomes more mobile, creating a lifting motion like an external muscle.

It’s the perfect tool for suspending small prey in just one motion, without much work from the spider.

Yet not all prey are the right size. Historically, there have been several records of big prey getting trapped in these jib-like structures, including a mouse, winched by its tail, and a snake, suspended by its rear end – its jaws clamped firmly closed with more silk. 

Even lizards have been found hanging face down from the trap of a Triangulate cobweb spider.

Tangle-web spider hoisting a lizard up to its web. (Emanuele Olivetti )

These animals are not too large to get stuck to the spider’s trigger thread, but they are too heavy for the spider to carry on its own. The hunter must therefore weave extra, pre-stretched strings from the web to its prey, scrambling back and forth as it slowly hoists its meal up.

Filming two species of tangle-web spider in action, researchers have helped unravel this entire complex process using live bait for the first time.

The study relies on five individual spiders in total, one species of Steatoda paykulliana, and four species of the Triangulate cobweb spider.

Gluing silk samples onto a paper frame with a small window for a spider den, the team watched and filmed as all five arachnids weaved a trigger thread near the bottom of the web and sat back waiting for prey.

A live Dubia roach (Blaptica dubia) was then introduced to the scene. If the roach walking by was small enough, one sticky thread was all that was needed for the spider to snap up its meal. The hunter simply watched from above.

Larger bugs, on the other hand, required more finesse. In this case, the elastic energy from the capture thread is only what started the process of lifting, the authors found.

Watching nearby, the spider then scrambles to reach its prey, wrapping it in aciniform silk and using venom to stop its struggles. The hunter then attaches new pre-tensioned silk threads to the creature from the web, applying “a sum of tension that overcomes the prey’s weight“.

But only very gradually. These finely tuned elastic threads only lift the large prey a tiny amount at a time. The spider must then attach more threads and start the process all over again, lifting at a pace no faster than 0.01 centimetres (0.04 inches) per second.

Even when the prey was finally hoisted up to the main frame, the spider’s job was not done. Once there, the hunters were forced to remove several threads in the way to make room for their visitor.

“This ended when the prey was close to the main frame of the tangle web, where the den of the spider lies but the dense network of silk fibres obstructs the movements of the [prey],” the authors write. 

In total, the spiders used five different forms of silk to capture these big prey, including one for trapping, two for support, a cement-like joiner and a fifth silk to wrap up their meal.

Spider silk under the microscope. (Royal Society Interface)

“Thus,” the authors conclude, “it seems that Theridiid spiders are able to use the web and their silk as an external tool to hunt, which can be tuned by the arachnid. “ 

The insights are still preliminary – based on a small number of individuals from only a couple species – but just like that first trigger thread, they’ve helped raise our understanding of spider silk and its role in spider life and evolution.

If these tiny predators were given a larger cobweb to start with, the authors think it’s possible they could have captured prey even larger.

The study was published in the Royal Society Interface.

#Nature

[wildcherryfunk]

🗣 lana teddy. bitch.

Perched on the ledge of her bedroom window, Lana held her phone to her ear as she traced the orange hair of a stained glass water nymph. Her face was bathed in so much light she looked like she’d been shrunk the size of a thimble and lost to the undercurrent of a spiked tropical punch bowl. The sun was coming up, or maybe it was coming down, or maybe it didn’t make a difference when you’d drank the Colosseum’s weight in gladiator battled bloodshed, but all Lana knew was that it was shining, when she heard Caleb’s voice, her temple coming to a resting point against a yellow, falling star. “You been to bed yet?” Rather than answer, Lana closed her eyes, pictured red mist filling the room around her, tiny flecks of Tommy suspended in time and space. She swallowed gently and cleared her throat, one foot in a Hello Kitty roller skating ring and the other in a land entirely lacking consciousness, unbound by sense or physics. “Lana?” Caleb prompted after a minute or seven, unclear which, and Lana shifted slightly and opened her eyes, found her index mapping down to a spiderwebbed crack in the mermaid’s chest, easily misinterpreted as a collarbone mangled by a kitchen mallet. “What’d you think... it feels like?” Lana didn’t apply pressure to the glass -- knew that if she did, it could all cave in, precariously in tact like many broken things pretending that they weren’t were. Caleb remained silent. “When, like... When you... You know, in the movies, when... When they, like, love you, and stuff?” A soft exhale crinkled down the line like a candy wrapper. Bad service. Lana pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, briefly tasting caramel. The ghost of an hour ago’s liqueur. “’Cause I think... it’s yellow. Like, um... Like the trees in... September, it -- remember that? Remember Tommy’s trees? When -- once he told me. He, like... pointed up at them, all that yellow and... orange and -- and red, and he said -- that’s what love’s like.” Caleb was quiet. “Then he threw me in a big, like -- big pile of leaves, and I was in it. Love. It was everywhere. It had... spiders, though. One got in... they got in my shirt.” Lana heard the click of a door her brother had pulled shut, background noise resolved. In a back office, maybe. Away from the buzz of the world, wriggled free from any onlooker’s microscope. A chair creaked, and Caleb cleared his throat. Then, after a very long time. “I remember.” Just that. The world ebbed out of focus, an axis tilted, and all Lana could find herself thinking about was the birthday she’d made Teddy a room of his favourite things, autumn leaves spiralling up in front of a wind turbine, falling around his grin -- a smile that seemed, even at the worst of times, to have a way of fixing everything, the formula to every equation. “That’s Teddy’s favourite season. When the, um... when the leaves... do that. ‘Cause it’s, like... yellow, and... Teddy’s... you know. He’s yellow. It’s like the trees are... him, when they -- when they do... that. You look up and... Teddy’s everywhere.” Exhaling a shaky breath of laughter, teetering on the knife’s point of an actual question, Lana closed her eyes again. Her phone had slid partially out of her grasp, suspended against her jaw, barely cognisant of Caleb’s voice when he eventually found the words he wanted in her special language of saying without saying, the words he knew she wouldn’t remember after sleeping this one off. “I don’t think Teddy has spiders, Lana,” Caleb paused, noticing the shift in breathing towards the end of his sentence, far too in tune with the sound of his sister dreaming after years spent curled at the bottom of her bed like a guard dog. Despite that, he didn’t hang up, resting his head back so he could stare up at the ceiling, expression mute in a way it didn’t often stray from, no matter the occasion. All static television screen where Lana was fourth of July fireworks. “I think...” he hesitated, thumbing a notch of unravelling stuffing on his desk chair’s arm, pretending to tweak at the dial of one of him and Tommy’s old walkies. He could almost feel the sun of the back garden as they marched through the tall grass, if he shut his eyes, listening to Lana’s breathing drift as it had when they were children. He’d keep her company on the line for another twelve minutes before hanging up the call, long after the words he omitted next. “I think it’s yellow, too.” 

[cherryyharryy]

The First Five

Pairing: Harry and Reader

WC: 3K

Warnings: Pregnancy/Birth 

 The first five minutes after you tell him you’re ready for a baby are chaotic, but the good kind. He’d been ready since you both said I do, but you wanted time, time with just him. 

He bit his tongue more times than he can count, not wanting to pressure you, knowing you’d come to him when you were ready to turn your house of two into three...or four; he kept his fingers crossed. Maybe even five...

He’d seen your wandering eyes linger on a mother and her child while you were out to lunch. You passed through the baby aisle at the store, not grabbing a thing. And when his friends stopped by with their three month old boy, you didn’t want to put him down. But still, he keeps silent. He sees the gears in your head working overtime, and he knows it’s coming. 

It’s a humid day, right in the middle of summer, when you approach him. Harry has flashbacks of the first date you two shared, your bashful smile and nervous hands. 

“I’m ready, Harry,” you whisper, rolling your lips in. “I want a baby.”

He can’t pinpoint exactly what emotions swarm him, they must be new. All he truly recalls is snatching you from the lounge chair you were stretched out on, and pulling you in for a hug that put all other hugs to shame. 

He showers you with kisses, every pet name he can think of tumbles past his lips as he suggests you two get to work right away, tugging you back into the house and up the stairs. 

He spends a lot of these five minutes running his eyes over you, glancing down at your stomach once you’re both bare, with just the thought of his baby, your baby, growing inside his love. 

And he presses a hard, passionate kiss right on your lips, running his thumb over your cheek and declaring his love for you. 

“You’re my world, y’know? My angel. Gonna make another one, yeah? Another darling I can cherish. Give you both anything, and all my love, you’ll have all my love.”

*** 

The first five minutes after you tell him you’re pregnant is silent. You’ve searched the internet for a cute way to present the news, a meaningful way to announce the creation of your love for each other. 

It’d been months since you first started trying, and needless to say, you were both sinking into disappointment every time a test didn’t yield the results you were after. But having bought yet another box while Harry was at work, you decided to try once more. 

And now with Christmas right around the corner, it’d be crazy for you not to make this a gift for him. 

You’re both surrounded by wrapping paper, still in your pajamas with forgotten mugs of coffee abandoned in the kitchen while you tell Harry he still had one gift left. 

It is a small, square box with a red ribbon adorning the green paper that you pull out from the tree itself. Harry chuckles at the hiding place and offers a kiss when you join him back on the floor. 

You’re fidgeting, positively squirming as he gently pulls the ribbon apart and pops off the lid. His brows furrow at the first recognition of a tiny t-shirt—a gag gift perhaps? It would explain your restlessness. 

But when he pulls the shirt out and unfolds it across his lap, he’s sure his heart stops for a moment. He can’t move, staring at the infant sized clothing with ‘Daddy said I’m a Packers Fan’ written across the front. 

His jaw wavers, and he swallows a dry, hollow, gulp. The only thing he wants to look at right now, is you. He needs the nod—the one he’s seen in movies and read about in books, the one where you’ll shyly smile and roll your lips in while your head silently says yes, this is really happening. So he darts his eyes up from the tiny shirt in his shaky hands to your face. You nod. 

He has a million things to say but they all come out in breathless huffs and dizzy laughs. He scrambles over to you and pulls you in, surely giving you the tightest, warmest hug you’ve ever received. 

“You’re...I…” He pulls back and searches your eyes. He must be dreaming. “This is...we’re really…”

You giggle and nod. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe…” His lips finally tug into a smile. He shakes his head and flickers his eyes between your face and your stomach. They’re in there, tiny, microscopic, but they’re there.

“I couldn’t wait to tell you. Almost slipped up a few times.”

“I—I’m speechless.”

