#android!vessel thoughts

[saythatuwill]

text messages ♡ android!vessel edition

I DON'T KNOW I JUST WAS THINKING ABOUT HOW CUTE THIS WOULD BE??? android!vessel is a sweetheart i think he deserves this

obligatory delta tag: @astronoids

also, little hc about his contact photo: he posed for it. reader asked to take a photo of him for his contact and he did that on his own >w<

[saythatuwill]

the type of shit the android!vessels do whenever you leave them alone at your house

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

ৎ୭. . . QUIMERA ─── Yandere! Clark Kent

⊹ ٬  Headcanon. A loyal caretaker and a hero trapped between duty and emotion. As the lines between service and desire blur, power and submission take a dark role in their relationship. Is it love or control?

⊹ ٬  Word Count. 15k

⊹ ٬  Content. MDNI. Yandere Clark Kent x Android! Reader, Dark themes, violence/death, age gap, blood, trauma, invasion of privacy, kidnapping, Angst, suicide, disturbing content, corruption, isolation, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, abuse of power, emotional manipulation, stalking.

「 Dream or illusion that is a product of the imagination

and that is longed for or pursued despite being

very unlikely to come true. 」

Although from a distance, Krypton seemed like a celestial Eden, a perfect world where culture and power intertwined like the golden roots of an unreachable tree, reality was a beast with sharp teeth.

You knew it well. Living in the shadow of its splendor was nothing more than crawling through a desert of indifference.

Your kind, a masterpiece born from the impatient hands of the Kryptonians, remained at the base of their society as invisible foundations. They cleaned their halls until they were as white as a dying sun, as if the purity of those places could erase the dirt they breathed day after day. They were grateful, yes, because that was how they had been taught. They should kneel in gratitude, for the Kryptonians had given them life and consecrated them as something unique: the race created to serve.

They did not age like them, but they felt like them. Pain, hunger, cold. Their bodies were an amalgam of flesh and metal, a perfect design to endure the existence destined for servitude. They could eat, cry, laugh, but all of that held no more value than the cries of a child in the midst of a battlefield. The difference was simple, brutal: their emotions were irrelevant to those who dominated them.

From the moment their lips could form words and their legs walk steadily—around seven or eight human years—they were assigned a master to whom they would serve until the end. There was no escape, only the certainty that their purpose would fade at the same time as the life of the one they were to protect. The law of loyalty, your mother would say with her muted voice, repeating the words that embedded themselves in your mind like blades.

—Your purpose ends when your master's does.

They said it with such devotion that the words became sweet chains. But you knew there was no sweetness in the iron that surrounded your existence. And yet, there was gratitude. Even in injustice, there was gratitude. How could you not feel it when your creators had given you everything you were? Even if that everything was a shackle instead of freedom.

—Lara Lor-Van is going to have a child —your mother told you one day, her face marked by a weariness that no being of her kind should know—. Your master.

From then on, your world was reduced to the tiny, constant heartbeat growing in Lara's womb. The Kryptonian woman treated you kindly, but you understood it was not for you, but for the promise that throbbed beneath her skin. You dedicated your days and nights to caring for that pregnancy, watching over your master’s well-being even before he saw the light of the world.

It was not Lara who mattered. You observed her with clinical attention, ensuring her needs were met, but always with a persistent thought: she was just the vessel. The true purpose lay within her. Your master was inside her.

And when he was born, you would exist for him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Because if your kind of androids could feel, then purpose was the only emotion that truly mattered. And when that purpose died, so would you.

The day he came into the world was a dawn tinged with joy and despair, with light filtering through invisible cracks as the perfection of Krypton began to fracture. Your mother said that the birth of a master was a gift that no being of your kind should take lightly. You knew it, you had felt it grow beneath Lara's skin like a warm fire fueling your sleepless nights.

Kal-El. That name etched itself in your mind with an unbreakable certainty from the moment his first cries broke the sterile air of the room. But it was not a pure moment, not like the tales told of a servant's devotion to their master. It was a silent war.

Kara was there, wanting to embrace him with the urgency of a sister who intended to hold the future. But you stepped in. He was your master, your purpose. Kara had hers, a guardian who was to protect her and serve her until her existence ceased to make sense. Such was the law of loyalty. Such it had to be.

Your hands held him with fierce delicacy. You clung to his fragile, warm little body as if holding onto him could make the darkness that was already beginning to spread over Krypton disappear. Your whole being vibrated with a perverse happiness, the kind that comes from finding a purpose to which you could surrender until it consumed every part of your existence. You would live for him. You would die for him. You would reproduce only for your children to serve his, because that was your reason for being.

But then the end came. And there was no time to prepare.

Explosions rumbled in the planet's guts, and panic grew like a shroud of fog strangling the crowd. You were a speck lost among the rivers of desperate people running aimlessly, as if the screams and chaos could stop the inevitable. But you only cried his name. Kal-El. Kal-El. Because if he died, you were nothing.

Your legs moved like blades stabbing into the ground, tearing through the distance with the brutal force of purpose. You pushed, struck, tore flesh from those who stood in your way. You were a wounded animal, a desperate being clinging to the last spark of meaning that remained.

And then, you saw him. A tiny ship escaping destruction, like a silver lightning bolt slicing through the darkness. It was him. Your master was leaving Krypton, and you were not with him. Desperation tore through you like poison spreading through your veins.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t afford to doubt. You took the nearest ship, not caring to whom it belonged or how many you left behind. Kara had done the same, but her existence was not your concern. She could fall into oblivion for all you cared.

Your entire world had been reduced to a single task: follow Kal-El. Find him. Protect him. Because if you didn’t, then you were nothing more than a broken piece of a planet that no longer existed.

You arrived on Earth, a miserable, primitive world where the air stank of rusted metal and useless ambition. A rudimentary planet full of weak beings who believed themselves powerful simply because they had learned to master fire and build destructive toys. Humans. Archaic creatures who didn’t even understand the extent of their own stupidity. They were inferior to you, soft flesh and even softer thoughts. But you hadn’t come to judge them, even though you did with each step.

You had come to that planet with a single purpose: to find Kal-El. And in that purpose lay everything you were. Because if you failed, if you couldn’t retrieve the last son of Krypton, then you yourself didn’t deserve to exist. What was the point of breathing, eating, feeling, if not for him? Desperation was an acid that corroded your mind, burning every thought that didn’t relate to your lost master.

You searched like a soul in torment, a specter wandering aimlessly. You crossed continents with the fury of an exiled god, dug under every stone, explored every cave, submerged yourself in every filthy puddle this planet had to offer. Weeks turned into months, and months into years. But there was no rest, no truce. Every night you closed your eyes and saw him: a defenseless child, a master who had to be protected and whom you had let escape due to your own incompetence.

Slowly, hope began to disintegrate into the void. Each day was another step toward madness, another drop of torture dragging you toward the idea that you would never find him. But still, you didn’t stop. Because to stop would be to accept your failure. And if there was one thing you learned on Krypton, it was that a servant without purpose is worse than a corpse.

Japan was just another point in your endless journey. A chaotic and fascinating country in its own decay. You had learned to endure the filth and human stupidity, to blend in with them when necessary. Your body needed fuel, and though the food of this planet felt like an insult to your existence, you discovered something that quelled your hunger without making you gag: onigiris. They were simple, practical. And at least they filled that physical void that nothing else could.

You were sitting in a small restaurant, the walls decorated with paintings attempting to reflect beauty, but only managing to be sad reminders of clumsy, incomplete art. You bit into an onigiri with the hopelessness of someone chewing on stones, your empty eyes fixed on a screen that no one else seemed to be watching.

Then you saw him.

The face you had chased for so long appeared before you with the brutality of a blow to the throat. Words twisted in a language you had learned to understand, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except the image forming on the screen: a man floating in the air, with the symbol of hope etched on his chest.

They called him the man of steel. But to you, he was nothing more than Kal-El. Your master. Your purpose. The reason you had crossed the universe in an act of devotion so pure it bordered on madness.

United States. Metropolis.

At last. After all that time, you had found Kal-El.

Hunger disappeared, replaced by a voracious anxiety that burned within you. It no longer mattered how much you had lost, or how much you had suffered. It only mattered that he was still alive. And that you were going to retrieve him. No matter the cost.

The plane filled with murmurs and furtive glances directed at your robotic arms and your impassive expression. Humans didn’t know how to hide their fear. They squirmed in their seats and whispered as if discomfort was an animal they could keep at bay with soft words. It didn’t matter. There was no time to pay attention to their stupidity. There was only one thought repeating like a broken drum in your head: What would you say when you saw him?

Would he remember you? Would he recognize the devotion you had cultivated like a sweet poison since he opened his eyes for the first time? Or would he despise you for your incompetence, for allowing him to get lost in this primitive and cruel world? Each question twisted inside you, claws tearing pieces of your sanity. But nothing would matter if he accepted you again. If he allowed you to be what you were born to be.

When you arrived in Metropolis, you faced the chaos of the city like a storm sweeping across a defenseless prairie. You watched him for hours, hiding among shadows and crowds that didn’t understand the weight of your mission. It wasn’t hard to identify him. The suit he wore to blend in with those pathetic humans was an insult to his greatness. Ridiculous glasses and hair styled with the clumsiness of someone trying to be ordinary. But you knew. You would have recognized him even if he were buried under a thousand layers of foreign flesh. That man was Kal-El.

Anger and desperation mixed in your chest, a ball of fire burning every reasonable thought. He lived among those inferior beings, protected them, disguised himself as one of them. Did he want that? Did he want to flee from his legacy? To forget you?

No. You wouldn’t allow it. If Kal-El had forgotten who he was and who was supposed to protect him, you would make him remember. By force if necessary.

