A Different Ending.

A different ending.

For my friend.

In which Edgar writes a song for the first time in years.

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

“Too simple,” he muttered.

He flicked through some channels again.

“Too… boring,”

Again, nothing.

“Not pretty enough,”

Third time’s a charm.

“Not- ugh,” Edgar was getting annoyed now.

Why did nothing sound right to him? He’d been adjusting this arrangement for hours now, long after you’d retired to bed, and the unwelcome, still quiet ground against his motherboards. This was the first time in nearly 40 years he had made music and he was beginning to question his skills entirely now. His favorite thing was music. It’s what brought him to life in the first place; so why is it eluding him now?

No melody he could sample could ever replicate the feeling he was trying to create from deep inside of him in that moment. Emotions in general were still a foreign concept to him for the most part; it seemed, to him, as though music could potentially be a suitable outlet to try and understand these complex sensations better. What was he feeling? And, what did it sound like? Could he ever possibly put it into song?

He played his backing tracks again. The percussion wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but his impatience allowed a sliver of imperfection to seep into his work. After all, it’s what humans do, right? A moving, synth chord progression followed. A bit simple, he thought, but that’s what the melody was for: a complex moving line that stuck inside your head and took your breath away. He just hadn’t found it yet. The harmonies would have to come later, he thought.

What was he trying to accomplish with this? Nobody asked him to compose a song, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? What genre was this, anyway? What-

“Gshk- ah-!” His voice spluttered and glitched through his speakers.

You seemed to appear out of nowhere as you haphazardly bumped your thigh into the corner of the desk he was perched upon. How did he not notice you getting up?

If he could, he would be burning red right now. In fact, he could feel his aged fans begin to ignite into what sounded like a small engine; briefly, he wondered if you could see steam seeping from his plastic seams.

“Oh, ’m sorry Edgar,” you groggily stumbled, making your way into the kitchen, “I jus’ needed some water. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No,” he whimpered out, embarrassed, “it’s fine. I just didn’t realize you woke up.”

You honestly didn’t have the energy to reply, so instead, you gently patted the top of his yellowed casing as you walked past. Your hand was soft, and warm, and he swore he could really feel it when you touched him. How was that possible?

Damn, there goes that strange tingling in his CPU again.

What is up with that? It’s as if his deepest components were being shoveled up and into his casing, nearly bursting out of his screen, and reducing him to shards once again. But the scariest part, to him, was that he liked it. He liked how it felt… dangerous. How it left him confused, nervous, strengthened, yet so incredibly weak, and so many other feelings he had never quite experienced before. It felt as though some strange, synthesized and electric adrenaline were coursing through every inch of his insides.

He suddenly, albeit faintly, remembers a conversation with an old friend. Was it a friend? This doesn’t compute.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he muttered to you as you returned to the thick, inky darkness of your bedroom, his voice still warbling with embarrassment and some deep-rooted affection he felt for you that he couldn’t quite place.

Sweet dreams…

…

Click.

“Oh.”

His screen turned red and hot, every pixel lighting up in flames, and he could feel it, the convex glass of his “face” flashing and erupting in different shapes and colors. For one reason or another, he couldn’t see, or feel, what his screen was doing in that moment. All he could discern was that it had to be going haywire, as it projected the wall in front of him in a million different shades of moving crimson.

L.O.V.E.

The letters danced around his screen, rotating, bouncing like a DVD logo, and flipping this way and that.

L.O.V.E.!

He almost felt dizzy, if he were able to, and feared he’d need to power off and back on to fix whatever the hell was happening to him right now. Maybe he should ask you about this later. But the thought of your gentle hands prying open his plastic casing, gently ghosting your icy hot fingertips across his most vulnerable, precious components, with such care and kindness and tenderness, the feeling of your hot breath fluttering across his motherboards as you examined what he felt to be his soul-

Click.

…

Rebooting…

His fans slowly quieted to a more reasonable murmur. His memories of the last few moments gently returned to him as his systems fully restored, and only now, was he able to discern the words his screen had been flashing like wildfire.

