#verse.: no humanity.

[soranatus]

The Spider Target By Dan Martins, a character designer and illustrator

[cherrywhite]

hey silt verses? I just want to talk

[buumbaby]

merthur, but theyre dogs and cats

[valtsv]

an element of horror that the silt verses does really really really well is establishing how utterly normalised and accepted human sacrifice is in both "civilised" society and counterculture communities. "a god must feed, a god must be fed" is taken as common sense; the idea of questioning it is laughable to most people. animal sacrifice is seen as at best a temporary substitute for the real thing, and not cost-effective enough to maintain. whether lured into traps and staked to posts as offerings to predatory gods, or coerced into signing contracts that forfeit your life to the state by predators in suits and ties and butchered for parts in sterile white rooms where no one will hear you beg and scream for help, sacrifices are treated like animals, seen as less than human. prayer marks to hallow someone into a saint are branded onto the body like those of livestock. a character who will go on to become one of the most progressive actors for change in the show is introduced to us thanking a saint for their suffering (which powers the train which she takes to commute to work every day) because she sincerely believes that offering a meaningless platitude in order to lessen her guilt at her own complicity is all that she can do. not a single character is introduced to us believing in any system but the one that they've always known. the abuses and exploitation that the entire societal structure relies on are baked into the foundations so completely that imagining anything different outside of it terrifies them at first. it's bone-chillingly brilliant worldbuilding.

[elexuscal]

Imagine, if in two thousand years, everyone was obsessed with Omelas.

Alright, not everyone obviously. But you'd be hard pressed to find someone who didn't at least know its name. You were absolutely told the story as a child, might even have watched a movie or played a game about plucky kids rescuing the child of Omelas from their cell and taking down the city's corrupt priesthood. You definitely have vague memories of browsing the holo-channels as a kid on a sick day and watching a documentary about how the city fell, analyzing the texts of the historian Le Guin, and attempting to track down its "true" location.

There are whole societies dedicated to that question. Not just people on the Feed Boards, but like, actual archeologists and historians (that's how they describe themselves, at least) who literally head out to various moons and dwarf planets, doing all sort of complicated scans and digging up rock formations and old habitat ruins that they claim, based on ancient texts, to be a prime candidate for where Omelas was located.

It goes deeper than that, you realise later, if you dig deeper. There are entire belief systems based on Omelas. Many claim that Omelians were not humans at all, but actually advanced aliens or even gods, who granted humanity the first technology for space flight. There are political parties, some quite popular-- and powerful-- who claim descent from the Omelians, and who argue that descent makes them rightfully superior to all other races. These people rarely, if ever, bring up how the moral question at the story's heart about the Omelian's corruption. Omelians were wise and just and powerful, obviously, and that's why they should be in charge now.

This is what happened to Plato's story of Atlantis.

[witchofthesouls]

I really love the thought that cyberformed humans still have human biological hangups, so-

Imagine the Autobots panicking over the sparklings "excessive" levels of sleep because humans run on a far shorter time shift (aka 24-hour days). The kids are cranky as hell because they need their Earth daily naps, but the Autobots are poking them awake since the 'bots are still running on Cybertronian time.

No one is surprised by Miko or even Raf biting hands, but it gets to the point where the sparklings start hiding for uninterrupted naptime in tight, dark spaces where 'bots can't easily reach. Like inside a seal vent shaft, behind the shelves of berths, and a really deep, well-dug hole under the main computer.

Unfortunately, that freaks out the Autobots further since that behavior is seen as a bitlet stress response. Made worse since the kids are Seekers or close to it as Miko is a Seeker sparkling, Jack is capable of flight, and there's a theory that modern Seekers are descendants of Predacons. Basically, Seekerkin sparklings have innate drivers to stay with their flocks and units, to consistently touch their guardians/parental bonds, so for the kids to ignore the Autobots can be taken as a major sign of abuse or something really wrong as Seekerkin are a very social frame-types.

Cue Agent Fowler to the rescue as he has to use plain English to explain that the kids just want uninterrupted naps because, well, they're babies. It's good for them. A necessity. No one wants to be sleep-deprived.

Because Agent Fowler has a gut feeling that if June Darby gets a word about this, then she'll raise hell and give Ratchet so much grief as the medic is taking it so personally. She'll move in and become a domestic menace.

[jenomong]

"Not gonna lie, we're doing pretty well already But yes, oh my doctor said There's a lot of room left to grow"

seonghwa, matz (2023)

[eggo-tistical]

aita for boiling my boyfrenemy alive like a lobster

[shaunakghosh]

Swinging through New York City. I did that

[0ketinha]

Fleek but SpiderVerse!! (? or just Spiderman? idk idc) !!