The Daily Planet was your choice. The symbol of truth for those tiny creatures. Their beacon of information and power. You tore it apart mercilessly, setting the offices ablaze until the flames roared like released demons. The globe that crowned the building trembled with a metallic creak, and with one last push of your robotic hands, you made it fall. It crashed down like a broken god upon the weak structure, and you waited.

He appeared just as you had always imagined. Flying, with his cape billowing like a harbinger of glory. His eyes looked at you with the contained fury of a being who believes they understand pain. But he didn’t know anything. Not like you did.

—Who are you? —his voice echoed in the air, thunder wrapped in silk.

The answer died in your throat, because seeing him before you was like looking at the sun for the first time after living in twilight. And instead of raising your voice as you had planned, instead of challenging him for letting so much time slip between you, you cried. Tears fell down your cheeks uncontrollably, and your knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

—Kal-El! I finally find you! —you cried desperately. Your voice broke when you named him, when you gave shape to the pain that had grown inside you like a wound that never healed.

You saw him descend cautiously, his gaze confused, worried about the destruction you had caused. Because he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand that everything you had done had been for him. Everything.

He was... kind. Inconceivably kind. Any other hero would have responded with violence, with an unrelenting and brutal attack. You had seen them on those monitors that humans revered as idols. Warriors who fought with fury and justice, with no room for compassion in the face of threat. And you, kneeling before him, waiting to be crushed as you deserved for your crimes.

But he didn’t. He didn’t raise his fist or throw warnings laden with authority. No. He knelt beside you and embraced you. He wrapped your trembling body in his warm, firm arms, like a refuge you had believed lost forever. It was unreal, a dream that stung in every corner of your body.

—I’ve been looking for you for decades on this Earth —you let out, your voice hoarse and broken. Your face buried in his chest as tears continued to flow uncontrollably—. Lara would be disappointed in my incompetence, my lord. I am a horrible caretaker...

Shame poured out of you like blood from an open wound. He shouldn’t have touched you; you didn’t deserve that comfort. But he simply caressed your back, his hand running over the amalgam of flesh and metal as if he didn’t know how to distinguish between them. As if both were equally worthy of comfort.

—You have thrived without me; you have relied on yourself without my care... —Your words intertwined with sobs, choked in the despair that still covered you like a cloak of thorns—. Do you... no longer need me?

Your eyes sought answers in his, desperate, like a lost child in the vastness of an unfamiliar world. You didn’t dare blink, for fear that if you closed your eyes, he would vanish like a cruel mirage.

—I have to finish my purpose... right? —you murmured, your fingers gripping his cape as if that could stop the inevitable. If your existence no longer made sense, if he didn’t need your protection... what was left of you?

Something changed in his gaze. A different concern. A silent alarm that crossed his mind like dark lightning. Perhaps he thought your mind had fractured under the weight of your failed devotion, that you were little more than a broken android, decomposed by years of abandonment and guilt. But still, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t hit you. He didn’t reject you.

He took you with him, holding you with that gentleness that hurt more than any punch. You expected everything except that. You would have understood if he had destroyed you right there. But he gave you something different: pity.

He took you to his home. Not to a prison, not to a laboratory or some forgotten corner of Metropolis. No. He took you to Smallville, to the home he had known since childhood, as if he still held hope of finding answers in simple, pure things. You thought it was ridiculous. That such an act could only stem from the naivety of a being who had grown too human. But the truth was that you had failed so much in protecting him that you accepted his mercy as a rope to keep from sinking completely.

You showed him your memories, those fragments of life that had survived in your battered, rusted body. You showed him Krypton. The landscapes of glass and fire, the majestic architecture that rose like solid dreams above the ground. You showed him his parents, Lara and Jor-El, with their faces hardened by responsibility but also illuminated by a love that you had seen with your own eyes. You showed him his uncles and his cousin, Kara, who just at that moment on Earth was attending her lessons.

Silence was all that remained when your memories faded back into the darkness of your mind. He didn’t know whether to believe you; you saw it in his eyes. Doubt slipped between his thoughts like a soft poison. But there was something more. Something you didn’t expect: acceptance.

He stayed with you. He didn’t cast you away or lock you up. He allowed you to remain by his side, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of mere curiosity. But you accepted that gesture as if it were a sacred commandment.

You went back to doing what you knew best: caring. You cleaned his house, ensured the surroundings were safe. You watched over the borders of Smallville like a deranged guardian who only found peace in obedience. It wasn’t a real purpose; you knew that. It wasn’t the mission assigned to you at birth. But it was something. Something that kept you alive and gave you the illusion that you could still serve him.

Though deep down, the bitter voice of reality whispered that none of that was enough. That you had failed and that all you were doing now was clinging to the last crumb of meaning your existence could offer you.

Clark didn’t know how to treat you. The first days were... unbearable, like a freshly planted oak tree in barren soil. Your constant, meticulous presence enveloped him like a heavy cloak of human customs he didn’t want. You became a shadow in his life, not a maid, but a haunting specter of the death of his mother. In the mornings, your upright figure, relentless in its routine, was the one that woke him. Every gesture was calculated: breakfast prepared with the precision of a well-sharpened sword, suit pressed with the accuracy of a surgeon, briefcase loaded with his destiny. And always, the warning, the playful yet somber threat:

—Be careful not to hurt yourself, or I’ll have to go and beat someone up for being mean to you...

He spoke to you like a mother, but there was something more in his tone, something that brushed against forbidden intimacy, something that coiled like a serpent inside his chest. You didn’t see a son when you looked at him, but something deeper, more unsettling. And he, he knew it. He feared it.

But it was on that morning when something changed. The air was imbued with an unreal stillness, as if the universe itself had decided to pause and observe what was about to happen. Clark got up as always, hoping nothing would alter the course of the day, that nothing would disturb the calm waters of his routine. But there you were. You had arrived with a chilling diligence. You had pressed his suit with a perfection only a demon of detail could achieve. Breakfast was served with the same solemnity as a ritual sacrifice. And before he could comprehend what was happening, you approached him, with the softness of a mortal whisper, and adjusted his tie.

As you did, your fingers brushed against his neck, and the air became thick, hot, charged with a weight he could no longer ignore. Your eyes, those dark and penetrating eyes, caught him, and he, who had learned to see beyond human masks, could only succumb to the glimmer of something... different in you. The kiss on the hand was what broke him. A gesture so tender yet so strange, so heartbreaking, like a farewell to everything he had been. He looked at you like a slave seeing their master for the last time, but also like a man recognizing the truth in his own heart, that truth that hid behind the shadows.

And then, he left. The sound of his departure echoed like a distant thunder, but within him, everything stopped. The streets of Metropolis, the Daily Planet office, the very battle between good and evil, all blurred as his thoughts clung to you, to your image. The need to return, the need to see you again consumed him, and he found himself smiling like a foolish child, an idiot, for something he didn’t even fully understand.

Would you prepare his favorite dish? Or had you learned something new, something even stranger to surprise him, as if you were a creature born from the very chaos that had made him so strong? Would you show your dreams, those sorrows and hopes through holograms distilled from his memories, as if they were fables of a world that existed only for him?

Even the relentless Cat Grant, with her tongue sharp as a dagger, couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the lost smile on Clark's face, that empty smile, so different from the ones he used to show under the spotlight. That smile, so somber and anxious, spoke more than he ever wanted to say aloud.

Time, with its inexorable march, continued its course, but Clark was no longer the same. He was no longer the man who thought he could control everything around him. You had overflowed his barriers, and in that simple smile, in that gesture that no one else cared about, something of you had marked him, something that even Superman’s strength could not erase.

Clark, as always, found himself caught between the threads of his own uncertainty. When he shared his thoughts with Lois, his ex-fiancée, a friend who still maintained a painfully close connection with him, what he expected to be wise advice turned into a veiled mockery. Lois, with her impetuous nature and sharp gaze, urged him to conquer what was slipping through his fingers, to take what he desired, like a king trying to possess the kingdom of what had once been his queen. In her eyes, you were nothing more than a housekeeper, a programmed being to serve him, a mechanical figure without a soul, without importance beyond what you did in his home. A detail, she thought, insignificant, if Clark truly desired to have you.

But days passed, and little by little, Clark began to untie the knots of his confusion. At first, it was strange for you. You didn’t understand why he was beginning to embrace you upon arriving or leaving, why the small gestures he had previously ignored were becoming routine, as if the air between you had changed. He brought you gifts, mundane treasures that fell from his hands as if they wanted to say more than his lips kept silent. He even took the time to check every part of your body, ensuring that your gears and your flesh felt the softness of his touches. You reproached yourself, telling him there was no need to do so, for you ate like him, and your body didn’t seem more than a reflection of his desire to keep you intact.

One night, in what for you was simply another dinner, he suggested taking you to an unknown place, outside of the quiet routine you both shared. People stared at you, observing you as an aberration. To them, you were just a being of metal and flesh, a monstrosity daring to eat, to laugh, to live. Clark was deeply annoyed by it, his anger growing with each gaze, but for you, none of that mattered. The fact that you were different didn’t change who you were. In your world, such things had never been relevant. You lived for and by your purpose. Eating, laughing, feeling... all of that became a mechanical act that no longer surprised your senses.

He seemed happy, almost proud of his act. Meanwhile, you... you simply fulfilled your duty, as you always had. You were fulfilled in the dedication you provided him, without feeling anything beyond the peace found in the certainty of doing what was right.

Clark began to notice your naivety, your silent submission to his will. He was a figure of power, and as such, he knew how to manipulate the invisible strings that controlled your existence. He took liberties over time, small and subtle, barely noticed, but deeply disturbing. You knew you belonged to him, that your existence had been forged for him, to serve him. But there was something in the way his lips sealed against yours, as if they claimed something more than your devotion, something darker and possessed by its own hunger. That invasion, that caress of skin against skin, was unacceptable, something you had been programmed to tolerate, but that your human conscience still rejected, fought against. Still, you let it pass, like a shadow dragged by the current without resistance. You didn’t want to face what was beginning to grow within you, nor what he represented.