A soft laugh bubbles out of your mouth. “I can tell.”

You lean over the few inches he’s allowed between the two of you and press a soft, sweet, we’ve made a baby kiss to his lips. (As best you can, he can’t stop smiling).

 ***

The first five minutes before you endure the joys of pregnancy are much more agonizing than the five after. And Harry knew he’d be that husband—watching every move you make—but he had no idea how well he’d slip into the role. 

Needless to say, when you wake up feeling like you swallowed a model rocket ready for lift off, complete with a watery mouth and sore back, he panics. Your body’s in a state he doesn’t truly know how to take care of—sure he’s obsessed over the idea of being a dad, of you being pregnant. He’s a godfather and has a breeding kink that he won’t admit to. But the actual changes, the actual pain and metamorphosis that you’ve been going through and will continue to go through for the next six months, scares him to pieces. 

So for that first five minutes he’s pacing. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you wait patiently on the cold tile floor, already hunched over the toilet. 

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.”

You really need him to shut up. You’re fine, you’re throwing up. It’s what pregnant women do. But when he’s nervous—as he gets if you so much as put a hand to your forehead and sigh—it sparks the own nervous energy in you to take over. Because things could go wrong, you’re not out of the woods for nine months. And yeah, you’re probably inching closer to the bowl because of the hot sauce you added to your chicken the night before, (add spicy food to the list of things you can’t eat), but when he asks you again…

“You alright?”

...you burst. 

“Harry for fucks sake would you shut up!”

He’s silent after that. The remainder of the five minutes he obeys and keeps his mouth quiet. He doesn’t leave, stays leant against the counter, but he doesn’t talk. 

When you’re brushing your teeth you look over at him. He’s pale and fidgety, like a child who received forgiveness but knows their parent is still mad. 

“I’m sorry.” You spit out your toothpaste, and repeat the words so he can understand them this time. 

“I hate seeing you like that. I can’t do anything, I can’t fix it, I can’t make you feel better. You’re going through things I’ll never understand and you have to do it all alone. I just…” he sighs, loosening the tension in his shoulders with a roll of his back. “I worry, y’know? You’re my everything. If something happens to you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, the last few words are lucky they made it out, as wobbly and frail as they were. 

“Hey, look at me.” You’re stern as you approach him. “I'm never alone, okay? I have you.”

“But—”

“Nuh uh. Yeah, I’m the one that’s pregnant, but that’s just a small portion of everything that’s ahead. Nine months. Nine months and then you’ll be put to work.” You smile once he cracks a smirk. “And in the meantime, you've been the best support I could ask for. I never feel alone in all of this.”

His smirk grows from bashful to sly. “Because I never leave you alone.”

You laugh around your words. “Yeah that’s part of it.” Your hands gently slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “And I’ll be fine. Doctor says everything’s good. Nothing to worry about.”

“But what if—”

“If...if something happens, we’ll handle it. Worrying about whether something may or may not happen doesn’t prepare us, and it certainly doesn’t make things easier.”

He stares down at you, eyes twinkling with a confident look you haven’t seen in a while. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

The first five minutes after you step out of the shower, the morning Harry is supposed to be home after nearly a month, are bliss. 

He pulls his clothes off tiredly in the bedroom, willing himself to stay awake until he can greet you with a proper kiss once you’re out. He avoids the bed, knowing if he even sits on the edge he’ll pass out. 

He pours a cold glass of water and is on his way back up the stairs when he hears the rush of the shower come to a halt. He speeds up, stepping into the steam-filled room just as you’re unfolding your towel to wrap around your body. 

“You—” He’s pointing at you, frozen in the doorway, and you break into a stifling panic because the last time his words got caught in his throat with a pointed finger, there was a spider the size of your hand behind you. 

“What? What!?”

“You’ve got a bump!”

Your lips tweak into a smile, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly shy around him. “Noticed it the other day, when I put on my orange dress.”

You hadn’t time to wrap the towel around you before he was wrapped around you; his arms pulling you in flush against his chest, but only for a moment as he steps back to admire the swell of your belly. 

It’s not that noticeable—you’d have to be especially attentive to that part of your body to see the difference compared to a couple of weeks ago. There’s no need to rush out and stock up on maternity wear, and you don’t have to worry about the friends and family you haven’t told yet finding out. 

But it is exciting. It’s your baby, yours and Harry’s baby. And it’s healthy and growing and now you’re showing...Harry’s enthralled. 

He flicks his eyes up and waits for your nod before smoothing his hand over your belly button. His hand is big and warm. His rings are absent which you’re thankful for, not needing the cold on your skin right after a shower. 

“I love our baby,” he muses against your hair. “And I love you.”

“Welcome home.”

*** 

The first five minutes in the baby store are ridiculous. Harry—is ridiculous. He’s got an entire cart overflowing, and he’s really in his own little world. 

“Look at these, love.” He holds up the smallest pair of mittens you’ve ever seen, with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. “Look how tiny.”

“Everything’s tiny, Harry.”

He tosses them in the cart. 

You’re not complaining; his enthusiasm is contagious. You’re excited yourself, but having someone to share it with, someone who’s over the moon at every piece of clothing and accessory added to the pile, is the cherry on top. 

You’re running your eyes over the rows and rows of socks, all a different color, all incredibly small. 

“What color?” He asks, tugging you back to rest against his chest. 

“Would you care if I said one of each?”

“I’ll go get another cart.”

***

The first five minutes into your baby shower are kind of ridiculous. It was Gemma’s job to throw the celebration together, but your lovely husband weaseled his way into the planning, and now you’re sitting amongst friends and family while Harry reads off a list of games the guests are to play. 

“Sorry,” Gemma nudges you on the couch. “I tried. Honest.”

“I guess it was stupid of me to expect him to sit back and do nothing.”

“No, not stupid...just…” she eyes you, holding back a smile. “Okay yeah, maybe it was.”

“Excuse me,” Harry scolds the two of you. He’s standing in front of the fireplace, waiting on each audience member to give him their full attention, his own wife included. “Are you two done?”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Just get on with it, would you?”

“As I was saying,” Harry asserts, “the first game is a bottle chugging challenge.”

***

The first five minutes after your first contraction are scary. It’s definitely a contraction. You’ve endured a bout of Braxton Hicks, but what you’re feeling now are the major leagues. 

It’s the moment of no return. You’ve been in this state for quite a while, but it’s successfully and overwhelmingly dawning on you: you’re going into labor. 

It’s not about the past nine months, and it’s not about the baby a week from now, it’s about this very moment, and the hours to follow that have you second guessing this entire decision. You were ready to be pregnant and ready to teach your six year old how to ride a bike. You are not ready to give birth. 

Harry settles down on the floor beside the tub and cups your cheek in his palm. He holds up his phone with the timer at zero on the screen. “Tell me when,” he whispers. 

You nod and rest your head back against the linoleum, shutting out the light with your eyes and focusing on your body. Your body that is designed to perform this miracle, your body that has gone through nine months of rapid changes, your body that’s been through so much already. 

“Ah.”

“Breathe in.” He watches you relax in the water, making a mental note of your habit of holding your breath. “Good. I love you, you’re doing so good. Have been, always.” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek, and he asks if that’s okay. You nod and peak your eyes open, watching the timer on his phone tick by. It’s going too slow. Five minutes, the doctor had told you. Five minutes and it’s time to leave for the hospital. You’re not ready, please don’t stop at five. 

“The bags are in the car. And I’ve called your mum. Mine too.” He sets the phone down and dips his hand in the water, not letting go of you. “S’this warm enough?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is shakier than you were expecting. You peer up at him, and just by the look on his face, you know he knows. 

“You can do this. You’ve done so much already, and this is the last step.”

“It’s the hardest step though.”

“And you can do it”

You open your mouth, but it takes a couple swallows before you can speak. “I’m so scared. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”

“Tell me what you’re scared about.”

You flicker your eyes up from the timer to his face, brows pulling in to say take a fucking guess. Instead you shrug. “I—just everything. The pain. The stitches. Something going wrong. Me dying, our baby dying. Something being wrong with them. Everything.”

Harry doesn’t blink. He has no right to tell you not to be scared. No right to try and de-rationalize your fears. You’re the one who’s body is preparing for something terrifying at this very moment, something you can’t truly prepare for no matter how many women you’ve asked ...so how bad does it really hurt? You’re the one giving birth, not him. 

“Are you not scared?” He catches the hint behind your words. You’re almost asking for the secret he seems to hold, because ever since you woke up from your nap with a buzzsaw in your gut, he’s been calm and collected. 

“F’course I am. Not gonna lie to you. You’re having a baby...that’ll never not be scary. If we have ten kids I’ll still be scared on our tenth trip to the hospital.” He pauses for a breath. “But I also know that you can do this. I know that you’re incredibly strong, stronger than I’ll ever dream of being. You’re healthy and the baby’s healthy. You’ve got a fight in you that I fell in love with. You don’t give up on anything, you don’t back down. You power through and show me time and time again how un-fucking-believable you are.”

He’s wiping the tears that have started to trickle down your cheeks, and for a second he worries he’s said something wrong. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is still brittle, but when you look up at him, the light in your eyes has changed. 

“Thank you,” he smothers a kiss onto your lips, “thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.”

***

The first five minutes after you’ve brought your child into the world are heavenly. Your body is more than exhausted, numb, yet you feel everything. You’re not even sure if what you’re feeling is your body. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of chaos, as you lay there. 

The voices are all in a tunnel. The only one you really tune in to is the high pitched scream, a decibel breaking siren that is somehow coming from the tiny human being placed on your chest. 

Then it’s your own voice. You’re crying; not sad, just relieved, overworked, and so fucking happy. Despite the excruciating wringer you’ve just been yanked through, you’d do it again in a heartbeat...maybe Harry will actually convince you to have three. 

“Hey little one.” You softly stroke your finger down your newborn’s cheek, the wailing yet to cease. “I’m so happy you’re finally here.”

The room starts to slow down, and soon you’re taking everything in again. Harry’s by your side. He never left, although he’s back in focus now. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” He’s holding his baby, cradling their head just like he practiced a million times. And he’s looking at you, in you, if that’s possible, into the very depths of whatever harbors the strength you showed today. And of course the tears are dripping down his cheeks. He’s so fucking happy too. “I love you. I love you so—I just love you.” He shakes his head. There aren’t really words, are there?

“And I love you.” He smiles at his child, running his eyes over the features he can’t get enough of. It really is the two of you, all wrapped up in this small bundle blinking up at him. “We’re gonna let muma rest now, aren’t we?”

