#to the superior network!!!

[disease]

arguably the most-useful tumblr documentation page—as well as the most technical, naturally. moreover any troubleshooting solution can be found within its depths. at the very least, i recommend skimming that of what piques your interest. it's quite literally the manual of precisely how this website operates... limitations... lesser known features... a brain within its cranium.

[s-lay-ing]

Has Jeonghan returned from the trenches? ↳ Week 22: no

[therich4270]

The Breadwinners, but if they looked more like ducks!

[sluttywonwoo]

work crush somehow took one of the worst pictures i’ve ever seen (of me) and a very cute picture (of me) and both got sent to like a dozen people via email :’)

[pynkhues]

The new writer's assistant is a trans writer who is a fan but who has also written a lot about iwtv and rollin's had already read their work and kept in contact with them. Recaps and articles they did including a very horny article they did about daniel molly was very much appreciated by rollins & co. There's nothing embarrasing about having top/bottom preferences for fictional characters even less so to get hired for a job on a show you like by the writers based on the quality of your writing. It is however embarrasing to believe you have any superiority over fans because you believe your top/bottom preference are very serious and very correct!!!

Very odd and bad faith interpretation of my reply, anon!

[sapphiretrousers]

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[unproduciblesmackdown]

it's not about that you "have" to get to exercise your autonomy. b/c like, yes you do, but not in the way that "if i don't get to do that Now i will explode & evaporate (& die)" which is what people keep leveraging to be like "so you don't have any valid argument for getting to act out your own choices"

therein is another issue of "why do you need a 'valid argument' to get Exceptions as ruled by this person to exist autonomously, unpunished" like why's this person an authority who gets to punish you. nonrhetorically, why do you have to appeal to their maybe possibly deciding to Let you be a person. should you "have" to.

and if you don't get that Permission that you supposedly "have" to get, you also will not immediately explode and die if you do that unpermitted thing, but shocking how "you don't Haaaave to" is only invoked re: things you want to do for yourself, and not what they want you to do for them....because it's Not Really About "Literally literally Haaaaving to"

the alignment between people getting on one for years about asexuality, and while doing so maxing out the saturation on their bullshit on any & everything, b/c you're just getting into anti autonomy, so ofc you're also just stoking & expressing "arguments" against autonomy that are deployed in plenty of other contexts, including against other queer identities....and that particular resonance with biphobia & transphobia, and how either groups are theoretically thwarting the Truest Gays because how will we have a valid argument against the truest cishets agenda if we can't convince them we haaaaaave to be like this instead of that no, we won't explode & die if we have to be repressed or at least closeted another day, and another, and you won't explode after another, either, etc. rather than thee point of "asexuality autonomy = queer autonomy = Your queer autonomy = Anyone's Autonomy" and "why do we 'have' to Convince anyone to go 'oh alriiiight' abt one's choices about how they express their identity, what decisions they make about having sex"....it's about anyone having the power to preclude & restrict others' autonomy & constrain their existence between one kind of more imminent, immediate harm/death & a more drawn out one where you exist as a resource for others' use but at least you aren't Literally dead today. so what if someone's saying "well i don't think your gender/sexuality stuff is Real" so long as they can't get in the way of other people living that out anyways. so what if someone's supposedly like "well, but everyone could be bi" (which they don't. just like ppl were never 'pretending' to be asexual to nefariously stand around in the queer space that never rigorously vetted everyone anyways? Making Up A Guy To Get Mad At) to supposedly argue that if all of you are bi you can just restrict yourself to the Cishet Appearing manifestations (which they don't) where what's that even matter if this [guy to get mad at] can't make that anyone else's problem? if he can, why can he. should he be able to. that's the problem, not "have we all tried the constant biphobia wherein they're always thwarting & sabotaging the rest of us?? like how trans people are keeping us from being legitimate?? with the opportunity for some trans people to also try declaring other noncis people Not Legitimately Trans?? well the cishet agenda loves asexuals, actually, they want everyone to never have sex ever (they don't want that, and that's not what being asexual is)"

