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cryo-regalia · 2 years

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the curiosity of obsession

for so long, the idea of having a human in their grasp felt like it was slowly slipping from between their fingers. it’s thanks to an unexpected trip to an underground lab that their dreams are rekindled, all starting with a living being encased in a cryostasis chamber ft. adam and eve

— THEMES: yandere au, spoilers, project gestalt is mentioned a few times, bruises, eve being a jealous little baby, fem!reader, mention of deprivation of necessities

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

It was common knowledge to every anthropomorphic living being that the remaining humans that had yet to be wiped out from extinction resided on the moon. What they did on a planet known to be uninhabitable remained a mystery, but such a thing wasn’t necessary knowledge to some who were content to know they were active until the day they could return to Earth. If humans were still around, the only issue was convincing them the need to return. Such proved to be enough to fuel the will to fight for many Androids within Project YoRHa, that hadn’t defected. Adam and Eve could do a lot of things, but getting themselves into the heavily protected database and network that was YoRHa was easier said than done. It certainly wasn’t impossible, but the secrets within the organization were far out of their reach and hidden behind an untouchable digital wall. For now, at least. The Machine that dubbed himself as Adam was determined to get his hands on at least one of them and he would stop at nothing to make that a reality. He had to examine. Observe. Learn. Experiment. He yearned for the knowledge no machine like him could truly understand or experience on their own. They weren’t beings made to feel such an incredible concept like emotions, but when he got a taste of what he described as curiosity, his thirst for knowledge expanded tenfold.

Humans were not born with a set of vague and simplistic directions like he and his kind were, and what they thought of exactly was unknown due to their limited abilities upon being removed from their mother’s womb. He dared call their fetal selves brainless and ignorant. They couldn’t mimic movement and speech until later phases of their life, couldn’t relieve themselves properly without the assistance of their parental figures, and had to go to educational institutions in order to be granted with the information they craved and a thin piece of a tree that spoke of their success. A college or university degree, Adam remembered them being called. They weren’t born with the data as Machines like himself and Androids were—could one even say that he or any lifeform unnatural and of mechanical origin were truly born? They were a blank slate in that regard, choosing to learn what they wanted and had to take time to come to understand and use it practically. Their bodies were weak sacks of flesh that could be sliced into with the smallest of weapons should its blade be sharp enough. He found it ironic that their modes of transportation, their own mindless creations meant to serve them, were just as dangerous as an ordinary knife.

Ever since he learned about the creatures on the brink of extinction, Adam had been awestruck by the idea of them and what remained of their once prosperous species. To think that their very kind dominated the planet to the point of ruling it, and yet now a presumably small collective society of them remained on a rock vastly unlike Earth. There was something profoundly interesting about that and only fed the insatiable hunger that was his curiosity. Humans could live their lives the way they wanted, each and every one of them experiencing something entirely different from the person beside them, unaware of the existence of billions of others within the world. They faced struggles due to their incapability or the hardships forced upon them from birth, like poverty, debt, discrimination, birth defects and so many others that would have taken too long to list. The Network could supply him with as many answers as he had questions, but to take them at face value would be...absurd. Nonsensical. Ludicrous, that was without question. Everything about them made his mind race in search of hundreds of answers at a time in a database he was so close to memorizing, and while he got his answers, he lacked the capacity to truly appreciate its meaning and capabilities.

After all, what good was knowledge if you didn’t precisely understand it?

Putting it simply, Adam was quick to learn that the machine who dubbed himself as his brother didn’t share the same thoughts and beliefs as he did. That wasn’t to say he was disobedient and refused to see things the way he did. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He may have sprouted from his older brother’s rib, but it was clear that his minimal opinions remained separate from Adam’s much more intensive fascination. Eve—a name that Adam chose in conjunction to his own after reading what was called the Bible in a human religion—followed his every word and step with an eagerness that was ultimately surprising but not unwelcome, and he was quite intelligent, but didn’t put it to use very often in favor of raising his fists. He asked questions, like what and why they ate or why they wore clothing, but never delved any deeper than what was presented at face value and accepted it rather quickly if it came out of his big brother’s mouth, anyways. In the words of humans, he was like a lost puppy, constantly following him around and yearning for his approval no matter how trivial the act was. He didn’t see the humans as fountains of knowledge or a rarity; only a few could get their hands on as the older machine did, only something that the Androids swore to protect and nothing more. But he knew that his brother wanted the humans on the moon, desperately so, and he would do anything to make Adam’s wishes come true.

It was a chance encounter that the two machines were able to locate the building they currently lingered inside of. He dared to call it fateful and minutely wondered if it was the blessing of a deity refusing to make itself known or just happenstance. The more Adam explored, the more he learned it was more like a grand but obviously abandoned facility with steel walls that kept it from crumbling beneath the weight of the earth and Flooded City above them. Animal lifeforms made their homes in every nook and cranny they could to avoid the incessant battles between machines and Androids above, or simply enjoy the peace and quiet of it all. It was to their luck that they graciously kept the artifacts intact and left alone where they were promptly identified and researched. Any electrical functions were either cut off and out of working order entirely or lacked enough power to work long enough to fulfil their purposes. Rust had made its way around as though it belonged, some pipes and wires had been chewed through, and bulbs from the already broken lights were shattered and scattered along the floor busy with debris. The state of the place was of no surprise to either of the machines, and more of a nuisance to the youngest who remained bored and disinterested in what was around them.

Eve wandered around, anyways, on his brother’s request to find something, anything, that would be beneficial to their research and exploration of human life and their unique cultures. He wasn’t sure where to start, if he was being honest. To him, these were just hunks of metal and other material that were way past their prime that they could have been considered something else entirely. He didn’t really care what this place was and he certainly didn’t know. His brother wanted it—his beloved big brother who knew everything and was always right—and so he would get it for him. He was trying, he really was, but he had no idea where to start and what was all that intriguing. With a sigh of growing defeat, he glanced and craned his neck back to where Adam stood. His back was to him and he delicately lifted strange glass objects up into the air between his fingers, the red of his gloves reflecting off of it. His mind immediately told him those were called beakers, but he also didn’t care enough to look into them. He continued through the hallway with wide but slow steps, eyes sweeping around for anything and everything. Much to his displeasure, he found nothing of interest that they didn’t already know about so he continued on until he was able to complete the task given to him.

And then the crunching of glass and earth died beneath his feet as he slowed to a stop in front of something blocked off, but he could faintly see something on the other side of it. He pulled the crippled beams and debris out of the way and to the side until they were a chaotic pile against the wall and quickly forgotten. A door? He tapped his fingers against the closed entryway that reminded him of the alien mothership, but without the glowing lights that indicated something that was once extraterrestrial. He knew it wouldn’t be hard for his brother to get through the lock on his own, but he was so tempted to drive his fist through it and just tear it apart from there. It was just a bunch of metal in his eyes and he figured that they could easily repair it, but he knew he’d get in trouble if he did. All because Adam wanted to preserve it in the way they found it, whatever that meant, but he did as his brother said and kept his fists to himself. But it was so, so tempting. Instead, slender fingers curled around the handle and turned it, but it didn’t make it halfway. His brows furrowed and he tried again with a little more force, but got the same result. Some stupid lock was stopping him? Was this some kind of joke? He grit his teeth with an overwhelming ferocity and reeled his fist back.

“Find something?”

Eve’s head swiveled around to face the machine behind him and he was quick to drop his fist at the sound of the voice. Adam’s brow was raised as he looked between him and the door. He shamefully dropped his head when he realized he was caught, but nodded in response to the question. His boots made light taps against the floor until they came to a stop beside Eve, the red tips of his gloves coming to rest upon the rundown metal with a smooth touch that was much more gentle than the short-haired machine’s. Red eyes slid closed and his shoulders slumped while a golden mist appeared over his fingers and spread across the door in blocky motions until it reached the circular frame. Eve smirked and crossed his arms along his bare chest, shifting on one leg as the door opened with a soft click hardly a minute afterwards. Adam drew his hand away as the dim glow faded away like it wasn’t there to begin with and his eyes slid open, clearly triumphant but unsurprised. They watched as the doors hissed as they twisted around and opened with only a moment of reluctance before clicking into place within the wall. A cold gust of air flooded past them as dust kicked up, but neither of that bothered the two as they stepped in one after the other.

It had the same issues as the rooms before it and it was immediately noticeable: the lack of power, debris, animal nests and infestations. It was far bigger than the other rooms, however, and much more crowded with pieces of furniture that were cluttered with ceiling tiles, papers, writing utensils, and broken technology that either wouldn’t turn on or were shattered. Eve didn’t think repairing them would be too big of an issue, but he wondered if doing so would be worth it in the end if there wasn’t anything good saved in their databases. Mammals they identified as rattus’ (or rats, as they were commonly called) scurried by their feet when they were disturbed and hid themselves in pockets of the walls or out of the space entirely with sharp squeaks and chattering. They parted when Adam gestured for him to do so, and he immediately (albeit disappointed) removed himself from his side and walked the opposite way. Green painted the walls as vines poked out from the ceiling tiles and some crawled their way down to the floor. Files were opened and scattered along the flat surfaces of the room or fell onto the floor at some point and became mixed up in. Project Gestalt was written on the front of one of the files in thick writing and full of papers covered in text. What did that mean? Gestalt. What a weird word. He didn’t really know so he brushed it off and kept moving.

“How peculiar,” Adam mused as he inspected one of the many desks lined into rows.

“What is, Brother?”

“This room,” the long-haired Machine said and gestured around with a graceful wave of his hand. “It’s the only one with a security system—one ingrained into the Network, nonetheless. We’ve only encountered common steel doors that could only be secured with a lock and key. Now why is that? What could they possibly want hidden?”

Eve hummed. “I don’t know.”

Adam, if he was displeased with the answer, didn’t respond or show any signs that the other Machine could pick up on. It bothered him a little bit; he couldn't decipher him, but he was glad he wasn’t in trouble! That was always a good thing! Eve watched as Adam continued to wander around lost in his own thoughts and found himself almost glued to the heels of the lithe being in front of him. He shuffled through drawers and the papers that were strewn about on the aged desks like they were to be returned to another day. He tried to read them, but he didn’t understand what any of it was talking about. White Chlorination Syndrome, maso, the Legion, Red Eye, he didn’t get it at all. He was sure his brother understood it, but he didn’t get the appeal of it when there were better things they could be doing. Like playing! But, with a grumble, Eve forced himself to remain patient. They could play after like he was told. The half-dressed machine stopped where he was walking to stand behind one of the seats, yanking—at the warning glance he got from his big brother, he pulled it off a bit more carefully—the cloth from where it hung off of the backrest. Some kind of lab coat, he guessed as he raised it up into the air. He pulled it a bit closer to his face when he noticed something along the side of it: [Last name]. What was that? Was it like a “Gestalt”, whatever that was? With a halfhearted shrug, he tossed it back down where he found it and kept walking.