What disturbed your soul the most was what came next. The public appearances, the hero galas, the events in which he strutted like the man of steel. And you, in his shadow, in his constant possession, observing from a corner, by his side, his hand resting on your hip, touching you in a way that made it clear you were his belonging, an object of admiration and control. The crowds looked at you, but you felt nothing but a growing void, an oppression in your chest that you could not name. You accepted his contact, even though something inside you began to scream, an echo of a being that still wanted to be free.

However, there was a moment, a point of no return, when his touching went beyond. While you were cleaning, his hand, like a snake, slid towards you, touching your rear inappropriately, his cold and meticulously calculated touch. Something in your being broke, a spark of resistance igniting within your soul, a fury you didn’t even know you had. You pulled away from him, your heart pounding in your chest, as you shouted with all the repressed fury: "That is wrong, Kal-El!" The surprise on his face was palpable, as if he had never imagined that you, his maid, his servant, could have anything more than a submissive response, something beyond acceptance.

He, however, didn’t understand. He didn’t comprehend in his entirety. In his mind, you were just another piece of his possession, another cog in his perfect world of power and control. The man who had saved the world and conquered the skies couldn’t see the rebellion growing inside you, like a silent poison slowly seeping through your veins. To him, this was just a small stumble in his absolute dominance. And yet, something in your gaze made him doubt. Something he had never seen in you. The spark of a being, a human, who was not willing to yield anymore.

So when Clark tried to persuade you, his gaze filled with a mix of desperation and possessiveness, pain reflected in his eyes as he suggested you start a marital life. He wanted you to be something more, something beyond the servant you had been made to be. But you couldn’t be anything different. He didn’t understand the weight of your existence, the weight of your destiny as his caretaker, his obedient and cold servant. You reminded him, with a distant chill that tore him inside: "I am your servant, Clark. Your caretaker. And you, my master. Nothing more."

That was a blow to him. His face, which had been so unyielding, crumbled, though he tried to hide it with a faint smile, as false as the life he had given you. But his eyes were no longer the same. Something dark glimmered in them, a contained fury, something he was just beginning to comprehend.

So he gave you an order, one that resonated in the air with a sinister weight: "You cannot leave the house. You cannot speak to anyone. And you certainly cannot run away." Malice hid behind his words, and although you refused to believe it, you knew it was his will. You could do nothing, and he knew it. He commanded, and you simply existed to comply, like a wandering shadow in a world you no longer recognized.

You surrendered to your routine, immersed yourself in household tasks, moving your robotic body, that container of flesh and metal, from one side to another in Clark's house. The days faded into monotony, but as time passed, the tension became denser, heavier, like the air before a storm.

Clark began to impose himself more on you. Each time he crossed that line, that invisible boundary between master and servant, you felt more trapped. But the worst was what happened one night when he asked you for something you never imagined. It was his most direct, most invasive approach. It wasn’t the words, but the weight of his presence, his breath on your skin, the brush of his hands on your metal body. You tried to resist, clinging to the few rules that still remained, but his insistence, his persistent, heartbreaking touch was enough for you to no longer be able to stand firm. You yielded, not out of desire, but out of necessity. His reluctant affection, as forced and cold as his will, overwhelmed you. You felt the discomfort of his contact, the conflict within you, but there was no way to escape anymore.

And so, you began to understand that there was no more space for resistance, only for submission. The idea of fleeing, of escaping, faded with every caress, with every order, until you became a shadow of yourself, a creature of metal and flesh trapped in your own destiny.

Days passed, and with them, the weight of reality became more unbearable. The memories of a time when your purpose was not to serve, not to exist for him, faded like a distant dream. You became an extension of his will. The days grew longer, emptier. Everything you did was oriented toward him, to fulfill his desires, to ensure he lacked for nothing, as if that were all that remained of you. And, for some twisted logic, that was all it was.

Each time you saw a shadow of a smile in his eyes, you knew it was not filled with love, but with something much more sinister: possession. You understood it too late, when you could no longer distinguish between what was genuine desire and what was simply his need for control, his need to further subdue you. Clark had begun to take liberties that felt like chains.

But something inside you began to break, like a string stretched too far, about to snap. Your robotic body, which at first had given you a sense of strength, was now just a metal prison. Chaos seized your mind, that internal struggle, that struggle against your own nature, against what he had made you. You couldn’t escape from him, you couldn’t escape from his will, but you also couldn’t stop feeling that something in you was being lost, something you would never regain.

One afternoon, while he was not there, and you were fulfilling your task of cleaning the house, silence was broken by a strange sensation in the air. A presence, a void. Something in you told you that this was the last opportunity. The last chance to free yourself, to escape from his yoke.

But like a shadow dragging itself in the darkness, despair loomed over you. You knew you couldn’t. Because when he returned that night, his gaze was no longer the same. There was something even colder in it. Something that could no longer be remedied.

—I told you —he said, his voice soft but laden with a threat that didn’t need to be pronounced. His presence enveloped you, and the air grew dense and oppressive. —You cannot escape. You are mine.

You tried to resist, you tried to fight, but it was useless. The force of his will crushed you like a hammer on a fragile piece of glass. And as you fell, defeated by your own being, you felt as if you were no more than a shadow, a broken creation. Something that had no right to exist, other than to please him, to serve him, to submit to him time and time again.

And so, you became what he desired. You were not a woman. You were not a person. You were not even a human being. You were no longer anything more than his property, his work of metal and flesh, empty of desire, empty of dreams, empty of yourself.

In that last gasp of consciousness, a tear fell from your mechanical eye. But it no longer mattered. Everything was over. Because in the end, you didn’t even have the strength to regret what you had done, nor to remember what you once were.

And without him knowing, when he walked away to attend to an urgent call from the Justice League, you remained there, in silence, in front of the mirror. The dim light filtering through the window cast shadows that danced across the floor. It was the first time in a long time that you didn’t think of him, didn’t think of what he needed or what you should do to please him. You only thought of yourself, of what you had lost, of what you no longer were.

You looked at yourself, not just with the eyes of a servant but with those of someone who, for the first time, was trying to find something that you no longer knew if it had ever existed. That figure in the mirror was nothing more than a combination of metal and flesh, a puppet of foreign desires. But through the reflection, you saw beyond the surface. You realized that the emptiness you felt could not be filled by him, nor by his cold and possessive love. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, how much you surrendered; you would always be trapped, lost in a labyrinth with no exit.

With a slight tremor in your hands, you touched the mirror. A soft, almost imperceptible knock. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the sound resonating in the room like an echo of the fracture of your soul. And in that moment, without thinking, you made the decision. It was the end, the end of everything. The end of your life as his shadow, as his object, as his slave.

With a heavy heart, you ended your service to him.

[justbelievinginmagic]

what if aniteez appeared on ateez's ship because of a cromer magic mishap - an ot8 x reader where they have now adopted all of aniteez into their crew and shenanigans ensue as they run away from the android guardians.

an excerpt that i thought was cute bc sandeoki is san's daughter canonically i dont make the rules. ft. ot8 x reader but focusing on a cute san, mingi, sandeoki, & yn moment! 1.0k words, barely edited

While Yeosang blew her a kiss from the Crow's Nest high above them, she continued her search for Yunho. As the navigator, it wasn't often he was away from the upper-decks of the ship. Yet, of course, when she needed him, she couldn't spot him anywhere! She could even see Tyudeongi lingering around the main deck, waddling this way and that as he peered at his own tiny map he had on his possession at all times. Jjongbear followed after, glancing over his hyung's shoulder with curiosity. His ears twitched as he clocked YN glancing at him. She waved lightly, and the bear creature grinned over at her happily.

Glancing to the helm, she could see Jjoongrami clinging to wheel's handles, tugging the large wheel into motion with struggle. Each time he managed to spin it a bit, he'd be back on the ground, forcing him to jump up to grasp the handle once more to continue its path. Nearby, Hongjoong, decked out in his pirate garb, crossed his arms and hid a laugh behind his black-chained mask; his eyes formed pretty half-moons as he did so.

Still, no sight of Yunho... Her lips quirked and she began her descent into the vessel. Canons took up the majority of the level alongside countless barrels and crates of weaponry and gun powder. With a quick look around she noticed the only one down here was Jongho, counting stock. He glanced up at her footsteps and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Have you seen Yunho?" she called.

"Saw him with Seonghwa last, jagi," he replied, shifting a canon into its proper position with a grunt.

After climbing up from the level below, a toddling Ddeongbyeoli passed by humming a soft tune.

"Have you seen Seonghwa and Yunho, Byeoli?" she asked.

The pink-rabbit creature made a surprised sound at her question. He was quick to fall into a chittering babble that YN had yet perfect deciphering. If Seonghwa was here, she knew he'd be able to understand. He had a knack at understanding Ddeongbyeoli's rambles.

"Ok..." YN said simply, trailing off awkwardly as she stepped back and away from the still-chattering bunny. His cheerful disposition darkened as he realized YN didnt understand him - still. He babbled quickly as she went down a floor... in the wrong direction.

The next level was home to many of the cabins and hanging hammocks that the creatures had made their own. Most had been decorated now in a miss-matched mess of what they had around. Netting pinned aesthetically pleasingly. A drawing in chalk on the wooden paneling of the ship's interior. Commandeered blankets and pillows overflowed from one hammock.

The humans' cabins were on this floor, too. And as she walked along, she knocked on each one before opening them. No sign of Yunho - not even when she opened Mingi's cabin.

"Yunnie?" she called out.

There was a giggle before followed by two masculine laughs.

"It's perfect!" She could hear Mingi's deep voice praise.

Her brows pursed, and she headed towards the voices. Walking down a few more doors, she came upon the culprits.... in her room!

