#missvickcrs

[fingcring-blog1]

Her room was always the coldest on the ship, but that was purposeful, as was everything Miss Vickers did. From what she ate to the words she spoke to the looks she gave. Nothing was unplanned, done without her express permission. If she couldn’t control it, she would pretend that she could. Well, David was finished playing pretend.

He didn’t say a word as he entered her quarters, only closing the door behind him and triggering the emergency lock-down mechanism. The way he came towards her was unassuming; no frantic run, no mad dash for the woman he hated so much. His blue eyes were set on her form, and at his lips was the beginning of a smile. He felt the cool steel of the needle against his fingertips, gripping the syringe tightly with his thumb.

[ @missvickcrs ]

[loyalsynthetic-blog]

@missvickcrs liked for a starter.

“Miss Vickers, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve never had the chance to meet any of my direct family before.”

[curiousitiies-blog]

     “You wanted to see me, Miss Vickers?”

It was obvious, even with the permanent stick she had up her ass, that the woman didn’t like him. Which was fine by him, as the feeling was mutual. The only thing fortunate about their interactions were that they were usually kept brief for that very reason. Unless, of course, she had need of someone to vent her anger on, in which case she seemed to prefer a punching bag of the synthetic variety. He could only hope that this was some mundane concern, and not an excuse for her to bitch at one of her least favorite crew members. 

[ @missvickcrs ]

[perfectcompcsure]

💙 //I would, and it's horrible. I'm TRASH, I suppose! It'd be toxic af, probably.

🀫 omg

that would be such a toxic ship, like hardcore unhealthy. All David wants to do is preserve her like one of his specimens and keep her on display in his workshop, vivisected to perfection.

[perfectcompcsure]

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

     David hadn’t even moved to touch her when she practically screeched at him. The shrillness makes him want to shudder...but he suppresses it and does his best to keep an amiable expression on his face-- even as he considers what it might be like to peel the layers of skin from her face. Her condescending, bitter face...always glaring at him, judging him. Hmph.

     “Trust me, ma’am-- that won’t be a problem now or ever.” Unless he ever got her alone in a room with a filet knife. Let’s see how smug she’d look without lips to sneer.