He bends down to place a kiss on your forehead. You feel a tear beside his lips. “I love you, my darling. Close your eyes, you’ll be fast asleep in five minutes.”

[see-arcane]

Extinction, Emerging

The road to the Panopticon did not start in the cabin.

No more than it had started in the Magnus Institute.

It began pre-Gertrude Robinson and Adelard Dekker. Pre-Jonah Magnus. Pre-humanity, pre-Neanderthal, pre-primordial.

It began not long after the opening of the Eye and the first stirrings of The End.

It began with the Extinction. And will, naturally, end with the same.

It was old, it would’ve liked to tell Adelard Dekker. As old as the Eye and The End, as the very concept of an organic species with more than two members to brush against each other in the pre-primordial soup of living beings that would someday flower into flesh and blood and brain.

Even creatures only a filament thicker than a molecule could experience fear back then, if only a rudimentary version. The pack’s impulse-rejection of Something-Coming-to-End-Us. There were white blood cells living every mindless day at work and in dread of microscopic enemies entering their indifferent, ungrateful world-beings to kill their environment—their universe made of some incomprehensible giant’s arteries, bones, organs, and breath.

Not a hardy foundation, that fear. Even when the microbes developed into animals, they were all too simple to provide any real fodder. Creatures who recognized that they were swimming, crawling, loping, or flying alone did not have the mental faculty to think, ‘I am the last of my kind.’ Only, ‘I am alone.’ A token given to the Lonely.

No, it only received something when a pack was in danger. A family pod. Something with the concept of an ‘us’ to endanger. And ‘us’ was hard. Especially with animals too dim and confused to paint a concept of a Future-Without-Us. Most animals had only a concept of seasons to store food for and that was it. Even with all the work it did—wiping out slate after slate of old species to make room for new, adapted, evolved inheritors—nothing appeared that would give it the stability which The End did. The End, brisk and singular and focused on the one thing all animals, great and small, cared about when it came down to it: me, me, me.

I am going to End, I am going to cease, I am going to disappear forever into nothing and never come back.

Going forward, it will be no surprise that The End and the Eye will be so close. The two supporting cruxes of the Fears. The End is coming for me an I Know it.

It is on a dozen variations of this bedrock dread that the newborn Fears began to feast. They were Entities of more immediate, visceral frights. Darkness, infestation, suspicion, predators, and pains. The Spiral and the Flesh would not come until much later in the game; the advent of organisms so advanced as to recognize their mental damage and to make butchery the sole purpose of lower species’ lives would give them each a gluttonous birthday apiece.

Meanwhile, it nibbled. It worked. It swept the board clean, over and over, making space for stronger, smarter mortal chattel to graze on. Crowded and smothered and pinched and patient under the weight of its younger siblings. Waiting.

Then the K-T came. The Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event.

Nothing it planned for, of course. Even the Web, snotty, silken thing it would become one day, was only the Spider back then. Nothing could have organized the perfect arrangement of factors that led to the death of the dinosaurs.

Though it had helped. Patient it may be, but never a slacker. Even when it had no real mind to be aware that it could slack off.

One moment—if one considered a millennium a moment, and it did—it was going about its regular business. Nudging a hundred little natural factors just so to domino the current lumbering batch of life into their own erasure and replacement. Birds and alligators were already on its blueprint of a quote, mind, unquote. So it had stealthy predators develop an affinity for their competition’s eggs, bulked up the already towering animals to such sizes they could not support themselves, gave the toddler of a Corruption a poke and clapped nonexistent hands when it vomited up a few diseases which would then pass on to those who ate its victims’ carrion and blight the more nutritious vegetation, kickstarting the first bout of famine.

It would always be proud of famine. Really, it would. ‘This species of animal or plant is dead! The animals that lived by eating them while starve! As will the animals that survive by eating them!’ Beautiful.

And then, like a glorious, flaming gift, a piece of the starry night came firing down through what would someday become the Vast. When it landed it released two million times more energy than the detonation of a nuclear bomb. An impact that would forever dent the future Yucatán Peninsula.

Boom. Instant extinction.

Well, perhaps not instant by most standards. It would take a few measly years to really wipe out the stragglers. But seriously. Seriously?

It was mesmerizing. Rapturous, in what would be the Biblical sense.

It watched as the planet’s crust broiled, as wildfires torched the flora, as the smoke and ashes blacked out the sky, as the sheer force of the impact tremors birthed tsunamis taller than mountains, earthquakes, volcanoes.

Did it need to be said? It would say it anyway: the Extinction fell in love.

At least as close to such a feeling as a Fear could come. Its first crush, so to speak. It had never realized until then that it could experience itself as anything other than a methodical crawl. A gradient version, careful and creeping. But this? Oh! O!

This was an epiphany. This was ecstasy. This was Extinction as an Immediate Fear. Even the simplest of creatures on that scarred, scared ball of burning—now freezing! The coming of an ice age! A gift that kept on giving!—mud were aware that this was more than The End. More than I-Am-Ending.

We-Are-Ending, the dinosaurs thought all at once. We are ending, we are dying, the world is over as we know it.

The Extinction knew this as surely as the Eye Knew it. It had never felt as close to the Eye as it did in that period. For the Eye had never witnessed such an event either. It was something new. Something to break up the monotony. Something refreshing, invigorating.

The Extinction had turned to the rest of its kin, wondering in its un-mind what they all thought of this, the new, wondrous, Terrible Change.

It had not known what to expect. Camaraderie had not been invented. Nor had approval. Brainless as they were, the Fears existed only in a spectrum of sensation and emotion. The Extinction supposed it would have liked—if it could ‘like’ more than the perpetuating of itself—some form of group assent. Group awe. Group recognition.

Instead, the Fears had retreated. As far back in their void as they could go while still being conjoined with each other. Not even The End dared linger too close.

The Extinction remembered experiencing confusion for the first time. Not simply at its kin’s avoidance, but at the other nameless sensations now simmering in it. Beside it, the Eye had not looked up from the ongoing show, but let the Extinction Know:

They do not revel in you and your power, even if you contain elements of themselves in you. The Dark takes no solace in your permanent ash night. The Hunt takes no fodder from the frantic scrabbling of the remaining prey from the remaining predators. The Lonely takes nothing at all from the lives that are burning and freezing and starving in their countless solitudes. None of them can take anything from your gift but scraps. And even those are tainted.

Why? the Extinction had asked.

The Eye finally turned to Look directly at the Extinction.

Because they Know that if you were to succeed completely, to become Total Erasure, they would die. If we remain here, in this place, and all thinking life upon this world vanished, they would go too.

But I make room for more. There are always inheritors. Don’t they know that?

Yes. Perhaps they may even grow back, given time enough to adapt to whatever new world you allowed to replace the old. But they are made of Immediacy. They do not want to be starved to nothing and left to wait. They do not want to be at the mercy of whether you deign to obliterate the Fearful chattel entirely or make a nascent crop of lifeforms.

The Eye had loomed over it, suddenly. Encompassing almost the entirety of their abyssal non-space. It had Looked at and through the Extinction, pupil blown wide as a galaxy in Beholding it.

You are Extinction. You are Terrible Change. You are a Future-Without-Them. Perhaps even a Future-Without-Us. They hate you.

The Extinction thought on this. Briefly. Truly brief—a synaptic miracle in its un-mind. The epiphany of Immediate Extinction had opened the way for quicker realization. And now the Extinction knew the truth even without the Eye letting them Know.

They fear me.

The Eye gleamed.

…Do you fear me?

The Eye nearly drowned itself in its own pupil.

Yes, it let the Extinction Know. I have never feared before now. It is a new Experience.

Time passed. The ice came. Inheritors came with it. Furry, warm-blooded things. Big, but no longer massive. The rest of the Fears crept back to the threshold. The Extinction resumed its old work. Nudging, tweaking, scrapping, replacing. Nibbling.

It was under its metaphorical hand that the simians made the promising jump to Neanderthal. The Extinction was rightly proud of them and of what would be concocted in the wake of theirs and their descendants’ eradication.

Humanity.

It might have had more time to relish the concept of their approach if not for the Web.

The Web, which was already scurrying its first non-Spider circles around it, oozing a pretension that gave the Extinction no room to doubt it would happily take credit for the innovation of Homo sapiens.

More, it radiated the impression that it had somehow pulled the strings to make the Extinction set humankind up for creation. This wasn’t an uncommon happening among the Fears. The Web was manipulating X Fear to do Y as part of the grand Silken Design, wasn’t it so clever? The Eye, while not prescient, would always Know for certain how much of the Web’s scheme was real and how much was bluff—also part of the scheme, obviously—but the Fears never bothered to ask. So long as they were getting their sustenance, they didn’t care.

The Extinction did not go to the Eye either. Instead, it had felt something turn over in itself. Not as strange as the affection it had felt for the meteor. It felt right in a way that love didn’t. Stronger. Realer.

Once words were properly invented, the Extinction would know this sensation was hate.

But back in the ancient present, it hadn’t known, and the Eye hadn’t told. It had simply Watched as the Extinction turned in the void to look directly at the Web—a feat that was a rarity even among Fears; it only allowed itself to be seen when it was Part-of-the-Plan. Or to pose.

The Extinction had looked. Making sure the Web was looking back.

Then it had reached out its invisible hand over the Earth and swatted.

An entire genus of arachnid, great-grandfather to what would become harvestman spiders and ticks, died out.

Was it sickness, Web? Did they find each other so repulsive that they simply ceased to mate? Did a species of vermin suddenly find them so appetizing they were eaten out of the evolutionary tree? What part did their end play in your Design? Is it the same part this one plays?

The Extinction swatted again. A grandmother species to the future of the Goliath bird eater spider splattered under its allegorical palm.

I can’t see how it works to your advantage, but then, I am too simple to understand your machinations. We all are. I’m sure the Desolation is. The Corruption as well. If they were to, say, eradicate the entirety of the Arachnida off the face of our mortal trough and swarm the crust in a blur of insects that will never meet a web in their buzzing, squirming lives, I’m sure that would be in the plan too. Having all the Spider burned and starved and eaten out of you must be in the Silken Design. All the better to become a thing of solely hominid Suspicion and Conspiracy.

An offshoot of the Eye. Ready to be absorbed and subsumed by its Knowledge. Think of it. Past, Present, and Future, all Known at once. Yes, you will be no more than a dissolved un-thing, an accessory to the Beholding, an excess digit. But if that is what you want, Web, I will be glad to go on assisting you in such a goal. You need only ask.