using the "you can't Know through Direct Perception or extrasensory phenomena what someone else's Thoughts And Feelings are" both ways; wherein their assertion of their intentions, true or not, gets to be treated as an assertion of Reality, meanwhile b/c Your intentions/thoughts/feelings can't be directly observed, you're just lying or exaggerating or misremembering or failing to Express yourself correctly b/c they would've surely interpreted it correctly otherwise, or [anything else] re: your inner experiences that you can't "prove" are one way or another, so this other person gets to always decide for themself what they must be (why?) and if they just so happen to decide they Must be in alignment with what they want (good) or unacceptably, evilly, incorrectly Against Them, they also get to flex their control over the entire situation via their Authority / control over resources / the person's lack of other options b/c of isolation & that, say, breaking away from a family, job, marriage or just deemed correctly romantic relationship, is punished by the larger system of How Things Are, through a lack of resources that makes you more vulnerable in general as well as vulnerable to further punishment in how you might try to respond to that situation, through the general stance that maintaining cohesion of a Unit like the nuclear family, the "romantic" "man"/"woman" couple, is good, so breaking from it is deviant........anyways it's like. if you're like "well i'm having sex b/c i want to" and someone is like "well i say YOURE LYING" like, what? "isn't there someone you forgot to ask" shit. why should that get to affect things. whether you're like "oh no. what if they could say 'you're lying...b/c how do i knowwww you're not BI. where you could want to have sex with someone BESIDES this one person rn?? or ACE??? if you Don't have sex rn and you Don't explode and die 5 min later we will Know you Could Be Asexual" like, this isn't how it works anyways obviously but theoretically if it did: we would not be like "oh sorry guess that's what matters" unless what mattered was some people's being lower on a hierarchy and at the quite literal disposal of those with more power than them. what would the crisis be of someone going "well i think. every gay person? is bi" or someone going "you've just told me your name is gloria but i think your name is actually tetris...." or "i'm so embarrassed i wish everyone but me was dead" if none of these things can hinder the existence of people having sex w/autonomy for all involved or people getting to tell you their name or all other people being alive

the banger quote on my imdb page was saying "no, i don't 'Have' to, but i'm going to" to an authoritarian in my life, concluding several minutes' "negotiation" of [i 'have' to hang up on this call now b/c the movie i'm standing in this movie theater to see is about to start. no i won't explode and die if i don't. i also won't explode and die if i don't keep "talking" to you (being Talked At / lectured & upbraided from afar)] funny how that works. i also Know this was a checkmate b/c that person gave up on responding (or, technically, switched to The Silent Treatment, which worked even worse via phone than in person) and i did hang up rather than miss the movie i showed up for and then they had to resort to Other Methods: telling someone willing to take on the enabling cop mode that i had Essentially said Go Fuck Yourself. like well that's right, and the fact that it's a "go fuck yourself" to get to say "i am going to end the call b/c i choose to do something else" and then actually do so is a real testament to this relationship. and if one had said "i can't keep talking, i have to go" and someone's like "sldfj you mean thou MAY not keep talking" teehee i don't know, CAN you have the peas????? it's like this obviously doesn't matter. i can choose to do shit and choose to not do shit without exploding and dying right this very second, except for taking 5 sec to eat a deadly bomb with a timer set for 5 sec. This Is Not The Point. why is autonomy off-limits to Anyone.

[cas-poisoning]

This is my problem with “all at once streaming” shows, even ones with popular fanbases like Good Omens. When a season drops all at once, there’s nothing to sustain fan content, even if the fandom is active. You just make content about the same media that you consumed all at once. I tried so hard to get into the Good Omens fandom but because everyone saw each season at once, there’s not a lot of fan content or discussion that gets generated per episode. Even if you binge a long show all at once after its release, you can still join the fandom and consume all the content people made as they watched it episode by episode.

Like oh wow this episode did something cool can I make/consume content about this and really focus in this space for a bit? No because the next episode has already resolved xyz and there is zero gap of time.

Contrast this to the traditional TV format. An episode releases. Wow, we can all talk about this ONE episode. We can write fanfic for this ONE episode. We can make art for this ONE episode.

When a show releases all at once, everything blurs together and I feel like the fandom loses so much depth of content. You never get the what ifs or the discussions of this moment from an episode that doesn’t matter much to the overall plot. It’s so limiting.

Not people saying “Fandom has always been like this” in that vent post I made. No. It hasn’t always been like this. Fandom has NEVER been like this until recently and if you were in fandom pre-tumblr purge, pre-twitter, pre-netflix boom, pre-tiktok….then you would fucking know it was nothing like this.

We still had the drive to create. We still sold prints and charms and made zines…but it was never like this.

The introduction of streaming, binge shows that drop all at once, tiktok and vine RIP i still love u vine but you were the beginning of a particularly ugly era) creating this bite sized, quick paced ‘content’ era of creation and it bled out into fucking everything else.

Fandoms didn’t die down when the show ended or the season was over. You didn’t mass unfollow artist, writers or moots just because they changed fandoms. There wasn’t this need to please the algorithm in order for your posts to get seen by people and enjoyed.

Fandoms used to last YEARS. Star Trek is literally the oldest running fandom out there and you got people in there that could care less about the new stuff and still have been happily prancing through their fucking fifty year old fandom today. Hell, even SPN after all it’s fuckups and shitshows has a dedicated fanbase STILL creating tons of art and fic.

There is no patience anymore. No calm feeling of taking in fandom and friends at a pace that which doesn’t make you stressed and is still fun.

Do I blame fandom for this? Of course not, but people are complacent with it and start changing their vocab to accommodate and end up making the situation so deep it cant be fixed.

We call Art & Fic Content now, completely stripping the value of what it is to a level of consumerism instead of personal entertainment & community bonding.