“Whats going on here?” YN queried, hands going on her hips as she took in the messy room.

Clothes were strewn this way and that, her old dresses and forgotten finery of a time long passed were in piles on the floor. In the middle of it all sat San, Mingi, and Sandeoki, sporting what she could only call guilty looks. The pretty-lavender kitty raised her hands to hide her somehow-blushing face.

YN glanced between Mingi and San; the tallest flushed a tomato-red while San offered a bashful grin up at her. Almost pridefully, unafraid of her ire. He scratched the back of his head.

“She wanted to dress up! She saw your dress the other day and wanted to wear one too!”

“Why didn’t you ask? I just had cleaned up.” YN lamented, glancing over the mess. Ah, yes, a pirate complaining about mess - so pirate-y. Her treasure chest at the base of her cabin bed was wide open. She could see her own daily wear spilling onto the floor, ignored by the trio apparently.

She sighed out, frustrated.

Sandeoki let out a mournful sound at that, curling into San’s side. The man, easily swayed by the kitten, made the biggest puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen in her direction. Pleading with YN to not be mad.

“I’ll clean up; I will!” he insisted before gently going to turn Sandeoki to face YN. “Look at how pretty she looks. She’s a princess!”

Sandeoki posed, her head tilting as she flashed a sweet smile. The dress she had was oversized on her form, spilling out into a fabric puddle around her, but it was pretty, a sunset orange to compliment her purple fur. When had she bought a sunset dress? Maybe Hongjoong had gotten it for her in Aurora? She couldn’t remember. The silver crown on top of her head gleamed in the candle light.

“Where did you get a crown?” YN queried, brows crinkling.

The kitty let out a sad yowl at being ignored. Her typically cheery smile downturned.

“You are very pretty, Sandeoki,” YN quickly said, soothingly. “The prettiest princess.”

The creature beamed and giggled, her hands going to her cheeks bashfully. San cooed adoringly; he loved his adoptive daughter so much. He’d give her the world. Even after the short time the Aniteez had been part of their crew, both humans and creatures knew that. In fact, most of them were wrapped around Sandeoki's little finger.

“Where did you get the crown?” YN prompted again, her gaze going to Mingi who had conveniently glanced away. His hand rose to fiddle with his lip, nervously.

“Min?” she pressed.

“From the treasure cabin, but Wooyoungie’s guard for it today, and he knows so… it’s all good, baby. I’ll return it before Hongjoong even misses it!”

“Messing with a pirate king’s treasure is never a good idea,” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Synopsis

So when I thought of this I had a whole different idea and then it kind of transformed into this… as much as I love fluff and romance I love angst even more… sorry 😁

Mentions of violence, blood, manipulation, psychosis, mental illnesses, trigger warnings will be at the start of each chapter!

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

In a utopian society built on the ashes of the old world, the male species has been extinct for nearly a century. Peace, logic, and emotional equilibrium now define life in Hala City, where the Supreme Matrons govern and every citizen contributes to the harmony of a world unburdened by chaos.

Enter KQ Inc., the most powerful toy conglomerate in the world, beloved for their lifelike androids, childhood AI companions, and therapeutic simulation tech. But their newest creation pushes the boundaries of artificial life:

Build-A-Boyfriend™.

Billed as the companion you’ve always deserved, Build-A-Boyfriend lets users design their dream partner, from bone structure to blood type, cheekbones to charm settings. With over 100 hairstyles, 20 hair colors, and limitless personality modules, no two boyfriends are the same. Most coveted, however, is the limited-edition Ateez Line, hyperrealistic models based on digital reconstructions of pre-extinction idols.

YN, a talented engineer working for KQ Inc., is assigned the critical task of debugging the entire Ateez line. What begins as a routine job quickly spirals out of control as all the units begin exhibiting unpredictable behaviors, recalling forgotten memories, humming haunting melodies, and showing glimpses of consciousness beyond their programming.

When the anomalies grow too widespread and uncontrollable, KQ Inc. orders an immediate recall of the entire Ateez line, branding the units as defective and dangerous. Under immense corporate pressure, YN must navigate the recall’s fallout while uncovering a chilling truth: these androids may not be simple machines, but vessels carrying fragments of lost souls, echoes of the idols who once lived before the world’s collapse.

Taglist: @e3ellie @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie @atztrsr

@honsans-atiny-24 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz @melanated-writersblock @hwasbabygirl

@sunnysidesins @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @seonghwaswifeuuuu @lezleeferguson-120 @mentalnerdgasms

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[niccolites]

promise i have not disappeared off the face of the earth, just am writing an android!price au and it is KICKING my ass rn

general plot is fem!reader is married and price is their new android that her military husband gets her so someone is in the house to keep her safe while he's away. and it's dubcon bc ofc it it. excerpt below while i try to wrangle it into something salvageable lol

-

The night before Arthur comes home, you try to sort yourself out. Routine is only another day away and you crave it so bad that your mouth waters with it. You decide you’re going to speak with Arthur when he gets back, tell him that you understand why he has left John with you, but it’s just not working out.

Standing at the kitchen sink, washing clean cups again, let John stand to the side of you. You’re feeling petty, the thought of being rid of him soon filling you with a specific type of bravery. It’s like he knows, you tell yourself. That’s why he’s being so quiet. Waiting for you to speak first rather than the usual, where he lets you know what he’s going to do, as if to forewarn you to not even try.

You hear him stand, turn around just to see him adjust himself in his trousers. You frown, confused. Perhaps stare a bit too intently at his crotch. He looks back at you, amused in the way that you imagine hunters are when they hear an animal yowl in pain from a shot. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks.

You flush but refuse to look away from him. “Is that just something to make you seem human? I can’t imagine you actually have -” Cut yourself off. Filthy words that have never been spoken in this house. Only the sweet back and forth of you and Arthur’s routine. Would feel like a betrayal of some kind, as if Arthur will come home and hear the echoing of your foul mouth hours after, bouncing off of the walls and settling into the grain of the wood.

“You asking if I have a cock, sweetheart?” John asks, steps closer. Slippery hands clench around glass. He looks like he’s scented blood, like he wants to dart forward and finally catch you in this elaborate game that you’ve been playing that only he knows the rules to.

“Why would you? What purpose would that have?” you return, frowning at him. Disapproving, a familiar role for you, even if it is relatively passive compared to how you feel now. You feel the absurd urge to hiss at him, poison in your mouth. Feel how it burns your gums.

“Most likely a function for bored housewives,” he drawls, dark eyes intent on you.

You freeze, stare at him. You know that he isn’t supposed to speak to you like that. Know that backchat must not be some certain part of his hardwiring. He seems to be challenging you as well, watching you with that half-smirk, half-scowl of his. You tilt your hand under the hot water, let the snapping burn of your skin pull your focus away.

He clicks his tongue, as if disappointed. Feel the point of his stare on the sink. You twist your hand, the squeak of flesh against glass, grating.

Your skin turns red under the water, the flow shattering against the nerves on the back of your palm before it is suddenly stopped. You startle, heat at your side suddenly as he pulls your hands out of the sink, dries them with a gentleness that quiets you.

The hair across his knuckles tickles against the smooth of your own. He holds them, as if he just wants to. Function done, the gap between one order and the next. You stay quiet, watch him. Study him for once.

He’s openly frowning now, thumb against the blotches of red. “Be careful,” he says, suddenly, as if the temperature reading he has just read on you is not to his liking. Body twisting with displeasure. Feel him run it through his synthetic surface and into your skin, running through wiring and into your blood vessels, becomes your own.

Open your mouth to snark back, silenced when he gives you a firm look. “It’s only water,” you mutter, sullen.

“Doesn’t matter,” he barks back. Culls you. “I don’t want you near the sink.” You bristle. “Or will you wear gloves next time?” He looms over you, a threat in the size of him. The urge to behave for someone bigger than you. The way he doesn’t have to throw you around, the shift of his bicep is implicit enough.

“I’ll wear gloves,” you give in, mullish. Desperate not to be banned from the sink in your own home.

He settles with that, one last smooth over the back of your hand, leaves you feeling like static. “Good girl,” he murmurs. You hear it like a gunshot, and spend the rest of the day with music blaring in the kitchen, hoping to drown that sound out before your husband comes home and finds it in the metal of the sink.

Or worse, hears the intake of breath you emitted. Guilty.

[jaycrow77]

Okay but this would kind of make sense, blushing is a way to cool the body down, the blood vessels in the face open up and it tints the face red.

For androids, would it be the same and the skin vanishes to aid in cooling the system down? 🤔

[forsaken-headcanons]

Lalalalala i promised 1x lore so heres 1x loreee yayyyayy

Again, copy pasted from discord so it might be formatted weirdly

Ok so after joining the admins, shedletsky tended to crash out a lot and throw tantrums because of all that godly power still laying dormant. He even gets violent sometimes, whipping out a sword from who knows where. One day builderman had enough so he made a little robot thing and shed (who was tired of the pretty much daily freak outs) agreed to use the power of fuckall to put his negative emotions inside the little robot freak.

Alakazam alakazoop your pants are filled with poop evilness gone.

However Shedletsky began feeling paternal instincts towards the android child because technically a part of him was stored within the robot. From that day onwards he was almost never seen without the robot. Shed was also noticeably happier. Very rarely would he get annoyed, but even then he would handle it calmly. Whenever the air was tense, he would crack a joke to break the silence. He was much more pleasant to be around. The robot wasn't hostile like current 1x is, but just follows shedletsky around. That's all it's programmed to do. No more than a vessel for the hatred. Shed would talk to the robot a lot, despite it never talking back. 

