#spot the single human

[batwynn]

Because we’re good.

(A patron request)

[whetstonefires]

Do you have any opinions on Scholomance?

I do! I like it a lot. I really enjoyed all three books, blitzed through them easily and was much more excited to see how the plots unfolded than I'm used to these days, as a jaded adult, and I also really appreciated them as works of craft.

Especially the first one, I spent the whole time being all 'wow!' at how simple it was. So easy to read, but no waste. You really need to know what you're doing, to get that kind of pared-down elegance of form to work and still fit so much content in.

Like these are dense, there's a fantastic stylistic minimalism that allows El's character all the space it needs to breathe by making absolutely every other thing and person in the whole novel also do character work for her, which is exactly where the first person voice shines.

Also great use of character perspective to make the pacing feel really natural, so the fact that the first book takes three weeks, the second book takes one year, and the third book is like. Five or so incredibly stressful days spread out over the course of a few weeks? Doesn't feel imbalanced.

I actually got distracted from the story a few times by noticing the strength of Novik's technique. 😂 This is a me problem, in itself it's the opposite of distracting. Very low-profile.

I think the Scholomance is a great example of how far you can go in specfic when you aren't cringing from the label 'derivative,' because the Scholomance books feel very fresh ad clean specifically because nothing in them is concerned with standing out as 'original,' whatever that's supposed to mean, only with being well-executed and suitable to its task.

Hm, maybe that's where Liesel was born, the intersection of the efficient narrative style and the vast proportion of the story that concerns the maximization of utility and the instrumentalization of persons by themselves and others, and the forces that incentivize these behaviors. Or maybe she's just the narrative counterweight to Orion 'Head Empty' Lake lmao. How's that for a principle of balance, Galadriel?

I really did enjoy how beautifully it was laid out, over and over, in dozens of shades of humanity, how no matter where you go in an exploitative system almost everyone is being driven by the same survival instincts.

Because I don't think I've ever seen made so cleanly clear why you just can't expect any person or small group of people, no matter their level of goodwill or status, to unmake one of these systems from the inside; how it's not a matter of people being bad but of every single person being very...small.

And then not retreating into the idea of a person who is Big coming and breaking the cruel system from the outside as some kind of panacea, because 1) that is terrible, even if it's necessary and done in the best way possible and 2) that's not a sustainable answer to anything. Getting a balance between the protagonist being able to effect change and not subscribing to the great man theory of history can be really tricky!

Also did I mention, I love El, and I love most of the cast, even the dreadful ones. How am I going around with this many feelings about Li Shanfeng who doesn't appear until the actual climax?

The romance murdered me a bit, but it took up no more space than it absolutely needed to do its job, and I respect that. Also I appreciated Orion as a love interest; Novik has a slight record at this point of a version of that style of male love interest who's like a caricature of Mr. Darcy but old, which was shaping up to be my least favorite thing about her body of work.

...Orion is kind of like if you took the human king from Spinning Silver and gave him an alignment flip come to think of it, so he's not coming out of nowhere. Lmao.

Which reminds me (re: romance character typing) I've heard Novik didn't want it to be known she was astolat, which this series has renewed my sympathies if so. Because if I were a published novelist I wouldn't want people going 'you know, that resolution was really emotionally satisfying! reminds me of that fic she wrote where optimus prime and megatron get stuck in a hole underground and hatefuck about it.'

I don't even like Transformers. That fic almost made me cry. Actually I suspect it reads better if you don't like Transformers because I'm sure it does not give a shit about canon.

Anyway, whoever pointed out that one of the things El has going on is she's Enoby (and we're going to sit down and explore what the true reason to put your middle finger up at preps is, and what are some constructive ways to channel that socioeconomic wrath, and what it means that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism) was right and I'm not entirely over that either.

Fucking love El's mom as a character. Spectacular level of parent relevance and usefulness. A+.

Aadhya and Liu are also characters who fucking delivered.

Re: minimalism though, I laughed at the start of The Golden Enclaves when I realized that none of the enclaver characters who'd gotten development in the the first two books were from London, the enclave El was theoretically shooting for when we met her.

[batsplat]

Yes with these names, Pedrosa, Marquez and Stoner amazed me. And Rossi, obviously. Pedrosa was very strong in 125 and 250, because with his stature he had an incredible technique. Above all he took advantage of his weight a lot - as they say, in the pick up of the bike, which was very difficult and he was the first to do it like that. After all we copied him with the technique. Marquez is a beast here (points at head), and the only rider that... I wouldn't tell you that he likes to fall, because nobody likes to fall, but he wasn't afraid of falling. And he was like a pit bull - he always wanted to win, even if he wasn't comfortable on a circuit, even if the bike wasn't going well... He had an unconventional ambition, he always wanted to beat you. He believed in the falls, but he wasn't afraid of falling. So in that sense he is unique. Stoner was a natural talent, unconventional. For example, when the track was wet, with patches of water - he took it on, came out of the box, delivered the track record, took two or three seconds off everyone. So an improvisation and an ability to see the limit of the track immediately, incredible. What a natural talent. Either you have it or you don't. Valentino? Very complete. A person... as a person, naturally very intelligent, very charismatic. A great braker, a rider who could improvise a lot with the bike. When he was racing, [even when tired, with an elevated pulse], he was very lucid. Very complete. He didn't have a super quality… How would I say? (Interviewer: Any [outstanding] quality.) Yes, but it was all very complete.

Jorge Lorenzo on his rivals (x)

[moeblob]

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.

[uter-us]

radfem question!!

i'm having a conversation with someone about female only spaces (this specifically pertains to bathrooms) and they said that the rule of having female-only bathrooms would "act more like an enforcement of femininity more than anything else."