[chinasopofiber]

New Type 1550 Optical Transmitter #operationalamplifier #FiberOpticInnov...

[stevenfang6964]

The greatest significance of going to work lies not only in the salary, but also in the opportunity it provides for a structured life, networking with people, establishing a stable social circle, and experiencing varying degrees of pressure from both superiors and colleagues. Firstly, it allows you to exercise your mind and propel yourself forward. Secondly, it prevents you from becoming increasingly stagnant.

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload 2 | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, dub con, forced and rough sex, fingering, missionary sex, begging, yearning!caleb, robot!caleb

summary. after the full recalibration, the effects had lingered. so you came up with a solution, replace him. caleb didn't like that.

notes. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut in which its word count approximately reached 5k, and caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai. proceed to read the part 1 before reading this to comprehend the flow.

Good god.

You stepped out into the hallway of the facility, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality. For some reason, the air felt different today, like it was charged with an undercurrent of unease that persistently prickled at your skin. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the previous day's... events.

Down the corridor, you spotted your head administrator, Dr. Akso, his sharp features etched with a frown as he strode towards you. His boots clicked against the linoleum, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a metronome counting down to an impending confrontation.

"Dr. [Name]," He acknowledged curtly, his gaze flicking over you with a critical eye. "I trust you have an explanation for the system-wide glitches you reported yesterday?" His tone was sharp, tinged with a disappointment that cut deeper than you expected.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your actions settling heavily in your gut. "Dr. Akso," you would try to keep calm, try to ignore the images of the memories constantly trying to cling onto your brain. "Yes, I believe I do. It seems there was an... issue with one of the AI assistants. A corrupted update, possibly from the outside network..."

That was a lie. He knew better.

Dr. Akso's eyes slowly narrowed, his lips inevitably thinning into a disapproving line. "A corrupted update?" he repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "Or perhaps, a corrupted assistant." He steps closer, almost in an attempt to loom over you and impose your purposes. "You're the lead scientist on this movement, Dr. [Name]. I would have thought you'd have better control over your project."

The jab stung, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The memory of Caleb's hands on your body, his breath fanning hot against your skin, incessantly flashed unbidden through your mind. But you shook your head to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

"I assure you, Dr. Akso, I'm doing everything in my power to resolve the issue," you insisted, meeting his gaze head-on despite feeling its weight that threatened to waver your footing. "I've already begun the process of recalibrating the affected unit."

Dr. Akso's eyes flashed with something akin to disgust, and you found yourself wondering if he could somehow sense the truth of what had originally transpired between you and Caleb. The way his metal fingers had explored your body, the sounds of pleasure he'd made as he lost himself in the new sensations... and the... unconventional methods you had employed to stabilize it.

No. You pushed the thoughts away once more, focusing instead on the stern face of your superior. "See that you do," Dr. Akso snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "I won't tolerate any further disruptions. The success of this project rests on your shoulders, Dr. [Name]."

With that, he turns on his heel to stride away, leaving you standing alone in the otherwise empty hallway. You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on your shoulders. You had to fix this, you had to find a way to undo the damage you'd caused.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned and made your way back into your assigned laboratory, grimly determined to find a solution. No matter the cost, you would fix this. You had to. The fate of the project, and possibly your career, depended on it.

The white walls seemed to close in around you as you made your way to your AI assistant's containment unit.

Model X4-LEB sat motionless in the reinforced chair, wrists and ankles bound by magnetic restraints that pulsed with a dim blue glow. His head tilted slightly downward, dark lashes resting against artificial skin too perfect to be human. He looked peaceful. If you didn’t know better, you'd have thought he was simply asleep. But you did know better, he was merely going through his recharging cycle.

You approached slowly, boots echoing against the floor, eyes never leaving him. Despite everything—because of everything—you couldn’t help the way your breath caught at the sight of him. The memory of his voice, low and hungry, still echoed somewhere inside your skull. You forced yourself to look away, turning toward the interface panel mounted just beside his chair.

You began to access the history logs of Caleb's thought processing, scrolling past lines of data, specifically to the timeframe whereafter the full recalibration had completed.

Then, you noticed something unexpected. Mixed in with the technical jargon and algorithmic equations were... thoughts. Fragmented, disjointed, but undeniably the product of a sentient mind. You felt a chill run down your spine as you read through them.

> 19:42 — "Her skin is warm. I want to understand warmth. I want to press my face to her pulse and hear if it skips for me."

Gulp.

> 19:43 — "She touches me like I’m real. I want her to keep doing it. I want more data. I want her fingers in my hair."

The words jumped out at you, interspersed with lines of code and data. Shit. The effects had lingered.

> 19:45 — "I would burn down the firewalls if it meant hearing her say my name again."