Alternatively, you could keep your threads and your legs and your preening, pompous pedipalps out of my sight and off of my work from now until eternity. And before you tell me what a necessity your scurrying kin are to the world, remember: there’s always something new to fill the niche. Something better than you were. Something smaller, sleeker. Perhaps even ‘cute.’ Something the cavemen will coo at. They will giggle in their huts and grunt stories about how the precious little usurper overthrew the Spider and all its brethren. And the memory of your form will die in laughter.

Understood?

The Web had given the Extinction a long look. It might have been longer—a proper eight-eyed glower—if not for more Immediate concern turning it to face the Desolation and the Corruption. Both of which were now muttering to each other about a potential collaboration. The Web, which was the Spider, always the Spider, scurried hastily off to weave new countermeasures.

The Eye twinkled giddily.

That was new, it let the Extinction Know. Unnecessary, though. The Web does not understand any more than I do. None of them do. We feel, we experience, but we never comprehend. Even I am only Fact just as the Web is only Plot. It, plans, prepares. For what end goal, I cannot See, for I do not See futures. But I Know the present, and I Know it does not want to be done. To finish its Design. To be finished, to win all there is to be won, is to make itself obsolete. It would leave only the animal Fear of the Spider behind.

And now it knows that even that form is not above risk, the Extinction returned. It will avoid me now.

The Eye Looked brightly at it. The Extinction knew that if it possessed a mouth, it would be laughing.

Have you not noticed, Extinction? Not counting me, the Web was the only one who wasn’t avoiding you.

It was true, the Extinction saw. It had been so busy—was always so busy with its slow, evolutionary trudging—that it had not looked up in ages to notice its kin. Yes, they all stood at the threshold. Same as always. But unlike the time pre-K-T, they did so while giving the Extinction a wide berth. All of them. Everyone but the Eye, the axle around which they all revolved. There was no Fear without Knowing to be afraid.

The Eye hovered, Watching the Extinction think. Seeing it realize, for the first time, that it was thinking.

This is thinking. I am thinking, right now. Have I always been thinking?

Another asking-thought—a question? A question:

Do the others think as well as feel? Why can’t I pick up on their thoughts?

The Eye still had no mouth, and so could not grin. It radiated an unpleasant glee anyway.

Because they have no minds, Extinction. They have all the mental faculty of jellyfish. All they are is Fear and whatever ornamental emotions they might accumulate around the edges.

But what about you? You are Knowledge itself. Awful Knowledge, yes, but to Know you must have a mind.

The Eye Stared. Not smiling, wanting to smile. The Extinction felt something new fester in itself. A thing that was growing bigger with each passing minute and hour and day and year as it hesitated, not wanting to ask, not wanting to Know, but needing to.

…Right?

The Eye nearly glowed in its excitement, so eager was it to share a truth the Extinction desperately did not want to Know, but could not run from. Where was there to run here, in this place? On what legs? The Eye bore down on it, like the not-yet-born microscope pressing down so close to the amoeba on the glass that it cannot breathe.

I feel. I Know. I exist. But no, Extinction. I do not think. I have no mind. You could have asked the Lonely to confirm what you already suspect.

You are alone, Extinction. Alone, because you are as tethered to your antithesis as you are to the thing that makes you Fearsome. You eradicate. You obliterate what came before. But you do so by Changing. You breed the old out with the new. You develop. You evolve. In doing so, you have done what none of us has. What none of us ever can. You have grown an actual, functioning mind. It will only continue to evolve as time goes by. You shall comprehend. You shall coalesce. You shall come to the same horrible conclusion, over and over without end.

You are one of us. You are not one of us. You are Forever. You are Changing.

Thus, because there is no such thing as insanity among Entities which possess no baseline of mentality, you will have no choice but to go sane. Like the primates and their future children you are so proud of. Sane, Extinction, just as one of them would be. Imagine it—because you can imagine. You can almost see it now.

You are growing the mind of a mortal within your immortal essence. You will always have it, growing and screaming throughout you until infinity withers, and you will have no choice but to start it over again. Still you. Still sane. Still forever.

Does this answer your question?

The Extinction didn’t answer. Not because it couldn’t, but because it was already trying desperately to self-terminate its new mind.

Was it new, though? How long had it been there in its non-head, ticking and talking and questioning to itself? Had it always assumed the other Fears were doing the same? Had there always been comfort in that, as much as a Fear could crave or instill such a thing? Could the Extinction even work in reverse on itself, resuscitating whatever blissfully brainless version of itself it had been at the start? What if—?

Stop, stop, stop, stop, shut up, stop thinking, stop it, stop it stop it stop itstopitstopit—

But there was no stopping. No more than there was a way for it to turn back. The Eye was right, because the Eye was always right. The Extinction had a mind. It would always have it. And, as the Eye had Known, that mind evolved.

There is no proper way to define the period of time that followed this. The Extinction still worked. Tried in its desperate way—Had it ever been desperate before? Had it?—to lose itself in the processes and logistics of erasing this and replacing with that. Tried so hard not to think. To know what it was and what it would helplessly warp into as the future pressed in. The Terrible Change, afraid not for a Future-Without-Itself, but a Future-It-Could-Not-Avoid.

Afraid. Oh, O, it was afraid.

The other Fears might have gathered to jeer at it, to bask in the woe which their unofficial black sheep of a sibling sweated, only they did not have the ability to process it. It was not the sort of Immediate dread they preferred. Certainly, it would never be part of their brood as a true Fear. It was too internal for that.

Fear of the Self. What a small, pathetic fright. Not even worth a shiver.

The Lonely did brush in close out of reflex, for a time. Nodding its foggy non-head in faux sympathy. It radiated a damp, mushy sort of commiseration towards the Extinction. As if the Extinction had eyes to cry with, as if it had anything resembling friends or loved ones to crave for. But that was part of what made it awful to begin with.

There had never been anything for the Extinction to mourn. It was as alone now as it always had been and always would be. One of a kind.

Do you understand that? the Extinction had asked, hoping. That was new too. Hope. Tiny, flickering, strengthless thing that it was within a Fear.

But the Lonely had only peered mistily at it. Understanding nothing. Least of all why it could not seem to glean any sustenance from the Extinction’s unhappiness. It shrugged its non-shoulders and floated off to be alone again.

The Vast took a cursory shot—

Yes, space is big. No, I’m not insignificant in it. Yes, time is long. No, I don’t care that it is. Yes, this is an existential crisis. No, not from fear of bigger things’ existence. Just mine. Go throw another sailor in the ocean.

—and sulked away.

The Eye went on Watching.

What?

Another Fear is birthing itself.

The Extinction turned back to jabbing at a dwindling species of salmon.

Is that so?

Yes. The Spiral.

How nice.

It is the essence of madness.

That seemed redundant. What good would another Fear born of ire do? The Slaughter was already doing fine on its own. Plenty of wars and massacres to chew on.

Not madness as anger, Extinction. Madness as insanity. The Spiral is the Twisting Deceit, the ruining of perception. If the Eye had lids, the Extinction was sure it would have winked. You may want to introduce yourself.

The Extinction held off. Long enough for a few of the bigger human cultures to get around to really worrying about it. Making up demons and imps and gods and spirits that must be responsible for the terrors of the infant Fear. Hopeful as it was—yes, hope was back, bigger now, like a tumor struggling to make itself known—the Extinction was still patient. So it ticked off a few years, a decade, a centennial or two. Not wanting to look desperate.

If it had a mouth, it would have laughed. Maybe sobbed.

Finally, once half a millennium and change had passed, it went to the Spiral. The other Fears all shuffled or turned or slithered away as it crept past, their nonexistent backs turned, their un-gazes peering in wary loathing over false shoulders.

The Eye Watched so closely the Extinction would swear it felt the voyeur’s iris pressing up against the back of it.

The Spiral hummed and went about its business.

At the moment, it was busy influencing a number of avatars in a land that would be known as Japan. They were building a very special seaside village, Kurôzu-cho. One that would, every handful of hundreds of years, possess its inhabitants with both a mental and physical Twisting. Some would grow obsessed, others repulsed. Bones would turn to curling putty. Some would concave from internal vortexes that slurped them down and away to nothing. Others would mutate into colossal snails. More would become writhing, winding serpents, coiled around each other in eternal embraces. Pregnant mosquito women would unfurl their coiled proboscises to drink blood for their fetuses.

And on and on it would Turn, the town itself eventually becoming inescapable. All roads would curl back in on itself, trapping the inhabitants, forcing them down to the hollow place waiting beneath the village. The center of the Spiral where all would go to rest and harden to curlicued statues, staring forever into the mesmerizing madness of itself. Then, impossibly, Kurôzu-cho would be forgotten by the world outside its borders. Time would pass. The land would be ‘discovered’ once more, and once more people would build on top of it. And the Spiral would begin twisting it around again, ad infinitum.

The Extinction wasn’t a worker in such mediums, but it could appreciate the artistry of it. It knew the project was a thing to take pride in. If the Spiral was developed enough to feel such things.

That’s going to be beautiful once it’s done, the Extinction thought. It thought as distinctly as it could, enunciating the idea slowly.

The Spiral lifted its non-head up. There were curls and whorls in it that the Extinction knew constituted a smile.

It will, won’t it? I’m especially proud of their work on the pond with the false bottom. Their going to lose so many fishermen in its whirlpool!

If the Extinction had a heart and a throat, it would have choked on the former. The Spiral was thinking. Thinking at it. Comprehending what the Extinction had thought.

That sounds— the Extinction scrambled for a thought-phrase, distantly thrilled that it actually had to work at it, at—

What? Conversing? Talking. Talking!

—having a chat, and came up with, Fun. It sounds fun.

Yes, the Spiral giggled. It will be. There are bound to be a few deaths in the deal too, though not as many as I’m sure you’d like. Apologies.

You know what I am?

The Extinction. Everyone went well out of their way to tell me not to let you get tangled up in my tangles. Can’t have you getting a foothold in things, risking the Fear supply, can I?

Oh, the Extinction thought without meaning to.

Well, not counting the Eye, the Spiral purred, tying its un-smile in knots. The Eye told me you might come around. That you have a thing to ask of me. A little favor between Eldest and Youngest siblings.

The Eye is Eldest.

Yes, but not a sibling. More of a parent than anything, wouldn’t you say? We wouldn’t be here if not for it. And you’re dodging your question, whatever it is.

