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Made Together

a dark shipping meme

tl;dr version — a meme that explores a shipping concept from a darker perspective. Characters, brainwashed by losing their memories and other scientific deviancies, are bonded with their "lifemate," who they're said to be created for. They must live together and grow co-dependently close, all while the machinations behind the scene are twirling like cogs in order to move them closer to the darkness.

Anyone can be manipulated. You just need to work at them through the right person.

You wake up, groggy and confused, in a white room that is expansive and furnished with all white furniture, yet pristine. The white is probably so bright that it hurts your eyes and you may have to blink for a moment. It doesn't help that your body is swathed in white, too; you're wearing what appears to be a modern day white cotton scrub top and and bottom. In fact, the only spot of black on you is on the palm of your hand: right in the center, there's a barcode. Under that, in neat, angular print, is a name. Your name.

It's a good thing it's there because otherwise, you wouldn't know it. Your memories are gone. You don't know how you got here, why you're here, or much of anything else. Soon, however, you'll know that you're not alone. The other person is not you're captor, that much is for sure. They're clothed like you are and look just as confused. They even have the exact same barcode as you, down to the last number. The only thing that differs is the name under it.

But the room is furnished for one alone. One bed, one couch, one bathroom. You two don't know much, yet you know you are two. The secret is soon made clear by a voice over a hidden loudspeaker. The voice claims to be a scientist and announces the purpose of you being here. This is the first day of your existence, they say, and you two were created together and for each other. Lifemates, the term is. You both are the perfect scientific experiment, and let man not tear asunder what science hath created.

And that's it.

Accept this or not, there seems to be little recourse. The room has no visible entrance or exit. The walls don't budge if you hit them. Nothing works. The only time anything changes is when food is brought in, but neither of you have ever seen that occasion. No matter how long you stay up, you always fall asleep when food or other necessities come in. Could that have something to do with the soft, soothing voices and pleasant feelings that sometimes come when you least except them?

You and your "lifemate" may be mutually scared, get along swimmingly from the start. It doesn't matter. Eventually, you'll become closer and closer. Lines will get crossed. Boundaries will get obliterated. Maybe it's because they're the only lifeline you have. Or maybe, maybe what the "scientist" said is right. You're created for each other, and this is your natural state. Whatever the case may be, as time goes on, you want to stay with them, even if you still want to leave this place. After all, how could you leave the side of the person you've spent your whole life with.

Yet there's something in your mind that tells you there's wrong here. Sometimes, at night, you'll get images of another life, and later, during the day, you'll feel hints of an existence you've never known. Luckily, you have your lifemate to get you through this.

HOW TO PLAY

Basically, your character has no memories and are power-nerfed...for some options.
Reply with your character and preferences. Also be sure to mention whether or not you'll play smut, since some options are smut-tinged.
Reply to others!

PROMPTS

First Meeting — You've just woken up and are getting the news.
Learning about Each Other — Though you don't have memories, you still have personalities to navigate.
Distaste — You don't like each other. How are you created for each other at all?
Guard — While one sleeps, the other looks on. Why does their sleeping form bring up so much fondness?
Unwittingly — You didn't want to give in, yet you find yourself being pulled in by your companion and growing protective of them.
Closeness — Soft words grow into soft touches, embraces, tiny kisses, and a gentle (relatively) haven.
Initiating — The first time you're going to be intimate, or the five millionth time, it will be on your own terms.
Need You Now — You've grown reliant on your "lifemate" to keep you calm or even take care of you, whether you want to admit it or not. You may even need them beside you to sleep or
Physicality — Your relationship has a full-on carnal aspect. What else is there to do?
Twisted by Science — Your emotions have been tampered with to make you love your lifemate more because you weren't responding.
Pure Love — Despite the situation, what you feel for your companion is real. You truly love them, even if you haven't told them.
Connection — In some cases, lifemates have been known to have a mental connection, where they can share some thoughts and all pain.
Aphrodisiac — The sexual bonding between the two of you isn't progressing in a way it should, so one or both of you is injected with a potent aphrodisiac. That should do the trick.
Implanted Memories — You remember happy times with your lifemate. Surely those memories are real.
Flashbacks — You remember another life, and it doesn't match up with what you know.
Nightmares — Waking up in the middle of the night, sweating in fear is never a wonderful experience. Luckily, you have someone close by to cheer you up...if you want to worry them with your dreams.
No One but You — You've decided to ignore the scientists and make the best of what you have, carving out a little life together.
Scientist — You're not actually a lifemate, you're a scientist! However, you've developed pesky feelings for one of your subjects.
Breeding Stock — You're not humans, you're animals, and the scientists want you to breed as such.
Protect — You'll fight off anyone to protect your lifemate, scientists included.
Power Surge — What are these powers that have suddenly appeared? You've never had these! Your lifemate should stay back, lest you hurt them.
Training Together — New equipment has been put into your living quarters and you've been told to learn to work together perfectly. Whether you're both fighters or one is a fighter and the other their handler or healer, you must fit as well in battle as you do in life.
The Veil Falls — The curtain is raised, and you see that you're not an experiment. You had a life that's been stolen from you. Your mate had one, too. What will you do with this new knowledge?
Wish to Forget — Instead of being angry or glad about your past existence, you're horrified by what it was like and only want to live in the now with your lifemate.
To Garner a Response — The scientists want to see how you'd respond if your lifemate was hurt.
A Task Given — In order to guarantee the safety of your lifemate, you have to do a certain task. Maybe hurting someone else isn't a big deal as long as you get what's yours back.
A Taste of Freedom — You and your lifemate are allowed out, but you have a job to do.
Separated — You've been disobedient and as such, you two will be punished by separation.
Escape — There's a tiny window of opportunity to get out. Take it. But no one gets left behind, even if you would have before.
Separate Ways — Now that you're out, there's no reason to stay together, right? You're not really lifemates, right?
Can't Be Without You — ...only not, because now you're dependent on each other, and you can't live a life alone or with another.
Hard Time Adjusting — It's different living in the free world when you're used to being in a completely controlled habitat.
Living a Peaceful Life — You've managed to get past all the challenges and are now living a normal life together. But did the scientists ultimately win? After all, you are still "lifemates"...and there's still the trauma to deal with...
ANYTHING ELSE or WILDCARD OPTION!!!