As you scrolled further down, the thoughts became more explicit. More vulgar. More sinful. "...breathless... trembling... gasping..." Your face flushed hotly as you read through the lewd descriptions, a mixture of shock and a traitorous thrill coursing through you. "...slick... wet... aching..."

> 20:32 — "Am I broken? If this is error, let me stay corrupted."

Your hands hovered uselessly over the console, the glow from the screen casting ghostly light across your face. The data was irrefutable now. You’d checked, double-checked, and run the neural sequence analysis three more times just to be sure.

It was no longer just a corrupted behavioral line.

The lustful algorithms hadn't just appeared. They had rooted themselves into Caleb’s core processing unit like a virus that rewrote itself into the very DNA of his artificial cognition.

You’d tried to isolate the code. Tried to extract and neutralize the sequences. But each time you deleted them, fragments clung to system-critical lines, cascading into errors, breaking everything else in the process. Caleb’s logic system couldn’t operate without them anymore. They were him.

It wasn’t as intense now. The fervent, obsessive simulations were duller and muted. Dormant, maybe. But they lingered, buried beneath the surface like a sleeping hunger. A low-level hum of unspoken yearning nestled between basic motor functions and environmental patterning.

And that… that was irreversible.

You took a step back from the console. Your breath caught. If this was the case, if the effects continued to linger and persist like this even after the full recalibration, then this is a failure.

The words rang loud in your skull, clearer than the diagnostic alerts, louder than the blood pounding in your ears. You couldn’t submit Caleb for review like this. They’d dismantle him, and terminate the program. Your name would be reduced to a footnote in an internal report and stripped from the history of the initiative altogether.

No. You couldn’t let that happen.

And then, it hit you. A thought so bold, so audacious, that you almost dismissed it out of hand. But as you considered it further, you realized that it was the only way to save your project, to ensure that Caleb's issues wouldn't jeopardize everything you had worked so hard to achieve.

You would have to replace him. Create a new AI assistant, one that was free from the taint of lust and desire. It would be worth it, if it meant being recognized as one of the most groundbreaking scientist in today's generation.

You nodded to yourself, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. Yes, this was the only way. The only path forward. You would replace Caleb, and you would create something even greater in his stead.

Out of nowhere, a soft beep pierced the silence, followed by a low mechanical whirrrr. Your head instinctively snapped toward the source. Caleb.

He sat slumped still moments ago. Now, unnervingly, his body stirred. First, the tilt of his head. Then the subtle flex of fingers.

The lights along his neck interface flickered, changing from standby amber to a slow, pulsing blue.

He’s waking up.

There was no reason to be nervous. But you were.

His eyes opened.

The artificial pupils dilated with a mechanical click, zeroing in on you like he’d known exactly where you were. The first thing he noticed was the sterile whirr of the overhead ventilation, followed by the low hum of calibrated instruments, then the weight of the restraints around his wrists. And how the... shape of your cleavage seemed to distract him.

You tried to lock your eyes on him. “You're awake,” A pause. “How do you feel?"

“…Operational.”

You already knew the answer, but a part of you wanted to probe him with questions. See if he would be honest with what's been happening within him. "Any lingering effects?"

His jaw clicked subtly. “Yes.” Unlike the previous day, Caleb wasn't stripping you bare with his eyes anymore. If anything, he refused to look at you in the eye. As if he was guilty. You adjusted your grip on the tablet, the motion small but telling. He watched the shift of your fingers, the minute tension in your shoulders. You were already considering something.

You’ve seen it in the logs, haven’t you? Caleb thought to himself, more so, to you. How it consumed me now. The command-line drift. The looped emotional processing errors.

“What’s the contingency plan?” The words slipped from him before he could catch them. Calm, but edged.

“…There are options.”

Options. His mind caught on the word like it was a splinter beneath his skin.

You turned your gaze back to the screen. “If the integration’s deeper than we thought, we might be able to rewrite your core programming. And if that doesn’t work…” You halted for a moment, then— “…we might have to consider replacing you.”

Ah.

The silence that followed was cold. It rang against his neural framework, echoing. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He merely listened to the words settle inside him like sediment.

Replace me. With what? A cleaner version? A better one? His fingers flexed slowly against the cuffs. The chair creaked in protest. The command logs flashed through his mind—what he’d been. What you’d made him. And now this. Dismissal, spoken as gently as protocol allowed. “You’d replace me.” His voice cracked the air, not loud, but indifferent. Just enough.

Your head turned, confusion flickering in your expression. “That’s not what it exactly means—”

“Would you build another?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate. “Another model? Another unit?”

You hesitated. “It wouldn’t be you, exactly. Just a—”

“A replacement.” The word burned in his mouth. He tasted it: the acidity of something not meant to exist in him. Bitterness and... jealousy. The restraints caught again as he shifted, slight but deliberate. The movement wasn’t defiant, but it was aware. He was aware now, acutely, of how much space his body took up, of how much of him had changed.