I think their point is about butch lesbians and/or women who present "masculinely," and so because there is ofc no female identification at the door, and policy would likely just make it more acceptable for women and girls to report if there was a male in the bathroom (without having to determine if the male identifies as a woman), this could end up hurting "masculine"-presenting women (implying that they could be mistaken as male), and in turn just reinforce femininity. Thoughts? (mine are in tags)

[radio-4-is-static]

Audacious | Franz Ferdinand

So don't stop feeling audacious, there's no one to save us So just carry on And don't go blaming the neighbours, you know they're the same as us We should just get on Get on

[selineram3421]

I love true crime, call it an obsession or a hyper fixation. But may I request a one-shot Ft Modern-day Human! Alastor x Reader, where the couple have lived happily together for a while ( is even engaged), and the two are on the couch, snuggled up, and their favorite show is interrupted by the news late one night. Like a breaking news broadcast of a string of multiple murders of criminals, drug dealers, and rapists that have occurred in the city comes on.

Maybe the reader notices Al gets really tense and they ask whats wrong and he passes them off gets up and just goes to bed without a word. Meanwhile days pass and the reader notices Alastor is on edge, maybe not showing up to his job, calling out constantly, not planning their wedding, coming home super late, maybe she finds some bloody clothing in the laundry- just weird things yknow (just a lot of off putting things they've just started to notice)?

They confront him when he comes home at a stupidly late hour of the night demanding answers of why he's acting so strange, if he doesn't tell them they're basically going to take off their ring and leave him then and there.. and he just breaks down emotionally to the reader?

I dunno /) . (\ throw all the Angst and Fluff you'd like to. I just love this idea lol.

Pssst! What does Ft mean?

As The World Caves In

Human Alastor X Human Reader Oneshot

Warning! ⚠

⚠ using she/they for reader, food, tw mentions of rape, murder, dismemberment, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, blood, all caps for really angry shouting dialogue ⚠

~

You met Alastor during college.

He was majoring in communications and journalism for radio/television broadcasting. The building was right next to the one you had your classes in.

One day you both happened to bump into each other and just clicked. Not a day after was it boring, both of you causing slight chaos by telling cringey jokes and being weird.

It was nice though, having someone to be weird with you.

He liked your weirdness and you liked his.

Then one day he asked you a strange question.

"What would you say to someone who asked for your hand?"

"It depends on who's asking.", you reply. "Oh, and if you like it put a ring on it.", you finish, holding your left hand out as if waiting for someone to do just that.

"Hmm..", he hummed and held your hand as if examining it. "Ok."

Bringing a ring out of nowhere, he places it on your finger and nods with a look of satisfaction. Meanwhile you look at him with your jaw dropped.

Alastor just smiles at you.

"I put a ring on it."

"Geez, take me on a date first!"

❇

"We did it!", you cheer after both of you cleaned most of the apartment and did laundry.

"Finally!", Alastor said and dramatically sat down on the couch, acting faint. "Now we rest."

"Want to order take-out?", you asked sitting down next to him.

"Don't we still have yesterday's leftovers?", he says and pulls you close by the waist, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I could heat it up."

"That sounds divine.", you smile, also giving him a peck on the cheek. "I'll get things set up here while you get our food?"

"Sounds like a perfectly good plan.", he agrees with a nod and gives you one more peck before standing up. "Don't miss me too much darling~!"

He jokes while walking to the kitchen.

"Too late.", you respond and turn on the t.v. with the vox-b remote.

There's a chuckle from behind you as you flick through channels, looking for your show. After what felt like a long scroll down, you finally find the discovery channel. With a grin you click on it and wait for the show to start up with the end of "How Its Done."

"Almost Got Away is going to start after a commercial!", you tell your fiancé.

Its been a few years since that day. You still couldn't believe that it happened but the proof sat on your finger, and it was also archived on your Instu story.

The food doesn't take long to heat up and Alastor returns with two bowls of beans with sausage and rice, with a little bit of spice.

[can be seen as frijoles charros or cajun beans]

Both of you get comfortable on the couch, eating and occasionally talking about wedding plans, remembering to get drinks and taking a quick trip to the kitchen to get them from the fridge.

Just as you got comfortable again and the episode was starting, a flash of red and blue appears on the screen with bold letters.

"Breaking News!"

Two news anchors sit at a big blue table. One holding papers as the camera zooms in on them.

"Katie Prig and Tom Fosse bringing you some breaking news!", the woman, Katie starts. "There have been a number of crimes recently. About a forty-eight percent increase."

Tom chimes in. "A total of three missing persons have been found dead in the forest. Police say that the victims were female. Beaten and raped, before being killed and left in the woods."

"We are waiting to hear from police if any more bodies have been found.", Katie interrupts. "Let's check in with Mike."

Live feed is shown of a police cars parked at the start of the woods that has caution tape wrapped at the trail entrance, with k-9 dogs sniffing around. The camera zooms out, revealing a man in a blue jacket, with a news mic.

"I'm here on the south side of the city and its only been an hour of searching, the police have said there might be more bodies. One of the victim's bodies was found cut open and slightly dismembered.", he sniffs and moves his finger to wipe his nose.

From how close you two are sitting, you can feel Alastor tense up slightly as the corner of the man's lip on the screen turns upwards, its mostly covered by his hand and its gone within a second. The man goes back to a neutral expression.

"As you can tell the temperatures are dropping and since it'll rain tonight the officers are trying to cover as much ground as they can before any evidence is washed away."

A few dogs start to bark and the camera focuses on the k-9s and police officers running.

"Looks like there's a lead.", Mike says. "I'll send it back to you and Tom, Katie. We'll keep you updated."

When the screen switches back to the show, Alastor puts his bowl on the coffee table in front of the couch.

He's really quiet.

You look over at him and notice a frown starting to form on his face.

"Al?", you place a hand on his shoulder, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts as he turns to face you. "You ok? What's wrong?"

"Nothing Love.", he smiles, grabbing your hand off his shoulder and placing a kiss on your knuckles, just above the ring. "I just lost my apatite is all."