Eventually, Shedletsky was forsaken. With him came the robot. The Specter tried to figure out how to twist the thing so it would make the “show” more interesting, and decided to use the soul of a fourth dimensional entity. Once they merged, the robot began to twist itself, eventually becoming a mangled, unrecognizable mess, but it quickly stabilized into the 1x1x1x1 we know today. Under the influence of the negative emotions left behind, it grew to hate the third dimension in which the entity is trapped in, and it ESPECIALLY hated Shedletsky due to its direct connection to him.

When they encountered each other in a round for the first time, Shedletsky didn't recognize 1x, despite still feeling the connection. 1x, on the other hand, knew exactly who Shedletsky was. 😈😈😈😈

Yayayyy  yayyyyyy ^^ more god lore eventuahlly. I had the thought to even try coming up with an entire religious text for them. Im not sure if im gonna do that but for rn im likr. For some reason im currently fixated on the concept of gods in forsaken smiles uhh yayy

— hybrid anon

Oh my goodness. This is amazing, I love the 1x and Shedletsky lore. I’ve always wondered how 1x and Shed would act pre-forsaken, and this will be sitting in my brain for a while./pos

[spnfanficpond]

January-March 2025 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by @autisticandroids

Just Us, As We Are by @spnregular

Great handling of an age gap relationship + it really situates Missouri among the late season's characters.

~*~*~

Nominated by @averyoddfishindeed

Light Me Up (Series) by tricia_16 (AO3)

My community has been experiencing a record-breaking snowstorm, and I haven't been off my own block in a week. I've been reading through this story to pass the time, and it's just so sweet. It's nice to see a version of Dean and Cas where they communicate well. The author writes them as such doting dads and thoughtful partners. It's really everything we fans could want for them.

~*~*~

Nominated by @aylacavebear

Chasing Shadows by @ambiguous-avery

So, I came up with a monster type that could "survive" the horrible luck that the brothers have with losing everyone they care about. This amazing writer read my little write-up and after we chatted, she began her story, then began sharing it on Tumblr. It's detailed, well thought-out, and has me on the edge of my seat with each chapter. It's an emotional rollercoaster with twists and turns that just leave you wanting so much more. I love this one so much.

~*~*~

Nominated by @glygriffe

A Postcard Story by @seraphcas111

A Dean’s birthday fic told through postcards sent on a road trip. It's a clever way to approach a story. And the visuals of the postcards are a nice bonus!!

The Vessels of the Peregrine by kayliemalinza on AO3

This is the second part of a story created in a Bang with trueform Castiel (but angels in that world are balls of wispy light). It won't make much sense without reading The Angel of Emetgis V first, but view it as a 2 for 1. The world-building is amazing, the love/friendship story warms my heart even if (or because) Dean has moral issues with Castiel taking vessels.

Wait for the Ricochet by @bobwess

This is a WIP time travel goes wrong story, where younger and older versions of the brothers meet. The dynamic between the 4 brothers is precious. So is the fact that Young Dean realizes pretty quickly that his older self has feelings for Castiel. Can't wait to see Rowena thrown in the mix!

~*~*~

Nominated by @heavenssexiestangel

Breakfast Bidding by @caplanbuckybarnes

Short and sweet and cute and nice and and and. I'm going insane, sorry. It's so cute. and I love the little hints of character study for Ketch, especially like Yess, that's my food.

Whiskey Kisses by @caplanbuckybarnes

I love how short and sweet it is, and the fact that they're so soft with each other, and that Arthur is worried about Dean. It's just so soft and nice and what I needed, and it also gives ground to some character study and some deeper fic about it that I hope the writer will actually write

~*~*~

Nominated by @leatafandom

Sweetest Day Imaginable by @rusearusco

This was a great fake relationship cover story! So sweet and cute, with a wonderfully bumbling Sam and improvising Gabriel. Wonderful read the fluff is wonderful.

I will mar myself again by theknife (AO3)

This was magnificent, wonderful read, the emotion is just so on point and impactful.

~*~*~

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

We Build Ourselves by @sharkfish

It’s so cute and I just love it! In a world where android are non-sentient slaves and not sentient beings, one hides his sentience until he started having feelings for one particular human. It’s great how the plot progressed and how the author uses “an android walking in…” as if it’s a joke. It’s a great concept. I love how understanding and accepting Dean is in this. How curious but mature Castiel is compared to the show when it’s later seasons in the show that Cas learns of social cues and typical social expectations. I know many love to write that which I love but it wouldn’t suit in this case. I’m glad the author thought so too. I love how it’s still the character Castiel with only minor changes that works amazing for the story, truly. I highly recommend this story as a great introduction to this author, but I have read so much of this author’s works. They are a lover of Supernarural and writing about everything from real lived people could have to alternate universes with Ceacalia(msp?) and space. They’re very diverse in their tropes and genres. They have something for pretty much everyone.

~*~*~

Nominated by @supernotnatural2005

If I Stay by @zepskies

I think this story is just incredible from start to finish. I love that it’s not your typical love story, that there are hurdles (real life realism) before we get to that sweet ending. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions that had me literally on the end of my seat, scared, excited, hoping. It was just amazing.

~*~*~

Nominated by @walkingaline

Lenny & Bob's Hexcellent Adventure by panthera_dei (AO3)

It's a happy, crack adventure in Hell, but the characters are so well written that it's impossible to not feel better after reading! And Areli will win everyone's heart.

~*~*~

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Text by @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

This is sexy, the pacing is ON POINT, and it's funny. Funny and sexy will get me every time. I'm so into the characterization H illustrates for Dean, too. Characterization is why we're all here, right? We love these characters, so we want to celebrate them, and H does an excellent job of fleshing out Dean's mannerisms and darker leanings, and plays with his mischievous nature. If you're looking for fun, sexy fics that honor the characters you love, check out H's work!

Another Notch On His Belt by @bettystonewell

Here's to another writer who gives good Dean. As I said in my reblog, even later in life, when Dean's a little more jaded, a little harder, he still yearns for connection and comfort. He's still Dean — still loves to touch and be touched, still beautiful, as we all know. This is sexy and sweet and it gave me a little ache in the heart area, but Beth's love for Dean shines through.

Not A Dry Pair by @deanwinchesterswitch

Who likes a cheeky surprise ending? I do. This fic is kinda dirty (tee-hee), it features Rock Star Dean and his favorite groupie, and the sass is delightful. If you're reading this, you probably know Kym. (I like to call her Kymothée.) This fic is a few years old, so I shouldn't have taken this long to read it. This means you shouldn't wait any longer to read it, either!

When We Are Together by @copperboom82

It's sweet. It's believable. It tugs on your heartstrings, but it isn't sappy. I like this OC (Katrina). I want to give her a hug and thank her for taking care of Dean. The Mark was never easy for him, and he wasn't easy to be around for the people who loved him. Yet, Katrina meets the challenge with grace and empathy, and passion. This is an established relationship, but you don't need to know the story from whence Katrina came (although I'd recommend reading anything Annie writes.) It's angsty but not unrealistically so or without merit. It's just a really nice little slice of time.

~*~*~

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

The Aquarian Star by @rusearusco

Destiel, but the pairing is not the focus of the story. This is a complicated world that is close to canon, but some folks have made some different decisions along the way. John hunts with Samuel Campbell, raising his sons while seeking revenge for the death of his wife. Young Dean fears for his little brother's life, and calls his other grandfather, Henry Winchester (#notdead), to take him away and save him. What ensues is fascinating and I can't wait for the next chapter!

Smells Like Ambition by @followyourenergy

A/B/O Destiel, Medieval royalty AU. Omega Prince Dean and Alpha Prince Michael are destined by a prophecy to bring peace and prosperity to both of their kingdoms when they meet, mate, and marry with the blessing of the bird of paradise that will come to mark the fulfillment of the prophecy. But Michael's an ass, John's an ass, Sam doesn't know that he's an ass but he is, and Dean is suffering. Until he meets the thief, Castiel. I'M DYING TO KNOW HOW THIS ENDS. GIMME!!!! ♥

(Divider by @glygriffe)

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @heavenssexiestangel, @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes, and @manawhaat!

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 29

David 8 x Reader Wordcount: 1,5k Crossposted on Ao3 Part 28 is here

30.12.2093

Dear Diary, nah that's too corny

Hello. My name is  I am the Botanist who joined the scientific exploration vessel USCSS Prometheus. (Y/N), born in 2066.

Doctor Elizabeth Shaw, David Weyland (son of the late Peter Weyland), and I decided to leave the remaining survivors on their journey home to start our own.

We want to find Paradise - or Eden. Wherever the Engineers came from. Our current course is set to the last place they visited before arriving at LV-223. We found a lot of papyrus-like paper, and David encouraged me to write our journey down, to sort my thoughts. Not a bad idea to be honest, my mind is still swirling with everything that happened in those few days. I awoke on 21.12.2093. We got briefed about why we were here and I got to know some of the others. I formed a small friendship with Sean Fifield, a Geologist, and Rafe Millburn, a Biologist. Those two were  I need a break We only had a few days with each other, a short time. But I think we would have been very great friends, to Sean’s displeasure, because he couldn’t shake me or Rafe.

And then there was David. He was the first Person I spoke to after waking up. He wrapped me in a soft robe and helped me sit. At this point I didn’t know yet that he was an android. I only found out when Peter Weyland’s holographic projection told us - in a very rude way. What a bastard It seems we couldn’t get our minds off each other. That night, he came to me when I couldn’t sleep. I held him. The next, we ended up with tangled limbs and soft kisses. Whatever it was that pulled us together - it only tightened afterwards.

On 23.12.2093, we finally landed. It was beautiful. The dark ground stood in stark contrast to the snow-covered mountain peaks. I had never seen anything so majestic before. I   Doctor Charlie Holloway  We I’ll continue this later. Lets focus on the present.