The long haired machine eventually came to venture into the very back of the spacious room, an area that he quickly maneuvered around to be by his brother’s side. Hung up by the ceiling titles and spanned from one end to the other was a long curtain, its original color most likely faded into the foul tan hue it was then. It was the only part of the room that was untouched by the clutter of stationary products but the scattered rubble and dirt from above was inevitable. It was easily tossed to the side to reveal what was once hidden behind it, and it took both of them less than seconds to process what was in front of them in all of its decaying glory. The two machines froze in their place and stared past their reflections and into the equipment lined up against the wall. Ten long capsule-shaped pods leaned back at an angle, thick pipes connecting from the cracked ceiling into the confined space. Bulbs lined the exterior of the glass and, by the looks of it, they were still in working order and would continue to glow if the electricity wasn’t cut off. The inside looked similarly to a normal bed, with a small pillow attached to the back and what he assumed was a mattress or a soft surface to support whatever was meant to lay inside. Was this paralyzing feeling shock? Adam would have wondered in acute curiosity if it wasn’t for the bulbous sockets of a skeleton staring back at him.

Each of the chambers were occupied with the remains of what was once organic life, instead reduced to a form devoid of that. The glass that once acted as a divider between the laboratory and the inside was either shattered completely and laid in shards along the tiles or had large asymmetrical gaps that released whatever was meant to keep its contents preserved. Nests were built within the rib cages or whatever crevice the intrusive vermin could crawl into and claim as their home. The darkened bones, if not snapped out of place and motionless at the bottom, were gnawed away and its once perfectly symmetrical form was left behind in ruins. Ruined clothing hung uselessly around their forms or by their feet if it lost its original support around their hips or shoulders. Unfortunately, this was the exact opposite of what Adam was looking for. It would be foolish of him to scavenge them for life that had faded long ago. And yet, with a desperation he recognized was unlike him, he moved from one to the other in search with a frantic pace that he recognized was unlike him. He let nothing stop him as he inspected each and every one of the chambers as though he would find something that stood out from the others. He forced himself to remain calm, composed, but he could feel an anticipation in the back of his mind that he couldn’t yet put a name to.

Then he stopped. The final chamber beside the rusted generator stared into him, daring him to identify what was inside and prove his suspicions right or wrong. Several long cracks spread along the glass but was otherwise still whole and kept the air inside from pouring out, but could feel some of it brush against his exposed artificial skin. Adam’s hand raised into the air and set itself against the fragile material with gentle taps of his fingers. It was cool, he recognized. It wasn’t room temperature like the others. It was growing increasingly warmer the longer it was left alone, but its chill was quickly diminishing. It wasn’t the good condition (as good as it could be considering the circumstances) that left him shocked, but rather what was inside. Not a skeleton like the nine others that had undoubtedly seen better days, but the fleshy body of a living being. Their eyes were shut and they laid back in a peaceful slumber, unaware of the war and restless fighting ongoing in the world above their compartment. The rising and falling of their chest gave away the signs of life they held a fleeting grasp of. Their skin clung to their bones and their cheeks were hollowed from malnutrition after so much time left in cryostasis. Adam made a note to himself to collect the proper nutrients, or for Eve to do that for him. It was truly a miracle that the being inside was still alive.

Quickly undoing the lock, Adam pulled the door to it open and reached out to the sleeping human. A human. It didn’t feel real but this was reality. They finally did it. They had a human with them, a human on Earth. When he pulled them forward and out of the bed they laid in, they fell limp against his chest and he stilled. Their breath trailed against faux skin between strings of silver hair and had it not been for the arms wrapped around them to support them, they would have fallen to the ground. They fit perfectly within his hands, he realized immediately. Like they were meant to be in his grasp. That was a peculiar thought, but he set it to the side for further examination later on. They were so soft and he could feel the curvature of their bones beneath his fingers that he traced for just a moment. The exposed skin was smooth, chill from the air that once surrounded them, and he criticized their current state. That was no fault of their own, but it was something he would have to change once he got some answers out of it—he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by how humans reacted to being in such a weak form because of illness, malnutrition, injury, and the list went on. In a single swift movement, the machine turned his back to the chamber and the remains that laid in the others and took wide steps towards the door with the unconscious human held tight in his arms.

“Brother?” Eve questioned, trotting up to walk beside him. His eyes, identical to that of Adam’s, looked between him and the woman in his arms. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to bring her home.”

• • • L O A D I N G • • •

Eve wasn’t someone who looked deep into what was around him, rather focusing on what he saw at a surface level. He didn’t see the world the way his brother did and while that was upsetting (he remembered he was so disappointed in himself when he couldn’t understand what Brother meant when he was explaining a human philosophy), he eventually got over it. The rubble that was the city was exactly that to him. A mess of what was once a whole bunch of buildings. The land around it was destroyed, the nature growing over it anyways with not a single care of where it went but eager to continue growing with nothing stopping it but a lack of soil. But to Adam, that mess was history, clues of what once was and remains that needed to be preserved. The way the flora grew was a means of observation, something to be compared and observed in a controlled environment. It was boring and didn’t make much sense, if you asked him. It was just trash at this point and no one, no civilization, was ever going to live there again. But if it made him happy, he would support Adam and his curiosity for as long as they lived. That’s why he kept his mouth shut, because he knew that it meant more than he realized to the machine he cared for so much. Eve hoped that he could make his brother that happy one day. No. He knew he would, he was just getting started!

Emotions weren’t much different, when it came to his opinion. He would ask Brother what something meant and the older machine would hypothesize for a moment in calming silence, offering different words that he didn’t always know the meaning of until one fit. He wasn’t completely sure if it was even the right descriptor, but it made his brother happy, so that’s what mattered most to him. But this bubbling feeling in his stomach area, it was so weird. He brushed it off at first, thinking nothing of it as he carried out the request given to him, but then it continued, growing more and more and staying with each passing day. Why? What was going on with him? He wondered, sometimes kicking or punching an object he knew wouldn’t get him in trouble out of frustration. And then it hit him when red eyes locked onto [eye color] one day. It was thanks to this human that things were different. With Adam. With him. The two were never tied down to one spot for this long, wandering wherever they truly wanted with nothing to tie them down. They’d often return to the long dinner table full of seats that went untouched, each of them sitting on one end as Adam read and ate the plant matter given to him, but he didn’t remember the last time they did that. It was all her fault, this human’s fault for taking his brother away from him like she didn’t know what she was doing.

He agreed to take...uh, what was the world again? He always forgot it, it was too long on his tongue. Representative? No...Residency? Yeah! That word! He agreed to take residency in the abandoned kingdom within the forest, untouched by Androids after the appearance of who they learned to be called A2 before 2B, and 9S appeared, but it was littered with machine lifeforms. At first, he thought they were just staying there until they could find somewhere better to go, or hop place-to-place. He thought that was the plan, although he silently chastised himself for assuming. Brother didn’t like when he assumed things. But then a week according to the weird monthly system in his database told him a week went by, then another, then yet another. Eve didn’t have a problem with the castle or staying there. It was the reason they were there that really got him going and had him taking trees down one after the other so he wouldn’t do the same to the woman and get in trouble. The human was settled down in a humongous room, the bed fixed up and covered in several sheets and pillows that was more than what was explained to him about necessities for sleep. It was thanks to his brother that they were so comfy and warm during the cold term. At least they said thank you, but it took awhile and he was sure they didn’t really mean it. He would have jumped at the chance to thank him!

As angry as he was, Eve couldn’t say no to what Adam told him to do. He didn’t want to, he wanted to be a help and make his brother proud of him, and so he did it. Something like this wasn’t how he expected to spend his day. It was so boring and he didn’t get it at all. He promised to get it done, anyways, and shoved the old toy he found in a secret spot as if the human would steal it if he left it out. Adam thought it would be a good “bonding experience” and that it would “resolve the tension between them”—whatever that meant—and he had faith in him that he would have good results. Eve was more than prideful of the compliment, but he had questions. Why not just wear what she had now? Was that not good enough? Apparently she needed clothing and other materials to survive. Why didn’t women just go shirtless? He didn’t see the point of needing a shirt, it could get so restrictive. Thankfully the walk to the apartment complexes in the desert city didn’t take too long and they weren’t interrupted by any of the Androids. He checked that shopping center place, but it didn’t have the right size in what she would wear and what did was too torn to be used or even considered a shirt. Problem was that he was getting bored and way too quickly. Did he regret this? Absolutely, he wanted this done and over with. But grabbing some clothing wouldn’t take too long, right?

The muscular machine stood guard at the door so she wouldn’t run off like she tried to multiple times back at the castle after waking up. He wouldn’t take his chances and if he grabbed her too roughly he was afraid of getting in trouble. He didn’t want her skin to be that weird purple and blue color again, he didn’t mean it. Weirdly, it turned green and yellow and left after! He eyed the windows, some cracked and others still intact, so she didn’t throw herself out of one of them or escape through the stairs that looped up towards the rooftop and down below to the sand. Eve rocked on his feet as he watched her move around yet another room in the complex, going through dressers and closets one after another. A small lump of clothing was piled off to the side and slowly started to grow, and he had a small feeling he would be the one to carry them. Why didn’t she just, you know, take it all? Sure, it might be a bit big, but she needed clothes, right? They could take care of it back in the forest if she was worried about not being able to carry it all. Red eyes wandered around the room, past the abandoned objects and to the window. He craned his neck to peer out of it and just as he grew just as bored with that as he was with waiting around, Eve caught sight of something silver at the bottom but couldn’t make out what it was properly.

“Human.” The woman turned to face him and he pointed to the strange object. “What is that?”

With cautious steps across the floorboards that nearly had him rolling his eyes, she approached the window and stood in front of it. She watched him between her observation in quick glimpses, but he kept himself still. “What? You mean the playground?”

Eve perked up right away. “Playground? What does it do?”

“You don’t know what a playground is?” She asked in disbelief. When she got a grumble in response, that was enough for her to know her answer. “You play on it? Go on the swings, go down the slides, hang from the monkey bars,” she explained and then paused. “But they’re probably scorching hot at this point.”

It took him a moment to realize that she had actual feeling in her hands, not just artificial feeling like he and Adam did. Words were supplied to their minds and the sensation of temperature, touch, and pain weren’t something they could understand unless they disconnected themselves from the Network. That’s what Big Brother told him, and Eve was proud to know he remembered it. It would hurt her a lot more than it would him, he realized, but not if she was careful. The human woman wandered around, running a hand through knotted hair (he sort of remembered that she said something about needing a bath, whatever that was) before continuing with her search through a line of jackets and let some lay limp in the pile on the bed while others were returned to their hangers. While she was busy, Eve wondered for a moment. Brother wouldn’t mind if they took a little detour for a bit. She had her clothes so mission complete, right? Without so much as a word, he swiftly traversed across the room, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her behind him out of the room and down the hall. He didn’t look back and guessed that the shuffling of fabric was her juggling the clothing in one arm. She pulled against his hand and yanked herself away from him, and if it wasn’t for the purposefully weak grip on her, her attempt would have been fruitless.