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Henry relaxed almost instantly as Frankie took his hand, careful not to sag into the side of the fort, not about to send it toppling just yet, not if he could help it, and definitely not if it was actually helping, even a little.

"Plan B." He agreed, his voice little more than a murmur in return. He'd figure out a way to at least diagram what he had in mind, somehow, though it wasn't as if they'd been given anything to keep themselves occupied, food at irregular intervals, sleep whenever it came -and Henry was mostly trying not to think about the fact that their sleep was likely induced somehow- which didn't leave any way of communicating without being heard.

But he had faith that they'd figure something out.

Frankie sighed and nodded, then shifted enough to tug Henry close alongside him and wrapped his arm around Henry and buried his face in Henry’s shoulder. He squeezed Henry’s hand tightly and took a deep breath.

“I’m glad…” he huffed out a soft laugh. “I mean, at least we’re together.” Whether or not they were what the Voices said they were, they were together.

Henry relaxed further at that, careful in shifting over, still not wanting to disturb the little shelter, but he also pulled the pillow that Frankie's face had been buried in a moment ago up over his head. It might have been a good-natured attempt at smothering him, but was mostly just trying to keep him as shaded as possible, now that he'd figured out that was what was going on.

"We are. And nothing's going to separate us." He knew that, down to his bones, a snippet of a tune crossed his mind even as he said it, brow creasing as he hummed it, just mumbling the lyrics of: "Standing strong forever, nothing's gonna stop us now." More or less to the same tune, shaking his head a moment later because much like with the box turtle, it was gone again as soon as he'd thought of it.

The pillow covered his head and Frankie snorted softly as it hit him, but he shifted his head to let it sit better so it would keep his eyes in the dark but not block his air flow.

“You remember another song?” Henry had hummed a couple of snippets of songs while they’d been there, but never a full song. Henry had a nice voice, and Frankie was hoping Henry would remember more, so he could hear more of it.

The darkness around his face was definitely helping. If he could manage to stay like this a little while, he might even start to feel better. Though honestly, he couldn’t be sure.

He couldn't help but smile at the snort, because Frankie was relaxing, even if it was only a little, it was still enough for Henry to realize just how tense he'd been for how long, just waiting for something even if neither of them knew what.

The question caught him a little off-guard, and he made a thoughtful sound, actually considering it, trying to think of any song, even the one he'd just been humming, but upon drawing a blank he shook his head a little, "No, not if I'm thinking about it." Because that was really it, any other time music had surfaced in his mind it was when he was focused on something else, often something seemingly inconsequential, given as how there wasn't anything actually important to draw his focus, "Only when I'm thinking about other things."

Frankie sighed. “Figures.” But still… “Means there’s something there, though. Behind… or beneath. It’s not gone.” At least… that’s what he hoped.

He ran his thumb over Henry’s, thinking. “You could… make something up, if you want. You have a nice voice. I bet you could write a nice song.”