You nod in understanding and set down your bowl as well. "Wanna head to bed early then? I'll clean up, don't worry."

"Yes, thank you.", he agrees, letting go of your hand and stands up. "I'll get the bed ready.", he says before placing a kiss on your forehead and walking to the bedroom.

Cleaning up is quick, and you wash the dishes. Leaving the bowls on the drying rack before turning off the kitchen light and making your way to the room.

Alastor is already in bed when you walk in. After changing into comfortable sleep wear, you get in bed and turn off the lamp on your nightstand.

"Good night.", you say but don't hear anything back.

Assuming that he already fell asleep, you lay on your side and doze off.

.

A week passes and Alastor has been acting a little strange, but everytime you ask he just brushes you off with an "I'm fine."

You start to worry when he begins coming home late.

"Does the station really need you till 10 p.m. today?", you ask.

"I'm helping out a coworker with moving boxes and supplies.", he explains while getting his keys. "Don't worry, I'll call you if I leave early."

"Ok.", you say and follow him as he gets to the door. "Drive safe."

He smiles and gives you a peck.

"Don't stay up late for me. Lock the door and windows.", he says and walks out into the hallway. "Can't be too safe."

"I have a shift tomorrow around six in the evening.", you remind him, but see that he pauses.

"Darling..", he says with furrowed brows. "With all the crime going on, can you ask for earlier shifts?"

Now its your turn to smile.

"I can take care of myself. After all, I have Mr. Stabbington.", you say picking up a sharp pair of scissors and he frowns. "But if it makes you feel better knowing that I'm not out at night, then I'll ask for earlier shifts."

He grins.

"Ok now go! Or you'll be late!", you poke at him with your fingers and wave as he leaves.

Its not long till you're washing clothes that you spot what looks like a smeared blood stain on a pair of his pants.

"What the?", you say confused and try to remember if your fiancé got any recent wounds.

You set the pants aside for proper cleaning and continue to put the rest of the load in the washing machine.

A few days later after work, you get a call from the station Alastor works at.

"Hello?", you answer the phone, thinking Al is calling wanting an opinion on dinner or for something he forgot.

"Hi! I'm James, a coworker of Alastor's. I was calling to see if he is sick or something?", the man over the phone says.

"Sick?", you ask confused, walking up to your apartment building and going inside the building.

"Yeah, he didn't come in today and isn't picking up. The boss is kinda pissed. Is he alright?"

"He left early this morning..", you mumble quietly to yourself and wave to the security guard, making your way to the metal door and punching in the code to unlock it.

"Oh! He had a fever this morning but its going down now.", you say a quick lie.

"Ok, thanks for letting me know! Take care!", James says before saying bye.

You hang up and there's a sinking pit forming at the bottom of your stomach.

Why would Alastor skip work?

That feeling didn't go away and you started to have trouble sleeping.

When a scheduled wedding plan day came up, you got excited.

Flowers and colors were already picked out, today was supposed to be food. As you got the laptop open and notebooks set out, Alastor was dressed as if he was heading out.

"Were we going somewhere today?", you ask confused.

"We?", he says also confused.

"Yeah, its planning day Red.", you say smiling and walk over to him. "Remember its the food this time?"

A flash of realization crosses his face as he turns to look at the calendar on the wall nearby the kitchen.

"Oh."

Your smile goes away after noticing that he looks conflicted.

"Let me guess, you forgot and made plans.."

"I'm sorry. I was going to visit my mother.", he says with a slightly guilty tone.

A sigh escapes from your lips.

"Its ok. Go visit her and take some flowers.", you give a small smile. "Need any cleaning rags for the headstone?"

"No. I've got some in the car.", he says and pulls you into a hug. "Thank you darling."

He leaves soon after.

The thing you find odd is that he doesn't send you a picture of the cleaned headstone with fresh flowers like he usually does.

Weeks pass by and Alastor has been leaving work early or not going at all. Then arriving home late, lying to you about "his day at work" and now taking over washing the clothes after you asked about the red stains.

That sinking feeling gets worse, and now there's a burning sensation on your chest to accompany it. An aching in your heart.

One night you decide to wait with coffee.

Its late.

Hours have passed and the coffee has gone cold, both in the cup and in the coffee maker.

Sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, staring into the coffee as you waited. The cup is half empty, and over time your gaze shifted over to your ring.

As you put the cup on the coffee table, you hear keys unlocking the door.

Taking a quick look at the time, you see that its three in the morning. Laying down, you pretend to sleep on the couch, pulling the blanket up to hide your mouth.

❇

Alastor was exhausted.

Keeping up with the news, working at the station, doing research, visiting the crime scene areas once they were opened to the public again, and lying to his fiancé.

He felt terrible.

They were so excited about the planning but he had to turn it down every time.

That murdering rapist and other scum were still on the loose in the city. He had got three, but still needed to get the one from the news.

He had to make sure she would be safe. They loved talking walks in those same woods. The smiles that she would show him every time they looked up at the trees, seeing the sunlight kiss their face. Looking like glowing freckles.

He had to.

Opening the door, he walked into the apartment quietly and closed it as soon as he could. Making sure to lock it and put up the door stopper.

After hanging up his jacket, he sees them asleep on the couch. As quietly as possible, he sets his keys down on the entry way table before taking off his shoes and making his way over to them.

He sighs, seeing the cup of coffee on the coffee table. "I told you not to wait for me.", he mumbles, kneeling down and goes to pick her up.

"Its 3 a.m."

Alastor flinches back, surprised that she was awake.

They sit up and look at him with such a sad gaze, the blanket slides off and pools around their lap.

"Why are you out so late?", they ask.

"Work at the station has been hectic-", he tries but she interrupts. "I've been getting calls from your coworkers saying you've been skipping work or asking why you left early."

Shit.

"Try again.", they're glaring at him now.

"I've been visiting-", he tries to come up with another excuse.