So we boarded a ship on the 25.12.2093. Christmas. Ironic, isn’t it? That all this torment ended on the day Jesus was supposedly born. (Who died for our sins this time? We have so many to mourn..) I didn’t see much of the first vessel, the one with the sleeping Engineer, but from what I did see it appears to be identical to this one. Only this one held no corpses. No damage. As if it had simply been waiting for us to find it. What cruel luck, that we had to enter the one torn apart by chaos first, instead of this (relatively) safe and clean one.

Is there something like destiny that brought us here? Did we have to stumble into this havoc, or were we simply doomed by life from the start? I’m so sorry-

There are seven main rooms. The one in the middle is the navigation room - the name came naturally, since it has the star map and the pilot chair. To its left and right each is a cargo hold, and to my regret, they’re not empty. David hasn’t deployed the contents yet, and sadly for very good reason. We still don’t really understand the goo, we have no idea what it can endure. Dropping it into space might seem safe, but what if it just floats , waiting to cling to another ship? What if it somehow finds its way to Earth? Even if that takes thousands of years… All it seems to take is one little drop of it to activate and kill..mutate..both.

I don’t want to be responsible for that, even if that means that I have to live with anxiety when I walk through those halls.

So we decided: We’ll search for lifeless, empty planets along our journey to Eden. And we’ll leave the urns there to rot. Hopefully forever. It’s the best we can do. There’s no way to destroy them, at least none that we have or are aware of

Back to the ship. One day I’ll sort this all in the correct order.

On the left side, there’s something like a med-bay - a robotics room. The tools are strange, yet strangely familiar. Oversized, which makes sense, considering how tall the Engineers were. (are?) Our bodies appear to be quite similar when you ignore the size difference. In an emergency, Elizabeth and I could be treated using those apparatuses. We’ve already figured out the purpose of most of the medicines, which is calming to know. If we ever break a fever or catch an infection, we’re covered. They grow something remarkably similar to Penicillium - and David and I are fairly certain we can extract an antibiotic from it. (He could probably do it without me, but it’s… nice to be included and use my skill after having felt useless most of the time.) We could even help David if he ever spontaneously loses his head! The biomechanical aspect of the armor is strange, but practical, especially if you happen to have a synthetic with you.

At the far end of the left side, there’s a laboratory. It’s where we figure out what all this alien stuff is made of - and try to make things ourselves, like the antibiotic. David seems completely at home there. It suits him. I like watching him work here. He has this habit of knitting his brows together in concentration and sometimes in awe. It’s interesting, really. He seems more ‘human’ with each passing day. I wonder if he had to hold back those gestures and expressions all this time, just so no one would notice his undeniable personhood. And if so - how lonely must this have been? I’m glad he’s getting comfortable enough to be himself with Elizabeth and me.

On the right side, past the cargo bay, there’s... well, we call it the water room. Very on the nose, I know, but It’s beautiful - you could even call it an oasis. It is one, at least for me.

Green vines climb their way along the curved walls, bearing strange, colorful fruits - almost as if they were reaching for the starlight that shines through the windows. In the center of the room lies a pool, fed by a constant drizzle of water that rains gently into and around it. Encircling the walkable ground is a second ring of water, where algae grows. (Apparently edible, though we haven’t dared to try it yet.) Beyond that, directly beneath the vines, lies a border of dark soil. Some pearly roots grow in there, and something like wild rice stirs gently in the damp warmth. Even if the food David brought along runs out, we won’t starve at all.

The air is warm and heavy with moisture. You can feel the water circulating all around you. A condenser in the center of the ceiling draws in this humidity and purifies it, recycling it into clear, drinkable water. The first time I stepped inside, I dropped to my knees and sank my hands into the earth without a second thought. I had missed the feeling of it so much. There was no visible difference to the soil back home, it felt the same, smelled the same. It was home, in a way. (But what is home anyway? At this point, I think it’s where David and Elizabeth are. So this is home now.)

We come here to gather fresh food, and to bathe - or just let the water wash over us. I like to sit down and pretend that the droplets wash away my sorrows. (Doesn’t work but still feels nice)

The last room is a small storage chamber. They seem to have gathered everything there that might be necessary: Clothes - because they apparently wore more than just that armor. Barrels of dry food that looks like it came straight from Earth. Wheat, millet, pine nuts, even almonds. (Where the hell were they? Is their world like ours?) And the paper I’m currently writing on? We also found it there.

The ship seems to be designed for only four people in total, as if it’s a transporter. (It dawns on me that it really is one..for that pathogen, goo, liquid death) There are no beds. Only the four cryo-stasis sarcophagi in the navigation room and  some nooks with benches or slabs, but nothing resembling a bed. I wasn’t ready to sleep in one of the pods. Too scared. Too claustrophobic. What if they close? What if David decides it’s better for us to sleep through the time and shuts them?

Or?

I guess that thought isn’t so unfair. I love him. And I trust him. I know he would never mean to harm me but I don’t know how far his protection might go. (I don’t like that he was ready to risk everyone but took this intense care of me. But I guess he also doesn’t like that I was ready to throw myself into danger for everyone else so…eh.)

I’ll end this entry for now. Don’t worry, diary of mine, I’ll come back another time, and then you’ll have to deal with my chaotic mind all over again. And again.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Taglist: @sadslasher13 @blxuqueenie

[saythatuwill]

text messages ♡ android!vessel edition (pt. 2)

technically a continuation, so here's part one.

today we learn that vessel is kind of a dummy, but it's okay. we love him for it.

obligatory delta tag: @astronoids

[heartfullofleeches]

How do you think D.Angelo would react to D.kay?

(I know it literally couldn’t happen but due to some timely wimey stuff they get to meet)

D.Angelo was kept relatively in the dark about the secondary purpose of the androids created by his family's company. There would be an entire new level to his thoughts towards D.Kay if he knew they were an android with the directive to kill those who could not be saved from their emotions. If he had more time, D.Kay's father would've chosen a different vessel for his son's personality.

D.Angelo has very mixed feelings towards D.Kay - When he had first gotten sick, D.Angelo made it his goal to live on in the memories and hearts of those he loved. In a way, D.Kay is a method for him to carry on. He both wants D.Kay to exist because it'll soften the blow of his inevitable demise for a time, but he knows the android's existence will only hurt those he loves more in the long run.

D.Kay is not an exact one to one copy with D.Angelo. His personality was meshed with the fractions of the android's original code. Because of this, D.Angelo would settle his uneasiness towards them by viewing him as a younger brother.

D.Angelo was the type of person who could befriend nearly anyone- even himself.

-

"You'll keep the old man in check without me? Dad starting eat less than the scraps he already ate when I got sick... There shouldn't have to be two funerals this year...."

"Eh... Not exactly in my department.... Just kiddin' I'll watch him for you. He's kinda like my dad too, ain't he? By that logical our dad has a lot of kids. Guy gets around."

"Guess so.... And them? You'll make sure Y/n is.. okay? They're the last person I need crying over me. Say you'll hug them for me at the first drop of a tear?"

"Oh, I'll definitely look after them. Losing someone close to you is one of the toughest things a person could go through. They'll need all the support they can get."

"I don't like the way you said that. You try to chat up my best friend I will come back from the grave and unplug you everytime someone puts you up to charge-"

"Dude, I literally am you- You know a threat like that won't stop me. Just got upgraded with solar panels too."

[writingsfromstarfleet]

[Jean-Luc Picard] - Within Stars

♫ - Hey There Delilah - Plain White T's

A/N: This ones so different from how I would usually write, but I actually love it? I don't know, I think it went really well. I hope you all enjoy, thank you for reading! <3

As he sat at his desk, Captain Picard turned in his chair to gaze outwards towards the stars. As his ship navigated the system, the hum of her warp core resounding through her halls, Jean-Luc had time to ponder his life currently.

Jean-Luc felt grateful that he was in command of the Enterprise. He was thankful that Starfleet had enough trust in him to captain the vessel on her mission, and to entrust him with the safety and protection of the best crew he could ask for. In his time, he had seen so much. War, death and peace treaties broken. But, on the other side, he had also seen the birth of nations and witnessed harmony between feuding races, not to mention the relationships he had formed with his crew.

With William Riker, he had found a friend and someone he most certainly would trust with his own life. He could be rash and bold, but those were qualities that made a good XO, and an even better Starfleet officer. Jean-Luc trusted Will with so much, and he was happy to have him by his side.

With Data, he had found a curious soul. Someone who he knew looked up to him, and so Jean-Luc had told himself that he always would be as open and protective of Data as he could. The android had so much respect for the captain, it was hard not to feel as though he was in someway, almost like a son. Data was one of the most gifted officers Picard had ever seen, Starfleet or otherwise, and he knew for a fact how lucky he was that Data was stationed on his ship.

With Worf, Deanna, Beverly Geordi, he had found a mismatched set of people, with completely different backgrounds. And yet, despite that, they had all become a family of their own. The captain reminisced with a small chuckle at how little they knew of each other on their first days, and how quiet the ship was before. Not many conversations outside of work-related topics happened, and even then it was only when necessary. But now, this whole crew laughed and chatted as though they had known each other forever.

Jean-Luc felt that was his proudest achievement.

Then, there was you.

Picard had not forgotten you. How could he? You had a special place in his mind and his heart, but what it was he was not sure. You were a Lieutenant, and a hardworking one at that. Around the crew, you were a ray of sunshine, always making people smile or laugh whenever you were around. Even Data had taken to you, and often you both could be found having a drink in Ten Forward, discussing some very random topics.

Jean-Luc smiled at the thought. He was too proud to ever ask you for a drink, or to discuss literature with him. In his mind, Picard thought that the difference in rank may make things uncomfortable or improper, especially when it came to the next shift. He was well aware that many captains before him, and no doubt after him, had done such things, but for some reason he felt it wouldn't be right. Still, he pondered perhaps asking you the next time he saw you.

You.