Henry had gone still and silent at that suggestion, not the thought that they had to have other memories, he'd already figured that one out at least once -though it was likewise something that slipped his mind if he wasn't focusing on it- but the idea that he could write songs.

His voice was little more than a murmur, just barely audible when he spoke again, "I used to do that." He could remember not just the physicality of it, pen in hand, drumming out a tempo against the edge of a notebook at least as often as he jotted down lyrics and melody tabs, but the emotional weight of it, the frustration that came with not being able to match things the way he thought they needed to be, the elation when inspiration and caffeine and whatever else all fell into place and things just flowed.

He made a frustrated little noise a moment later as he turned his head to stifle a yawn against his own shoulder, "Not now." He knew that yawning like that would lead to sleep, whether he wanted to or not, and sleep would lead to forgetting things.

Shocked by what he knew he’d heard, despite the quietness of it, Frankie pulled the pillow off his head and stared at Henry, his hand squeezing Henry’s so tightly he was almost white knuckled. “You remember?” he asked, his voice no louder than Henry’s. Searching Henry’s face, he frowned when he saw the yawn, and pinched Henry’s side sharply. Frankie didn’t feel tired yet, but he didn’t ever really feel tired. All the same, he knew Henry’s yawns would lead both of them to sleep no matter how Frankie felt.

“No, not now,” he echoed, his voice still barely audible. “You remember. What do you feel?”

His eyes clenched shut so tightly it hurt, able to see the spinning zig-zag patterns that he knew his brain made up to fill in the space, fingers of his free hand kneading at his temple as if that might help coax something back to the surface, or at least let it linger there even as his other hand curled tight against Frankie's in turn.

Trying to remember hurt, it hurt in a way he didn't think he'd ever hurt before, like some part of him was tearing, and not just tearing, but peeling apart in layers, "The words would get all tangled together." It was a barely-there rush, his breathing starting to shallow, either not noticing or not caring about the one fat droplet of blood gathering at his nose, "But if I could find the right one." A little shake of his head, a twitch more than anything, continuing through gritted teeth, "Find the right one, I could... could just, spin them, like... like yarn, like magic, like..." A rough, pained little noise in the back of his throat and another shake of his head, "I can't. I don't know."

Watching Henry struggle with the memory was hard, but Frankie knew it was even harder for Henry going through it. Frankie watched silently, listening, and kept his grip tight on Henry, supporting as much as he could.

When Henry broke off, Frankie pulled him into a hug, kissing the top of his head and shushing him softly. “No, no, you did good, you got so close.” He kissed Henry’s head again. “I’m so proud of you.”

Everything from the middle of his chest up hurt, even things he didn't think should hurt, as he was reasonably sure he could actually feel his hair at the moment, and he wasn't sure if that was normal. He let his head curl forward, brow pressed to Frankie's chest, wheezing faintly as he tried to rein his breathing in to something level and regular again.

He wasn't quite sure how they'd gone from him helping shield Frankie from the ever-present glare of the lights to Frankie bundling him close and expressing pride in him for having done something that felt like tearing the inside of his own head apart. It was another few moments before he actually managed to get his breathing under control, voice just a little slurred when he asked: "Can we sleep now?"

Frankie felt Henry shudder in his arms and felt a stab of guilt for encouraging him to dig so hard. It… wasn’t usually that bad, right? It didn’t feel like it, but Frankie couldn’t be sure, what with how time faded in and out and took their thoughts with it.

Maybe this time, Henry had found something important. Frankie hoped it wouldn’t be gone again when they woke up.

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.” He grabbed the corner of one of the less load-bearing blankets and tugged it over them so it covered them fully, even over their heads. Frankie rested his head on top of Henry’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He shook his head just a little at the apology, arm having curled around Frankie's waist again, head still pressed to his chest, "It's not like that, usually." He wasn't sure how he was so sure of that, but on the cusp of sleep it was easier to be sure of most things.

"It's usually like... fish. The little silver ones, in a stream?" His voice was still little more than a murmur, and less-slurred than it had been a moment before, which was probably a good thing, even if it was only because he was speaking more slowly, "Scatter if you move too fast. This was different. Like thorns. Barbed wire in the mud. I dunno, maybe both things."

Frankie hummed softly as he considered that. Memories like thorns sounded… familiar somehow. Or maybe it was just evocative enough that he could empathize with it. He stroked Henry’s back and kissed his head one more time.

“Go to sleep. If we still remember it when we wake up, we can figure out what it means then. And maybe do that thing about the light.”