"DON'T USE YOUR DEAD MOTHER AS AN EXCUSE!", they snap and stand up from the couch. "Why are you lying to me!?"

"Darling please-", Alastor stands up as well and reaches out for their hand.

"No, don't touch me.", she backs away, crossing her arms.

A look of hurt crosses both of their faces.

"Why are you lying to me?", they ask softly.

The dim lighting in the room helps him see a small glint of light reflecting off of the tears staring to form at the corner of their eyes.

"You've been acting strange for a while now, you're coming home ridiculously late, lying to my face about work, and I know you're not visiting your mother!", their voice rises as they continue, the tears start streaming down their face. "You would have sent me pictures of her headstone like you always do when you're done cleaning it! And then I find red stains on your clothes!", she hiccups.

He calls out their name and tries to reach out to them again but they step back and shake their head side to side as to say no.

It hurts to see them crying.

"We..we had a conversation. If any of us found someone new, we would tell each other before anything happened. So no one got hurt and so we could have time to accept and adjust."

"My love, that's not what's going on. I promise!", he quickly denies what they are implying.

"Then what is going on!?", she shouts. "If its not that then what!?"

Alastor looks down at the floor, wondering if he should tell her or not.

Would they still love me after knowing? Will they leave? Would they hate me? Would they see me a s a monster? I did it for them..

The rooms becomes quiet.

She sighs, causing him to look up at her for the sudden noise.

"If you can't tell me, I'm going to walk out. Right now.", she says and goes to take off the ring.

He freezes.

No. No no no no no!

"Wait, please-!", he rushes up to place his hands over hers to stop her. "Don't do that, please. I love you! I love you!"

They are still trying, pushing his hands away and crying.

In a panic, he tells her. "I've been going after criminals!"

"What?"

He didn't know when he closed his eyes, but they were shut tight and it hurt a little bit. Seeking some sort of comfort, he held their hands closer to his chest.

A feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time settled in his stomach.

Fear.

He was scared.

"Remember the breaking news from a month ago?", he says, but they don't speak, likely waiting for him to continue. "I've been going after the murderers and rapists. A few others as well."

"Is that why you've been out late? And lying about work?", they ask. "What about the red stains? Have you been getting hurt?"

"No. I'm not getting hurt.", he reassures them, resting his forehead against theirs. "Its..not mine."

Finally opening his eyes, he sees that they are slowly putting things together.

"You've been killing?"

In that moment he breaks.

Legs giving out, now kneeling on the floor as he wraps his arms around their waist, hiding his face against their stomach.

"I did it for you!", he sobs. "I couldn't bear the though of losing you!"

The beating of his heart is frantic. It feels as if it'll burst at any minute. He doesn't notice that they've placed their hands on him, one on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head.

"You love taking walks in those woods, what if one of them got you? I'm terrified of getting a call from the police station and they say that you've been the latest victim! I had to do something, those damn pigs barely get the job done.", he rushes out, gasping a bit as he takes in some air.

Their breathing is the only thing they hear from each other.

"We're supposed to get married soon.", he finishes off quietly.

Feeling her start to move away, he begins apologizing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't leave me, please!"

Instead of leaving, they kneel down with him and hold his face in their hands, shushing him softly to calm him down.

"Alastor. I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving.", they whisper, using their thumbs to wipe away his tears. "Come on, stop crying honey."

It takes a moment for him to calm down and she pulls him into a hug.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're not scared? Disgusted?", he asks, holding onto them tightly.

"I could never find you disgusting. Yes, its a little scary but you're doing more justice than the system.", they say and pull back slightly, giving him a small smile. "I'll always be on your side, even as the world caves in."

I don't deserve you.

He thinks as he stares at them in awe.

"I love you."

Finding his voice again, he quickly repeats what they've said.

"I love you. I love you, I love you.", he kisses them again and again, holding them closer. "I love you."

Alastor is so happy.

They didn't leave, they still love him, they aren't disgusted.

He's so relieved.

"You still need to make up for making me feel like shit though.", she says, causing him to chuckle.

"I'll make up for it, I promise."

Alastor really would do anything for them.

Even set the world on fire.

~

I heard the song during shuffle play and it was perfect for the title.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@i-heart-fictional-boys @naelys-the-aster @ducky-died-inside @stolas-thebirb @c4rved-pumpk1n @kiraisastay @scary-noodlesblog @willowaudreykeyes

I don't know if there's more 😅. I tried to find all of them.

ML Alastor🎙

[genderfluid-druid]

“what happened to him?” “he read a book so bad he returned it to the library a third of the way through, but now his brain won’t stop chewing on the potential it had 😔”

[kinokoshoujoart]

i’m going to cry… rock’s child inherits the most feral abnormal messed up dna of any child ever and still ends up being the most well-adjusted one (rock’s nurture overcoming his and his child’s nature)

(this is from this rrreddit post. if you’re wondering why molly and rock’s kids are low energy…. i have no idea why 規則正しい was translated “energy” either because it‘s more like “orderly”…? i’m not native in jp so idk)

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

x. average sci-fi milf

[vesemirsexual]

im so haunted by the concept of witcher trainee dormitories. this is because you take a bunch of teenage boys who are mutated and constantly growing + they have frequent intensive physical training + they regularly take potions (the detox sweat my god)

enhanced smell would be such a curse…

[borealisbarbie]

borealis

chapter 1.: for now, it's time to run chapter tags: queer (m/m), sci fi, heists, kidnapping, referenced human experimentation, grumpy x bitchy, angst chapter warnings: implied noncon body modification, technical kidnapping, gun violence, language, mild gore, PTSD word count: 4243 A/N: the first chapter of my baby is here and ready to be shared! this is the first original work i'm posting in more than 5 years so i'm super excited to finally start sharing her with you all!

playlist || pinterest || masterlist

   Every time he had to break into a building Dawson was acutely jealous of the shows and movies he’d watched as a kid— his life would be so much smoother if he could just slide through a couple air vents and be done with it! But no, instead here he was, 2am on a Thursday, knee deep in piles of whatever undoubtedly filthy laundry an illegal medical laboratory produced. Not his favorite way to enter a place, but it was one less code to remember— just a single key to lift off of an unaware janitor. The face mask he wore felt inadequate, but it would have to do. 