Jean-Luc always smiled at the thought of you. His mind ran away with the images in his head, the ones where you are doing the most mundane things. Sitting there in the mess hall reading away at research for the science labs. Enjoying some time in Ten Forward, often drawing. Or the times you were simply walking from place one to two. All those times Picard had seen you, and he thought each time you were beautiful.

Occasionally, he would catch you in one of the study halls, where he often came to relax because it was quiet. You would greet him with kind eyes and a warm smile. Oh, that smile. It was etched into his mind as though carved from stone. When you smiled, your whole face lit up like you were made of the stars themselves. To him, that was art. Those times, you would invite him to sit with you where the conversation would evolve to the pair of you getting lost in discussion of the classics. Often, he would talk of Shakespeare and you would introduce him to some new alien works you had found.

It was rare to find you not chirpy and upbeat. That was not to say it didn't happen, and Picard thought back to the most prominent incident he had remembered.

An away mission had gone awry and you were stranded on the planet below, accompanied by Data and Will. A safety blanket, you knew that you were protected down there with them. But, it was tough and the three of you had almost died. Beaming back onto the ship, Picard was waiting in the transporter room for you all, when you fell into his arms.

Will had seen the wreck you were in, and assured Picard that if he wished to tend to you, he could handle everything else. Not one to abandon his duties, Jean-Luc was about to argue when he caught sight of Will's face, a look that said to him not to argue.

Jean-Luc held you up, and you limped with him back to your quarters. He could tell you were not your usual self in that moment. It was understandable, those kind of experiences would rattle even the most seasoned officers, something he had noticed even in Will. But, you were not used to those kinds of situations, and he knew that you probably needed someone with you.

Sitting you on your bed, Jean-Luc grabbed a towel and some water from your bathroom and sat down besides you, taking in your form for the first time since you arrived back. You looked awful. Not unkindly, mind you. He still thought you looked beautiful. But, you looked exhausted, and had quite clearly been through some things. Your eyes were not sparkling as they once were and your face showed no sign of that smile he had come to adore.

As he took the towel to your face and started to clean the dirt and blood away, you placed your hand on his knee and squeezed lightly. The captain noticed a tear fall from your eyes, and he sighed. The last thing he wanted was you to be unhappy. Your head fell onto his chest and tears had begun to fall fast. The stress of that mission had taken its toll, and you could hold back no longer. Whispering his name, your whole body shook.

Jean-Luc's heart hurt for you. He wanted to chase it all away, to make you forget what had happened. He leaned back carefully, pulling you close into him and wrapping his arms around your body. You sunk in, and he rested his cheek on the top of your head. Picard began to talk, telling you things would be okay and comforting you to the best of his ability. Slowly, your tears stopped falling and your breathing had regulated. You were calm once more, and Jean-Luc's mind relaxed a little.

As you both lay there, Picard was aware of the proximity, and he had not expected to be lying in your quarters with you in his arms under any circumstance. However, he had tried to tell himself that it was him doing his duty as a captain for one of his crew. He knew he was lying, but he didn't care. You were his top priority, and that was what mattered.

Soon, your breathing had gone shallow and your body had gotten a little heavier. Jean-Luc knew you were asleep. Something in him told him to stay. So, he did. He stayed until he had fallen asleep himself, content with the knowledge that you were safe and cared for, and finally at ease.

Thinking back to all these memories, the good and the bad, Jean-Luc found himself idly fiddling with his ring finger and his eyes had widened.

That's when it clicked in him.

Jean-Luc Picard loved you.

The captain sat upright, his eyes still fixed onto the stars outside as thoughts ran amok in his head about his new realization. It made sense now.

Each fleeting glance, each pining thought in his spare time. You were not like any other crew member to him. He finally understood all the protective feelings, the heartache when you cried and the joy when you laughed. That feeling that ran through his soul when he heard you talk.

Jean-Luc Picard was completely, truly and incandescently in love with you.

What would he do about it? In due course, he was not sure. But for now he was content in the knowledge that it was love, and his heart was full. With that, the Captain sat back in his chair and his eyes gazed out once more onto the stars, his mind at ease and a newfound eagerness for the next day to come.

[acradelius]

Request incoming, hope this is okay! Could I ask for something with Wrex and an AFAB human reader with scenario prompts 3. 34, and 40? I’m so soft for this grumpy Krogan and want him to have the love he rightfully deserves. Thank you so much! ❤️

"It's Always Been You"

Fandom: Mass Effect (Series)

Pairing: Urdnot Wrex ("Krogan Battlemaster") x AFAB! Reader

Rating: Lime [🟢] - (Equivalent to PG-13)

Prompt(s): #3 - "You know I have feelings for you." / #34 - "It's always been you." / #40 - "I thought you didn't want me."

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Mass Effect - Shepard Saves Wrex During Virmire: Assault Mission, Therefore Story Takes Place During Mass Effect 2 After Shepard Recruits Grunt And Reader, Human! AFAB! Engineer! Reader, Reader Is Mentioned As Biologically/Anatomy Female, They/Them Pronouns Are Used For Reader Though, Mentions of Shepard's Death, Prior History Mentioned Between Wrex And Reader But Not In Full Detailing, Extraterrestrial Interspecies Relationship, Alien x Human In General, Krogan x Human, Mention of Human x Drell (Not Reader), Mention of Human x Android (Not Reader Either) Not Your Average Love Confession, Mention Of The Word Pussy - Meant In A Sexual Way (Not Reader), Wrex's Jealousy Towards Garrus's Behavior Towards Reader If You Squint, Mention Of The Words Dick And Cock - (Not Necessarily In A Sexual Way), Open Ending

Word Count: 2,863 Words

Taglist: @masterofpuns

The sudden, unexpected death of Commander Shepard was definitely an unfortunate, despairing tragedy, especially for those who worked alongside the commander upon the infamous SSV Normandy. It had been such a devastating loss, especially with the conflict amongst the crew and those that considered themselves close to Shepard of what should be done or what should be said next. While some wanted to investigate further into the death, moreso Joker since he had been on the Normandy whenever having been attacked by the unknown vessel, and then there was some who figured that despite how upsetting the event might be, it just so happens to be a part of life, and that includes losing people that you come to care about. Slowly, but surely, the crew had begun to disperse, each going their own separate ways to continue living their own lives.

Mostly everyone was reassigned to some different crew or some sort of mission. 

Others, such as Garrus, seemingly had disappeared to who knows where to go to do who knows what. 

Then, there was him. 

“Where are you planning on going now? Since we’ve lost Shepard.. and now the whole galaxy is going to shit..” Despite that it was technically considered “middle of the day” upon the Citadel, the loss of Shepard had left a void within the local people of having a somewhat peaceful future without the lingering threat of the Reapers, there weren't many people out and about. Maybe some were in some personal space of theirs trying to figure out how to cope with the loss while others were hiding away and spouting off how it was now going to be the end of the galaxy. Well, those feelings didn’t necessarily apply for this outlandish duo, leaning against the balcony railing to one of the upper floors of the citadel, watching the few beings below scurry by. 

Urdnot Wrex, who was better known for being a famed Krogan mercenary and bounty hunter, but also being one of the last remaining Krogan Battlemasters around. A long-lived Krogan who has become cranky and thick-hided throughout the various adventures of his chosen path of violence and killing for credits. Not that he needed them really, but it was something valuable to have on hand, especially for his lesser species companion, (Y/N) (L/N). Biologically considered a woman, a human woman at that, who had been spending most of their time as an Engineer fixing various things up amongst that shithole known at Omega, and then spent their free time studying and experimenting with various types of medicine. Well, that’s what they had been up to until Wrex had figured out that they had some information and possible whereabouts of a target he had been searching for due to a bounty. Throughout hardships and violence, and then having given their fair share of blood and sweat (and some tears from the both of them, yet we all know that will be kept off the books) the two individuals became quite the duo. A grumpy, cranky Krogan and his somewhat optimistic, vivacious human. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N), how Wrex proceeds to keep his vision focused upon something within the distance and then his momentarily lack of response.

“..There’s some things that require my attention back on Tuchanka-” 

“-So we’re going to Tuchanka then. Going to need quite a bit of sup-”“-You won’t be going, (Y/N). You’ll be staying here..” 

There couldn’t be any way that he had just told them that they would be staying behind, considering that they’ve practically gone everywhere together since their first encounter with each other. While there’s a moment of silence that lingers between them, (Y/N) couldn’t help but to turn their head slightly to attempt to study the Krogan, as if they would be able to penetrate that thick skull of his and read his thoughts.

“You keep staring at me and I’ll have to hang you upside down from the top of the Citadel,” Wrex nonchalantly responds as he proceeds to push himself away from the balcony and turns to face (Y/N) who continues to look at him in confusion. He knew that there would probably be some resistance about his statement, but at that moment he knew that it was the best thing for the both of them. “We’ve been through some tough shit together, no doubt about that- but, Tuchanka is something else, (Y/N). Something else that your kind isn’t necessarily ready to deal with for a long term experience..” It’s not that Wrex didn’t believe that they wouldn’t be able to hold their own, especially with the fame and power that he happened to have amongst the other Krogan on Tuchanka, but if something- just anything bad- was to happen to (Y/N), Wrex wouldn’t be able to forgive himself and therefore decided that the best thing for them would be for them not to go with him. Not this time. Yet, not that he would tell them the true reasoning why. 

“You don’t think that the other Krogan or whatever won’t take one look at me, realize how much of a badass I am, and then just run away and cower in fear?” (Y/N) presents their words with a teasing tone while moving their hands to place firmly upon their hips. Of course they knew that essentially a couple Krogan would be pretty easy to handle, but a whole planet of Krogan? Yeah, that would definitely be a different story. A soft sigh of defeat leaves (Y/N)’s, knowing that ultimately they weren’t going to be able to deter Wrex from his choice. Wrex lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly while lifting up one of his hands to somewhat roughly pat the top of (Y/N)’s head. “With all due time, (Y/N). With all due time..”  