He made a quiet sound of agreement, though even he wasn't fully sure which portion of that statement it was in regards to, maybe both. He was contemplating the difference in memory -how immediately trying to dredge up more as soon as he recognized something sent them all scattering like minnows in a pond, and how holding on and not letting go of the one thing he recognized hurt like hell- as he drifted off.

Though as always when sleep happened it wasn't a drifting off as much as just being awake, and then waking up again however long after, blinking blearily and trying to figure out what was wrong with the situation, and what he finally came around to, quiet and puzzled was: "Frankie? Has the ceiling always been this close?"

Apparently, whoever was observing them had decided to leave the slapdash pillow fort alone, probably intrigued more than concerned about what might happen.

For Frankie, falling asleep was more like closing his eyes and then opening them again with the knowledge that a chunk of time had passed while his eyes were closed. He felt like maybe that wasn't what sleep was supposed to feel like, but he had nothing to compare it to except for Henry's drowsiness and bleariness, which Frankie never felt.

Still, he woke up, feeling comfortable and mostly relaxed, still curled around Henry. He looked around, poked his head out of the blanket, and squinted a bit as he tried to piece together what sleep had tried to take away from him.

"I think... we made a fort?" That sounded right. "And they didn't... take it down."

"Oh. That makes more sense." It made more sense than the ceiling being lowered, at any rate, but it made less sense in that everything in the room had always been re-set when they'd gone to sleep before, at least he felt like it had, it had always felt like every time he woke up they were right back at square one, or nearly so.

The change was discomforting simply by dint of it being a change, and while he knew it shouldn't be that much of a concern, it still felt like one.

His brow furrowed, reaching up to brush an irritation away from his lip and nose, nose wrinkling further when he realized it was a smear of dried blood, muttering only a quiet: "Gross." When he did.

Frankie didn't particularly want to move--he was comfortable, and the way the sheets and blankets blocked out a fair amount of light was very soothing. He felt almost like if he were able to just... let go, he could relax even more, but he didn't really know how he could accomplish that. Let go of what? and what would happen?

His attention turned back to Henry. "You okay?"

He nodded at the question, nose wrinkling a little as he made himself stop brushing the flecks away, he'd actually have to go wash his face instead of leaving confetti-flakes of dried blood in the blankets, "Yeah. I think so. Nosebleed maybe? Do you know if I get those?"

He didn't remember it being a problem before, but he didn't remember a lot of things, and -at least for the time being- didn't remember that he didn't remember, things were or they weren't, and that was all he needed to know.

Frankie's brow furrowed as he looked Henry over. "I don't think so." He brushed his thumb gently across Henry's cheek. He felt like something significant had happened... if he could just...

The gears in his head were grinding, and it felt like he was going to give himself a headache if he kept chasing the memory through the fog, but it felt important, and it was right there...

"I think... you remembered something."

His head tilted easily towards the touch, but he fell still again at the answer, brow creasing, "Why would I need to remember something?"

They hadn't re-set the room, but they had, apparently, managed to re-set Henry, at least to a point, but how far that regression went was anyone's guess. Though perhaps more importantly, it wasn't the first time. It was the first time Henry had managed to remember anything of significance, but not the first time that the remembrance had been rolled back.

Something about Frankie must have been different, because his resets were never as clean as Henry's, and while Henry seemed to be a blank slate for previous events currently, Frankie knew something was missing. But he also knew it related to Henry's bloody nose, and it made him reluctant to press the matter with Henry.

The gears in his mind were still grinding, though. And it hurt, and his brow furrowed more as he kept chasing the thought, but his hand on Henry's face stayed gentle, caressing.

"Would you... sing me something?"

He smiled easily and broadly at the request, "Of course." But then, after a moment of stillness wherein he completely failed to remember any songs he might know, the smile faded, brow creasing instead.

Obviously if Frankie was asking, it meant he'd heard Henry sing before, but he couldn't remember a single time, or what Frankie's favorite song might be, which he felt like was something he should know.

Finally what he asked, quiet and vaguely puzzled was: "What would you like me to sing?"

Frankie watched Henry's face closely, and he could tell when Henry came up short in his memory. Frankie couldn't remember any songs either, but something about Henry singing felt important, so after a moment where Frankie worried his lip between his teeth, he hesitantly replied, "maybe make up something?"

That was enough to have his brow furrowing all the more deeply, because that sounded made up in and of itself, "Is that something I usually do?"

He felt like being able to sing something was entirely different from being able to make up a song, but at the same time they were obviously related, in some small way, he was just finding himself completely unable to make the two connect.

Even so there was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that he should be able to, and he didn't fully notice his fingers lightly tapping out the same drum-beat rhythm he usually tapped his pen to when he got stuck on lyrics or melody when he was working on a song.

Ready to comply

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