  The laundry facilities were on the very bottom floor of the lab, but Dawson’s target was only a few floors up— packed up and ready to be transported for sale tomorrow morning, according to Dawson’s employer. He didn’t know what, exactly, it was that he was stealing, but he wasn’t in any position to turn down a job that paid this much. He made his way swiftly down the hall and up the barren stairwell— which had required a convoluted code to open— in silence. The stairwell opened into a short hallway, only three doors occupying the limited space. He strode towards the 2nd door on the left, as his intel had instructed, and input yet another door code. The little blinking blue light swiftly turned green and the door slid open, bringing a satisfied smirk to the thief’s face. That smirk drops when he takes in the contents of the small room. Whipping his phone out of his breast pocket, he pulls up the single blurry shot of the case he’s supposed to be looking at.

   That shitty fucking intel, is all Dawson can think, looking from the picture of his target on his phone back to the large metal crate looking thing that stood in the center of the cargo hold. He was here for a weapon, sure, but a fancy gun or laser sword, not something he would need a damn forklift to move. The crate had a number pad on its side, which would explain the extra passcode he’d been given. He lays his gun down within easy reach inputs the code, wincing as each button press emits a loud ping sound. It’s an obnoxiously long code too, even for some high-tech government laboratory, but finally he types in the last digit and hits enter. The box’s seams glow an ominous red before blinking to green, and there is the hiss of hydraulics before the lid of the box lifts and recedes on its own. Thick clouds of fog rise and quickly dissipate, revealing the contents; his target. It’s not a gun like he had hoped, or a bomb, or even a tiny, mysterious microchip. 

   It’s a dude. A curled slip of man, nude and nestled into perfectly cut out insulating foam. Dawson inhaled sharply, taking a step back. Because what the fuck. What the fuck was this? Was he stealing a corpse? Apparently not, because just as he goes to step closer, reaching out a hand to check for a pulse, the still form suddenly heaves a ragged breath and flies into a frenzy of movement, flinging himself from the box in a panic. Dawson reaches blindly behind himself for his gun on the table, clicking off the safety and pointing it at the man— fuck the payout, he wasn’t about to be mauled or maimed by some feral lab experiment! The man doesn’t attack though, instead scuttling backwards until he hits the wall, wild gaze flitting about and taking in his surroundings with an expression of pained confusion. When his gaze settles on Dawson the thief clutches his gun tighter and lets out a hissed curse; because those eyes are not human eyes. They shine an unnatural shade of teal, and the pupils shift and dilate like the lens of a camera. Mechanical. 

   But not one like anything Dawson has seen before, not even the fancy pretty ones the wealthy like to flaunt online. He’s breathing for one, still dragging in labored and brittle breaths, and sweat drips down his face, dampening unkempt curls. There’s an air of humanity to him that shouldn’t be possible in a mechanical.

“Who are you?” Dawson finally grits out, knowing that the clock is ticking and he doesn't really have time for an in-depth interrogation. The man just recoils further against the wall, though his breathing does at last appear to be mellowing out. A glance down at his watch shows that he has exactly 17 minutes to make his escape before the change of the security guards. “Fine, don’t talk. Look, I've got less than 20 minutes to get out of here so it looks like you’re coming with me. I was expecting a nice little carrying case, but I can make this work.” Still no reaction. Dawson feels a little bad for the mech— inhuman or not, the fear in his face and body language is palpable. He lowers his gun with a sigh before coming forward to kneel in front of the man, meeting his gaze with what he hopes is a reassuring expression— he’s not the expert on comforting scared people. There’s a barely audible hum as the mans’ eyes focus on Dawson, repeating that same camera lens effect.

“Look, clearly I don't know what’s going on here and neither do you, but I don't think you want to hang around here— they had you locked in a box in a basement. Something fucked up is happening here, and you can either come with me, or you can stay and try explaining to them how you got out of that box on your own. I don’t think the people here would be very happy with you escaping, do you?” And yeah, maybe it’s cruel to manipulate him like this, but whatever got him off of the floor and got them out of the lab was good enough for Dawson.

“Juno.” he blinks at the abrupt tone, but nods anyway. He— Juno, apparently— could speak, at least. 

“Great. Nice to meet you Juno, I’m Dawson. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” And with that, Dawson stands yet again, this time taking Juno by the wrist and pulling him up to stand too. It’s sheer luck that hanging on the back of the chair in the otherwise barren room is an abandoned lab coat— he swiftly covers the mech’s nude form with the white fabric and instructs him to keep close and keep quiet, before leading them out of the room. 

   The long reaching hall is still blessedly empty as far as Dawson can tell, and it should remain so for the next five minutes— enough time to get them to the ground floor. Gun at the ready he pulls an annoyingly slow-paced Juno along— the smallest thing seems to distract the mech, as if they are not currently trying to escape a life or death (or unpleasant jail time) situation. They reach a fork, the hallway splitting into two identical paths. The map Dawson’s employer had provided said to go to the left, but Juno refuses to follow, digging his bare heels into the ground when Dawson tries to jerk him along.

“Not that way.” the mech unhelpfully says, a mulish expression on his face. He tilts his head in a way that suggests he is listening to something, and that something is evidently not Dawson— or anything Dawson can hear, because both halls are silent. “This way.” and he shifts his hand so he is the one holding onto Dawson now and, much to the thief’s chagrin, tugs him along without any effort, taking the right hall. They come to a stop in front of a closed door, which doesn’t budge when Dawson jiggles the handle. 