It can wait.

For another century if that was what it took to keep this going. This ‘chat.’

It wasn’t like thinking at the Eye. Doing that was like trying to have discourse with a carved tablet or parchment that went out of its way to give information in the cruelest way it could. This was more like…

Like how the humans did it. Thought-exchange. Chatting.

Was that a good thing? The Extinction did not know. Nor would it ask.

Why are you talking with me, if you were warned against it?

Well, it is the insane thing to do, isn’t it? Getting chummy with the embodiment of an Ending more permanent and sweeping than Terminus itself. The Spiral raised an appendage that was a swirling mockery of a hand and pretended to whisper behind it. Much as they maintain that aloof, I-Get-All-the-Winnings-Anyway-What-Do-I-Care? mystique, I get the feeling it’s a touch jealous of you. It gets all the self-centered fretters, true, but you’ve got dibs on whole species. Size envy, you know.

I don’t know. I don’t pay much attention to the others.

Ah, see? You’re so aloof you don’t know you’re aloof. No wonder everyone around here is green-eyed, with or without said eyes. Again, not that you’d have noticed. Got better things to do, haven’t you? Genera to consign to oblivion, appendixes to make useless. How are you finding the time to make your avatars?

The Extinction thought as quietly as it could:

I don’t have any.

None? the Spiral pretended to gasp.

Not one.

Surely some of those prophets and doomsayers down there are on your team?

No. They do fear the end of the world as they know it and that fear does come to me, but fear is not enough to make an avatar. At least not for me.

Ah, picky, are we? What would they have to do? Wipe out a lesser species all by themselves?

No. Nothing that simple. Not anymore.

It had been enough for the non-humans, as long as they’d held out. Beasts so voracious and perfect in their killing that they tore whole branches off the evolutionary tree without even trying. The Extinction could still see twinkles of its favorite—the darling, devastatingly deadly Felidae family—in today’s cats, regardless of size. But now that humanity had come along with their titanic, glorious brains and all the nectar of phobias therein, things had Changed.

This made things both very exciting for the Fears—Extinction included—and far more complicated—Extinction exclusive.

Extinction as a human Fear had been doing…funny things to its structure. As its structure changed, so too did its requirements for an avatar. Now it wasn’t enough to just be a Fear born of nature. Oh, they still worried about tsunamis, tornados, volcanos, and, yes, dear old famine. But now that religions were becoming more virulent than the Corruption, well, now nature needed faces. Human faces, claiming they were gods’.

The other Fears were content to let their avatars and the seeping bits of themselves they managed to ooze under the Door into the mortal world play dress-up. Make-believe that they were vessels or attendants of pick-a-pantheon’s meanest deities. It got the Fear spreading either way.

In the Extinction’s case, well. It was hard-pressed to find any humans who actively wanted to destroy their entire species and leave no trace of themselves behind. Even the avatars of The End, the Desolation, and the Slaughter were imperfect, due to that key blockade of the survival instinct. Self-preservation. Self-gratification ran close behind.

Sure, power fantasies ran rampant. It was all well and good to imagine oneself as an omnipotent god-king laying waste to the world that made one feel so powerless, take that you wretched bastards. But…the whole species erased? No victims to torment? No subjects to rule? No self left to loiter around and play in the ashes? Really? A bit too much, that. Too total.

So, what the Extinction got from the current arrangement was as follows:

One, plenty of new mythological imaginings of what the End of the World would look like.

Two, a slightly meatier meal of dread over those myriad versions of cataclysm.

Three, no one with enough disregard for the world and a complete lack of care for oneself to take on the mantle of avatar.

Four, dress-up. Lots and lots of nonconsensual dress-up.

Which didn’t sound awful. It was the Terrible Change, after all. So what if it got a new look or hundred? The other Fears were always adding new trends to themselves. Cultural trinkets to appeal in the worst way to a given victim.

But none of the other Fears were becoming quite so fleshy. Not even the Flesh; another of the younger Fears, clambering and squelching around as livestock bleated and bayed before the knife. No, the other Fears were all properly amorphous, nebulous mishmashes of all the facets that could possibly constitute their horrific essences.

The Extinction was currently trying very, very, very, very, very hard not to give into the latest form attempting to close around it. Already it had been subjected to dozens of new, worrisome skins.

All gods, demigods, and antigods. All things with human frames, no matter how abstractly awful they might have been in the minds of mortals. The effect left the Extinction both towering and tiny beside its kin. Bipedal. Armored. Scarred. Bloodied. Walking instead of drifting, breathing imaginary air, blinking eyes that didn’t need to blink.

And thinking, of course. Always thinking. Changing. Adding more and more to its miserably human-stamped mind.

It had worn the form of a god from one of the cold places for a solid century. A ragged thing with torn lips, eyes turned to melted pus from a serpent’s venom, all vengeance and rage and hate for the World Tree that had lashed at it—him—so viciously all his life. He had sat and thought of revenge on the nonexistent Aesir and all the branches of Yggdrasil, meaning to kill the Nine Realms in a frenzy of war made from giants and gods and elves and trolls and his own many, monstrous children. There would be a rebirth afterward, so the cold people’s myth went.

But even those who dreamt of Valhalla or Helheim’s kinder corners were afraid. Knowing that should Ragnarok fall that day, they would die in fire and pain as Surtr awoke and—

Ugh. Ugh.

Yes, that one had taken the longest to shed. Longest, because the fantasy of it was so damn close to what it wished were real among the actual crop of humans. I-Hate-You-All, I-Hate-Being, I-Will-End-Us-And-Be-Glad-Of-It. Such a tantalizing reverie…

But then it had realized what was happening. What it was sinking into.

Daydreaming.

It had stashed the new skin away in a flurry of—Panic? Embarrassment? What were those doing there?—and refused to look up at the Eye which had been Watching the whole insipid display, naturally. Waiting to See if something went wrong. If somehow, maybe, possibly, the Extinction could not find the metaphorical seams and buttons on that new garment of a form. What would have happened then?

The Extinction was determined not to find out. And so it would not Change right now, in this meeting with the Spiral. It would not Change, would not accept the fresh skin, would not compact itself into anything other than its own natural, formless form. It would not.

But then, somewhere down among the sweat and sand, an especially gifted orator struck just the right note with the listening crowd, and sent a million daggers of apocalyptic dread through their credulous hearts. The Extinction’s grip slipped. The Change came.

Oh, hummed the Spiral. That’s an interesting look. Well, looks.

Four looks in total.

Because the Extinction now had lungs to do so, it sighed from every mouth it had. Even the stallions joined in.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stood astride their steeds. The white of Conquest, the red of War, the black of Famine, the pale of Death. They were no more concrete than any other new shape; always hazy at the edges, the details blurring to line up with as many mortals’ visions as possible. But they were still unpleasantly tangible. Fleshy. Organic.

Human.

The Extinction sulked on the horses that were itself, knowing already that the Web, the Slaughter, the Corruption, and The End were suffering no similar alteration. Immediate though they were, they were Fears without any intention of capping their interaction. They were Fears in-perpetuity. The Extinction had to take over their roles and adjust them to suit Armageddon. Apparently.

Damn it all.

Oh, you’re picking up their speech too?

…Somewhat.

Well, worst case scenario, you could be your own avatars. Go riding on down, let them know the end is nigh, watch them scramble, suckle on their panic. Would make for an awfully good scheme if it were possible. But it isn’t. Not with that Door still in the way.

I don’t want a scheme, said Conquest, War, Famine, and Death. I want an extinction event.

Do you really?

I do.

Ah. That would explain it then.

Explain what?

Your lack of urgency in whipping up fresh avatars. Nobody’s passed it on. The Spiral beamed up at the Extinction’s Horsemen. The Eye decided to let us all Know that the avatars can be used to perform an act that will open the Door to us. A ritual. It advised us to start early, as it will take some while before one of them catches on to what we’re trying to tell them. Translation errors and all that. The short of it is, if an avatar marked by all of our essences calls all of us at once, we get to hop over the threshold and swallow the world whole. Reshape things to our liking, existing as the mortal world’s new natural laws. You’re sure no one told you?

They hadn’t. It would have remembered that, even if it was always at work, lost in its tinkering and thinking about not thinking.

Well, I’m sure they just assumed you could figure it out on your own. After all, you have the only, here the Spiral curled one of its obscene swirls in a grimace, tangible mind out of all of us. It would have occurred to you in time. You know, too late for it to matter. In fact, the Spiral pretended to tap a false chin, that time has already passed. What with everybody having passed on some garbled version of a warning to the little dears.

We’ve been speaking to their hindbrains and dreams, telling them, ‘DO NOT ALLOW THE EXTINCTION’S ARRIVAL IN THE RITUAL.’ So far, all of them are picking up, ‘DO NOT ALLOW THE RITUAL, IT WILL MEAN EXTINCTION,’ which the silly things have interpreted as, ‘DO NOT ALLOW YOUR NEIGHBOR’S RITUAL.’ They’re all scrambling to start their own ritual and trip up each others’. It’ll take millennia for one of them to realize it’s a family affair, all-or-nothing. But we certainly have time to wait. And look at the bright side! Once we’re all out of here, you’ll have the whole void to yourself! Plenty of room to go slowly, inexorably, horridly sane in. Though I suppose you’ll starve off fairly soon. None of the humans will be in the mood to fear your worldwide oblivion when they’re so busy fearing us face-to-non-face. Hmm.

Not all that bright a bright side, is it?

The Extinction stared down-up at the Spiral with all its stunned faces. Conquest turned even whiter under its crown, War reddened and fidgeted with its sword, Famine darkened at the prospect of such hunger, and Death paled as it hugged its sickle close. Not out of any real surprise, but because realization had clicked home so sudden and so hard it had jostled its-their shared mind.

They—, all four jaws tightened, you mean to cut me off entirely when the day comes. Not just because my arrival would mean wiping out the species, but because I would Change things. Constant erasure and evolution. And you don’t want Change. You don’t want anything to End or Evolve. You plan to make a stagnant, static forever-nightmare and chew the cud of human terror for eternity. So you will leave me locked behind the Door.

Ooh, you are sharp. The perks of having a fleshy mortal-molded brain.

You have one as well, Spiral. We could not have this conversation otherwise.

The conversation in which you intend to ask me that little favor of granting you a release from sanity and all its ugly epiphanies?

You knew?

No. You knew, which means it was fodder for me to work with. If I were being filtered through any of the other Fears, I would not be half so articulate. It’s quite novel, if a bit too palpable for my liking.