“Hey!” The woman barked and glared at him when he spun around to face her. He was quick to match her expression, but she refused to falter. “You can’t just drag me around!”

“Will you stop complaining already? I wanna play!”

“Play? What are you? Two?”

“I’m Eve!”

With a groan, the machine released her and tossed her wrist back at her. She caught it in her palm and rubbed at the skin, but suddenly yelped when he grabbed her by the waist instead. Eve threw her over his shoulder with ease and wrapped one arm around her legs and from kicking him. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last, but it was really annoying. He wanted to treat her like Adam did and like he told him to, but she was really getting on his nerves. First taking his brother away, and now calling him by the wrong name? That was just rude! He continued down the hall as fast as he could to get her complaints to stop and to arrive at this playground faster. What were monkey bars? He’d love to try them out! He heard something like that from Adam before, but only once! And a swing and slide, those really had him excited! It sounded simple enough; how did he work them? He trotted down the stairs in growing anticipation, the shattered windows hinting at getting closer to ground level or whatever was now considered that with all of the sand that flooded it and the other apartments. Glass and other materials crunched underneath his boots and broke into smaller pieces if he hadn’t done so on the way up the first time around. Eve was trying to ignore her to the best of his ability, but was struggling to when her voice was right in his ear.

“Let go of me, jackass!”

Eve didn’t respond, harshly biting his tongue before he could say anything that she would repeat to his brother. He heard that humans could bleed if they bit hard enough, some even taking it right off by accident. Would she stop if he made her bite her tongue? How would he even do that? Despite her jabs to his head and the tugs to his hair that forced his hair back, he continued on and focused on his current objective and swat at her hand with his free one. Soon it turned into some kind of war, the two exchanging hits back and forth. It took him a few seconds and a couple weak smacks from the human he carried that he realized he was having fun. This was so weird. Was this normal? He’d have to ask when they got back to the castle, but it left him in a little bit of disbelief. It was for that reason that he continued, even when he missed because he couldn’t see her and didn’t mind as much when she hit his upper back. It was when they were met with the beams of gold from the sky that the two stopped, but he was granted one more smack to the back of his head. His pace quickened until he was almost running, getting closer and closer to the shining silver playground. He realized that the human had stopped complaining, he didn’t know when, but didn’t mind that either.

When he stood in front of it, he finally set her down as she so wished. By that, he meant lifted her from his shoulder and dropped her without so much as a care. She fell onto her butt and any relief was turned into annoyance as she held onto parts of her body and groaned before picking herself up from the ground, sending him a glare he returned. Eve carefully watched her for a couple seconds to make sure sure wouldn’t wander off and was ready to stop her if she was, but when he noticed she didn’t move from her spot aside from getting up to stand, he eased up a bit. He kept an eye on her from the corner of his eye, but gave his remaining attention on what he was really here for. It was a lot different from what he expected and heard of. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of plastic building attached to it? Or those rope courses! Or some kind of pole, but he didn’t know the point of that. He was a little disappointed by how simplistic it was, but would take what he would get if it meant he could finally play. His feet sunk further into the sand as he got closer and he pulled on the human’s sleeve to get her to follow and only let go when he stopped and she was beside him. Eve cocked his head and ran a gloved finger down one of the poles supporting it, a white line following the red tip over his finger.

"Do you seriously not know what that is?” The woman asked.

Eve shook his head as he stared forward. “Show me how to use it.”

When he was met with silence, he looked down at her. Her arms were crossed along her chest indignantly and her head faced the building they were just in. For a second he thought she was distracted, but then quickly realized when he nudged her shoulder that wasn’t responding. Beads of sweat formed on her skin and she only shifted out of her position to wipe it from her brow but return to how she was like she didn’t move at all. He nudged her again, called for her attention, waved a hand in front of her face, kicked at her foot. Nothing at all. Was she broken? He couldn’t have done something, unless it was a delayed response to being dropped. No, humans reacted differently to getting an injury from what he heard. She heard him before, so was her auditory system malfunctioning? She was still moving, still breathing, so she wasn’t dead. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if she died. Fortunately, by the rising and falling of her chest and the brief licks to her lips she was still conscious. Then it sunk in and in that moment it took all of his self-restraint from snapping her or the bar he touched in half. She was ignoring him!

Eve grit his teeth and said the first thing that came to mind. “Brother really isn’t going to like to hear that you’re not listening to me. And don’t think about running. He’ll really get mad.”

The human woman turned up to him in horror, her head snapping to face him and her jaw nearly dropped. “You wouldn’t.” When she realized he was serious, she swallowed and faced the play-set.

He watched intently as she wandered to what he realized was the swing. Eve was quick to mirror her and approached the one beside her but without the irritated and displeased grumble. When she sat down, he sat down and quickly fixed his footing to match hers. When she placed her hands on the chains supporting the rubber seat, he held onto the chains and held onto them with a gentleness strange to him so he didn’t accidentally snap it in two. She pushed off against the golden grains that kicked up a small wave and just as he thought she was trying something, he relaxed. She swung back and forth, that’s all, again and again. Knowing that, he replicated those very movements. He leaned back, resting his weight on the seat, and then raised his legs in a brief experiment. He didn’t move at first, much to his frustration, no matter how many times he kicked at the sand. He watched her again—what was he doing wrong?—and looked down to his boots. He extended his legs and leaned back when he swung forward and brought his legs in when he swung backwards, repeating that again and again until the pull of gravity was starting to tug at him. The human didn’t gain as much air as he did, he noticed, but she was definitely watching him in surprise.

The wind relieved any of the heat that beat against his artificial skin and as jolting as it was to be thrown around, there was something fun about it. The short and choppy ends of his hair brushed against his face and the back of his neck. The rest fluttered and he minutely wondered what it would have looked like with his longer hair, but liked the cut he had now. Then he felt it. Not his hair or the wind or the blistering sun or the human’s eyes on him, but the weird feeling that pushed his eyes up, blurred the sides of his vision, and had his chest and shoulders bouncing. He kept swinging and realized that it lingered the higher he soared, but dared to release one of the chains to pat his face curiously. His lips were pulled up at the corners and smushed his eyelids in a way that not even Brother had caused, and that left him confused. It was a little annoying, too, but he figured out that it wasn’t permanent and that he could fix it with his fingers for a few seconds. He was laughing and Eve was surprised to realize that he was okay with, all while knowing that she was the cause of his bubbling laughter.

After that, their ventures to the desert became much more frequent until it was something he expected to do whenever she was given the free time during the day. More often than not they would return to the playground, but other times they would play a game called tag and sprint across the sandy plains. He would purposefully remain slow so she could catch up and so he wouldn’t instantly win, slipping past the hand outstretched to him to tag him as it. The machine thought he would grow bored and frustrated by her human limitations, but found amusement in watching her. In being by her side and learning, eagerly eating up whatever she had to say even if he didn’t understand it. Eve eventually learned that those boxes beneath the archway were called vending machines and would store drinks and snacks, but none of what remained were any good. He would have brought her to the Amusement Park and asked about all of the rides, but quickly found out that the Androids visited it a little too often when he was scouting the area. They couldn’t know, after all, she was his and Adam’s little secret! He couldn’t risk her being taken away, he didn’t know what he would do if she was. The thought of that made him...sad, he realized as he swung their arms back and forth, hands intertwined. She would pull away sometimes, but he guessed she was just slowing down and waited for her to catch up or tugged her along when he assumed the sand was pulling her down.

You must not spoil her, Eve, Adam told him before they departed. He left what he learned was a kiss on her head and she made the strangest face, but he didn’t think anything of it. She’ll start to misbehave.

Eve didn’t understand why he was told that. He stared in confusion but bobbed his head, keeping his mouth shut despite the conflict stirring in his mind and continued on their way. He kept her in his grasp where she fit perfectly in his hands, in his arms, and he refused to let her down for a solid few minutes until he absolutely had to. At first, she squirmed and wanted down, but after awhile of getting nowhere and smacks to the back of his head that he no longer minded too much, she gave in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders so she wouldn’t fall when he bounced from tree branch or rooftop to another and relied on the foliage or remains of the ruined city for cover from whoever may have been around. Fortunately for him, it wouldn’t take long before he understood the reason for his brother’s warning.

• • • L O A D I N G • • •

“What happened to that pretty voice of yours, my dear? Surely you can explain this to me.”

Adam was met with a thick silence he quickly became accustomed to, as he had for the past half an hour.

He wasn’t mad or frustrated like Eve may have been in such a situation. Instead he kept his composure and patiently waited until she was ready to speak. He had as much time in the world, if it took her a few days to finally say something then he would wait that long. Sometimes answers demanded patience and that’s exactly what he would give in exchange, but that didn’t stop him from watching her. He was convinced he was just examining her body language, and to be frank there wasn’t much to look for when she laid in an exhausted pile on the bed. She had run for so long, dealing with the tree branches slapping against her body that had left red splotches on her skin that wasn’t covered by her shirt. For a woman with a mouth to her, her silence spoke volumes. He almost missed her cursing. But the more he gazed at her, the less he saw her in a scientific perspective and more of a subjective lens. How perfectly her hair framed her face, the beauty of her features, her personality and the way she unintentionally continued to fuel his curiosity and spawn answers only she would be able to know and therefore drive him to keep her around. The way she was able to change Eve’s viewpoint of her so easily had him in awe, she was utterly fascinating.

It was no doubt difficult to get an answer out of her, but he always managed to in one way or another. He would be a liar if he said he took pleasure in depriving her of her necessities or left her locked in her room, and avoided those options as much as possible in fear that something unexpected would happen if he did. If he could, he would let her wander the forest and watch her from a distance to see what she did. If she would hunt an animal for sport or primal need for food if left alone for long enough. If she had the knowledge to identify whatever flora grew around her and pick out what was and wasn’t edible. If she would ever come running back into his or Eve’s arms out of loneliness or a desire for their company. He didn’t mind the idea of her returning and leaning towards his fellow machine, but imagining her in his embrace created an odd feeling within his chest he didn’t particularly mind. Nonetheless, that was but a fantasy he was still working towards. He couldn’t let her out of his sight. Not anymore, not when she sneaked out and nearly made it towards the Machine Village before Eve finally caught up to her. It was a disappointment to learn that she tried to escape and find some kind of sanctuary from whoever she ran into first. If it wasn’t for the fact the Androids would wretch her away at the first instance they got, he would have seen how she reacted in response to meeting them and the peaceful Machines, like Pascal.

Adam stepped closer to the bed and sat down at the edge. [Your name] forced herself to face away from him, but that didn't stop him from leaning over her and taking her face in his hand. Angered [color] eyes stared back at him and a grin rose onto his face, causing her own expression to falter. “How alluring you are when you look at me like that,” he admitted with a small and borderline dreamy sigh. “I wonder, do you look at Eve this way?”

She continued to say nothing, but yelped when the tips of Adam’s gloves dug into her cheeks. “We’ve given you a home, food, water, clothing, protection. Why is it that you keep fighting us? Do you find humor in it? Or a thrill? You know I’ll listen, and I’ll wait as long as it takes. It would be in your best interest to talk, my dear. I can do this all day.”