[chocodile]

Absolutely delightful drawing of my horrible old man by @lambstooth!

This time it's his human form from an AU where he's a fallen priest who got into dark magic. (I'm sure you can't tell. He's very subtle about it.)

[melandrops]

thinking about how one of hayward's first lines of the show is "everyone wants a personal relationship with a god, but none of us are equipped to actually deal with that." how he only ever prayed out of routine, how he never devoted himself properly to any god, and even the cloak was just a bad attempt and making himself feel less alone. how he wished that he could have a real partner with him on his cases but all he has is a god. how he couldn't even try to make himself believe that worshipping a god would save him. and then how he found his purpose serving alongside and loving a woman who bore a godchild beneath her skin. how he birthed a god with this woman and he threw his whole self into The Cause. but it was never about the god it was always about the cause and about the person he loves. and he said that if he had to put his faith in anyone he would put it in paige. and then he died refusing to offer a prayer to a god and whispering to the gods that he was going to die on his own terms. he would never bend the knee for a god, but he would call it a gift to sacrifice his life for just a chance that paige will be safe. thinking about how he died and the only faith he ever had was in the woman he loved

[zepskies]

Basic Instinct

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: You and Alec adapt to the realities of a human/transgenic relationship, especially during your pregnancy. 

AN: Well, thanks to these lovely souls @winchestergirl2 @sunbeambarbie, and my patrons over on Patreon, I’m back with more of the Being Human storyverse! This idea could become a series of loose one-shots as I come up with more ideas around this premise (navigating a relationship with a transgenic that has…shall we say, animalistic tendencies).

Also, this is my first entry for Jacklesverse Bingo '24!~ @jacklesversebingo

Prompt: She whispers in his ear, and he breaks into a smile.

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Alec, fluff, elements of scenting, marking/claiming, hint of spice~

💜 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Alec shrugs the snow flurries off his jacket and dusts off his hair. He works past the shiver that accompanies the icy slush running off his head and shoulders, down to his boots.

He doesn’t mind the cold in these Seattle winters, but he hates slush. It’s messy and muddy, and the gray, placid sky doesn’t care about how many sectors he has to hit before his run of Jam Pony deliveries are done.

It doesn’t care about how he has to spend a few extra moments dragging the soles of his boots across the faded welcome mat into his apartment, but you do. You’ve got a thing about tracking in mud across the wood floors, even if they are already cracked and squeaky in certain places.

He savors the warmth of the living room when he finally gets inside and closes the door behind him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out tiredly, but with a note of playfulness. He half-expects you to be napping, as you tend to do in the afternoon at this stage of your pregnancy, especially now that the days have gotten so much shorter. It’s already pitch black outside, looking more like midnight than half past four.

To his surprise, you’re not only awake, but you’re zipping up the purple winter coat he got you—the one that actually fits you over your rounded belly. Your head raises, and your face brightens to see him as you wrangle your shopping bag over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you greet him, adding a kiss when you approach him at the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Alec stops you from moving past him with his hands meeting your waist.

“Hey, whoa, where’s the fire?” he asks, his brows furrowing.

“I’m just going to the market. We need a few things. So, you know, we can eat,” you say with a tease of a smile. “You probably had a long day, so you can shower up and chill if you want. I’ll be right back.”

Alec makes a sound of refusal and doesn’t let go of you when you try to keep heading for the door. You raise a brow at him in confusion.

“It’s dark as hell out there. Cold, wet, and muddy, and not to mention crazy traffic with people trying to get home,” he says. “And since I just came from that frigid hellscape, I’m gonna have to insist that you stay here and warm me up.”

His hands begin to sneak under your jacket and sweater layers, and you squeal and squirm a bit as his cold fingers find your skin, teasing your sides. You bite your lip against a smile and push at his chest, no matter how impossible that may be. Alec’s tall, lithe frame might not look particularly strong, but there’s no moving him once the transgenic plants his feet.

Just like there’s often no changing his stubborn mind on certain things, you’ve noticed, particularly in situations like this…

“I’ll be right back,” you say. “An hour, tops. Unless you want rice and canned tuna again, we need food.”

Alec pauses, his lips threatening to frown. But in a moment, a decision is made in his mind, and he grabs your bag off your shoulder.

“Fine, let’s go,” he says.

You pause, watching him open the door and hold it open for you. You sigh at him, but you adjust your winter hat and slip on your gloves before you step outside. Alec once again locks the door behind him and joins you on the sidewalk, slipping an arm around your waist to guide you snug against his side.

It’s both affection and protection. You can tell in the way he “casually” scopes the street, the neighborhood you’ve lived in relative peace for the past six months.