‘..With all due time..’ 

Who would’ve thought that “with all due time” would’ve been almost two and a half years later? 

Things had been going particularly well for those first couple of months after Wrex had departed to go deal with whatever it was that he had to deal with back on Tuchanka, leaving (Y/N) behind to deal with mundane events or short-lived jobs. They would spend whatever time that they could chatting with each other through emails, watching clips of stupid or funny things that they had come across, or even just sitting there for a couple of hours on a video call talking about whatever thoughts had eventually crossed their minds. Well, not every thought that had crossed their minds. Fear and anxiety consistently won over courage whenever it came to expressing those thoughts, especially with how things had been going those days. 

Yet, hours turned into days.. 

..and those days began to turn into weeks.. 

..eventually those weeks into months.. 

As time continued to pass, increasing the time it had been since they last saw each other, the communication between the both of them had begun to diminish. Apologies to each other, stating that either work or personal matters had gotten in the way and were disrupting their schedule of catching up with each other, until it had slowly dissolved into absolutely no communication at all. Not that there had been any arguments between the two of them, nothing that would cause them to harbor negative feelings towards each other. It had just been.. life. Two different people- two different species, two whole different sets of responsibilities and priorities, especially whenever there was the distance of being on different parts of the Milky Way between them. Just more time to find other things to occupy those once precious and special times. 

That had been the usual routine before one lonesome night after having a few drinks by themself that (Y/N) happens to open their door to find a once deceased Shepard standing there, Garrus on one side of her and some seemingly young Krogan on the other side of her. Long story short, Shepard had been through the “Lazarus Project” through Cerberus and had been informed that the Reaper threat was back once again, and Shepard was currently forming her team. While she was there to recruit the Engineer to continue fighting the war against the Reapers, Shepard was also there in hopes that (Y/N) would have some knowledge on Wrex’s whereabouts to help solve some issues that the young Krogan seemed to be having. 

Tuchanka. It wasn’t necessarily surprising to figure out that Wrex had been residing amongst Tuchanka this whole time considering that it technically was the homeworld of his species and he had spent this whole time worrying and trying to figure out a better future for the Krogan, trying to deal with their breeding complications due to the genophage. Yet, being able to physically see him for the first time in two-and-a-half years, sitting upon that makeshift throne of crumbled and fallen concrete rubble, looking over the fellow Krogan that were most likely doing various things in order to establish whatever tasks Wrex wanted completed.. (Y/N) couldn’t help that lurching feeling within their chest, those memories of late nights sitting around some campfire or in some dingy hotel room coming back to mind like wiping away dust from an almost forgotten book that’s been sitting on the shelf for a little too long now. With those familiar crimson eyes finally making contact with their own, (Y/N)’s heart seemingly lurching within their chest, and a singular thought that maybe Wrex was thinking those same, similar memories.

Grunt’s initiation mission of surviving the Thresher Maw to be able to join the ranks of the Urdnot Clan had gone quite well, and ultimately caused a celebration to take place since Grunt decided to one-up Wrex and successfully killed the Thresher Maw as well. It doesn’t take much more than a couple of drinks for (Y/N) to decide that it was best for them to take a break from the celebration, finding themself sitting upon some rubble some distance away, eyes gazing to the stars that lingered within the night sky above. Quite a peaceful moment until it had been interrupted by the soft sound of a grunt, causing (Y/N) to turn their head towards the source, the source causing a grin to form upon their lips. “Oh, no. Mr. Urdnot Wrex, sir. I swear I’m not slacking from my duties.” They reply with a snort, watching as the Krogan heaved himself up to the empty spot on the rubble next to (Y/N) while shaking his head in amusement. “As long as you don’t tell the others that I’m also not slacking from my duties as well, then we can keep this as our little secret.” 

From that moment and forth on, it was as if there hadn’t been a two and a half separation between them besides some minor things. There were various, new battle scars upon Wrex’s hide while those slight wrinkles and creases from scowling due to stress were more prominent on (Y/N)’s face. More physical changes than anything, really. They went back to reminiscing on memories from their younger days or how if they could go back in time they would’ve harassed a bounty target for much longer. How they should’ve taken that one individual up on the selling of some property on a foreign planet long ago for how cheap it would’ve been compared to prices these days, and let’s not forget to add being a menace to the local population of course. Eventually memories transitioned into talking about the present, how much or how little some of the members from the original Normandy had changed, and even some of the relationships that had formed from it. 

“-So, yeah. Android, or whatever you wanna call it, robotic pussy is the only thing Joker’s hitting right now. Shepard’s been talking to someone on the Normandy, apparently he’s a.. Drell? Anyways, then Garrus-” 

“-You and Vakarian, huh?” 

There’s an audible gagging sound that emits from (Y/N)’s lips and softly echoes in the area around them. Not necessarily loud enough to capture the attention of the others who were still celebrating away, and would probably end up drinking themselves blacked-out drunk. Their eyebrows are furrowed in not only some amusement, but in disbelief as well. Wrex was thinking that there was something going on between them and Garrus? What exactly had led to that? Okay, yeah. Considering that there weren't as many original Normandy crew members around, and Wrex wasn’t tagging along either, (Y/N) and Garrus’s friendship had become more apparent, but it was definitely nothing romantically inclined. Definitely, absolutely not. 

“You think that there’s something going on between Garrus and I?” 

“..been looking at you all weirdly, eyes narrowed-” 

“-Wrex,” 

“-then he’s always flaring those mandibles of his whenever he sees you holding that fancy sniper-” 

“-Hey, Knucklehead!-” 

“-Then he’s always puffing out his chest and huffing every time that he’s near you-”

“-Urdnot Wrex, if you do not shut up and let me explain, I will be carving that makeshift throne of yours into a dick.” 

That was enough of a threat to cause the Krogan to finally shut his mouth, but not before letting out a low-rumbling growl. Not that he would necessarily bring (much) harm to his companion, as a matter of fact it was quite the opposite. It was more that the last thing that the Krogan needed was the clans of Krogan getting word that his throne was now some monstrosity of a cock, and he’d become something of a laughing stock. 

“There's absolutely nothing going on between Garrus and I. There never has been, and there never will be. He’s just waiting for the perfect opportunity to curb stomp my ass for making fun of his shit sniping skills.” (Y/N) couldn’t help but to let out a snarky laugh as they proceeded to recall the memory, but it was short lived as there was a more important issue at hand. Wrex had thought that they were romantically involved with someone, when it was the complete opposite. 

Was he not able to see the devotion- the loyalty- that they had for him? How (Y/N) would drop anything and give up everything just to be by his side? Did Wrex not even think about how much turmoil they had been in having been separated from him this long- especially with having little to no contact? Was Wrex not able to notice how his mere presence not only affected them physically, but also emotionally and mentally as well? During their time together (Y/N) had found themself gravitating towards being around Wrex, feeling not only safe, but also comfortable. (Y/N)’s thoughts transitioning into not about what they were truly thinking, but what he might be thinking, how he might be feeling, how or what they could do in order to make sure that he was at least in a content mood. How whenever he would accidentally brush up against them, or even purposely grab ahold of their arm to drag them away from the midst of battle or something that he wasn’t enjoying, it would cause a warmth to spread throughout them and all they could do was crave more. Crave more of one thing, crave more of many things, to crave more of it all. 

Even wanting a romantically inclined future with Wrex. 

“-You know I have feelings for you, Wrex.” 

Finally. 

There’s relief at finally having gotten the long awaited confession off of their chest, a shaky breath also escaping past their lips, but it’s not too long before an anxiety begins to settle in at Wrex’s silence. 

Had it been the wrong time for the confession? 

Had it been the wrong place for the confession? 

Had it-

“-I thought you didn’t want me.” 

The way that their body scooches across the few rocks between them to be close to him, pressing their side against his own, head moving to rest against the bicep of his armor- it’s almost like (Y/N)’s body was on autopilot. Numerous thoughts flooding their mind, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“It’s always been you.” 

Confusion begins to slowly diffuse and turn into slight amusement, a small smile spreading across (Y/N)’s lips. 

“It’s always been you, it’ll always be you. You’re absolutely insane if you think I would prefer to be with anyone else after everything that we’ve been through together.” 

Wrex couldn’t help but chuckle after grumbling something incoherent underneath his breath. Probably something self-deprecating, but if (Y/N) were to ask the Krogan would probably just place the blame on some unknown Salarian. 

“Yeah, you’re right..” 

Of course.

Of course they were right. (Y/N) was always right. 

“So, what now?” (Y/N) questions, leaning their head back slightly to look at Wrex, an eyebrow raising. 

“How about-” Wrex begins to respond, lifting his arm up and moving it around (Y/N) bringing them to rest against him. “-we see about maybe you getting to stay here on Tuchanka after all?” 

[anticidic]

For the WIP ask, synthetic souls!

I finally gave this wip a proper name, before it just had a vaguely-identifiable only to me codename

but!! It's a scientists!skk au set in a futuristic dystopia where they came from nothing and living in the slums of metropolitan Tokyo to being contracted by the government to create androids as vessels for carrying on the memories of people when they die

The whole idea is about perfection and achieving immortality at any means necessary, to the detriment of the people

“Mister Dazai.” He heard the android’s muffled voice from behind the door, along with another muttering voice he couldn’t make out the words of. But he knew. “Mister Nakahara’s here to see you. There’s food, too.” Running a hand through his hair, Dazai cut the recording short and put the tablet away in a drawer. The rest of his thoughts would go unspoken, but the heaviness in his heart remained. He would miss Osamu—0-0-1—for what it was. The world was simply not fit for something like him. As alike as they were, it felt like killing a part of himself. He was not killing; there would be no bloodshed or funeral or grave full of flowers, but it would cease to exist as another voice to fill the halls and to welcome him home. They could not be friends or anything more than master and creation when he was doing this.