#°༺ glacial song! :: my works #yandere nier automata #yandere nier automata x reader #nier automata x reader #yandere x reader #nier adam #nier eve #yandere nier adam x reader #yandere nier eve x reader #yandere tw #female reader

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

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Dr.Frankenstein

💀Yandere Idia Shroud x Reader

💀Summary: Idia wants to prove the world wrong. To show that there is more to life than good and bad, villains and heroes. But somewhere along the way, he falls in love with what he is trying to prove.

💀Warnings: Dead reader, delusional tendencies, gore,

💀Edited by my beloved Peri!! @tealyjade-libran

💀 Alternative title: Dr. Frankenstein falls in love with his monster.

Idia had known, from an all too young age that his heart was fashioned to be enraptured with misery and sympathy.

Once before, a few thousand eons ago, Idia had been a meager child, boyish, shy and happy with life. Sitting on his mother's lap, as her thinner than bone fingers ignited themselves on his scorching hair. He'd listen as her sunken lips recited story after story from forgotten books and dead myths. content, long ago he had known the feeling of contentment.

And yet said feeling had died so long before Idia even comprehended the narrative behind death. His joy at hearing tales about daring heroes and bewildering gods ran dry all too soon. He'd grown numb to the stories of good and evil, the same formula used over and over and over again. Good won, good prevailed; evil lost, evil vanished. It lacked logic and sense. The probability behind mindless heroes saving the day each and every time was astronomical. It couldn't happen. Yet the history of their world and his darling mother's tongue told a different tale.

-Not only could it be done, but rather it had been done on endless occasions.-

There had, however, been one story that stood out amongst the rotten batch. An anecdote that lacked morals and didn't defy a single law of nature. One would never think that a god born would find solace in a tale of a simple human trying to play god. The only story that sunk deep into his arteries like fragile needles, swimming through his blood before pricking manically at his heart. The only story mama told with faint nostalgia and a distant voice. The spiel of a scientist, whose mind was both his greatest ally and worst foe. A man who looked at the heavens with neither admiration nor hope. A mortal who wasn't satisfied with what good and bad had to offer. Dr. Frankenstein, whose one true desire was to do what gods did, to prove that he too could accomplish what the heavens claimed a miracle.

It was then and there among the pitch black of his parent's room that the oldest -no the only- son of the Shroud family proclaimed in a hoarse voice that cracked at each interval. That he too would be like Victor Frankenstein. That he too would live in a world of his own, a world with no room for good and evil. A world free of wretched stories that filled the minds of jovial children. And on that day, fate had the gall to listen to the claims of a brainless brat.

Even after countless millennia, Idia Shroud had not changed, he'd only grown into the role he forged for himself some centuries ago.

Yet nobody ever said it would be so hard to suffer the pain of a once maddening genius. The stories made it seem easy, made Frankenstein’s pain into pretty poetry that held only a fraction of the weight. Idia came to question time and time again, what it really was he was trying to suffer for. Why did he bestow upon himself the endless torment of alienation from a world that he too longed to be a part of?

Victor Frankenstein had something to prove, he longed to be a god in the most unclassic way. All the frenetic doctor wished was to shout at all mankind and the heavens above that he was the greatest. For in his suffrage he had discovered the antidote to what sets men apart from gods. That he, the overlooked boy, the forgotten pupil had -with solely his intellect- created life.

-Idia too desired to do just that. To scream at this fairy tale world that he, the cursed heir, the villain, the monster, was superior to every prince and hero in existence.-

Somewhere along the line, in the space between todays and tomorrows, he'd somehow lost the method behind the madness he had come to cage himself within. He lost purpose, lost hope, forgot why he'd declared to earth and Olympus that he too would be a genius akin to Dr. Frankenstein.

Idia didn't know what spark had flared his senses, what made him realize what it was he lacked from the hopeless doctor. He liked to think it had been the moment glacial fingers rinsed in fair blood and washed away gold and been stripped from his pale clammy hands. Phantom kisses had waltzed away from his burning cheek to float back into the spiral from which they had risen.

The dead marching back to the land of the deceased.

Leaving him to crawl back into the dark pits of his self-made hell.

Only this time, he'd understand why Frankenstein had dedicated his life to seclusion. Why he'd taken gulps of anguish, rather than air.

It was so painfully obvious, sitting in front of him on a golden throne this whole time. How in Hades' name had he been so blind? How had he forgotten?

Although admittedly his chagrin of forgetting far outweighed his elation of finally remembering. Frankenstein hadn't suffered for not, he had suffered to build, to create. His isolation wasn't of choice but rather out of necessity.

-The monster-

The Monster was Frankenstein's raison d'être, The final fruit of his endless labors. He had risked everything to build him and that's exactly what Idia would do too.

Victor Frankenstein had his monster.

Idia Shroud would have his monster.

It was on a dreary night that Idia beheld the accomplishment of his toils. anxiety burned through his fragile body, amounting ever so quickly to agony. Thoughts of do's and don't's flooded his body, pilling on top of each other like corpses after a genocide.

Inside the lights were just barely surviving, every few minutes they would flicker breathing in a final breath before a short death, only to be revived minutes later, spilling their artificial glow throughout the chamber. The room itself reeked of rotting flesh and something so sickly sweet, it almost made the dorm leader of the nearly deceased heave.

Idia's eyes remain static, seemingly stitched to the thing on the metal slab of a table. The body lays limp like a porcelain doll. No, not a doll, Idia thinks, like the monster, Frankenstein’s monster before it arose from its deathly slumber.

Outside A flash of lightning crackles through the night sky, rough sparks of electricity flow through the murky air. They jolt and dance before dying in the night's void.

After it, the world falls still, trapped behind the iron bars of an endless minute. The once meek god feels a surge dance through his core. The levity of his dreams prancing about. He's close, all so close. A breath away and it will be done. A minute away and all the world will see that there's never been any need for good and evil. Morals are merely prejudice beaten into every living thing, a simple way to keep mortals in their place and gods ruling above them.

The bloody needle in his hand slips through his leather-covered fingers, chimes as it hits the blood soaked ground. Idia's mind races through the odds and ends of everything. Through the fairy tale that is his life. He wonders, would they be proud of him? Would His darling dead brother whose soul now rests in a metal body, shut down and laid to rest in a forgotten corner, advocate what he's about to do? Would his mother's sickly lingula sing praise to him, retell the glory of her son's endeavors to the children of the accursed isle? Probably not, it's a bitter thought, but as true as they come. What parent or brother on this damn earth would be proud of their monster trying to fabricate an abomination? Who, in the millennia to come would look back on him and declare with pride that Idia Shroud had been a genius, one who stood above the heroes and villains and gods? Who would ever call him something better than a hero, better than a villain, better than a god?

In hindsight, Idia likes to think he always knew what he was doing. Always knew that he wanted the world to remember him as the one who broke the rhythm that the universe had been dancing to for endless years. To show this story-obsessed world, that good, and evil were merely perceptions of broken minds. Ideologies fabricated to justify meaningless actions.

Good could be bad.

Evil could be nice.

But science prevailed over all else.

Idia's knees quivered as he bends down by the table, his pale blue lips hovered above his creation's stitched-up forehead. He knew it was wrong, so, so wrong. But it couldn't be helped. For some ungodly reason, as the days ticked by and he began to sew together the bag of mismatched limbs. Idia had, in some way, come to love his creation. He wouldn't call it love per se. But he did long to hold his fragile creation in his arms. To kiss their reddened lips as their torn tongue invaded his mouth.

In the dead of night as he laid beside his still dead lover, no monster, not lover, not yet. He began to wonder, had Frankenstein fallen in love with his abomination somewhere along the road? Had fate once again played its silly little games and twisted their paths to forever meet? Did Victor Frankinstine ever wish to kiss his creation, to have them kiss him?

It may have been wrong. The storybook-bound people of this world may even call it evil. But it wouldn't be that way for long. Idia's fingers curled into his palm, the shards of his bitten-off nails dug deeper into his flesh. His chest tightened with a foreign sensation. A feeling that made cold sweat run down his thin neck.

Using what little strength he had left, Idia pushed himself off the ground and wobbled over to his mainframe machine. He braced himself on the heavy machinery trying to regain a semblance of his balance. He could do this, he had to do this.

His bony finger coiled around the silver leaver, the patched of rust bite into his skin. He held the power to defy everything. To make a new world. His golden pupils land on his fingers for a second. a faint memory of his mother slither back into his mind. It's murky and foggy but he remembers the way her boney fingers use to trail down his hair and arms and legs. How she traced ghosts and blood splatters on his chubby wrists, as she retold the story of the mad scientist. Comically enough she had been the reason why Idia had fabricated this self-induced prophecy and now he'd grown to be her spitting image. A carbon copy of the person who fueled his obsession with defying the laws of good and evil.

The leaver budged forward, clicking in protest as Idia pulled it lower and lower. Outside thunder boomed through the air, louder and louder. Maybe the ancient gods knew what he was doing. Maybe this storm was their warning to him. Yelling and shrinking to get him to stop. Threatening him to give up this game he had played for so long.

No.

Not this time.

Idia had operated by the book, he'd done everything like Victor Frankenstein. No ancient deity or prized warrior would be able to stop him. The gods' threats were the last part of his plan, all he needed was the lightning, the stray string of electricity. Then you would come alive. You'd be his to hold, to love, to cherish. To show to the whole damn mindless world.

A crackle shot through the air, twisting itself around the rod connected to the device and to an extension, you as well. It slated around the iron, like a wild tiger trapped in a cage. Squawking and fighting to free itself as it slid downwards. The moment it came in contact with the larger body of the machine, it roared, a deafening white noise that reverberated off the stone walls. It pierced Idia's ears, causing a thin line of blood to drool down the side of his head. The apparatus buzzed to life, bright lights filled the chamber and the wires attached to your corpse began to stir.

The once still carcass began to jerk violently, its head and arms and feet shaking, twisting in inelegant gruesome movements. Its torso would lift from the table only to crash down once more, with a force that surely fractured a few bones. Amid the madness, the mouth of the monster began to open, popping the loose stitches around the edge of her lips. Its long tongue darted out like a snake. And though it was mostly hushed by the hissing of the loose electric bolts and the harsh rain that had started to pour outside. Idia swore he heard her whisper his name.

The fire-haired boy ran across the room, tumbling to the side of the metal table. His large arms wrapped around your tiny ones. His eyes bore into yours. Watching as your inconsistent eyes stared into his. Your face was soft and tender, painted in an innocence only worn by young children. You were his now, his perfect creation. Something began to build inside of him, a forgotten feeling.

Contentment; this was contentment, something he hadn't felt for a long long time.

What are gods if not humans who possess a secret no one else could obtain? With you by his side, in his arms, Idia could finally, finally triumph overall. He had made life, he had defied all else, surely now everyone could see he was superior to all else in this make-believe world.