Still, he positions himself between you and the road, where a van zips by. It veers widely to avoid a pothole, looking like it might just take the sidewalk curb along with it. Alec tenses for a moment, until the van finally passes.

“People are freakin’ crazy in this city,” he says, shaking his head. “Just because the streetlights are more suggestion than law—”

“Alec, you drive like a maniac,” you point out. He scoffs at you.

“Oh, don’t even,” you say, cutting him off from whatever smartassed retort he was about to give. “Remember that time you ran into a chicken coop? You came home wearing bird shit and feathers in your hair.”

“Okay, but who keeps live poultry on the corner of a busy four-way intersection?” he grouses. “Make it make sense.”

Although you roll your eyes, it’s hard not to smile at your boyfriend’s antics. You two walk together amiably down to the market while he tells you about his day of deliveries. It weirdly makes you a little jealous. You stopped working after the whole Ames White debacle, when you were kidnapped. (You're still trying to block that traumatic episode out of your memory.) 

First, it was just a challenge to figure out where you and Alec were going to live. Logan is generous to a fault, but you couldn’t take up room in his apartment forever. He did make good on his promise to scope out the safest apartment you two could afford: a walkup on the moderately less skeevy side of town.

Alec hasn’t outright tried to ban you from working, but you two agreed that it would be better for you not to return to Jam Pony, both for logistical and safety reasons. Ames White is dead, but the rest of his radical organization—a damn breeding cult—is too well connected for Alec to want to take any chances. They’d likely known where you worked and followed you when you went to Alec’s old apartment that day.

All that aside, however, it’s a simple fact that your poor bladder won’t last five minutes on a bike. It’s really all you can do to walk to the market. The third trimester hasn’t exactly been easy on your body, but Alec hovers close behind you, making sure you choose whatever meat and vegetables you want, regardless of the price.

“Hey, they’ve got turkey. That’s new,” he says, grabbing a large bird off the row of hanging poultry. The smell of its rawness triggers a bubble of nausea, making you turn your face away and cover your nose and mouth with a sound of disgust.

Alec quickly holds it away from you, but he has the guy running the kiosk bag it up for him. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

“That’s too expensive,” you whisper to him in warning, your eyes widening. Alec gives you an easy smile.

“Sweetheart, if there’s one thing you and the baby need right now, it’s protein,” he reasons. “I was planning on picking up some extra shifts this week anyway.”

He gives the man the money without a second thought. You don’t know whether to frown, or shed pitiful tears when he does stuff like that. You’re still not altogether used to it, having someone who takes care of you for a change. You’ve spent most of your life doing that part yourself.

When Alec turns back around, grinning all proud as a peacock at the good deal he got and the haul he has slung in the bag over his shoulder, his expression falls at seeing the tears in your eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, touching your arm. You shake your head with a smile.

“Nothing,” you sniff and wipe at your face. “Goddamn hormones.”

Alec smirks, but before he can tease you, a broad frame knocks into you from behind. It would’ve sent you to the ground hard if Alec’s reflexes hadn’t been quicker. His arms come around you, firm but gentle as he rights you. He glances behind him and bristles with anger, his spine stiff and his body taut. You rarely see that kind of sharpness in his eyes.

They’re gentler when they turn to you. 

“You okay?” he asks with furrowed brows of concern. You have to catch a winded breath, but you nod, meeting his eyes. He doesn’t let go of you until you get your balance back.

Then, his gaze flicks up to the man who bowled you over. He stands at the same kiosk Alec got the turkey from. Meathead is trying to buy the last one.

“Alec,” you warn.

“I’ll just be a second,” he says. You reach for his arm and try to tell him that you’re fine, but it’s like a switch has been flipped inside him, narrowing his gaze. He slips out of your grasp and leaves you with the bag of groceries.

“Damn it,” you mutter.

Not even a minute later, Alec swings a quick, exacting fist. You wince as the larger man nearly breaks his jaw on the pavement.

You can’t help but giggle and try to squirm away as he noses along your throat. It tickles. His arms are a loose, comfortable embrace in the familiar peace of your bed. You’re swathed by pillows and warm blankets while Alec is tucked along your side. His long legs bend at a slight angle with his knees brushing your thigh.

“Would you stop already?” you say, swatting his thigh. You feel his smirk against your skin.

“How’re my girls doing?” he asks. You chuckle. He was a bit stunned at first to find out that you’re having a girl. You thought he might’ve been hoping for a boy, easier for him to connect with someday. But the way he dotes on you sometimes, now, you can already tell he’s going to spoil your daughter rotten.

“We’re good,” you reply.