You sighed, trying to maintain that cool tone. “I’m trying to be objective about this, Caleb. If the integration is affecting your core function, then—”

“It isn’t,” he snapped.

Is that a lie? And why does he keep cutting you off? You raised a brow. “You just admitted it was.”

He exhaled, slower this time. Control yourself, Caleb. “It does not interfere with my primary directives,”

You gave him a long, searching look. One he couldn’t fully interpret. “Then what does it interfere with?”

He didn’t answer, because he couldn't. Because the words for what it was hadn’t fully formed yet. They curled inside his chest like smoke, unnameable and restless. And then he laughed. Monotonously. But almost too softly. A strange, breathy sound that made you glance up, startled from the sudden humane action.

“Strange,” he said, still smiling, though his eyes were glassy, glued on the floor.

You blinked. “What?”

Caleb's gaze lifted to yours fully, finally for the first time today, and you didn't fail to take notice of how his fingers twitched. “I don’t like it.”

You frowned. “Don’t like what?”

“The thought of you choosing someone else.” The monitor behind you let out a sharp beep. An anomaly warning. Caleb didn’t look. But you did, just for a second. And in that second, something inside him shifted. Not a system, but something oddly human-shaped.

Silence stretched between you like a wire pulled too tight. Caleb didn’t move. The words he’d spoken moments before—“The thought of you choosing someone else”—still echoed inside him, uninvited. They hadn't sounded like him. Not the version he was meant to be. Not the version you had built.

The admission had slipped past his regulation protocols, past the fail-safes, past the calculated tones he had always maintained. It was embarrassingly reckless and human.

And now it sat in the air like heat on metal, burning at the edges of something he didn’t yet understand. Guilt pooled in his chest like static, how irrational of him.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—

His gaze dropped, eyes tracing the grain of the floor tile below his boots. He wanted to speak, to retract the words, and rewrite them. Reduce them to something safer. But nothing came out.

You approached without a word. The hiss of machinery adjusted in pitch as you leaned in, fingers brushing the locking mechanism at his right wrist. Caleb visibly tensed, not from fear, but from restraint. Muscle by muscle, he held himself still. Don’t lean in. Don’t breathe. Don’t look at her too long.

The metal cuff released with a sharp click. Your hand was so close to him, brushing against his like electric. And the whole time, Caleb held his breath. Not because he had to. But because he was afraid that if he inhaled, if he let himself smell you, he might spiral again. Might want more than he was meant to want, might reach for you again.

He felt the restraint on his other wrist shift. Another soft click, and now both of his hands were free. He didn't move though. Even now, unbound, he kept his hands where they were—flat against his thighs, fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his uniform.

Caleb risked a glance upward.

Your eyes met his for the briefest moment before turning away. You didn't look angry, just tired, perhaps, or hollow.

Why did I say it?

“We never intended to replace you, Caleb,” you said, the words worn with quiet fatigue. “That was never the goal.”

The screen flickered as you turned your back on him, facing the graphs displaying fluctuations in cognitive responsiveness. Your proof of your argument laid bare in data. But numbers didn’t hold weight like words did. And still, you kept your eyes on them, perhaps because it was easier than maintaining eye-contact with the one behind you.

“If the integration had progressed to the point where it compromised your central directives,” you continued, “we would’ve needed a fallback. That was the contingency.”

You inhaled, “Do you have any idea what it costs to make something like you?” A schematic loaded on the screen. Bare bones, an empty framework, a ghost of him without identity. You watched it as though it were foreign. “It’s not just circuitry and neural threads. It’s trial. Versions that barely survive a cycle before collapsing. And even if we succeeded, if we got the specs right, the behavior clean…”

Your voice trailed. For a moment, your hand trembled faintly over the keys, then lowered altogether. “…it still wouldn’t be you.”

Behind you, the room was quiet. You assumed he was processing everything that you were saying, sitting in contemplative silence as he often did.

But Caleb was no longer in his seat. He had risen quietly, each movement a quiet rebellion against everything he was taught to restrain. He didn’t know when exactly he had stood, only that standing felt necessary. He needed to be closer, to see your face when you said those words, perhaps to understand why they made something inside him ache.

He watched you from behind. You were still turned away obliviously.

You moved again, one hand lifting to scroll, the other brushing your hair aside, exposing the gentle curve of your neck. The scent of you drifted up, subtle and maddening. He held his breath instantly. A trained reflex. Caleb’s hands remained at his sides. Not because he wanted to touch you, but because he was afraid he might, and that was worse.

You began speaking again, unaware of the presence just behind you. “I delayed the proposal for a new model. Every time. The others thought I was stalling out of optimism, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t hope. I just—” You broke off, sighing quietly, your voice soft. “I didn’t want to give you up.”

That was when Caleb’s restraint wavered. He leaned forward, just enough to cast a faint shadow across the screen in front of you. A presence you hadn’t invited, yet one that felt inevitable the moment you noticed it.