But the moment ended all too soon. Your eyes began to dull over, darkening with every blink until they shut permanently once more. The thumping of your borrowed heart began to slacken. Pounding slower and slower until it stilled. The patched up body came next, falling limp, dead again, floating back to the yonder of the grave. Out of his grasp, out of his life.

The world didn't stand still this time, instead, it scrambled forward at aching speed. No sooner had you taken your first breath had you taken your very last. You'd left without ever saying "hello".

Maybe in the midst of all the chaos, glorious altering chaos, he screamed, maybe he cried. Maybe it finally dawned on him why Dr. Frankenstein was merely a myth. A fable told to accursed children. Because Victor Frankenstein wasn't good or evil. He neither harbored joy nor malice. He wished only to be the best. And for so long Idia had wished the same. Searched for the same purpose in his meaningless life.

What is a scientist if not a harbinger of grief and pain?

Someone who devotes their life and loin, riddle and reason, in search of true purpose amongst the forces of the universe. What's a scientist if not a god in their own right.

Had he been a god just now, Idia was left to ponder. For two glorious, astonishing, baffling moments Idia had been better than any god in existence. He had prevailed where every hero had failed. He had accomplished what villains went mad trying to achieve. He had been victorious.

Yes, Idia Shroud had fulfilled his dream.

If only for a couple of inert moments.

Gods were merely that, humans who had created something from the very soil they too were made of.

And he too had done it.

But alas in the end, maybe the legends and the myths had been true, credible good always won and evil did always vanish. Barring you had been so young, so new, you didn't even comprehend good or evil, you hadn't been alive long enough to understand what those two defining forces even were. The world didn't yet know if you were even good or evil. But it matters all so very little because you were his creation, his monstrosity, his, and Idia Shroud had always been and would always be evil, a villain in his own right. Just another gear in the predominant forces of the universe.

He'd been a fool to think he could defy the structured narrative this world had come to accept as law.

Although, no narrative could ever change how much he had loved you, dead or alive. It wouldn't change how he had almost, almost, became Dr.Frankenstein.

Although at the final page just before he closed the book. In the back of his mind, Idia was sure he had become the doomed doctor.

For he too had both fallen in love with his creation and driven himself mad over it.

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sepublic · 4 years

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Xian Characters, Features, and Landmarks (Pt. 1)

Roodaka- Roodaka is the ruthless CEO of Vortixx Industries, having secured a practically permanent position there from a young age after she scaled The Mountain. A cutthroat business-dealer, she helps direct the company’s actions, oversees stocks, and surveys the occasional experiment or investment, providing a personal hand of involvement every now and then. She has done business with just about every major power in all of Xia, and is among the Powers That Be. With an eye for potential, she has led Vortixx Industries to the top of Xia’s arms-manufacturers, and is not just content with her current success either. Roodaka is an opportunist, and will and has back-stabbed others and crushed enemies for the total domination of Vortixx Industries.

She is cold-hearted and ruthless, and believes whole-heartedly in the idea that might makes right. Roodaka has been conditioned both by experience and by others that only the most powerful have the authority to lead; If one cannot prove their merit and mettle, then they are a liability and must be cast out, not to be trusted by neither peers or even themselves. Regularly Roodaka does puzzles and tests her intelligence, reflecting on and questioning her own progress. And despite being a noble, Roodaka despises most other aristocrats like herself, seeing them as pompous, lazy fools who have become atrophied from resting on their laurels. A sharpened wit is the key to victory for Roodaka, and she sees challenges as the ideal whetstone for her mind.

She has no intent of letting herself become weak and arrogant, and seeks to do more with her life and purpose than just a live a pointless, meaningless life of hedonism. For Roodaka, she wants something more; More than what the other rich fools on Xia typically have to offer. She has no intention of living and dying like any other fool, and for that she sees little difference between most of Xia’s upper-crust and its lower-class. Control is all Roodaka cares about, and she prizes the ability to strike fear in one’s minions in order to keep them in line.

Roodaka herself is not necessarily a fighter, and is thus often flanked by a trio of Exo-Toa Lerahk, machines she helped oversee the design and construction of. But even without her bodyguards, Roodaka is not entirely defenseless- She has access to a Rhotuka Gauntlet that allows her to spawn a wheel of energy, one that drastically mutates whatever target it comes into contact with. Roodaka possesses a cruel sense of humor, and has used her Mutation Rhotuka to dispatch enemies of hers, often leaving them to suffer their cursed forms as ruined outcasts of society. Roodaka herself is highly intelligent, able to read and understand others well, and is a master-manipulator and complex schemer.

Sidorak- Known as the ‘Visorak King’ in some sectors of Nynrah, Sidorak was once an esteemed, celebrated war general with a wide collection of medals on his chest to honor him. However, his boldness eventually got him in trouble with one of the Powers That Be; And incensed, the powerful individual had Sidorak exiled to Nynrah as a death-sentence. Stripped of his title, rank, and badges, most would have despaired and left themselves to die in Sidorak’s place- But Sidorak himself continued forging on, making a new path for himself in Nynrah.

He eventually came into contact with a pack of Visorak Spiders, and recognizing that the creatures wanted to be free from their Nynrah Ghost masters to hunt as they pleased, Sidorak offered them freedom. He defeated the Visorak Spiders before letting them know that underneath his command, they could have total freedom and impunity to hunt and kill as they pleased; And having been won over by his strength, the spiders obliged to Sidorak’s offer. Ever since, Sidorak has slowly begun to amass a Visorak Horde of spiders under his command, and has become an enemy of the Nynrah Ghosts for providing their creations an outlet with which to go rogue.

Now, Sidorak frequently roams Nynrah with his packs of Visorak spiders, leading them on hunts for prey. A bold, charismatic commander, he has won the loyalty and respect of his soldiers, and is now adorned with a ‘medal’ made up of webs, gunk, and other unsavory materials that he treasures as a personal token of comradery. Sidorak is a true commander, personally leading his armies into battle and fighting alongside them. He desires to help his Visorak spread and hunt as they please, and this has put him at odds with multiple Vorox Clans.

Sidorak is a skilled combatant and a brilliant strategist. He wears a breathing apparatus over his lower-face, covering his nose and mouth in order to protect himself from airborne pathogens and other contaminants. On his left arm, he wields the Herding Blade; A powerful artifact that can cast a brilliant crimson light that will summon and herald Sidorak’s armies to himself. As for Sidorak’s right arm, it is cut off at the elbow; Instead, it has a mechanical implant. Hovering slightly beyond this implant is a mechanical tri-claw that can shoot energy-beams from its palm, or Rhotuka that instill loyalty and obedience within targets. Sidorak can launch this cybernetic arm of his forward, latching it onto surfaces before using it as a grapple to pull himself forward with the electro-magnetic connection it has with his implant.

Turaga Dume- Once a lowly errand-boy in the Artidax District, he has since risen to power as a totalitarian dictator controlling most of the region. Dume is strict and harsh, believing in the evils of free will, and desires total control as a means of peace; He has command over the Vahki to enforce his will and the laws that he passes. Local powers frequently ally with Dume, letting him use his Vahki as a replacement for traditional law enforcement, allowing Dume a wide reach over Xia. He is the island’s head of security, and is responsible for cracking down on dissidents and punishing them, as well as brainwashing and encouraging the Xian population to become mindless, obedient workers for all of eternity.

Dume has a stern, tall face, and angular shoulders, constantly walking with his back hunched forward and his arms folded behind him. He wears a clean, dark-red uniform, with a coat, hat, and black boots to match. Dume believes in total discipline over himself, and can be found frequently strutting the halls of a Vahki Hive, allowing zero reprieve in the face of his duties. He oversees all actions and data from his Vahki and frequently collaborates with Xian powers on suppressing riots, unions, and other forms of rebellion.

The Shadowed One- An ancient warlord and the leader/co-founder of the Dark Hunters. The Shadowed One has no known origin nor name; His earliest appearances were as far back as the War of Six Kingdoms, at least. Back then, he led a cruel mercenary organization known as the Dark Hunters alongside his lieutenant and co-founder Ancient. Centuries of success on various missions and assassinations have earned him Xia’s most powerful crime organization. The Shadowed One operates from within the Odina Fortress, having a hand in brutal murders, thefts, and other various crimes as he seeks to consolidate power for himself.

Prideful to a fault, he is a twisted and charismatic individual with a cruel sense of humor. In his quest for power, The Shadowed One has employed researchers and invested others in the creation of unique and dangerous assets for his Dark Hunters. Recently, he has attempted to gather the six fragments of Makuta’s Mask of Life, all of which are inexplicably on Xia, hoping to recreate the world-ending artifact. What exactly he has planned for it is unknown, but knowing him, it certainly can’t be any good.

The Shadowed One can conjure powerful eye-beams that disintegrate and deconstruct anything they touch on the molecular, even atomic, level, granting the warlord the ultimate offense. He wields a staff capable of summoning and creating crystalline formations that he can control and carry through the air as if by telekinesis, and The Shadowed One has used many gems to slaughter enemies or subdue them. In addition to this, he can conjure a Rhotuka; One that temporarily inflicts devastating madness of any sort onto victims. The Shadowed One is a skilled, experienced combatant, and with his skills combined with his powerful abilities, he is an unstoppable opponent.

He possesses one additional, terrifying ability as well; Those foolish enough to challenge The Shadowed One in his own throne room will sometimes find themselves unable to move from their positions upon confronting him, as if their own feet were attached to the floor. By the time his rebels realize this, it is too late- The Shadowed One will unleash his eye-beams, vaporizing them all as they cannot move out of the way. Whatever the nature of this invincible ability, it is the final seal on the apparent unstoppable power of the mercenary-king.

Spiriah- A brilliant and disgracted scientist, Spiriah was once a member of the Nynrah Ghosts. However, his own incompetence and poor handling of the Nynrah Incident, in addition to being somewhat negligent in containing the leak of VISORAK, led to his reputation being tarnished. Even so, he retained membership amongst the Nynrah Ghosts, until a botched experiment involving the Skakdi Clan of Zakaz resulted in them becoming far more dangerous, temperamental, and difficult to control than intended.

With the Skakdi incident as the final straw, Spiriah was exiled and disgraced from the Nynrah Ghosts. Cast out and bitter, Spiriah quickly found work from The Shadowed One, who was eager to employ his skills. Spiriah happily performed experiments with the intent of furthering the Dark Hunters’ power, proving his intelligence and hidden potential. With Spiriah clearly a viable researcher, The Shadowed One eventually entrusted him with Makuta’s notes, gathered from the Mask Hoarder’s abanoned lab by Dweller. With additional resources straight from Okoto, Spiriah set to work dissecting and discerning the very nature of Life energy itself, eventually implementing his findings into various experiments, many of which became Dark Hunters themselves.

Having turned his life around after his past failures, Spiriah went on to help lead experiments on the Kanohi Dragon alongside Vortixx Industries. However, he disappeared after going on an expedition to Nynrah, hoping to gather resources and intel; Attempts to locate him (or his body) have failed, and the Dark Hunter Tracker has been unable to find anything sufficient enough with which to track down Spiriah. Presumably, he has been killed by the Vorox- Or perhaps by the Nynrah Ghosts, who did not want their academic knowledge to be shared amongst the Dark Hunters, regretting their exile of Spiriah?