“A dead end, seriously?” he hisses at the now bored looking mech. “I have been studying the schematics of this building for the last three months, kid, our way out was the other hallway!” He’s about to throw the mech over his shoulder and carry him to the proper exit fireman style, when Juno none too gently shoves him aside and gives the door handle a single firm yank. There is the sharp sound of wood cracking before the door gives way, swinging open, easy as anything now that a skinny little mechanical has just ripped the locking mechanism out of the damn door. 

“Faster. And no cameras.” He gently sets the door handle and its guts on the ground, before gesturing for Dawson to lead the way once again. Something was seriously wrong with this mech and the way he functioned, but there was no time for him to ponder that. Quickly familiarizing himself with this portion of the map, Dawson manages to navigate himself and the mech up to the first floor. Which was where things were going to get seriously tricky. Where the bottom levels had been paroled by a barebones crew, the main floors were much more stringently supervised— guards patrolled each end of each level in synchronized pairs, armed to the teeth in the latest tech and paid handsomely enough that there wasn’t much they wouldn’t do for the company. Their escape would have to be timed perfectly, and helpful as he could apparently be, there was no time for deviations from Juno.

“You do what I say from here on out, got it? I’m not about to die because you think you found a shortcut.” The mech nods, but the mulish expression is back— quite the contrast from the trembling, fear filled thing he’d been just a few minutes ago. Time would tell if it was a welcome change. “And— hey, this is important—” he adds sharply, noting the mech’s gaze beginning to wander once again, this time distracted by the rattling of the air con. “If I get shot, or if they catch me? Don’t fucking leave me to die, got it? I am not getting paid enough to die for you. You come back for me.” The mech nods and it’s go time.

   Dawson’s favorite kind of jobs were the ones where he got to break out the fancy equipment— harnesses for repelling down buildings, gadgets to disable alarm systems or cut through the glass of windows or display cases. But sadly, this was not that sort of job. Initially, his escape plan was to walk out completely undetected after going back the way he came, but by now someone was sure to have noticed Juno’s little door demolishment; it was only a matter of time before security was alerted of their presence. And unfortunately, he wasn't exactly able to tuck the mech into a backpack or pocket like he could have with his typical targets. So instead they had to do things the much more dangerous, life-threatening way, and tiptoe through the halls just as they emptied of guards, letting the timing of the guards’ schedule do the heavy lifting for them. So long as they didn’t do anything overt or loud, they were in the clear.

   So of course. Of course Juno— who walked so silently Dawson could almost forget he was there if not for the bruising grip he had on his hand— slips on the slick tile, letting out a small cry as his ankle twists. It’s faint, but it’s a noise, and that’s all it takes for the sound of boots pounding in their direction to pick up. With a curse Dawson pushes the mech more fully behind him, sandwiched between his back and the wall, and clicks the safety off his gun once again. He can feel the mech breathing harshly against his neck, and thin fingers dig painfully into his hand as two guards come from each direction, cornering them with guns drawn. Dawson notes that they do not aim at them, despite clearly having the upper hand.

“Who are you, how did you get access to this floor?” One guard barks while another approaches, pulling handcuffs from his belt and reaching for Juno. And that, apparently, is the wrong thing to do, because the mech’s gaze snaps to the guard’s hand, and in the space of what can only be a few seconds the mech darts a hand out and grabs the guard, pulling him in close before flinging him bodily towards the other set of guards, sending them all tumbling down into a pile of limbs. The remaining guard, the one with the gun, quickly descends into panic, waving his gun around and shouting. Still, no actual shots are fired. Dawson is torn between trying to talk his way out of this or just knocking him out when Juno makes an executive decision. Hand outstretched like a superhero in one of the old movies Dawson watched as a kid, unnerving gaze glowing, and a little ball of light grows in his hand, giving off sparks and increasing in size until it’s on par with a large marble. The mech— or whatever the hell he actually was because mechanicals couldn’t form matter— closes his hand around it and the light disappears. Juno then opens his hand to reveal a shiny silver ball and Dawson only has a moment to study it before it flies forward and embeds itself in the guard’s chest, punching a hole straight through. 

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, roughly wiping the blood spray from his face. Juno merely blinks, eerily unaffected, and follows easily when Dawson grabs him and drags him full speed from the scene. Hopefully the shock of their coworker's violent death keeps the other guards off their tail long enough for them to escape. 

   They make it to the exit, but Dawson would be hard pressed to recall how the hell they did it. After escaping the lab itself, it’s a simple matter of slipping down several tiny alleyways and taking a few twisty little side roads until they reach Dawson’s bike. Which swiftly presents the next dilemma; getting the lab grown superpowered mech onto said bike. Juno accepts the helmet easily enough, and even puts it on himself, though he bats away Dawson’s hands when he tries to adjust the straps. He sits behind Dawson when he says to, wrapping thin arms about the thief’s waist. He’s perfectly compliant until the bike turns on. The second it roars to life the mech is gone, scrambling off of the bike and away from its now offensive form.

“NO!” he yells, pointing an accusing finger at Dawson as he shuts off the bike and tries to approach Juno placatingly. “It’s too loud, I don’t like it!” It’s the most he’s heard from the mech since he opened that damn box. Dawson isn’t keen on having his head exploded or being set on fire, or whatever other powers Juno possessed, and so they are at an impasse. 

“What do you want from me here, kid? We need to get out of here, and this is how we do that.” He gestures behind him to the bike. “It’s perfectly safe, I promise.” The mech glares unwaveringly from under stringy curls, and he appears to be shivering— from the cold or from shock, it was hard to tell. Either way, he needed to get him indoors and fast. Could mechs even get sick from exposure? 

“Come on, we’ll get you some clothes, something to eat…” The promise of food seems to do the trick, mistrusting gaze softening to something almost hopeful. 

“Chocolate, I want chocolate, the shiny ones.” Demanding thing.

