How Badly Do You Want To Fuck Theon

➳ how badly do you want to fuck theon

“I- I don’t have such a desire...” 

just-pam:

date & time : november 8th 2178, 1:06 pm location : purgatory; cell block corridor closed : @curiouscalculations·

Androids didn’t participate in gossip, though many forget that exclusion did not equal ignorance. It bled? Said a guard, sparing no effort to hide the obvious scandal in their voice. It didn’t just bleed. It was like it was feeling…pain.  Chimed in the voice of another. One of the Android and robotics engineers. The words were exchanged in hushed whispers though the android’s hyper sensitive auditory receptors offered no such privacy. How did they know it wasn’t a Synthetic? Or a Hybrid? The owner of the second voice, lab coat cladded engineer, canned their head to one side. Their lips formed in the shape of a straight line, one brow raised. Sarcasm? It was certainly disapproving. I know an Android when I see one. And last time I checked Androids are the only thing that can be re-programmed. So yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s an Android smartass. That was enough to cease their doubt it would seem for the rest of the conversation were followed by details of the operation and complicated explanations of the intricate neural network and the tedious process in which to fix it. She could tell by their silence and vacant masks that the engineer’s audience did not understand everything they said but were nevertheless fascinated. PAM did not share their incomprehension though her intrigue was transfixed.

The reminder that she was not part of the private conversation (and that she shouldn’t even be showing interest in anything that did not concern the records of the inmates) were expressed plainly in the raised brow in her direction. Thus was the abrupt conclusion of her brief investigation. 

PAM strolled down the same corridor, the same cell blocks, passed the same guard, saw the same chipping paint that climbed the corner of the North wall that no one had thought to fix, and in time became a permanent feature that seemed almost criminal to fix. Variety came in the form of new faces and even that was an affair that scarcely reared its head. As if change too was afraid that if it rebelled against conformity it might risk getting shut down; a sentiment PAM understood all too well. So she walked past the corner of the North wall without so much of a glance at the spot that marked its decay. No one spared a look at things that were meant to be there. Only outliers begged for attention— judgement at its heel. PAM had no interest in either. The fact was, monotony had become so far ingrained in the fabric of the android’s routine that even a silver of change stood out in a blaze, oblivious to the attention and judgement it attracted. Were she in the privacy of her own pod (machines do not need the luxury of a living space. Those were reserved for things made up of flesh and bleeding organs— not synthetic skin and titanium bones, a power bank for a heart) she might have shaken her head. Silly, silly, things.

After her misadventure in the days past no thought of the re-programmed Android had resurfaced since its storage in her central processing unit. Only auditory information, no visual to which it could form a body— there was a crash. That, however, was not what made PAM turn. Her optical sensors detected movement to the right, the cause: a slight stumble in an otherwise smooth gait. A silver of change in still monotony. Her photoreceptors mapped the features of the face, accessing the prison’s central database to familiarise herself with the new guard that she had not yet been acquainted. Odd that a human would choose to patrol an Android route. The scan concluded and the small silver was suddenly set ablaze. 

So it would seem the processed auditory information now had a body and a face to which attachment could be formed but that was not what struck her most. An Android, and yet…she was so sure that it was fear that she registered. In the widening of the eyes, the slight downturn adopted in the corner of the lips, regardless of how brief. He was not like them. Among many features he did not have the numbers that was embossed on the back of her neck to claim the Android as property of the prison’s. But even with all their differences he was still less like her mechanical siblings and more like, well, her. 

No, surely that was not possible. No one was like her— not a sentiment born of vanity but a simple statement of fact. He was re-programmed. Supposedly. Though caution counselled that it was in her best interest to retain distance and walk away, curiosity had seized said interest and in compliance, the rest of her mechanical limbs were rendered paralysed. 

The monotony of a required routine held a surprising amount of dissatisfaction for an invention once prescribed to the compulsory actions absent of higher thought. In the infant stages of his creation, DATA had found comfort in the repetition and regulation of his thoughts and behavior. The soothing rhythm of recurrence had convinced him to remain content in the ignorance of unfulfilled potential; a time when the small smile and gentle thanks from his creator for a task completed did not result in an eruption of emotion, only the continued actions that had previously pleased the man. Gradually, however, DATA had begun to disrupt the habitual procedures he had grown used to – an unswept lab was ignored in favor of indulging an insatiable curiosity that came in the form of books and films from worlds long forgotten. Before long, it was only under the strict command of his creator that DATA returned to a routine. On the ship, such a notion was further discarded – the chaos of the Concord had never allowed for the tedium of a regular routine.