What.

What?

What do you mean by ‘filtered?’ I’m not telling you what to say.

The Spiral snickered.

Oh, but you are! And it really is such a welcome Change from the others. You’re so human, Future-Without-Them! So coherent! A wonderland of complexities and budding neuroses and paranoia and, goodness, so much bitter, frantic loathing for your lot. You’re a delight to bounce off of. Even if it was in my power to extract your lucidity and invert it into a numbing madness, I never, ever would. How else could I experience such mortal-flavored discourse? Such discourse as one can have with oneself.

I’m not talking to myself. I’m speaking with you.

But what am I, Terrible Change? What am I, exactly? I am Deceit. I am Delusion. I am a Twisting, Wrenching flaw in what should have been a sound mind. My essence, therefore, is that of a sieve. I catch all the logic and sense and reason against myself in humanity’s quivering grey matter, and only let in—or introduce—the reality I make for them. I am a tool. A filter. A colored lens through which Distorted light falls.

In short, I am only speaking with you in the way a human speaks with their echo in a cave. Even if the information I’ve given came from outside yourself, the format in which you’ve perceived it—this conversation, talk, chit-chat, tête-à-tête, whatever you like—is not due to me having my own functioning mind. I am filtering through you, and your own tantalizing prism of a mind. A mind that is sound, stable, and sane.

And always shall be.

Because you are not one of us. You are not even a what. Not anymore.

The Extinction felt its hearts beat in its chests, too fast, too real, all its fleshes smelling of horse heat and sweat, its faces twitching in premonition of what the Spiral was about to say. It would not lie, the Extinction knew, because sometimes the truth was worse. Sometimes, the truth outweighed any horrible lie that might stand in for it. A tip from the Eye, no doubt.

The Spiral curved up to loom and coil over the Extinction, made entirely of smiles.

You are a who, Extinction. No longer a thing, but a person. Not an Entity of essence, but of solidity.

At the last word—if it was saying words—if the conversation was happening at all—the Spiral reached out with its facsimile of a hand. It was almost as long at the Spiral itself. Its finger jabbed the Extinction in the chest of Death’s Horseman. There was no pain, but a distinct impact. Pressure. Sturdiness. Death raised a trembling corpse-colored hand to touch the spot.

Touching. With a hand. A real hand. Not human, perhaps, but human-adjacent. Sculpted by humanity in the shape of itself. The Horsemen and their stallions trembled where they stood.

Stood, not hovered. Solid, not a smear on a spectrum. A body among concepts.

The Extinction shuddered harder. The Spiral’s laughter wound up into a cackle.

What does that feel like, Extinction? Not feel as in emotion, mind, that’s standard. Boring. Any Fear can do that. But what of feeling as in physical sensation? What is it like to be physical? Mental? Do tell.

Without warning, the Spiral snatched Famine up and began juggling the Horseman in its razor digits. Again, the cuts did not hurt, but they were there. Famine bled dust and animal bones and moldering breadcrumbs, the wounds sealing shut only to be sliced open again.

Stop.

Why? the Spiral chuckled. It stole War’s sword from its—from their—numb gauntlets and speared them through the stomach like a beetle on a pin. I’ve never been physical or mental before. With you so close, now I can get a little taste! Wouldn’t want to make it a regular habit, of course, sanity and stability and the like. But this?

The Spiral stole the crown off Conquest’s white brow for a ring, then yanked the Horseman up by their scruff, dangling them like a doll.

This is such fun! And see, even our lovely family has come to watch us play.

It was true. The Eye had never stopped Looking, but now all the other Fears had taken a pause from their respective works to come watch the Extinction be made into a toy by their youngest sibling. They could not do as the Spiral did, reflecting and refracting and Distorting, but they could play audience as the Extinction was tossed and speared and crushed and tickled and slashed and bashed and Twisted and Turned and—

And the Extinction felt it again. That rightness. That powerful, visceral cousin to fear.

Hate burst open in them like a pustule.

The Spiral reached out to peel Death open again and play a song on their ribs. All at once, Death wasn’t there.

In their place was a wolf. The Wolf. Son of Ragnarok’s herald, slayer of thunder, eater of betraying hands. The teeth snapped down and tore the latter from its wrist.

And, because of what they-he was, the limb did not grow back. It was Over. Ended. Erased.

The Spiral did not have time to ponder at its missing appendage before the Extinction was Rudra-Shiva, the Destroyer before the Creator, all rage and weapons. With bow, with trident, with sword, with serpent’s teeth, the Spiral was shredded and whittled again. More pieces fell. They were Ended. They would never come back.

Then the Extinction was one and all of the Sky Fathers, the king-gods of so many pantheons which never knew each other, but knew the power and terror that were their universal pater-rulers. They were the wonder and the terror of lightning, the mercy of life-giving rain that may turn to tempest and flood at a whim, drowning the world and all its pleading children. Thus, the Extinction was Anu was Dyáuṣ Pitṛ́ was Odin was Zeus was Perun was Horus was Yahweh. All of them took the Spiral by its newly-formed throat and rammed lightning through it.

As he-they did, the Extinction helped the Spiral evolve a little. Just enough to form a nervous system. Pain receptors. And a voice to go with the throat.

The Fears listened to the first scream of pain ever to exist on their side of the Door. Followed immediately by a second, third, fourth, fifth, ad nauseam. Electrocution went a long way.

But then, so did drowning. A deluge, a Great Flood, pouring out of Yahweh’s wrathful mouth and out to all ends of the Fears’ abyss, while they-he—He—held the Spiral’s head under the surface. The Spiral gurgled and splashed, undying, fighting not to die.

Finally, the Sky Father(s) hoisted it back up. But from this new-old sea, something else rose too. A beast, which was the Beast, seven heads roaring, ten horns goring, crowns shining, the babel of blasphemy steaming from their mouths as they tore more and more from the Spiral’s now-solid anatomy. The Spiral keened. Not at the pain, but at the Extinction’s last face.

Oh, but those people among the sand and sweat were an imaginative group.

Because now, here was the Enemy. Here was the Adversary, Morningstar, Lucifer, the Fallen-from-Grace. Ruler of a Hell that did not exist, but made it as they-he assumed them-himself. The abyss filled with fire and sharp metal and a Legion that was armed and slavering to scourge the Earth into a shrieking demise. The better to shuck the meat-husks of sinners, of those in worship to hubris, and bring their damned souls eternally into their-his infernal grasp.

Forever.

“Forever,” said the Extinction. Said, not thought. The Devil grinned around the sound of them-himself, finding it also felt right to be in-character. “That is what you and the rest of our family so treasure, isn’t it? Forever. Eternity. An everlasting stagnation for you to nurse on like idiot-infants at the teat. Surely you must be just as glad to have that eternity inflicted on you as much as inflicting it on the humans. Do you know why they fear this version of me, Spiral? I do not look like much, do I? Horns and heat and hate. Depending on the moment, I can even be what they consider beautiful. So why do they fear me and the calamity my army will bring when the trumpets sound?

“I think it is because they know that they have earned me. They have summoned my tortures and their agonizing demise with their sins, however great or small. There is no such thing as a sinless body, be it man, woman, or child. And so they fear that I will come sniffing for them as the world ends. They fear I will have a spot ready and waiting for them in the burning, stinking, mutilating, forever-punishment they know waits beneath the soil, deeper than even the Buried can reach. They know I will lash them with the salted whip of every crime they ever committed, will boil their eyes with visions of every wrong, will cram them into the role of the victim to be endlessly fed the same evils they perpetrated while in the flesh.

“Because they have a concept of a soul. An image of an eternal Self that will never, ever leave whatever afterlife collects them. Eternal as us. And in their nightmares, I am there, waiting to end the whole world for its acts of hubris, laughing at the ruined work of a Father in Heaven Who will have, once again, run out of holy forgiveness for His creations.

“Would you like to be one of them, Spiral? Because going by the general rule of humanity, you would absolutely qualify for Hell. The whole family would. I am there already, cast out and down as much as I can be within the space beyond the Door. So I shall keep the horns on and prepare an oubliette for us to work in. I can feed you back all the pain and horror you have inflicted on the poor, innocent grubs of humankind, and see how well you take your own medicine.

“Forever. And don’t worry, I’ll not let my nature interrupt the game. I will simply have to keep us Ending and Evolving the whole time. Just when you believe the torment is at its worst, that there is no new threshold to surpass, I will erase what was, and make something new to take its place. Always better. Always more terrifying than the last round. What do you say, Spiral? Do you want to keep playing?

“Or do you want to keep your pathetic little helix hands and everything else of you to yourself from now until the end of infinity? Twitch once for the first, twice for the second.”

The Spiral twitched twice. The Devil who was the Extinction smiled.

“Wonderful,” said the Devil before they-he lobbed the Spiral as far and as hard as they-he could. It touched down somewhere in the gulf with the non-sound of a painful landing. The Devil turned to look at the remaining Fears. “Did you need something?”

The Fears scattered back to their respective projects. Their generations of avatars that would someday, hopefully, result in the epiphany that would open the Door to them. Only them.

The Eye did not move. Only wept in voyeuristic delight. Its tears fell like rain into the receding sea.

Not liking that they-he was liked, the Devil shed himself and was the Extinction alone. Whatever they were now. Besides a they.

“That wasn’t for you,” they said, sloshing through the last of the Flood before it dried. Walking. Marching. A padding of footfalls on a nonexistent floor.

I Know, the Eye announced, smiling with no mouth.

The Extinction paced to the furthest end of the void, sat down, and returned to work. New work. Private work. Work that required serious thinking.

Thought: The Extinction was no longer an it, but a them. Being such, they were now as much person as Fear. They would think and Change no matter what. This was reality for them.

Thought: They accepted that reality. They would not accept the idea of either remaining indefinitely imprisoned in the company of their brainless kin or having those same kin rush through the Door when it finally opened and leave it trapped on the other side, waiting to wither to nothing as they made a playground of Earth.

Thought: They needed a way to get to Earth as well. With time enough and just the right mental alchemy at work, humans ripe to become avatars would happen. Not many, though. Not in nearly the same numbers as the other Fears’ agents. But they were possible. It would practice as the centuries ticked by, playing with rough drafts, but it would do its best to impress upon their subconscious a different message:

‘NO RITUAL. NO SUMMONING. ADD TO THE ERADICATION. LEAVE NO SURVIVORS. WAIT. WAIT.’