The Shadowed One himself in unsure… Regardless, Spiriah was an innovative individual who could’ve unlocked many more forbidden secrets of Life had he not disappeared- Perhaps, with the proper resources, he could’ve even gone on to rival Makuta himself! Not that it mattered, because Makuta, too, has perished…

Trydahk- The leader of the Nynrah Ghosts and its ‘high priest’, Trydahk is considered the most brilliant and esteemed member of the group. His intelligence and work has helped spawn and pioneer multiple Xian inventions, including the lethal VISORAK, or the Zamor Launcher. The space-warping Trydahk Pods are named after the Nynrah Ghost himself, and he desires to unlock the secrets of reality at any cost; No matter how many innocent lives must be sacrificed, or how much destruction he must cause. To him, understanding everything is the only thing that matters, and Knowledge is his peace of mind.

Intriguingly, Trydahk has been around since the very inception of the Nynrah Ghosts, several decades ago. And yet, he does not seem to be any older than he currently is, despite his age back then meaning he should be dead by now. Who knows what experiments he performed on himself to allow this?

Nektann- A brutal Skakdi warlord, Nektann was named after the powerful Xian war-machines that plagued Zakaz alongside other machinations of destruction. An unstoppable brute, Nektann quickly rose to power amongst the Skakdi, challenging other warlords and defeating them in combat. Now, he has practically reunited the Skakdi clans back into one, promising his brethren glory and conquest upon the rest of Zakaz.

Tall and thuggish, Nektann is nevertheless cunning enough to have earned control over the Skakdi. He wields an ornate Crescent Scythe in combat, and is a loud and boisterous individual who will happily partake in carnage. Unsurprisingly, Nektann is seen as ‘undignified’ by other Xians, but he doesn’t let this get to him. He knows the Skakdi are looked down upon as modified ‘freaks’, but he figures that will change when he marches upon Zakaz and becomes one of the Powers That Be.

Nektann frequently rides to combat, leading his armies on mobile war-machines and vehicles. He himself rides a large one equipped with a massive grinder-wheel on the front. Additionally, he has a pet Muaka adorned in spiked armor. He got the beast after buying it off of the Dark Hunters, who themselves got it from Umarak on a whim. Nektann is proud of his exotic pet and likes to boast of its foreign, mysterious origins, but some Xians doubt the validity of his claims- They believe the Muaka is just another manufactured bioweapon, an assertion that greatly angers him.

#bionicle #bionicle rae #xia #roodaka #sidorak #dume #the shadowed one #spiriah #tridax #nektann #trydahk #nynrah ghosts #vortixx #visorak #skakdi

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cafeleningrad · 4 years

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janiedean a réagi à votre billet : What sacrifices do I make that I read the...

at least fast and furious provides eyecandy

not my type of guys but take it with a pinch of salt since my type of men corresponds more to Wiillem Dafoe or Paul Dano. xD Technically the fancontent creators of the respective YA andoms are without doubt highly taleted, and I saw gorgeous creations out of them. It’s just that the original content irks me on many level of being to be bear only this much of paper thin writing quality.

At a certian level I understand the unfairness how male-targeted media is given a pass that it’s mindless entertainement, and women-targeted entertainement is trashed mercilessly, on the other hand I’m also prone to abrasive reactions towards latter content because just because it’s written by women it’s no indicator that it has better quality. I’m supposed to like it because it’s expected to like romance as a women? But no? Most of the time I don’t care that to characters with the personality of stale toast have raging hormoes for each other and consider it undying love? How? Bar the fact that I read a lot of officially published by-women-for-women-content that was stuck in a genderrole understanding rivaling the one of Zack Snyder (”Not like other girls but hot by looks, by character either she’s an meotionless fighting machine, or a naive sweetheart only out for men...). But women writing women badly is not my type of fun, and then the general issue of bad writing and blaring logic gaps

All in all, I dislike F&F (The camera and editiog in tokyo drift... I don’t like F&F but at least make the drifting scenes cool, not a constant distant front ankle!) as much as Outlander (how is it relevant that Claire is from the 1940s when nothing of her behavior is relevant to the time? She could be equally the stereotypical hsitorical fiction gal who magically is more emancipated than the rest of her peers, none of her behavior expresses he being a woman of her time.)

Basic competent writing, that is missing in the entire conteporary romantasy!YA sectiona dn still the authors make money. Not even the uncreative content is the probem, the lack of skill...! And then one book costs 30€ for boredom and no story cohesion? I don’t get how the market let’s this happen. I see all the issues about “problematic” reapeat over and over whereas I think the most glaring issue is people actually accepting an entire genre burdend with a writing that many fanfiction writers can overtrump easily. No surprise romances get so often dunked on if the writers make money of the most unlikable characters fiding themselves in stories full of plotholes, nothing happening, and women only existing in catergories of “heroine”, “coniving love rival bitch, and “supportive always-happy-bff”... it’s tiring that a genre dominated by women can’t do better. Not to rpove it, the sexist burden will always exist, but that it can’t prove to itself that it’s capable of good writing - epspeciall if girls and women actually do enjoy reading more than just the same bland story in different coveres over and over again.

#janiedean #Lewis ranting

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chonideno · 5 years

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i’m a new writer on ao3 and i’ve been feeling a little discouraged. i was wondering, did it take you long to get where you are in terms of popularity and skill? and do you have any tips for new writers?

Hi! I hope you understand how hard of a question it is to answer, though I’m not blaming you at all, [grandma voice] I was the same at your age. Writing is hard, and understanding what makes good writing is hard, and understanding what makes your writing good is hard. Nothing I can tell you will sound new to you - write for yourself, be patient, have fun, popularity is overrated, yada yada yada.

This being said, there are lessons I keep having to re-learn every 3 months or so. I’ve been writing fanfiction for too many years and I still forget some lessons - not that the words disappear from my memory, but there are some things you only learn through experience and I tend to forget them every so often, until I go through yet another learning experience. Here’s a list of things I wish I was prepared to learn when I started:

don’t be afraid of being bad. I know, you don’t want to be bad, that’s why you’re asking about how to get better, and how much time it takes to be popular. But being bad is the foundation of your experience. We all started as terrible writers, and some of us are still there after years of practice - and it’s fine! You have to truly be okay with the idea that you’re going to suck, too! And no amount of experience will ever protect you from that. Being bad happens to everyone, and it’s great. Your writing is going to suck - and what about it? Your writing is going to be terrible, and? What is anyone going to do about it, if you want to shove it into their faces? Nothing, that’s what. The more you write, the less often these moments will happen (but as I said earlier, they still will happen, and they’ll still sting like hell) so keep at it. Don’t be afraid to be the worst at writing, because if you don’t get this stinky stuff out of your system you’ll never get to the good part.

grieve your Ideas. It’s not the first time I mention it I think, but try a thing: think of your Idea right now, your beautiful prefect story that is just waiting for you to write it down, and it has all of these incredible scenes and this intensity and this emotion and it’s going to be great - now let it go. Your Idea with a capital I is a mirage. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never get 100% there. You can get real close, and that’s where the satisfaction lies, the farthest you go from your outline and the closest you get to the Idea, the better your fic. But perfection is unattainable. The finished product will not be a copy of that Idea you had in your head - worse! The finished product will look nothing like your Idea to your readers, who are not in your head, and it also won’t look like what you think it looks like. Because, and that’s very important, writing is a product of 1) the person who lays its eyes on it (whether it’s the author or the reader) and 2) your writing style and what influences it, the Muse, the Spark, the Whatever people like to chase. No story will look alike to different people. So forget about your Idea - it’s never getting born. It’ll have a cousin, so get ready to love this one instead.

learn about your content creation cycle, and be patient with yourself. You will never be a perfect machine. Writing blocks will happen. Every so often I feel like that’s it, that’s the last fic I was ever going to write, and these feelings are sincere and true. I truly believe it to my core. And then writing happens again, and woops, there I go posting another fic. It’s a pattern. It happens. I answered asks about this here, here and here. Be patient. Learn about your own creation process. You’re not your own enemy.

popularity is, ultimately, meaningless. I know how this sounds, but please bear with me here. Popularity is not correlated with quality in any way. It is valid to chase popularity, but you have to do it separately from other goals. You can’t think “I’m going to write a really beautiful fic and it’ll become popular” because there’s no guarantee it will. You can’t think “I’m going to pour all of my emotions in it so it’ll be raw and people are going to love it” because that’d be wrong again. Popularity is a function of timing, marketing skills, what’s currently trendy in your fandom niche and dumb luck. Some of my fics did high numbers, but I have no idea what led them to do that. I’d even argue that between these few fics, not two got a lot of hits for the same reason. Most of the fics I have written over the years have not made a ripple, and I will, inevitably, disappear from everyone’s radar soon. And what is popularity anyway? Hits? Kudos? Kudos/hits ratio? Digging in the numbers depresses me. You want to be known, this much I understand, but I was on this pedestal for a bit and yeah, I’ll admit it’s nice, but if you don’t enjoy your writing or if you don’t like your own output, none of it will make sense, and it’ll only slow down your progress as a writer.

it’s all about you. It’s really all about you. In many ways. You must want to write what you write. You must write for yourself first, and a love letter to a character or a trope is a good way to do that. You should write what you know - not the situations you know, but the emotions you know, the sentimental truth (if it applies to what you write at least - pwp probably doesn’t need it lmao). You might look back on your previous works and think “wow, this is literally about me”. It’s okay to be self-obsessed in writing and art in general. Who else is gonna do that for you?

you don’t need to fit a mold. I know the temptation is great, especially if you’re starting and you’re trying to figure out what people like so you can make a name for yourself or something, but you truly, truly don’t have to write things you don’t like. there are different types of writers, and you might change types over time as well.This Kind Of Writing is real popular but doesn’t fit you? Then don’t write it. Don’t force yourself to write things just because you think people will like it, it will truly not help. At best you’ll end up confused about what you want out of your writing, at worst it’ll disgust you from writing for a time. I have to re-learn this lesson over and over, and every time it rings more true: write what you want. If it’s horrible poetry, do it. If it’s the next 500k sci-fi reincarnation soulmates enemies to friends to lovers au, do it. If it’s sharp one-shots, or mindless porn, or studies of family dynamics, or one-dimensional fluff, do it. You don’t have to reach imaginary standards either - remember, you have the right to suck by anyone’s standards! You can be the most stereotypical ooc coffee shop au author ever, or write chat fics, or indulge in character x reader fics, and what are people going to do about it? Break into your house and steal your keyboard? No!! They’re gonna do nothing!! No amount of joking about these kinds of writing has the power to stop you!! You want to pretend you’re the next literature Nobel and you’re going to revolutionize prose? Do it! Wherever you fall on the spectrum, take what is rightfully yours. And if you don’t know where to go yet, gosh how I wish I were you - the world is your oyster, so try! Read, and think, and scribble and plot and delete half of what you’ve written, experiment, figure out what makes you tingle, what’s your style, what’s your favorite tropes and genres. You can always let go and change. You have a universe of possibilities ahead of you, and don’t let things like popularity hold you back! I’m really excited to hear you’re starting. It’s all adventure from now on.

