#prometheus crew

[grayrazor]

I have a bad feeling that Alien: Earth is going to get on my nerves in the same kind of way as, like, the episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise with the Ferengi and Borg.

Being a prequel to the original, but having stuff that was discovered for the first time in the original, and constantly teasing it getting brought into the light earlier than it should be.

[lehnsharrk]

"They got Magneto"

The VFX for Prometheus and Aliens movies

[cctinsleybaxter]

Would David 8 and Ishmael like each other or would Ishmael recognize David as his evil shadow self

[squuote]

mori at age 10-12 after their entire hunting crew that took them in was just brutally slaughtered: wow. prometheus is so nice to shapeshift into the crew to comfort me when I need it. he’s such a great guy

prometheus who is most certainly not a shapeshifter:

[hauntingblue]

NAMI HAS TAKEN ACTION!!! LETSGOOOOO

[bnuuywol]

🧟‍♀️- would my muse have a deceased loved one resurrected for any reason?

There's not much time between when Zodiark is summoned and when Hydaelyn comes to be, but in the short span of time before he's sundered, Prometheus would give anything, anything to bring Hythlodaeus back. Every part of him aches when he thinks about the day he lost him. Seeing the nature of the star restored when yet another half of their remaining populace is sacrificed only reminds him of what they've lost. Losing Hythlodaeus was the one thing that finally broke him.

You can see it reflected in Phoenyx. A starry-eyed wanderer shattered by the terrible loss he endured. All that's left is the rage, the heartbreak. Except Prometheus never had the time to bounce back, and so that shattered heart lives on in Phoenyx forevermore.

[pioponii]

moby dick could have been way better if luffy d. monkey was da captain instead tbh

[fatecanberewritten]

Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms.

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

[plutoswritingplanet]

All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment. 

It started innocently enough.

 Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue. 

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

 An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly. 

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise. 

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you. 

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward. 

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion. 

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally. 

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew. 

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human. 

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship? 

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits. 

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress. 

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity. 

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt. 

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him? 

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face. 

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries. 

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree. 

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to. 

He could create. 

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber. 

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth. 

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand. 

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction. 

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth. 

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so. 

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination. 

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed. 

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest. 

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix. 

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy. 

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers. 

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself. 

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again. 

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity. 

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth. 

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?" 

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile. 

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself. 

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth. 

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva. 

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him." 

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck 

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes. 

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger. 

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further. 

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?" 

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle. 

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery. 

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain. 

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt. 

Hatred. 

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment. 

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you. 

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination. 

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body. 

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree. 

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you. 

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his. 

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination. 

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan. 

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe. 

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters. 

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab. 

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth. 

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes. 

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze. 

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth. 

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship. 

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away. 

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat. 

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state. 

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine" 

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure. 

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh. 

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

 But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement. 

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him. 

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with. 

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back. 

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. 

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean. 

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused. 

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has. 

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come. 

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life. 

[tunastime]

for the comfort prompts, draping a blanket over a sleeping body ^-^ maybe with 2 of our sweetest boys.... xisuma and doc ^-^ OR also maybe with ranchers ^-^

draping a blanket over their sleeping body (923 words) (x)

Xisuma scrubs his eyes. 

There comes a point in every shift that his body starts to give out. A point where, no matter the length of the shift, or how much he'd eaten, or slept, or drank tea, Xisuma felt his body slip away from him and the dull ache of sleep start to root and take hold behind his eyes. It's at this point where respite usually comes, in the form of Cleo or Doc walking through the door. And eventually it will be Cleo, he knows, because Doc's shift neatly aligned with his tonight. So much so he was able to actually get dinner at the same time as him, and Doc was able to kick him under the table over a cup of coffee. The jerk. 

Regardless, he could expect Cleo to wander in when she wished. Joints starting to protest weakly under the stretches he contorts his spine into, Xisuma gathers his belongings, and starts the trek down the levels toward his room.

It's a quiet walk—one he's learned to catalogue his thoughts to, to enjoy as much as the daily chatter of a morning shift beginning, or an afternoon shift ending. This early morning closure means that he'll have the good part of the day to sleep before he's on for another 48 hours. It also means that, for just a few of those hours, he might get to sleep next to his partner, after a few too many nights of just-barely's and near-misses. Xisuma sighs. For a moment, he lingers in the hall, peeking out at the rest of the station through a long, double-paned window, spanning the length of the propelled walkway. As he steps on, leans against the barrier, he watches stars flick idly past him alongside the sprawl of Prometheus. At its heart, where he was headed down to now, were the quarters. And his, along with a select few, got their own atrium view.  