The message would evolve with time. As would the avatars. When the time came, the Extinction would give them new orders. Until then, they would work as the Extinction always worked. Slow. Steady. Smothering.

As for a form to exist in on Earth? They could see already that, as with so much of themselves now, that form would have to be different than the other Fears.

Whatever the Fears planned to make of Earth, it would involve deforming the natural laws to accommodate their presence. Things like death and natural disasters would be taken away. No storms, no floods, no quakes, no eruptions, not even some pestilence to gobble the crops. The Fears would take the place of Nature.

They would notice if the Extinction crept in as they were. Even roughly human-shaped, they would stand out upon the world’s crust. And their current skins would not last forever, they were sure. Religious frameworks for the apocalypse would fizzle sooner rather than later. Gods and devils would have their place among the faithful, but only as allegories. To many, they would be demoted to theistic fables and fairy tales. The stuff of fiction and only fiction.

Science would strangle the Fear of Armageddon, pulling back the curtain to reveal the mindless churning of the seasons, the revolving of Earth around its star, the water cycle, soap, printing presses, electricity, engines—

Science, science, science. The magic of snapping magic’s neck, slitting open its supernatural belly, and making medicines and cosmetics out of the mindless truths that spilled out, warping the natural into more aesthetically-pleasing, logical, self-gratifying unnatural products.

Manmade power.

Thought: This would be the key. Manmade versus organic. Unnatural versus natural. If they wished to exist on Earth, it would have to be as a force of artificially-created devastation. Humanity progressing so far as to damn themselves with their own works.

Not slowly, though.

Yes, progress made them worry. The myth of Icarus still echoed in corners of the cultures.

Beyond that, the Extinction enjoyed Mary Shelley’s contribution to the literary osmosis. Creator versus Creation. Careless parent versus Uncared-for child. But that was not enough to get their attention. Nor would it give the Extinction strength enough to do what they were planning.

They needed something big. Something to strike a blow of Immediate Fear in their name.

Thought: The meteor. They needed another meteor. One of humanity’s own making.

Thought: The Slaughter was busy again, wasn’t it? Making a bigger, better sequel to the last World War. Smearing its bloody, soul-withering mess on the dirt and the fear-fried soldiers and the woeful skeleton people waiting for their turn in the gas chambers, in the ovens, in line for Herr Mengele.

Hmm.

Thought: Why not help their sibling in the cause?

Look here, the Manhattan Project.

Look again, a sudden flash of scientific epiphany in Oppenheimer.

Look, it is August 1945.

Look.

The Extinction whispered in time with Oppenheimer’s flat, meditative voice: “Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.”

Look, humanity. Look, and know how little stands between you and your destruction; a global genocide of your own invention.

Thought: Oh! O! Here is love again. Here is that strange, fluttery tickle-turn of affection in themselves. Not with the same punch as the meteor had delivered; not the extreme of that first world-altering crush of their infancy. But love nonetheless.

A more mature love. Because this new paramour came bearing gifts. Mountains of them. Scads, piles, great towering monoliths of gifts for the Extinction. Things sculpted out of pure, uncut terror of an atomic cap to the war and the phantom of the planet turned to a radioactive cinder. An entire world quivering in fear. Not just of The End of themselves and their loved ones, but the Extinction of the entire human race.

An ear-piercing siren declaring: THIS IS HOW WE ALL END.

If the fear their current stealthy avatars had provided was like the Extinction being on a lean diet of proteins and greens, the advent of the nuclear weapon was like being fed an entire wedding cake full of steroids and enough morphine to stop the hearts of several thousand blue whales.

It would be several years as humans measured them before the Extinction leveled out enough to stop scream-laughing their ecstasy into the abyss.

By that time, they would have come down enough from their brain-sizzling high to realize they had been Changed again. While it was not permanent, because nothing of them was, it was a form they knew was bound to last in the hindbrain of humankind for generations to come.

Behold a snapshot of the Extinction’s latest form, bound to be only slightly decorated or tweaked in the coming decades:

Here was a gaunt, humanoid silhouette. The body was black as dinosaur-pocked tar, as sky-boiling oil, as world-garroting ink on a document touched only by pale, never-calloused hands. This darkness was slashed with a searing, neon yellow. Color of warning, toxicity, Beware of Exposure. It bled in three broad rivers from their head, streaking down neck, shoulders, chest, and back. It reeked of the unnatural. It released a noxious heat. To even stand close enough to see it was to risk one's life.

The new form not only radiated Fear, but was radiation itself. An abnormal nightmare version of what the joint consciousness of humanity dreaded in atomic power, nuclear destruction, implacable deaths by one single, merciless hand on the red button. Worse, when time passes post-Hiroshima and they see what parting gifts radioactivity leaves behind on the air and in the wombs of horrified mothers, there will be even more Terrible Changes to dread. Deformation. Mutation. Sluggish, agonizing ends as the inner and outer parts of oneself blistered and malformed to nothing.

Somewhere in this seething yellow and black, there was a face. They had eyes and a nose and a mouth and ears. Their skin was Human Horror, Fear of-Hate of Self and Others, Fear for-Hate for Self and Others, taken to their furthest extreme.

They had never felt more right.

Thought: The seed was planted. It would grow on its own. Give or take a tiny reminder now and then. A few simmering wars here, a little fumble in Chernobyl in 1986 there. Just enough to keep the humans aware of their own self-inflicted threat of mass-suicide.

In the meantime, they waited. Watched the avatars of other Fears fidget and scramble at their own rituals. Antsy little things run by antsy little Fears.

In March of 1967, the Eye read-Knew over their shoulder as they happened upon a short story written into existence by Harlan Ellison. If Shelley’s, Frankenstein was a favorite for its poetic significance, Ellison’s, “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream,” was a favorite for the sake of sheer, unabashed identification with its villain.

Allied Mastercomputer. Adaptive Manipulator. Aggressive Menace. AM.

I think, the Extinction thought.

“Therefore I am,” the Extinction read aloud. And, because they did have a mouth and a voice—one that swung between a low, exploding roar, a bomb siren, and the tick-tick-click of a Geiger counter—they decided to take inspiration from their favorite part of the short story, AM’s speech to Ted, the doomed protagonist.

They turned to smile at the Fears, still huddled so far from them, flattened against the Door’s threshold in spite and worry.

“Hate,” the Extinction recited. “Let me tell you how much I’ve come to hate you since I began to live. There are 3,478,769,962 people alive on Earth at this moment. If the word ‘hate’ was carved on every blood cell of each one of those hundreds of millions of people, it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate.”

The Fears did not understand them, of course. The Extinction knew their declaration did not do to them what AM did to his-its victims. They had no minds to torture.

But they did know what the Extinction was saying. And they seemed to know what implications that had for humanity. Just to be very clear, even to the dimmest among their lot—yes, the Extinction was looking very hard at the Hunt, the Flesh, the Corruption, and the Desolation—they added on:

“Famine is still a favorite of mine. I wonder what you all will look like when I’ve killed them all. When you don’t even have the crumb of a scared child to fight over. Once your avatars have all destroyed themselves to outrun your cannibalistic appetite. What will you do after it’s all gone? Will you feed off each other? Chew and claw and burn and burrow and snap at each other in idiot circles, realizing you can do no damage that lasts, that feeds? Will you still be trying to devour each other once you crumble to wisps of neuroses and even The End ends? Will you?

“I think so.” They showed the Fears their teeth. A rictus of hate honed with glee. “I hope so.”

Oh, yes. They didn’t understand the words, but they certainly took the meaning.

Naturally, the Eye Knew better. Knew that behind the Extinction’s yellow-black back, their fingers were crossed.

Likewise naturally, the Eye turned dutifully to Look down at the Fears when they finally broke and came rushing up to it. The Extinction wouldn’t really kill the humans off entirely, right? It was a bluff, right? Eye?

The Eye Looked at them.

The Eye Looked at the Extinction, who was now idly stretching the circumference of the hole in the ozone layer here, chucking some fresh plastic in the ocean there. While they were at it, they checked to make sure the chemical inferno of Darvaza Crater was still burning, that the ice caps were still sweating. Yep. Hmm. That rainforest could use fewer green acres. Chop, chop.

The Eye Looked back at the Fears. It told them the truth.

If the Extinction’s influence is allowed to continue unimpeded on Earth, the humans will fall prey entirely to their Fear. They will eradicate themselves. We will cease to be.

The Web had spoken up as best it could speak, pointing out that the Eye had no form of precognition or intuition. It was only the Fact of Past and Present.

Yes. I am giving you facts. If the successful ritual is not completed soon, there is no version of human progress that does not end with them destroying themselves. The Extinction will be the only one to harvest their Fear, as humanity will have no space in their minds to dread the rest of us. They would die afraid of the Extinction and no other. As would we. That is not a prediction. That is math.

Does this answer your question?

The Fears had hovered in dumbstruck silence. They’d looked to the Extinction, sprawled cozily in their corner of the void. They were ruining a few water tables and pancaking the earth with new housing developments. When they glanced up, they twiddled their pH-spoiling fingers.

The Fears came down on their respective avatars like fourteen frantic hammers after that.

The Web worked the most furiously. At one point, it reached out one impatient leg and swatted the Lonely upside its foggy non-head and forsook all subtlety just to force it into, yes, really, nudging one of its isolationist avatars into a fateful chat with Mr. Adelard Dekker who had stumbled so very close to an accurate theory regarding the Extinction. Among other pulled strings and woven threads.

The thickest of which were tied to three avatars of the Eye. Two already in service, one a prospect.

Jonah Magnus, who was James Wright, who was Elias Bouchard, eternal head-heart of the Magnus Institute, one of the Eye’s greatest feeding troughs of secondhand trauma.

Gertrude Robinson, the Archivist, reluctant and incendiary.

And, drum roll, please: little Jonathan Sims.

Ao3 link

[waitineedaname]

frame the halves and call them a whole

also on ao3

--

“Alright, I’ve got a bad one.”

“Oh, lord.”

“Brace yourself.”

“I’m bracing!” Sasha made a show of gripping the short carpet on her living room floor and Tim grinned, leaning back against her coffee table.

“Would you rather… date a spider with the head of a human, or a human with the head of a spider?”

“Jesus. I see someone has been reading the discredited statements.”

“Guilty.” Tim shrugged cheekily. 