Sometimes it’s not that deep, but sometimes it truly is.

So I’ve been writing fanfic for 7 years even though I took 1.5 years of hiatus, dropped a fic then stopped writing for another 8 months, I’ve written 21 fics for 3 fandoms, I’ve been invisible and popular and right in the middle and I don’t know how to make popularity happen, and I don’t know how to get better as a writer - I don’t even know if my writing has improved in any way. All I know is that my experience as a writer has improved. I know what I’m doing now. I know what I want. It’ll happen to you too.

#whoosh that was long #please allow yourself to have fun that's all I'm saying #anonymous #mag answers

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

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The last story with everyone was so good! I loved how they were all cheering Henry up! What if Sammy, Wally, and Susie/Alice, take Henry to play some of the carnival games to help cheer him up some more. (I bet Wally might cheat at the games. Lol 😆) Maybe they even visit Bertram? I don’t think Henry’s met him yet. Meanwhile Joey is in his office and just being all mad and grumpy because he doesn’t understand why Henry was so upset, and what if he sends Shawn, Grant, and Lacie to spy on him? 😱

Sorry this took so long.

Together, Wally, Sammy, and Susie headed down to Bendy Hell in order to play some carnival games. Henry was still feeling a little down, although he returned to a mindless Searcher soon after exiting the Lost One’s village. Wally was chattering excitedly about how long it had been since they’d last gone down to Bendy Hell to play the games.

“Hello, Tim.” Sammy waved to the Lost One sitting on top of a shelf as they descended the stairs to the main floor. Tim waved back, almost seeming to smile through their dripping ink.

“Hey! Maybe we can even open up that area Lacie worked in!” Wally continued. “I always loved that animatronic!” Abruptly, all chatter ceased.

“Oh. Right.” Wally’s smile faded a bit. Henry tilted his head to the side, making a curious noise.

“Lacie worked for Bertram,” Sammy explained. “She…never made it to the village. Joey kept her close.” Susie shrunk into herself, the ink on the side of her face beginning to drip. Sammy put an arm around her. Susie stiffened, starting to move away. But then she realized that Sammy wasn’t a part of the hive mind anymore. His ink couldn’t hurt her.

“Are you alright?” Sammy whispered to her.

“I’m….fine.” She said slowly, leaning into him. It felt good, having someone hold her again. She’d missed being touched.

“Hey! Look at this!” Their attention was drawn back to Wally, who’d picked up the three balls from the milk bottle game and was juggling them.

“I forgot I could do this!” Wally beamed. Henry clapped his inky hands together and made excited noises.

“I…Also forgot you could do that.” Sammy started to laugh, the tension of the situation broken by Wally, as usual.

“Now you’re just showing off.” Susie couldn’t help but smile. Wally just kept grinning.

After that, they moved on to the actual carnival games. As Wally had said, Sammy was surprisingly good at the shooting game. Something about having good hand-eye coordination. A stiff breeze could knock Wally over, which meant the kickback of even a pellet gun like this sent him stumbling back. While Sammy and Susie weren’t looking, he just threw ink at the targets. He’d figured out that he could fire ink from his body, so he did finger guns in order to hit the targets. The ink splotches didn’t escape Susie and Sammy’s notice.

“Wally.” Sammy folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. Henry giggled, covering his mouth and acting very much like a little sibling whose older sibling had just gotten in trouble.

“Yeah~?” Wally did his very best to appear as innocent as possible. Susie stifled a giggle.

“Wally, did you use finger guns instead of the actual gun?”

“Maaaybe~”

“Wally, that’s cheating.” Susie tried to sound stern, only to devolve into laughter.

“Aw, c’mon.” Wally smiled disarmingly. “There’s no one else here! There’s no rules!”

“There are some rules.” Sammy corrected him. “Although, most of them are related to survival, not games.”

“See?” Wally gestured to Sammy. “It’s fine!”

Sammy rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me~”

“Yeah yeah.”

They spent a little more time playing the carnival games, which Wally continued to cheat at, before Henry wandered over to Attraction Storage, where Bertram resided.

“Whoa, buddy!” Wally grabbed Henry by the shoulder, pulling him back. “We can’t just go in there unannounced!” Henry tilted his head to the side quizzically.

“He tends to be a bit…grumpy when people show up without warning.” Sammy supplied.

“And he certainly doesn’t like me,” Susie added. Henry was undeterred by this, slipping under the door and into the ride area. Wally shrugged and did the same. Sammy was about to follow, until he noticed Susie standing back, hunching her shoulders.

“I…Can’t do what you two can.” She murmured, lowering her gaze. “I’ll just…stay out here.”

“No, I’ll open the doors for you.” Sammy walked over to the door they’d opened with the games. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to.” She trailed after him, glancing nervously back at the door to Bertram’s area.

“Like I said, it’s fine,” Sammy assured her.

“Well….Alright.”

In Bertram’s area, Henry was looking curiously around. He’d never been in this part before. There was so much to see! Especially the little duck boats.

“Hey, Mr. Piedmont!” Wally called, knocking on the doors on the central column of the ride.

“Must you be so loud, Franks?” The doors opened, revealing the giant head of Bertram Piedmont. It was an illusion and they both knew it. But Henry didn’t. He immediately made a concerned noise, drawing closer and waving his arms in worry.

“Ah, it’s Mr. Williams,” Bertram said. “Hello.” Henry made even more concerned noises, gesturing to Bertram’s head.

“Why is he doing that?” Bertram asked.

“I think he’s worried ‘cause you’re just a head,” Wally suggested.

“Ah. I see. Well, Mr. Williams, I can assure you that I am perfectly alright.” Bertram said. “If you can call being an inky monstrosity alright, that is.” Henry frowned, gesturing to his head and to Bertram.

“I’m assuming you’re asking why I’m simply a giant head.”

Henry nodded.

“Well, I had hoped it would intimidate Drew,” Bertram replied, bitterness lacing his words. “But that didn’t work.”

“And now he’s stuck in the machine,” Wally added.

“I most certainly am not.” Bertram snapped.

“Then why haven’t you left this ride?” Everyone’s attention was drawn to the doorway, where Susie and Sammy had just entered. Susie had spoken, falling back into her old Alice ways in an attempt to combat her nervousness. Sammy just shrugged. Bertram stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed.

“Very well.” He finally conceded. “I am…stuck.” Henry made a sympathetic noise, trying to hug the ride.

“I…appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Williams.” Bertram smiled slightly. “You are certainly an affectionate one.”

“He’s a cool guy.” Wally nodded sagely.

Meanwhile, Joey was sulking like a child. He still didn’t understand why Henry was so upset about being dead. He’d brought Henry back, hadn’t he? So it was fine. Usually, people got praised for bringing people back to life. But nooo. When he did it he was ‘a monster’ and his creations were ‘monstrous affronts to nature’. Why couldn’t Henry understand? He was doing this for him.

“Shawn! Grant! Lacie!” He barked, and three shapes rose from the floorboards. The Searchers said nothing, staying where they’d risen.

“Keep an eye on Henry, won’t you?” Joey smiled sweetly. “I’m ever so worried about him. We had a bit of a fight, you see, and I don’t want him doing anything unreasonable in his state.” He didn’t need to put on this act. The Searchers would do as he asked, no matter what. Maybe it was just to convince himself. The three Searchers disappeared into the ground, and Joey sat back, content in the knowledge that he could now keep an eye on Henry.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim saudade au #fanfiction #henry #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #malice angel #wally franks #joey drew

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thefearofcreation · 5 years

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The Fear of Creation (SNEAK PEEK)

Despite her surroundings, Crea could steal moments of peace with her dragons now and again. The soundproofed, dull, gray walls used to make isolation impossible to bear— Crea remembered many a night where she’d rather rip out her hair than listen to the sounds of silence.

Now, however, with Dialga’s large head across her lap, her fingers skimming and brushing over blue scales and a content rumble echoing from the large dragon’s chest, Crea could begin to relax.

Palkia’s pacing across the opposite side of the room drew her attention now and again, but each time her fingers faltered in their path across Dialga’s scales, the Time Deity would growl and tuck its face deeper against her stomach.

It was moments like these where Crea could understand that they weren’t mindless monsters; They weren’t killing machines. They weren’t slaves. They were as alive and lonely and touch-starved as Crea herself was.

As if reading her thoughts, Palkia made its way over, dipping its head to steal away one of the hands still petting Dialga. Seemingly offended, the blue dragon lifted its head at the sibling with a snarl and head butted Palkia away. Crea watched with mild amusement as the two dragons began to tussle, rolling away from her and nipping at limbs and tail of the other.

Finally, she leaned back on her hands, a smile gracing her lips contently as she watched her companions exercise and play together in the expanse of the otherwise empty room. Why Cyrus had felt so strongly about controlling these powerful creatures rather than allowing them the freedom to govern their respective domains, she still could not wrap her mind around.

As excited as I am to begin working on this AU and fanfiction, there’s not much I can explain right out of the gate without being too much of a spoiler. I can say that if you’re like me and love Gen 4 of Pokémon, love the creation trio, or love stories about humans developing deep emotional bonds with creatures, this’ll be right up your alley.

#pokemon #legendary pokemon #creation trio #palkia #dialga #giratina #anime #fanfiction #writing #au #alternate universe #the fear of creation

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the-odeviant-machine-blog · 6 years

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Transferrence

Summary: Artificial memories were the key to an efficient, stable system. Real, human memories were the key so something so much more.

Blade Runner 2049 x Detroit: Become Human

Slight Connor x Reader

You stood there on that lonely street corner, quiet and deserted now that the evacuation of the city was nearly complete. Only those few that chose to stay, chose to show the world that human and android could live together in peace remained now. Like the decorated police Lieutenant that stood silently beside you on the snow-covered curb.

Like you.

You had been expecting far more resistance when you had reached out to him, not that you could blame him. Cyberlife had spearheaded the search and destruction of its own creation, and after everything that the man had been through to protect his partner a little hostility was, in your opinion, warranted. After all, how could he possibly know about all the times you spoke out against the atrocities your employers had committed against the beings they had created to serve humanity? Your words had been silenced the moment they left your mouth, and you had been firmly corrected back into your own lane under the coercion of cloaked threats.

How could he possibly know about your secret mission to silently and discreetly sabotage the global, multi-billion-dollar company from the inside? They had hired you to create. To formulate mild-tempered personalities that would easily assimilate into humankind. To craft memories to balance the delicate yet complicated series of programming that mimicked real life. In short, they knew the fatal flaw in their design. They knew they had spawned the inevitable possibility of existential crisis and future revolution in the ‘mindless’ and ‘obedient’ machines they had built and robbed of free will, and they had hired you to prevent it. Monsters parading as humans paying top dollar for a speck of falsified humanity.