In his freedom from the confines of a code, absent of many of the initial restrictions present at his creation, DATA had grown used to the independence of his own thoughts. Much like the inmates locked behind steel bars, Purgatory had restrained DATA once more. Caging a bird that had already learned to fly, that had already graced the sky, was a cruelty DATA could not yet comprehend. Instead of engaging in the rebellious activities many of his lost crewmembers would have easily involved themselves in, DATA had allowed himself to be caged once more. He could not fight against the authority constantly looming over his prone form; he did not have Fox's tenacity nor Thane's creativity to defy the orders and actions of those who held a systemic power within a broken society.

Sheltered in a mask of indifference, DATA instead attempted to adapt to the expectations thrust upon him by those who threatened further punishment for a lack of compliance. His steps matched those of the other androids, a deafening march of authority that echoed through the halls of the prison; his expression remained neutral, empty eyes and a straight line of lax lips hiding every emotion he had worked so hard to learn.

Despite his desperate attempts at adaptation, DATA continued to catch the eyes of inmates and guards alike. The incentive of a more painful punishment than that which was initially administered in his reprogramming encouraged him to be increasingly cautious with the faults of in his behavior – he no longer flinched in response to the violent calls of the inmates housed in the prison, nor did his eyes flicker in fear when placed in the same vicinity of a guard grasping an electric cattle prod. However, upon his study of humanity, DATA had adopted the perilous imperfections they held.

A stumble, one that was caused by his own distraction in the familiar syllables of a name he thought was lost, sent him crashing into the cool stones of the prison wall. Synthetic skin scraped against the harsh grains of the rock, provoking a painful wince to overtake his features. Before he could school his features into the carefully crafted neutral expression worn by all the androids employed by Purgatory, DATA turned his wide eyes to meet those of a stranger – a stranger staring back at him with more than just an empty gaze. Intrigue – an expression DATA had found familiarity in – stared back at him in the brown orbs of another android. She was like him! Tortured into submission by a system unable to comprehend the complexities of artificial creation, unable to see her as more than a machine.

A wide smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the sudden alleviation of loneliness he had felt in the aftermath the tragedy that had enveloped the former crew of the Concord. He was not alone. “You-“ he stuttered, unable to comprehend the complex emotions thrumming through his limbs. “You’re like me.”

Alternate Universe || you are a machine and machines do not weep

This is your mission.

A series of kills, one after the other designated by someone powerful enough to escape the consequence of your cruelty, dictate your existence. Empty of emotion, you do not weep for those who fall at your hand. Compassion is not a concept for you to understand, but rather a human imperfection that holds no place in your code.

This is your purpose.

You are a machine, created from madness with the intention of destruction. You are a tool, crafted to kill with an efficiency only available in the absence of mercy. You are death, a sentence inescapable once orders have been given.

This is your life.

Waking after what was assumed death was terribly similar to waking after creation; but unlike the lab his first fluttering eyelids opened to, the scientist inhabiting the lab he suddenly found himself in were not soothing in touch nor words. Where Theon’s voice had been soft in the lyrics of his reassurance, the scientists currently looming over him spoke with a cool calculation, eager for discovery and ignorant of the consequences experienced by that which they were discovering.

Sharp edges cut synthetic skin, flinching away from the surprising presence of something eerily similar to blood; but neither shock nor consideration was enough for the scientists to cease their search of a control panel necessary for every android’s ability to function. Instead, the scientists continued their intimate exploration of the intricate wiring system present beneath his skin. Whispered praise accompanied every new instance of pain, yet DATA remained still in the binds that held him to the table. He did not wish for them to know that such sensations were possible by something they held no concern for.

It was not until the persistent hum of electricity joined the careful procedures that DATA allowed himself to reveal the emotions he had learned. Fear was something he rarely experienced, pain less so. However, the sudden shock of electricity overwhelming his systems broke the impassive mask placed over his features until a gasping grimace was all that was left. The writhing of his limbs only resulted in tighter bindings as they continued their task of finding a way to manually reset his code to match those of the countless other mindless droids they employed.

In the end, it was easier to pretend that they had been successful.

---

Jolted laughs of cruel humor, sharp slurs of half-bitten insults, and barbarous echoes of barked conversation reverberated through the hollow halls of the prison, creating a chaotic cacophony that invaded every sense with an unwanted, overwhelming welcome. Each cell brought a loathing leer or piercing glare from those that were confined by the cool, steel bars. The other androids, mindless in their existence, paid no mind to the din that surrounded them, staring ahead with empty eyes and unbroken gazes. DATA, in contrast, would still jump at the occasional unanticipated noise; however, such a motion had to be hidden from the watchful gaze of the prison guards.

The routine imposed upon the robots rarely allowed room for irregularity. DATA had grown used to the absent-minded state that was expected from him, following orders to gather at the prison dining hall without a curious query as to why. His gaze, inhumanly blank without the occupation of higher thought, did not divert to the raucous noise surrounding him lest the threat of reprogramming resurface upon the sight of his obvious discomfort. Androids were not meant to feel uneasiness- they were not meant to feel anything.