“I— Yeah, yeah okay. Get on the bike and we’ll find you some damn chocolate.” He offers his hand again to pull Juno back behind him on the bike, but he’s still a little surprised when icy fingertips graze his own. Again, he wonders if it’s a product of Juno’s inhumanity or the winter temperatures. Dawson guides him onto the bike, holding an arm securely over the thin ones clinging with much more fervor to his waist before starting the bike. Juno gives a little whine of fear but doesn’t run away this time, so Dawson counts it as a win and takes off. 

   20 minutes later and they pull up to a dark, run-down looking building. Dawson shuts off the bike and after some light jostling manages to get Juno to let go and get off the bike, before leading the mech inside. The interior is just as grim as the exterior— a welcome desk that has sat unoccupied since Dawson moved in fills one corner, while a pile of unusable cleaning supplies from when there was a cleaning crew 10 years ago takes up the lobby. Juno is again taking in his surroundings with all the interest and newness of a child or cartoon alien, running his fingers across a tabletop before grimacing at the thick dust that now clings to them. Dawson wrinkles his nose when the mech absently wipes the grime on his pilfered coat, drawing attention to how out of place he looks outside of the illegal lab setting— barefoot and clad only in a now bloodstained and filthy lab coat, which slides off one shoulder as it has lost several buttons. The dried and flaking blood spatter across what would otherwise be a sweet face completes the upsetting visage.

“Let’s go, we can’t let anyone see you like this.” He takes Juno by the hand and leads him up to his apartment, smirking a little when the mech groans at the sight of several flights of stairs. It was nice to know that there was some humanity programmed into him. 

10 floors later and they’re finally there.

“Home sweet home…” Dawson mumbles under his breath, pulling his keys out and opening the door. Juno all but runs inside, leaving the thief alone to lock back up. He kicks off his shoes by the door and then follows the sounds of Juno’s exploring to the living room, where the mech is stroking the blanket strewn carelessly over the back of the couch with reverent hands. Dawson clears his throat, feeling a little bad when he jerks his hands back as if burned.

“There’s a shower through there, go get washed up and I’ll have some clothes ready for you when you’re done.” he points to the doorway on the left. Juno seems to deflate before nodding shortly, stripping off the ruined lab coat right there in the living room, which… Okay, technically Dawson had already seen him nude, but he hadn’t planned on doing it again any time soon. He averts his eyes, and before he can muster up a response, the mech is gone, and the sound of the tub running starts up shortly. Shaking his head, Dawson grabs a trash bag from the kitchen to store the coat for now, planning on burning the thing when he gets the chance rather than risking someone finding it in the trash and poking around. Then he goes to his closet to find the aforementioned clothes he promised Juno.

   He doesn’t have much that will fit the slight mech, but he digs up a sweater from an old fling and some shorts with a tie that would work until he could get to a shop. There’s no underwear, but he suspects the mech isn’t used to wearing any anyways. Clothing sorted, Dawson decides to tackle the food problem. He’s not sure what the mech can eat, or, in all honesty, what in his kitchen is still edible. 

   The fridge is hours away from becoming a biohazard zone, and the fruit bowl on the counter has sat empty since the day his elderly neighbor brought it over as a housewarming gift. The pantry, however, yields a mostly not stale pack of crackers, a jar of pickles, and a half empty bag of halloween candy. He arranges his findings on one of the two plates he owns before checking his watch and frowning. It’s been less than 10 minutes and yet he can already hear Juno turning off the shower. There’s a pleased sound and then the quiet shuffling of someone getting dressed. 

   Juno emerges not soon after, rubbing a towel aggressively over his head. He has forgone the shorts for some unknown reason, but the sweater does technically cover everything, the hem hanging awkwardly to graze the mech’s bruised knees, and Dawson lets it slide, taking the towel from him before he can drop it carelessly to the ground like he clearly plans to. He takes one of the mech’s eternally cold hands and leads Juno over to sit at the table, setting the plate of food in front of him. Immediately he can tell he’s made some sort of grave error— those unnatural eyes narrow, and the mech pokes at one of the little gherkins with an unimpressed air.

“What… are those?” he asks disdainfully, selecting one of the less offensive crackers to shove into his mouth whole instead.

“They’re pickles, you never seen a pickle before?” Dawson asks defensively, taking one and biting into it with an obnoxious crunch. And maybe it’s a little more sour than usual, what would Juno know about it if it was? The mech just shakes his head, continuing to scarf down crackers whole. He’s a mess of contradiction, equal parts fearful and demanding, knowledgeable and clueless. And then there’s the whole ‘killing people with little balls of light’ thing to consider. Hell, he probably hasn’t ever heard of a pickle before. 

“So… What the hell was going on in that lab?” he finally asks. Juno looks up from his food (he has abandoned the plate and is now digging through the Halloween candy bag, pulling everything out and sorting them into piles— the non-chocolate candy is piling up on the floor beside his chair.) with eyes narrowed with distrust. He clearly isn’t about to bring Dawson into the loop, returning back to his candy sorting with an added flair of irritation. “Oh, so I save your skinny ass— nearly die in the process, might I add, take you in and feed and clothe you, but I can’t ask why they had you stuffed into a box? That seems fair.” He rolls his eyes when he is ignored yet again, reaching across the spindly table and grabbing the bag of candy from the mech’s lax grip. Juno hisses in surprise, baring pearly teeth at him— Dawson is pretty sure the mech might really try to bite him. Very animalistic for something so clearly machine.

“Nuh uh, you get these back when you answer my questions.” The little bastard actually has the nerve to snatch for the bag but he easily holds it out of reach. “Are you going to cooperate?” he reiterates once again, shaking the candy enticingly. Juno heaves a beleaguered sigh before giving a single sharp nod. As a token of good faith Dawson chucks a Twix at him— and is a little miffed when the brat catches it seamlessly.

“Good. Let’s start with something simple: why the hell were you in that box?”

“I always sleep in the box, if I’m not in use.” 