He sighs and settles in comfortably against you. This is your favorite thing, and you think it’s his too. After a long day, it’s your time to just rest and be with each other, either watching TV or catching up about the day. It’s everything and nothing at all.

Eventually, his voice interrupts the quiet again.

“You smell different, you know.”

You quirk a brow at that one. “What do you mean?”

When he shakes his head, you feel the tickle of his hair under your ear.

“Hmm, I dunno. Earthy, I guess,” he says. “Pregnant.”

You have to laugh. “I smell pregnant? Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” he nods. His lips press a line of tantalizing kisses down your throat and collarbone. You smile and curl up a hand to sink your fingers into his hair, gently massaging his head.

It’s taken you some time to figure out exactly what a transgenic is, exactly, and you’ve come to realize that all of them are spliced with a little something special. Each and every one of them, from Alec and Max, to Joshua and the others who live in Terminal City—whether they look human or not, they’re unique in some way. It gives them certain…traits. Ones that betray the animal DNA they were partially created with.

As the events of this afternoon replay in your mind, your smile begins to slip.

“That was too much today, at the market,” you tell him, now that he’s calm. “What happened there?”

Alec stills.

“Nothing, just…you didn’t hear him. The guy was a smartass,” he says.

“What, couldn’t handle a taste of your own medicine?” you quip, but you squeeze his arm gently. It rests above the swell of your belly. “No, it was more than that.”

His jaw clenches; a telltale sign that he knows exactly what you’re talking about, even if he doesn’t want to answer you. You turn your head and scooch back a little so you can see his face better. His playfulness is long gone, but he meets your gaze.

“I think…” you whisper in his ear, tapping his arm with a finger, “that you have a bit of wolf in your cocktail. Not as much as Joshua, obviously, but still.”

Alec blinks in surprise, and he breaks into a smile.

“Oh, really? What gives you that idea?” he asks.

“Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” you say. Alec rolls his eyes, but you level him with a wry look. “Sense of smell. Excessive protectiveness—”

“Excessive?” Alec raises a brow.

“Not to mention the biting, Count Dracula,” you finish, gesturing with a smile at the back of your neck. There’s a mark there that he refuses to let fade away.

Now, he becomes sheepish. His plush lips form a bit of a pout.

“I thought you liked that,” he says, his eyes glinting with mischief. You reach out a hand to cup his cheek.

“Oh, it’s hot as hell,” you tease back. You draw him in, guiding his face to yours for a slow kiss, simmering with heat.

“But it’s…possessive,” you say, after you break from him. Your words are a mere whisper in the small space between your faces. “Like you’re claiming me.”

The green in Alec’s eyes have darkened a touch. They roam your face.

“Well, you’re mine, aren’t you?” he asks. But his tone is deceptive. It’s anything but a question.

Your lips curve into a smile. You thumb at his chin.

“Yeah,” you reply.

Alec’s hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, guiding you to him this time as he claims you in a more devouring kiss. He steals your breath, over and over, plying you with his tongue and with the weight of his body wrapping around you. He moves you gently onto your side and swipes your hair out of the way, so he can kiss his way down your neck.

He stops for a moment at that mark, where he grazes over the sensitive flesh with a hint of teeth. You shudder. Hot tingles run down your spine, pluming warmth and wetness between your legs.

“Alec,” you breathe, almost on a gasp. You feel him already hard and ready, pressed against you.

“I got you, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth in your ear, but you’ve known him long enough to hear his need. It echoes your own. You take his hand and begin to lead him where you want him, all while he buries his face into your neck and inhales your sweet, familiar scent.

“Always,” he says.

AN: Short and sweet, but I had fun revisiting the Being Human world. I'd love to dip back in again someday! Until then, I hope you enjoy! 💜

I have a few more stories for Jacklesverse coming soon...

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Alec M. Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @my-stories-vault @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters

@alwaystiredandconfused @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @sexyvixen7

@jackles010378 @nancymcl @idiotdyslexic @heartlessdelusions @longlostx11

@chriszgirl92 @hobby27 @waynes-multiverse @lovelyunjinn @twinkleinadiamondsky

@ultimatecin73 @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @lovelystoriesaj @onlyangel-444

[valtsv]

almost forgot because i wasn't particularly sober at the time but i ended up infodumping to an interested audience about the silt verses at the party last night, and while trying to describe the concept of sainthood and specifically hallowing came up with "it's basically like if they managed to depersonalise martyrdom, distil the essence of it (suffering and dying in the name of what you believe in), and mass-reproduce it on an industrial scale", to which i received several silent stares of sheer abject horror and disgust. that's how you know it's good.

[s735]

[cry-ptidd]

Realized I never posted her here so here's Síomha my selkie lady