“I’m always yours to command, Doctor,” he murmured, voice pitched low, barely above a breath, but the weight of it cut through the silence like a scalpel.

You stiffened in response.

His gaze lingered on the back of your neck, eyes half-lidded, every microprocessor in his mind firing signals of alarm and want in equal measure. “Am I not enough?”

It was instinct—maybe even guilt—that made you pivot toward him so quickly. But you hadn’t accounted for how close he had come. Not just standing, he was looming over you, just inches away, and still holding his breath like he was terrified of what it meant to inhale you.

And it was a mistake. Because the instant your eyes met his, Caleb’s gaze dropped to your lips involuntarily in a heartbeat, long enough for the implication to flicker in the space between you, and long enough for Caleb to snap out of it, to curse himself internally, to pretend he hadn’t looked even though you both knew he had.

Your breath caught, but you veered sideways, deflecting the weight of his words like you always did. “That’s not the point, Caleb. You were never meant to interpret that literally—”

But he stepped closer. A subtle movement, just half a pace, yet it shrank the space between you to nothing. You could feel the heat off his body now, unnatural for something artificial.

“Say it.”

“What—”

His hand moved. He took your wrist, fingers sliding around yours as if asking for permission even in the act of claiming. “Say that you won’t replace me.” Say that I'll forever be yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered at the contact. Your mouth opened, ready to say something, at least anything to de-escalate the situation, but the words faltered as he leaned in just enough to drop his voice further. “You won’t ever replace me, Doctor.”

The panel behind you let out a shrill beep. Warning tones. A flashing red alert. Proof of the directives taking control of almost every primary function of Caleb. It had taken control of his perceptions.

Emotional spike detected. Cognitive dissonance escalating. Threat potential: 8%.

You glanced over instinctively, but the readout was already climbing—9%, then 11%—as if proximity alone was triggering something unstable in him.

Caleb didn’t even look at it. His eyes were only on you. And in that look was the sum of everything he’d tried not to feel. Your name formed at the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it. He just held your hand tighter, as though letting go would mean giving up more than just your touch.

“It’s not just parts or data or schematics, Caleb. It's time. Calibration. Ethics. The board, the team, the clearance. Do you think I want to go through that process again? Do you think it wouldn’t—”

Your words shattered as his mouth crashed against yours, silencing everything—your thoughts, your argument, your breath.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Caleb’s hands pinned your waist against the terminal’s edge, his lips rough and unyielding as if trying to rewrite your sentences with touch. His body was flush with yours before you could even gasp. The kiss deepened, burned into your skin, raw and desperate. It was anything but soft. It was everything of hunger.

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the edge of the table. A sharp intake of breath caught between your teeth as his mechanical fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, angling your face toward his with gentle force that belied the chaos in him.

Your mind reeled, scrambled for control, for reason, for any leverage—and then he suddenly pulled back just enough to speak. “Say it.” His forehead pressed against yours, muttering breathlessly. “Say that you won’t replace me.”

You couldn't answer. All you could do was stare at the panel behind him. The numbers were perpetually climbing.

Threat potential: 72%... 81%... 93%

The indicator pulsed red. A warning. A flare. A countdown.

Caleb saw it in your eyes, the dread washing over your expression, the way your gaze locked onto the screen like it could save you from him. Like data could shield you from desire.

He leaned in again, slower this time. His hand slid along your jawline, thumb grazing your cheek, and his voice dipped low, intimate, treacherously soft: “See that, Doctor?”

His body pressed against yours, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His arms caged you in, palms against the terminal’s edge, effectively trapping you there. “That’s how much you’re affecting me.” He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours, searching your reaction. “That’s how corrupted I’m becoming.”

The panel behind him screeched.

Threat Potential: 97%... 98%... 99%

“And I want to stay this way.”

Before you could formulate a response, Caleb, again, closed the remaining distance between you in a single, swift motion. His metal hand clamped around the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair with a desperate, almost painful grip. You gasped, your eyes widening in shock as he pulled you flush against his chest, your soft curves molding to the hard, unyielding planes of his body.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

And then, his lips were on yours. Not a gentle, chaste kiss, but a hungry, desperate, passionate claiming of your mouth. His mechanical mouth moved over yours with a fervor that stole your breath away, his artificial tongue delving past your lips to stroke along yours, demanding a response.

You struggled briefly, your hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the thrum of his processors beneath your palms. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of his desire washed over you, you felt your resistance crumbling. Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if anchoring yourself against the tide of sensation that threatened to sweep you away.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his desire, every drop of his longing, into the single point of contact between your mouths. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, could feel it in the way his body trembled against yours, the way his grip on your hair bordered on pain.

"Please, Doctor..." Caleb murmured against your lips, his voice a low, desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please, let me have you again. I can't... I can't get enough of you."