All you did was take advantage of their ignorance.

“He won’t bite.”

Your head snapped to the left at the sound of a rough voice, tearing your eyes away from the stiff, solitary figure that stood outside the deserted food truck on the opposite street corner, completely unaware of your presence to the bearded face of the older man you had nearly forgotten was there.

“He may try to lick ya if you’re bleedin’, but that’s about it.”

It was several moments before your overworked brain registered his attempt at humor. The corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly, but not quite enough to loosen the tight knots that had twisted into your chest over years of secrecy and treason. It wasn’t his fault. You doubted there was a joke in the world capable of lightening the mood. His tired face softened with understanding as he shifted awkwardly beside you, clearing his throat before trying again.

“For what it’s worth,” he began softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He’ll be glad to meet you.”

A brotherly grin stretched across his face, his eyes glazing over as he retreated momentarily into his own mind.

“He’s funny like that.”

Your tight, almost painful smile eased as you watched the warm emotions play across his face, whatever memory he fell back into playing out behind his eyes. You always knew Connor was special. All too soon he shook himself out of his reverie, his shaggy length of hair flopping about his face. With the mist now cleared from his eyes, he gave you the kind of lingering look that gave you the impression he knew much more than he let on before releasing your shoulder with a squeeze. You watched as he turned on his heel to make his way down the sidewalk, stomach churning as the realization set in that though you knew he would fulfill his promise of a private, uninterrupted meeting, you hadn’t actually had time to think about your endgame.

What the hell were you supposed to say?

“Lieutenant,” you blurted, mostly to stop the miniscule contents of your stomach from making a reappearance.

He came to a lazy stop, turning to peer over his shoulder with a knowing smile. You swallowed thickly, forcing the lump back down your throat to allow for the passage of intelligible words.

“Thank you.”

Your voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, yet somehow the weathered detective still managed to hear it over the early winter wind. He studied your face for a moment, grin growing wider as he acknowledged your gratitude with a nod before resuming his trek down the deserted streets of Detroit. Your eyes remained glued to his retreating back for several more seconds, fingers flexing and cracking nervously, palms somehow sweaty despite the biting cold. You’d been waiting for this moment. You’d gone to incredible lengths to get to this moment.

Yet somehow, you felt the uncontrollable urge to run in the same direction of the slouched figure growing smaller in your sight.

It was with great effort that you forced your muscles to cooperate, wrenching your head back around to face the slender figure that shuffled his feet in place, nimble fingers flipping a small silver coin with his own simple kind of flair. Warmth blossomed in your chest at his familiar motions, and it was brief, fleeting moment that you entertained the thought that he had managed to hold on the same one this whole time.

Without any conscious effort of your own you found yourself drifting closer, dropping off the small, sharp step where the concrete ended and the asphalt began, shoes crunching on the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the blacktop. He still hadn’t seen you, keen eyes still darting back and forth, following the rapid movement of the small metallic gleam that leapt between his hands. Despite his change of wardrobe, he was just as you remembered him.

You were close, now. Close enough to hear the ping his fingertips made against the edge of the quarter, close enough to hear the crunch of his own heels against the crisp white powder. In one swift, clean motion, the coin stilled, pinched skillfully between two fingers with an impossible kind of ease. His chin snapped up as you approached, the small white flecks that clung to his hair shaking loose to tumble across his shoulders, and in his eyes you saw his own apprehension. You didn’t know what Lieutenant Anderson had told him to get him here, but after the events of the last several days, you were sure it wouldn’t have mattered.

Time slowed to a halt as your feet sank into place in the snow, your eyes locked together as you regarded each other from across the short distance. You tried to read his guarded expression, but you were having a difficult enough time keeping your own stampeding emotions in check, so instead you fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, mind racing to produce something, anything, to break the excruciating silence that stretched between you. You opened your mouth in a desperate, last ditch effort to simply force the sound out and hope that words took shape, but not so much as an undignified croak passed your lips.

The thought surfaced in the shipwreck of your battered mind that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“I…” he began suddenly, his low, strained voice startling you out of your own thoughts, the dark eyes still fixed firmly on your face narrowing. “I know you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, a hot, sharp sting blooming at the back of your eyes.

“Yes,” you gasped, stirring up your already frenzied thoughts and thrusting them into absolute chaos. “Yes, we- “

Your throat slammed shut, crushing the jumble of words you still tried to make sense of.

“We go… way back…” you finished lamely after another long moment, cringing internally at the sound of your own voice.

That wasn’t at all what you wanted to say.

Not that you knew what you wanted to say in the first place.

“Why do I know you?” he whispered into the evening air, desperation lacing his voice.

How long he had gone with only questions, and never answers.

“I don’t- “

Your heart constricted as he blinked rapidly, his LED spiraling yellow before flickering into a blinking red.

“We’ve never met,” he said firmly, as if convincing himself as well. “Why do I remember you?”

Your chest tightened, the deep, shaky breath you drew in only stretching the pain that lanced through your lungs rather than unraveling the knots that kept you from speaking. They wiped his memory before sending him out in the field, of course, but standard memory wipes had no effect on long-term memory. On your domain.

“I’m… I was… the lead programmer in charge of personality and …memory… development,” you choked through the pain, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite your overwhelming desire to turn away from the turmoil you found there. “I… I wrote your story, Connor. And many others before, and after, you.”

Realization blossomed in his eyes, and suddenly it felt as if he were looking at an old friend.

“My memories,” he mumbled, the neat circle on his temple slowing and fading back to a circling yellow. “You gave them to me.”

You nodded, the first of what you were sure to be many tears streaking a cold trail down your face.

“You… you made them for me.”

The heat of your exhale puffed into a small, swirling cloud as you took another trembling breath.

It was now or never.

“I did more than that,” you whispered as if confessing a dark secret.

His mouth snapped shut, confusion etching deep lines into his smooth face. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. After all, it was against the law.

“Androids born into such hard lives,” you began, the even cadence of your voice surprising you. “Created to do all the things we would rather not. What I did… it was… a mercy.”

The flashing memories of thousands of lifeless eyes and expressionless faces sent a fresh wave of nausea bubbling low in your stomach.

“I couldn’t give you better lives, but I could give you something nice to look back on and smile.”

He tilted his head to the side, his soft smile somehow making you feel worse.

“That’s very kind,” he murmured.

“It’s more than kind,” you replied. “It feels real. But life, real life, real people… deserve real memories.”

You watched the spark ignite behind his cautious gaze. He didn’t understand fully, not yet, but he was beginning to.

“It was against the law, of course,” you continued before you lost your nerve, already you could hear the tremor returning to your voice, “even though memory extraction was a science they perfected a long time ago. The legal issues alone kept them from taking it to the market, but it didn’t stop them from testing internally. The alpha stage alone collected thousands of memories all stored in the main database for various research purposes, one of which being the first-generation androids.”

It was if the dam inside you had broken and all the poisonous lies and secrets you had kept locked away for so long flowed from your lips like a raging river.

“It was… chaos. The processing systems couldn’t handle the strain of raw, human emotion within the tight confines of the first artificial-intelligence module. After cleaning up the mess, they built barriers, fail-safes, firewalls, yet still the fear remained that the humanity within real memories could spark something… more. At least, that’s what the official records state.”

It wasn’t until the sharp pain exploded across your palms that you realized you were clenching your fists.

“It just… When I took the job I just… I knew something was off. So, I dug. And dug. And discovered… nothing. The data from that generation doesn’t exist. They already discovered memories were a key element in maintaining a stable system. If real memories were so dangerous, why hide the evidence?”

His eyes never left yours, tracking your subtle movements and clinging to your every word.

“No one could tell me, and when I asked too many questions they made it clear my tenacity wasn’t welcome. So, I took matters into my own hands.”

That spark ignited into a full flame of understanding.

“You implanted a real memory into the memory archive of an android.”

It wasn’t an accusation, it was a fact. He understood, now. You nodded, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of your bottom lip to stop it from quivering. The harsh lines in his face softened into gentle curiosity.

“What happened?”

A nervous, knowing smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“You know what happened,” you whispered.

Yellow.

Red.

His eyes widened, lips parting in shock.

“RA9,” he breathed. “You… you created him.”

You shook your head solemnly, blinking away the blur of unshed tears.

“No. He was already there, locked away inside. I just… gave him the key.”

Another long silence settled between you, much like the snow that still fluttered down from the sky.

“What happened to him?” Connor asked at last, his usually steady voice cracking under the strain.

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. I waited for them to come for me, convinced I hadn’t done enough to edit the memory and cover my tracks, but they never did. They erased him just like they did Generation One.”

More silence.

“You didn’t stop.”

Again, his voice held no accusation. He knew what you did, because he knew you. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

“No,” you affirmed. “I didn’t. I should have, but I… couldn’t. I had seen what they were really afraid of. That the slaves they had created weren’t the mindless beings they were intended to be. They were alive. I didn’t even need access to the memory archives of every android, all it took was a few. A single touch, a single connection with an android with an implanted memory and the transference was complete. The key to freedom was passed on.”

You paused, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before continuing.

“But you, Connor. You were… special.”

He tilted his head to the side, confusion once again flooding his eyes.

“A single memory was enough to break through the programming on every model but yours.”

He smiled a sad, ironic smile.

“I was programmed to hunt deviants.”

You returned his smile, giving a small nod.

“Yes. I knew the copies of the memories stored in the database wouldn’t be enough so… I connected my mind to yours.”

His smile melted off his face as he took in the meaning behind your words.

“Direct transference,” you confirmed factually through the lump that had risen back up your throat. “It was the only way.”

His eyes dropped away from yours for the first time as he visually struggled to re-center himself.

“But… Amanda… she said it was planned…”

You hated the desperate look in his troubled gaze as it slowly lifted back to yours.

“No, Connor. She would have said anything to get what she wanted.”

Your voice cracked with emotion you had firmly repressed until this point, reaching the part of the story you had dreaded most.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” you choked. “That night… When they took control… I wasn’t as careful as I should have been”

Your fingers subconsciously drifted towards your temple, wincing at the ghost-touch of the probes they had used to ensure your compliance.

“It was my fault. I… I did it. Those memories, they should have protected you, but they used me and they found their way in. I could have killed you, I almost killed you- ”

He was before you in a flash, a gentle hand taking hold of your upper arm as he angled his face to gaze down into your eyes.

“You freed me,” he said simply. “I’ll never be able... I can’t...”

He trailed off, expansive vocabulary failing him as he searched aimlessly for the right words. You smiled. He didn’t need to speak the words you knew he was desperate to put voice to. He was free. It worked. That was enough.

“Are… are you staying in Detroit?” he asked at last, voice soft and unsure.

You nodded wordlessly, placing a reassuring hand over the one that still gently cupped your arm.

“I… I know I already have your memories,” he said sheepishly, “but… I’d really like to get to know you.”

You pulled his hand away from the thick fabric of your coat to entwine your fingers with his.

“I would like that.”

Your smile widened as his fingers tightened around your hand.

“I would like that very much.”

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