The rest of the walk is similarly quiet, Xisuma's feet working on autopilot as his mind wanders from task to task, correspondence, to shipping requests, to diplomatic communique. He frowns, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits a beat for the elevator. There had been a recent communique from the Coalition. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened in, what, two or three years now? Certainly enough time to have forgotten the last time he saw any of the crew on an official basis and certainly long enough to forget just what that little check-up meant. He holds back a particularly violent shiver. It's nothing this time—has to be. Prometheus hadn't done anything new or interesting in months, let alone enough to warrant an investigation. If the Interspace Investigation Coalition needed something from Xisuma, Admiral Void, it was going to take a very special visit and a lot of convincing. Not words on a screen.

By the time the thought passes through his mind, Xisuma is already at his front door. He shakes away the feeling crawling up the base of his spine and taps his keycard, door sliding open at his behest. 

"Doc?" he calls, as he enters. "I'm home."

The front entry is still warmly lit as he toes off his shoes and organizes his coat and bag at the front door. The living room is dark, aside from the faint glow of blue light, as are the desks they share and the kitchenette. Xisuma hums, frown deepening. He makes his way into the living room as he starts unclasping his overcoat, hands fiddling with the zipper behind him.

There, sprawled haphazardly on their small sofa, is Doc. One of his legs bends under the other, his ankle propped on the arm of the couch, socked foot hanging just over the edge. His pajamas are ruffled from moving, rucked up over one side of his ribs where his arm stretches to cover his eyes from the dim, ambient light. Xisuma stifles a snort that then catches the back of his throat. He looks comfortable. To an extent. Enough to fall asleep, at least, and enough to stay that way, even as Xisuma had called out to him and noisily shuffled in. 

X crosses his arms. He has but two options: one which requires him to deal with a sleep-disoriented, disgruntled Doc M now. The other: listening to him complain about tight muscles as he slipped into bed later that morning, seeking out the shape of Xisuma he missed. On one hand, X would get his partner's warmth and weight and grumbled words sooner. On the other... he looks so dang peaceful he'd almost feel bad disturbing him. Xisuma smiles to himself—the image alone of Doc crawling into bed next to him and letting X curl tiredly around him seems wildly comforting. A little selfish, but, really, who could blame him? 

Quietly, Xisuma shuffles over. He lifts the blanket from the back of the couch, ruffling it lightly in his hands as he sets it over Doc's sleeping form the best he can. Shrouded by the multicolored fabric, Doc seems to shrink, just a bit. Clearly cozy and comfortable, his face remains soft, sleep smoothing out the lines of stress on his face. X tucks the blanket carefully around his partner, careful not to jostle him awake as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Upon drawing back, Doc doesn't seem to stir, and Xisuma hums his thanks to no one. He steps back, satisfied with his work, and shuffles off to bed.

[anyacad0]

we were robbed of having Yunli talk to so many characters' weapons so here are my headcanons for the express crew, stellaron hunters and some others:

lance of preservation: I imagine it having a very caring but also stoic voice. Probably feminine. Often talks about battle strategy, with a patient personality

Mikhail's hat: what if its voice is just Clockie? I imagine Yunli trying to speak with it and then suddenly realising "wait a second this is that cartoon from Penacony"

Welt's cane: It has two voices- the cane itself, and the herrscher core. The former is probably weathered, but patient and reassuring like its wielder. The core, on the other hand, is weak and generally silent outside of battle, but during fights it still yearns for the downfall of humanity.

Himeko's briefcase: Surprisingly eager for battle. It sounds younger than Himeko, and is always up for a challenge. Sounds like it drinks coffee on an hourly basis. Yunli likes it a lot.

Cloudpiercer: A very gentle voice, which Yunli finds surprising. Usually a weapon this lethal would crave chaos. It trusts its wielder entirely, but there is an unmistakable degree of longing in its voice, although she can't quite tell who for.

March's bow: Excitable, but very protective, especially of the express crew. Yunli guesses straight away that Himeko is the one who made it.

Kafka: her guns are cold and detached, only speaking during battle, and never with any emotion. Her sword, on the other hand, has an alluring voice and craves thrills.