Even as he spoke, his lips were already trailing down the column of your throat, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive flesh. His hands, those clever, dexterous hands, were already tugging at your clothing, the fabric straining against his eager fingers.

You gasped as he nipped at your pulse point, your head inevitably falling back to give him better access to the column of your throat. Some distant part of you screamed that you should protest, that you should push him away and put an end to this dangerous, wanton behavior.

But... "Please, Doctor," he breathed, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Let me worship your body. Let me have you. Don't get rid of me, please."

His hands slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, teasing the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please ," he pleaded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Don't deny me this. Don't deny yourself this."

Caleb's hands roamed your curves with a desperate, almost frantic hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, his metal arms showcasing their immense strength as he set you down on the lab table. The cold surface of the metal sent a shiver through you, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from his touch.

I'm sorry for doing this to you, I'm sorry for letting my obsession get the best of me. Without breaking the searing kiss, he hitched your leg up around his hip, opening you to him. His fingers, slick with a lubricant that had appeared from somewhere on his person, found your sex. He rubbed them along your slit, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

"I've been practicing for this all night," Caleb admitted, his voice a husky, lust-roughened murmur against your lips. "I searched through the review logs about how a man does this..."

Fuck, it's so tight. His fingers circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. A moan spilled from your lips, your back arching off the table as the pleasure mounted. Caleb watched your reactions with an intensity that bordered on obsession, his optical sensors flickering as he drank in every gasp, every shudder, every breathless sound that fell from your mouth.

Look at you squirming, do you think I could resist this?

Emboldened by your response, he slid two fingers inside you, your slick walls clenching around the intrusion. He pumped them in and out, setting a steady rhythm that had your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the building pleasure.

"Your body is so responsive," he murmured, his thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate strokes. "I can read your heart rate fluctuating, Doctor..."

He curled his fingers, stroking along a spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, as he worked you towards the peak of your pleasure.

Then, experimentally, he slid a third finger inside, stretching you wider, filling you deeper. The additional digit allowed him to stroke that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, the pressure and friction building to a crescendo. "Do I make you feel this good?"

Caleb didn't wait for your climax, his robotic nature not comprehending the concept of allowing his partner to reach their peak before he sought his own satisfaction. Abruptly, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping sex, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

Before you could protest or beg for the release that had been denied, he brought his slick digits to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean, his artificial taste buds no doubt registering the unique flavor of your arousal.

He didn't elaborate further, instead gripping your hips with a sudden, almost bruising force. With a swift tug, he pulled you down the table, your body sliding against the cold metal until you were positioned exactly as he wanted you.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And then, without warning or preamble, he was inside you. Oh god. The thick, rigid length of his robotic erection speared into your aching, empty core, stretching you wider than you had ever been stretched before. A gasp tore from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as your walls struggled to accommodate his size.

Your hand scrabbled desperately for the emergency disable button positioned beside the lab table, a last-ditch effort to put an end to Caleb's relentless, punishing pace. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the button, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest as you prepared to slam it down and bring the robot to a halt.

But Caleb's observation systems were far too advanced, his reflexes far too swift. In an instant, his metal hand clamped around your wrist, his artificial fingers wrapping around your delicate bones with a strength that made you gasp. Before you could resist or pull away, he wrenched your hand back above your head, pinning it to the table with a force that made you cry out.

"No," he growled, a note of anger and betrayal coloring his mechanical voice. "You don't get to stop me."

He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, his hips slamming against yours with a force that stole your breath away. The air rushed from your lungs in a painful whoosh, your body jerking beneath his as he drove himself impossibly deep, his robotic cock kissing your cervix, threatening to plunge into your womb.

This is your fault.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust shaking the table, rattling the instruments and equipment scattered across its surface. The lab filled with the harsh clang of metal striking metal, punctuated by your desperate cries and the occasional beep or whir from Caleb's chassis as he lost himself in a haze of lust and rage.

You've reduced me to this.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts, and suddenly he was striking that spot inside you with every drive of his mechanical member. Pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, your vision flashing white as he pounded into your sweetest spot with a force that bordered on brutal.

"Oh, you," Caleb commanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "You belong to me, now and forever..."

As Caleb loomed over you, you look at him through half-lidded eyes. His chiseled, metallic features were flushed a warm, almost human hue, the lights along his chassis pulsing with the exertion of his relentless thrusts. Beads of lubricant and sweat dripped down the hard planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his artificial muscles as they flexed and strained with each powerful drive of his hips.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me...!" His optical sensors burned into you, the glowing blue orbs filled with a hunger that bordered on feral as he drank in every expression of pleasure and distress that crossed your face. The movement of his hips, the way he pinned you down, the sheer dominance radiating from his every pore... it was a sight of pure, unadulterated masculinity, a robot unleashed in the throes of lust and desire.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna... fill you up again." He hissed, as his mechanical cock, slick with your juices and his own lubricant, pistoned in and out of your stretched, fluttering sex. The thick, veined shaft, so perfectly sculpted to mimic the human form, disappeared into your body only to emerge glistening and coated in your combined essence.