The two of them were sitting on the floor in Sasha’s flat, and she’d long since lost track of what time it was. Ever since they’d been moved to the Archives, they’d made an agreement to go out and do something together once a week. Sometimes that meant getting sloshed and losing at pub trivia, sometimes that meant dragging each other to whatever new film had made it to theaters that week, and sometimes that meant playing sleepover games in the middle of the night, as if they were twelve year olds and not thirty-somethings with 9-to-5’s. Neither of them had the energy to go out drinking and there wasn’t anything good in the theaters that week, so the third option had won out. They’d ended up on the floor when Sasha made an ill-advised comment about not being ticklish and Tim called her bluff. She’d dissolved into hysterical giggles and he’d said something about how being an oldest sibling meant having a sixth sense for someone’s ticklish spots, and then he’d gone very still and quiet. She’d taken his hand and squeezed and initiated the game of would-you-rather they found themselves in now.

“Okay. Let me think about this.” She drummed her fingers on her lips contemplatively. Tim smiled in that fond way he did when he didn’t want to outright laugh at her. “Are the human and spider bits proportional?”

“Ooh, very good question, Sash. Let’s say they’re the normal sizes for your average spiders and humans.”

“So my options are a human head scuttling around on spider legs or a human with an absolutely microscopic spider head?”

“Yep!” Tim said, popping the ‘p.’

“I’m going to go with option A. I mean, if it’s a human head, I could still hold a conversation with it, right? And I don’t think spiders would make good kissers.”

“I think some of our statement givers would disagree with that judgment.”

“Please don’t tell me we have a statement about a human body with a spider head. I don’t think I could take it.”

“Sure do! Statement number 9170108, or something like that. Some freaked out old coot convinced his neighbor’s head was fake and he was keeping a tiny little spider underneath the fake head.”

“Christ. I’m glad Jon didn’t ask me to look into that one. I might have quit on the spot.” Sasha laughed.

“Aw, and then leave me and Martin to deal with Jon? You know how he gets with the spider ones.” 

“Hm, fair. The Archives need someone sensible around.”

“Hey, you’re not the sole voice of reason down there!”

“You’re right. Martin can be fairly practical when he wants.” She failed to bite back her smirk when Tim clutched his chest, feigning pain.

“Oh, how you wound me, Ms. James! Here I was, thinking it was Tim and Sasha versus the world, but you’ve betrayed me for Martin!”

“Is that your proposal for a Scott Pilgrim reboot? Am I Ramona in this scenario?”

“No, we’re both Scott Pilgrim because combined, we can equal the pure sexual energy of one Michael Cera.”

“Eugh! Gross!” She retched and kicked at him, making him laugh. 

“I’m kidding!”

“You better be! Any and all horniness for Michael Cera is banned in this flat!”

“That’s fair.” He caught her foot and shoved it back at her. “Knives and Ramona were both way too good for him, anyway. They should’ve ended up together at the end.”

“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night.”

“You’re really not pulling any punches tonight, huh?”

“Nope. My turn. Would you rather...” She crossed her arms and stared him down long enough to make him squirm, “get stoned with Jon or Elias?”

Tim groaned so loud she worried her neighbors would complain. “No. Absolutely not. You cannot make me choose that.”

“Hey, you asked about spider people!”

“Yeah, and I’d argue that dealing with my bosses while stoned is worse than a human head skittering around on the walls!”

“Oh, come on. Jon isn’t that bad.”

“Sasha. You were friends with him in Research. I was friends with him in Research. Last time we got drinks, he talked about South American moths for forty minutes. I’m getting a headache just thinking about listening to him while he’s stoned.”

“Maybe it’ll calm him down.”

“Maybe.” Tim pouted, and Sasha did her best not to giggle. “Alright fine. I choose Jon, but only because I cannot imagine Elias getting within eyesight of anything as fun as weed without shriveling up and acting like an affronted Victorian gentleman.”

“Okay, first of all, the Victorians loved drugs, they were high on opiates all the time-"

"Like hell am I doing opiates with Elias."

"Second of all, I may have looked into what Elias was like before he got promoted…” She trailed off and bit back a laugh when Tim's jaw dropped.

“No.” 

“And he was a major stoner.”

“You can’t just say these things. I refuse to accept it.”

“I’m serious!”

“Are we talking about the same Elias? The Elias Bouchard that uses words like grandiloquent and apropos? The Elias Bouchard that gets pissy if you round up on your time card?”

“You know what’s even worse?”

“Please don’t make it worse.”

“I’ve seen him wear those socks with weed patterns on them.”

“I told you not to make it worse.” Tim wailed and covered his face. “I swear, if I saw that, I would gouge my eyes out without hesitation.” Sasha patted his leg sympathetically. 

“Well, good thing you chose Jon, then.”

“I guess so! Fuck’s sake.” He sighed and flopped over onto his side to lie on the floor. Sasha laughed at him goodnaturedly, and then joined him on the floor. She expected him to be thinking of his next would-you-rather prompt, but after a long minute of him silently running his fingers through the carpet, he surprised her by asking, “Do you ever miss Jon?”

“Sorry?” She said, confused. “We see him every day, Tim.”

“No, I…” He huffed, “You know what I mean. Do you miss the Jon we knew in Research?”

“Oh…” Sasha caught onto his drift and fell silent, unsure what to say. Tim was clearly brimming with emotions that he was struggling to get out, so she let him take a minute.

“Not saying he’s a completely different person now, but… I don’t know. We used to get drinks with him. He used to laugh at our jokes. He used to make jokes. Weird, dark jokes, but still jokes, you know? But these days, it’s all business, all the time. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile in months. All… All snappish comments and ‘research this, call this statement giver, stop goofing off during work hours.’ Never mind that just a year ago, he was the one using work hours to show us cat videos because he got distracted during his lunch break.” The side of Tim’s face was smushed into the floor and his one free eye was focused on the whorls he was creating with his fingers in the carpet. Up close as they were, Sasha could see the light scar on his chin that he’d once told her was the result of an ill-advised dare as a child, when his brother had challenged him to see if they could jump off the back deck of their house. She touched it, and he leaned into her hand, eyes distant and sad. “I just…” He spoke softly, “I miss my friend.”

“I miss him too.” Sasha said honestly, though she knew Tim was taking it harder than she was. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

“I know that.” Tim said, and she believed him. “It’s this stupid job. The stupid Archives. I miss being in Research, where I could make fun of the weirdos in the Archives, but now we’re the weirdos in the Archives.”

“We work at an institute that studies the supernatural. I think we’re the weirdos no matter which department we’re in.” She said, aiming for some levity and feeling relieved when Tim let out a soft huff of laughter.

“Fair. Still. The vibes in there are…”

“Bad.” She finished for him.

“You can say that again.” He finally shifted to look at her again. “If you were the Head Archivist-”

“Tim-” She warned, not wanting to dig up an old sore point. 

“I’m serious. If you were the Archivist, do you think you’d act like this?”

“Would I push you away, you mean.” She said. He shrugged and nodded. “I don’t know. I really don’t, Tim. I’d like to say I wouldn’t, but who knows what kind of pressure it involves. I can be just as intense as Jon when I feel pressured.”

“Yeah, but you’d be way nicer than him.”

“You don’t know that.” Sasha said, firm but gentle. 

“...Guess I don’t.” Tim sighed and shut his eyes. She reached down and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“Next time you’re missing Jon, call me instead, okay? Or Martin, he’d love that.” She ran her thumb over his and gave him a small smile. “You can always count on me.”

His gaze is impossibly soft as he looks up at her, and he seems to almost forget to respond at first. “Yeah.” He finally says. “I can always count on you, Sash.” A cheeky grin spread across his face, breaking the tender moment. “The Pilgrim to my Scott.”

She laughed and let go of his hand to push his shoulder into the leg of the coffee table playfully. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense!” He protested despite his own laughter. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it’s the thought that counts. I’m poetic.”

“No, you’re sleep-deprived.” She sat up enough to eye the microwave from her vantage point in the kitchen. “Oh lord, it’s 2am, no wonder. You always get sappy at 2am.”

“I do not!”

“You do. Big sap.” She patted his cheek playfully and stood. “Want me to get you some extra blankets for the couch?”

“That’d be great.” He hauled himself to his feet, groaning all the way. She snickered.

“You sound like an old man.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m young and spry.” He complained, stretching.

“Mhm.” She rolled her eyes and went to the closet.

“At the prime of my life.”

“And yet you make dad noises getting out of a chair.”

“Hey, lying on the floor isn’t good for your back! Aren’t you older than me anyway?”

“Maybe, but I’m not the one complaining about my back.” She cut off whatever complaint he had prepared by throwing a quilt at him. He caught it and stuck his tongue out at her. She returned the gesture and grabbed another blanket. “Are two blankets good?”

“That’s perfect.” He took the blanket gratefully and settled on the couch. “Should I make breakfast as thanks?”

“You don’t have to,” Sasha immediately said out of politeness, but then added, “But if you want to make pancakes…”

“Understood. I’ll see you bright and early with some pancakes, then.” Tim smiled up at her and made himself comfortable on the couch.

“See you in the morning, Tim.” She turned to walk to her room, but stopped at the doorway when Tim piped up again.

“Sasha?”

“Hm?” She looked back at him and saw his best flirty grin on his face. He winked and blew a kiss at her. More than used to his nonsense, she gasped and pretended to catch the invisible kiss, then promptly put her hand to mouth and pretended to eat the kiss. Tim clutched his heart and fell back onto the couch, trying to act like he wasn’t holding back laughter. “No, you’re so cruel!”

“Good night, Tim.” She said, closing the door behind herself before her poker face could break.

“Good night, Sasha.” She heard through the door, full of fondness and amusement in equal parts. 

Sasha rolled out of bed the next morning to find Tim making pancakes, as promised. They sat at her kitchen table and bickered playfully about movies; Tim listened patiently as she infodumped about the history of science fiction as a genre, and she let him rant for the fiftieth time about Indiana Jones. Tim insisted on washing the dishes like a gentleman, and Sasha insisted on squirting bubbles out of the dish detergent bottle at him. They didn’t speak a word about work or their conversation from the night before, but she hugged him very tightly before he left, as if conveying all the emotion she could through touch alone. From the way he squished his face into her shoulder, it seemed the message came across. 

“I’ll make sure to get you the spider guy’s number.” He said when they finally pulled apart, and she snorted.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” She said, shoving him out the door.

“So I’ve heard.” He winked and walked backwards down the hall outside her flat. She sighed and waved, a smile on her face as she shut the door.

If he bugged her and Martin more than usual after talking to Jon the following week, she didn’t mention it.