   That's… concerning. Mechs had developed so much in the past decade, it hardly seemed humane to lock them away when they weren’t ‘in use’. And those were just standard mechs, built to be companions, factory workers, and glorified pets. Whatever Juno was, it was clearly nearly human in its’ design, the lab could have at least sprung for a bed for the guy. The mech looks unconcerned though, gnawing at his candy’s wrapper with his teeth.

“What are your prioritized functions?” Some mechs don’t have them preprogrammed, or aren’t allowed to disclose them, but it's worth a shot to ask. Maybe if he knows why the lab was creating hyper realistic mechs, he could better figure out what to do with this one. Again though, Juno just looks confused by his question.

“I don’t know what that means.” It’s said fully deadpan, but Dawson can sense the unspoken disdain. 

“Well what the hell are you, then? They obviously built you for something— are you just some sort of fancy weapon?” This, at last, has an actual, visible effect on Juno. And Dawson immediately regrets saying it. Confusion, hurt, and guilt flicker across his face before his expression settles into something supremely pained. Then the tears come, only to be dashed away by the sleeve of Juno’s borrowed sweater before they can fall. 

“They didn’t. Build me, I mean. No one did. They just… added things. Removed things.” He’s looking down now, fiddling with the candy he still hasn’t managed to free from its wrapper. “I don’t remember everything, side effect of—” he waves his hand vaguely around his head, “but I was— I guess I was sick, as a kid? Really sick, and my family couldn’t afford the treatment, or maybe I didn’t have a family. The lab was running a trial for some special procedure and they picked me. Fixed me right up. Then they… kept finding new things to fix.” Dawson doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond. He settles on pushing the candy back across the table, avoiding the unbearable weight of that odd gaze. Silence, for a few moments. 

Then rustling sounds pick up. 

A package of Skittles hits the linoleum.

[emblazons]

—I’m really just trying to figure out who said something so out of pocket my entire dash is defending something as simple as a passionate byler kiss 😭 like?

Did someone bring up the “Finn and Noah wouldn’t be comfortable” shit again, or was it just a teenager with a lot of internalized homophobia (who was raised believing adherence to respectability politics would make people accept them being queer) rattling off a barely veiled “morally upstanding” puritanical opinion again? ☠️

[prismaticpichu]

Hi! Question for you, fellow writing friend: how do YOU get into the Jenova Mind Set (tm)?

Oooooooh Jenova! Heck yeah! Evil step mom. Mother Dearest. Soccer mom without the soccer. That’s always such interesting territory! >:3c Your Jenova stories are SO insanely good!!! So perfectly twisted and spooky and always capture the looming, icky presence that makes mumsy who she is.

So! For me, when it comes to Jenova, her aura gets split down the middle depending on the tone of the fic. In complete crack/stupid Nibelheim fix-it settings, she’s usually just a device to lure Sephiroth to the basement—not much of a full character—and is really only made known through bold/italics saying her generic, programmed things (Hello, my son, now it’s independent reading time). Head is pretty empty writing her this way! Hardly intimidating and easily shooed away, and barely any description too. She’s usually the butt of the joke getting flicked off. Then just kinda gives up. Eh. Next mentally unstable experiment.

Now on the OTHER hand…. there’s Jenova. The dangerous, horrid, calamitous organism who eradicated an entire race through infecting her prey, poisoning each and every Cetra, who shifted her amorphous figure to confuse/manipulate their crippling, infected minds and turn them against their loved ones, and whose cells course through Sephiroth’s blood. This is my preferred side >:3c. Because I love CC Sephiroth and of all his kind humanness, I am very stubborn to let this side go, and this leads to me crafting Jenova as someone with a complete autonomous mind, and pretty much frame her as being a puppet master with cellular mind-control abilities. She’s much more than just a voice in Sephiroth’s head nudging him towards his insanity; she’s furious at humanity for sealing her away, and she’s gonna make sure Sephiroth helps her enact her revenge (and, y’know, munching on planet debris while she’s at it).

Getting into the true Ellen Ripley mode takes some lights off and some dramatic music, but the premise of her bringing a steering wheel to Sephiroth’s mind is just so fun to me that I’m usually so eager to write anything to do with it! x3 With her presence being so consuming and real now, I love taking full advantage of her overall horrific concept and diving headfirst into that nastiness—mind games and all. Writing Jenova slowly breaking into Sephiroth’s car is a blast, and I’ll usually tackle it by making her pry out his worst, most vulnerable memories and bring them to the surface. She doesn’t just spew the generic come to me stuff anymore. She’s hitting Sephiroth where it hurts most. Making those emotions so severe and tumultuous that they consume him: Genesis, Angeal, Gast… they abandoned him. Traitors. Jenova will pounce in the moment Sephiroth begins to succumb and accept those feelings, shoving him out of the front seat and plugging in her keys (ok enough with this car analogy). Once she has him where she wants him, she’ll whisper into something much more hypotonic, whispering kind, loving reassurances into his ears… and all of a sudden Sephiroth wants nothing more than to burn humanity to the ground. They locked up Mother… kept them separated for so, so long—and then those inferior, wretched dullards became the dominant species.

Jenova offers a whole lot of imagery too, and there’s so much room for horrific description >:3 She won’t just get into Sephiroth’s mind; she will claw her way in, rake her nails against the surface of his skull, stab into his mind, her cellular pull pulling the blood in Sephiroth’s body and making it crash against his skin, make his veins throb, making it feel like they’re being torn from his skin and into her… er… tentacles. Lots of adjectives and verbs to describe her: slimy, oily, slithering, squirming~ So much fun to add Jenova into any equation! She’s a real party person!

Oh! I also capitalize her pronoun bc powerful space entity.

[mxtxfanatic]

Is this whole chapter just Jun Wu stirring up shit and tryna probe how Xie Lian feels about certain people to better tailor his plans? If so, fuck him

[towez]

Side-fucking-eye