Shard Sword: It doesn't speak much, and often refuses to speak to Blade (he can hear it and you can't convince me otherwise), but its words are patient and wise. There is constant pain in its voice, but the pain is distant as if the sword has long since learned to carry it.

Prometheus: There are a number of Silver Wolf's AI friends living in it, but it does have a voice of its own. It seeks adventure, and often speaks like a fighting game announcer during battle.

Firefly's swords: They crave battle, but not bloodshed, which Yunli finds strange. Their voices seem to be constantly changing, similar to Firefly's but not quite identical.

Null: completely silent. It's not as if it has a voice and just doesn't want to speak, there simply isn't anything there.

Luka's gauntlet: talks a lot, and very fast. Yunli can barely keep up with what it's saying. It fluctuates between being overexcited and overly nervous. However, during a fight, it's calms down completely.

[uscss-prometheus]

Ｐ Ｒ Ｏ Ｍ Ｅ Ｔ Ｈ Ｅ Ｕ Ｓ

Embark towards the Heavens in THE CELESTIAL EDITION!

A fan-edit 10 years in the making.

I think you may believe me when I say my love for Prometheus knows no bounds. This bold, new vision for the Alien franchise, which I have grown up with all my life, blew my mind. It dared to answer some of the most unfathomable questions we are capable of asking ourselves, all while combining Alien, anthropology, the ancient alien theory, creationism and religion together, into a complex and definite answer. It reveals most of its secrets in such intricate, hidden ways and truly is the most courageous and important film of modern science fiction.

So, my friends, you can probably imagine what a great pleasure it is for me to deliver this project to you, at long last. The first draft of this extended cut dates from May 2014. The goal in delivering this definitive edition today remains the same as then : deliver the best possible way to watch Prometheus.

I think we were all surprised to see Romulus acknowledge Prometheus in such a way, so much so that a wave of appreciation for the film began to resonate all over the internet. So whether you feel like revisiting the film, experiencing it in another way, or giving the story and its characters another chance, this is the perfect opportunity.

Including not only a vast selection of deleted scenes, but also a major part of the blu-ray extras results in richer characters and a wider view into their world. The extras, which have become an essential part of my rewatches, are introduced into the first act, all before the crew even awakes, giving even the biggest rewatchers a refreshing kick-start. I have also reintroduced a few unused tracks and an alternate creature design.

I will not explain in complete detail what is different about this fan-edit. I think it's worth seeing for yourself. Not all deleted scenes and extras are included. There’s a special homage to Elisabeth during the transmission sequence. I really loved her, and her quest...

Something I believe is worth noting is the exclusion of the "Engineer Speaks" deleted scene. It does not add much. Weyland repeats himself, and verbalises the evident themes at play, while we still do not get to truly know what the Engineer says. Instead, I find the idea that our very own makers would answer our hopes and questions with nothing but silence and anger far more horrifying. It perfectly aligned with the film thematically, and so I left the scene intact.

If you watch it, you may also notice that I have spared us a few seconds of Millburn and Fifield's dumbest moments. I do not dislike them, they were absolutely iconic, but this makes them more likeable and credible in my book.

Disclaimer : I could not get my hands on the extras in great quality. I own the film twice, but have no way to port them. I may eventually re-upload with a visual fix some day, who knows... Please forgive the slight drop in quality for these sequences. 

Here is the trailer for my extended cut. You can watch the full fan-edit here!

Feedback and shares are immensely appreciated. Please share using the trailer or post only, thank you!

Download for HD - DO NOT USE CELLULAR DATA (18GB)

Follow @uscss-prometheus on Tumblr.

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[tvimagines221b]

Imagine: Consoling David When Some Of The Other Crew Members Are Cruel To Him.

The sound of Y/N’s L/N’s footsteps echoed across the air, as she made her way through the ship in search of David 8, the android assigned to the Prometheus mission. She had not seen David in several hours, not after the events that had taken place earlier that evening in the commissary. When David had been subjected to the unnecessary cruelty of his fellow very intoxicated crew mates. As she entered the lab, the one place she knew he may hide himself away her gaze landed on the blonde-haired synthetic who was sitting on a stack of boxes, his gaze deeply focused on the floor.

Y/N let out a deep breath, before stepping inside. “David?”

David’s head peered up, at the sound of the familiar voice. His gaze meeting hers, as he began to straighten himself up. “Miss L/N?”

“David… Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m quite alright.” He titled his head, as he observed her. Wondering what she had needed. “I was merely taking some time to run some diagnostics. Was there something you needed?”