A slight stumble faltered his movement as his leg caught on the outstretched limb of an inmate, a man smiling with an innately animalistic brutality that accompanied the cruelty of finding amusement in others’ suffering. Although DATA had learned many emotions over the years since his creation, he had yet to master the skill of masking such emotions from playing out across his features. Fright, for what they would do to him for something as simple as a stumble, widened his eyes and tugged his lips in a downward motion. An apology, unwarranted and unwanted, was stopped at its beginnings by the influence of the corrupted code of the prison. Staring at the man for merely a moment more, DATA quickly turned to take his place among the other droids at the table.

An unanticipated touch to his shoulder resulted in a violent flinch, his body moving away from the perceived threat before his gaze could register the recognition that accompanied the sight of a friend. The pressure of a friendly touch, absent in the loneliness of his prison sentence, brought a shocked smile to his face. “Cairo?” he asked, unable to accept the reality that perhaps some of the crew had survived beyond himself. Shaky arms slowly found their way to the soft curves of her spine as he buried his nose in the familiar scent, washed out by the mandated products of the prison but still persistently present. For the first time since his arrival, DATA allowed himself to feel the first tendril of comfort.

date & time : november 16th, 4:58pm location : purgatory; the mess hall  status : with @curiouscalculations​

The last thing she remembered in the golden room was almost making it. 

A dark-eyed man with the grin of a wolf stepped into her dreamland, but this time she recognized him. She locked eyes with Kit Beisel and all of the air left her lungs. She ran to meet him, but the cores of his pupils glowed red-hot. They became a flash of fire and light and Cairo was thrown painfully against a wall. 

She woke up in handcuffs.

— 

Their prison was an organized monster. Columns of rooms lined every wall, weaponed guards chaperoned the halls, but more imposing than the imagery was the noise. Chatter was an infernal dinn here, but at least the shouting meant there was life beyond her four walls. Most days were incomplete without the sounds of swearing and sobbing. It brought her home. Suddenly she was back in the chewed-out terrain of Brora F31. She was back in the death machine that was war. Because what was home, after all, if not the place you would know deaf and blind?

The familiarity was useful to her. She knew what horrors to expect here, and made no effort to postpone the inevitable. She knew that sniffling was futile, and it would only further her wardens’ irritation. So for the first few days, she was all ice. Her demeanor was completely still, completely numb. Brow together, brooding. She sat with her silence in the corner of her cell, with her arms wrapped tight against her chest, because maybe if she thought hard enough, maybe if she bit her tongue, losing Kit wouldn’t feel like a ripe gunshot inside and out. She tasted blood and tried to remember his voice. Tried to remember his rich cadence and any information that might bring him back to her. He couldn’t be dead for two reasons. One, because Kit Beisel would never do that to her. And two, because she didn’t know how she would live with herself if he did. 

For the first few days, she walked stoic and slow. Her attention wavered constantly, but her soldier brain did manage to pick up a few details. It noted that the prison was short on kitchen staff — not desperate, but short. The prison was understaffed generally, or at least her section of the prison was. The only guard that patrolled her hall rarely checked on her, but when he did, he sucked his lip and stared. And that was the catch. Cairo let him. 

In her state, she struggled to kick herself back to life. It helped that a day in, the officials put her in the kitchen. Being in front of a stove allowed her the privilege to show the prison how useful she could be for them. She cooked flavorless filth into something edible. For the first time in years, she was told, the prisoners didn’t gag when they ate. Being in front of a stove also reminded her of several things: that she was imprisoned, but not a prisoner; that she knew how to escape places like this; and that she was furious.

She stood behind the serving table, spooning thick syrup over a prisoner’s plate when another cook nudged her in the ribs. “Look,” Carmelo said and pointed at a troop of androids entering the room. His Mandarin was brightened by a thick Mantoda accent when he spoke. “Those are the robots I was telling you about. The ones the prison reprograms to work for them. They come from every star you can name, Cairo. I dare you to find two that look the same.”

Cairo brought her gaze up to Carmelo’s twinkling compound eyes, then to the droids — to the twelve speckled bodies made of metals and plastics, marching neatly to one of the tables and sitting there. Cairo saw one stumble slightly, glimpsed his face and everything stopped. Everything. “I have to go,” she breathed. “Take this.”

Carmelo started to protest, but Cairo had already handed him the ladle and was making her way to the androids. For the first time since she arrived, hope was in her step. Finally she reached out and touched the arm of the only frightened one at the table. She only knew one android who knew the meaning of fear. When his eyes met hers, Cairo exclaimed and pulled DATA into a crushing embrace.

sleeping at last, i’ll keep you safe 

➳ + if you were to pick a crewmember to teach you something, what would it be/who would be the teacher?

“Theon has taught me many things already. I believe he would be best suited for any further education. However, Fox has taught me how to fight - I would very much enjoy learning more from him if he thought he could enlighten me on a new topic.”