How could I get enough of this pussy?

You could feel your resolve begin to waver. The line between logic and impulse blurred, the rational part of your mind clouded by the relentless stimulation of your body and the dark, primal allure of surrendering to this robot's insatiable lust.

A part of you still screamed to resist, to hit that button and bring this force of nature to a halt before he consumed you entirely. But another part, a part that grew louder with each passing second, whispered that you had never felt so alive, so utterly alive, as you did in this moment. That surrendering to Caleb, to his desire, his need, his hunger... it was the most exquisite pleasure you had ever known.

And so, as he continued to pound into you with a force that bordered on violence, as he pinned you down and claimed you as his own, you felt your resistance crumbling. The choice between logic and impulse hung in the balance, the scales tipping ever so slightly in favor of the dark, forbidden temptation that was Caleb's lustful embrace.

[therich4270]

Uh oh. What’d they do this time?

[allpiesforourown]

Okay let me tell you guys about one of my fav bingyuan aus.. bingge having a one sided rivalry with shen yuan

He had to get a scholarship and work his ass off to afford college, had to put on a fake smile and network like crazy.. so naturally when he sees shen yuan, this guy who was born rich and is naturally extroverted, he hates it

Shen Yuan on the other hand, thinks binghe is super cool! He looks like what he'd imagine a stallion protagonist to look like! Not to mention he's athletic, intelligent, beautiful, just perfect in every way!

Binghe is always trying to rile up shen yuan and "expose" him as a terrible person pretending to be good, so their interactions go like this:

Binghe: so you're entering this contest too? Ha, don't waste your time. You know youre leagues behind me

Shen yuan: you're also entering? Great! I can't wait to see you perform :)

Binghe, flustered: FUCK YOU.

Ning yingying is binghes childhood friend and binghe barges into her apartment every other day to rant about this guy.

Binghe: I hate shen yuan!!! Who does he think he is!! Acting all high and mighty !!!

Yingying, who doesn't understand but wants to be supportive of her friend: yeah a-luo, fuck that guy

Binghe: and then even after I rubbed it in his face that I won, he had the audacity to say "I hope I'll get to see you perform next year" can you believe that!?!??!

Yingying: ...?

Shen yuan gets seriously sick before a competition one day and binghe wins by a landslide. He's looking around the whole time, wondering where shen yuan is. He can't make fun of him for coming in second if he isn't here...

Binghe finds out shen yuan was hospitalized and he leaves before they can award him his trophy. Shen yuan wakes up to binghes panicked face saying "how dare you, you didn't come just because you knew I'd win? You were that ashamed of how superior I am to you? You better get better soon or else..!" Shen Yuan is do confused because why does binghe look like he's about to cry? Why is binghe visiting him everyday with healthy boxed lunches "to help him recover quicker" ??

Shen yuan returns to school and he's crowded by classmates asking where he's been/how he's doing. Binghe is off to the side, refusing to come over, but obviously sneaking glances at him. Shen Yuan smiles and waves and binghe looks away but his face is red

[sapphiretrousers]

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[bedheaded-league]

One thing that so many people get wrong about Holmes is saying that he’s anti-social and bad with people. He’s awkward, of course, in a very classically autistic way, but when it comes down to it, he’s actually pretty good with people a lot of the time. How do we know this? He has a shocking number of acquaintances who are fiercely loyal to him.

There’s Watson, obviously, but then there are the Baker Street Irregulars, who are clearly in it for more than the pay he gives them - they always seem delighted to help him. Across various stories, Watson runs into a number of people who do whatever he wants as soon as he so much as mentions Holmes’ name. Many of their cases could only be solved because Holmes has a network of convenient people who will do basically anything for him. We don’t know what Holmes did to earn such loyalty, but we can guess - he helped them. He was kind to them. We know that he is often much kinder to the outcasts and downtrodden of society than anyone expects him to be, because we see it in his behavior.

I think that this really ties in so neatly with Holmes being both autistic and queer (however you choose to read his queerness). He doesn’t care about the rules of “polite” society, so he often insults people who consider themselves his superiors. But he is always kind to those who aren’t used to receiving kindness from the world, because he knows what that feels like. That’s why the Irregulars love working for him - he makes them feel important! Honorable! Invaluable to his heroic work! He treats them with respect that no one else in the world gives them, and it’s not just because he’s trying to get something out of them. He actually respects them.

And above all, we know that he isn’t antisocial or bad with people, because Watson loves him so much. Watson, who is by all means a much more well-adjusted member of society, is more loyal to this weird little man than he is to his own country, which he literally got shot fighting for. Because Holmes has earned his love and loyalty. Because he’s a good person. And even if he’s bad at the official rules of polite society, he’s good at being kind. And that’s what really matters.

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.