Of course, Y/N was smarter than that. It was clear David’s feelings or what he felt as close to them, had been hurt. And? He didn’t want to admit that. She stepped closer to him, her expression softening. “David, I saw what happened in the commissary.”

David blinked, as his mind went back to the incident. “You did?”

She nodded. “I did.”

“Is that why you’re here?” David raised a curious eyebrow. As he pushed himself up to his feet, and stepped towards her.

“David…” She pursed her lips, as she tried to gather her words. “I’m sorry for what they said and did to you. Pushing you around like that and calling you those names? It wasn’t right.”

“There is no need to apologize.” He said. “ Our comrades were merely having a bit of fun, and let the drinking get to their heads. That is all.”

“That’s not an excuse to treat you like shit.”

“It’s all said and done now. Nothing that I can do about it.” He pointed out.

“David…” She took another step towards him, her gaze never leaving his. She knew everyone saw him as merely a tool for their own disposal. But her? She always saw him as something more. Something…Real perhaps? “No matter what anyone says, just because you aren’t human doesn’t mean you aren’t real. You are. They are just too stupid and ignorant to see that like I do.”

A flicker of what appeared to be surprise filled David’s gaze. “You…believe that?”

She gave a faint, genuine smile. “I do.”

In that moment, it seemed David had felt what might have been… Affection. Warmth even. It seemed her words had resonated deeply with him, even if his programming didn’t fully understand it. His own expression softened, and his mouth curled up into a soft smile as well. “Well, thank you. I do certainly appreciate the kind words.”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Smile never faltering, only growing. “It’s okay. That’s what friends are for.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He tells her.

[mcdoodles-art]

so i redesigned my mutant xenomorph oc after seeing romulus

pls dont repost my art or remove my captions. reblogs help more than likes. <3

large version of the infographic under the cut, with text ID included!

[text ID: Displayed is a series of graphics and data which convey some sense of lore about the oc. From right to left, top to bottom: first, there is the creature's shoulder tattoo design, replete with a Weyland-Yutani corporate logo and an identification barcode. Next, we see the text PROPERTY OF WEYLAND-YUTANI, SUBJECT IX, followed by two lists of traits. The first list is as follows, with a series of bulletpoints represented with DNA strands, to denote the creature's genetics: human, fungus, xenomorph. The second list is represented with generic, triangular bulletpoints and is as follows, hyper pyrophobic, increased intelligence, warblooded mutation, responsive to training, small/compact form, primarily quadrupedal. The next portion of the graphic is below a large biohazard symbol, and reads: CAUTION! this subject contains trace amounts of the pathogen S0-3959X.91-15, aka prometheus fire and/or 'black goo'. handle with care. do not terminate the subject. keep contained at all times. crew is expendable in event of containment breach. the following is a series of generic lab information, most of which is redacted. the artist admits to needing to fill space to make the graphic look nice. rip.]

[sixxravens]

It occurs to me that the Ash model is pretty unique among the synthetics of the ALIEN series movies, not in being an antagonist but in how weyland yutani seems to use this model specifically.

The Ash model seems to be something of a secret - in ALIEN, none of the crew know he’s a synthetic which implies his model type isn’t known among the regular populace and with ROMULUS the only other Ash type model we see was among the secret project aboard the Weyland Yutani station Romulus/Remus.

Which seems to show that the Ash series of synthetics are specifically designed by the company for more secretive/black ops style projects or specifically infiltration missions where they will be mistaken for human and where the unsuspecting crew is not supposed to return alive (thus ensuring the Ash model and whatever it was sent for remain a company secret)

Now later down the line clearly this secret is blown since Bishop mentions the model and how it was faulty - so something must have gone wrong somewhere for this model to become more widely known.

Idk I just find this interesting (and also another point on the board of WeYu being a shady mega corp) especially since every other mainline synthetic is known about in some capacity.

Everyone on Prometheus & Covenant knows of the David/Walter models, they’re not a secret by any means (and if I recall some promo material for Prometheus, I believe the model was advertised also?)

Bishop is known from the get go with the only one not knowing being Ripley (who can be excused due to long hyper sleep and such)

Even if we take a look over at Isolation, Samuels was also known about, he wasn’t a twist reveal.

And in the latest movie, Andy’s model is clearly known about given the random pack of kids that chose to beat him up presumably because he was a synthetic (and later the remark by Rook of the models, we can assume they were regularly known)

Just something I was thinking about, how insidious it is and how possibly WeYu may have other ‘secret synthetic’ models for just such purposes.