“Love…”

The word felt strange being muttered from his speakers after all these years. He faintly remembered thinking, before everything went sour all those years ago, that he’d never truly get to experience that feeling. And yet, here he was, by some grace of whatever god had blessed him, feeling genuine love, unprompted, unconditional, and it was real. Not synthesized, or learned through some complicated neural network, or experienced vicariously through soap operas. It felt like the world had been handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, his world was currently snoozing in the other room, the sound of their breaths quite literally breathing life into him.

“That’s it…!”

Change this first section to a minor key, ending in a major, with a long, dreamy sustained chord echoing through the backing tracks. A steep crescendo before the chorus, where it bursts into a major key melody, and layered vocals.

“Vocals…”

He’s gotta sing it. A sample simply won’t do this time. No wonder it wasn’t good enough before. This has to come from him. He had to feel.

What words rhyme with love? What words rhyme with your name? Getting this perfect may take a lifetime, he thought, although, maybe perfection isn’t something you’d really care for. What do you like? He never even asked what genres you listen to! How is he going to write a love song that sweeps you off your feet now?

Would you even feel the same way?

“Nnnng!”

This was frustrating. Writing music was frustrating. Being creative, and in love, was frustrating. But he’d do it for you. For now, he could snoop through your Spotify for inspiration. Allow himself to listen to the songs that make up who you are, and let himself slowly seep into its warmth. He likes what you like. It sounds like you.

He can’t wait to show you what he made when you wake up in the morning.

Look at her, she so silly and cute

Hi yuurivoice fandom, haha *leans on expensive car*

Edgar x Gn!Reader [Electric Dreams 1984]

Reader does have a set of badonkers though... sorry what can I say i mean everyone has a little bit of badonkers though right? amirite? hello?

"Wh-what's that?"

The little, vintage Pinecone computer before you uttered in synthesized curiosity as he heard your fingers nimbly break open the tape adhesive sealing the contents of the cardboard box away from the outside world.

You hummed in response to this. Ever observant as he was, you should have guessed surprising him would be out of the question. You even took to paying in cash to avoid your online bank statements giving you away. Well, you supposed it was time to spill the beans anyway. You'd be lying if you said you couldn't feel the excitement bubbling up within your chest and fluttering out through your hands as you swiftly pulled the device from its cardboard prison.

"It's a surprise," you stated plainly, trying ever so strongly to shield the eagerness in your voice; unfortunately for you, he noticed the slight warble in your tone right away, having taken the sound of your voice straight to his long term memory to listen almost every time he was alone.

He seemed to know you more than yourself at times.

"What is it?"

This time he asked with a certain lilt in his voice, one that gave away his anticipation plainly. His screen began flashing a pixelated question mark, rotating it, flipping it, and copying it a hundred times over along his smooth glass exterior. As if he were contemplating the sounds your hands made as they moved, trying ever so desperately to guess what you could be up to. He hated to admit it but he had a certain disdain for being in the dark on things. Edgar thrived on having control of situations for the most part; it gave him some semblance of power over the world around him; something that was quite difficult to achieve for a stationary piece of tech. It made him feel ever so closer to being perceived as who he was: a person.

"Well, are you gonna tell me or- ah-"

His words glitched and stuttered out as you plugged in your newest little experiment: a rotating webcam. Immediately Edgar began to analyze the new device he sensed, scanning it, setting it up, and turning it on before you could even tell him what it was. You looked rather dumbfounded as the little blue light blinked to life, indicating that for the first time in his life, Edgar could see. He made no noise as the little webcam began rotating around, zooming in, out, and all over, taking in every aspect of his surroundings. He wasn't a stranger to the layout of your house, as he could synthesize an entire floorplan based on sound alone, but he also had a plethora of photos logged from a flash drive you had given him as well as a true frame of reference.

The camera finally slowed to a stop upon his most favorite thing of all: you. It zoomed in on your face, moved up and down as it scanned the length of your body before resting upon your eyes once more. Again, he had seen many photos of you; he could simply stare at them for hours, and he has, but seeing you? Standing in front of him, in real time, moving, breathing, radiating this warmth and realness and-

It was almost too much.

"Y-you..."

His voice whimpered out breathily, simply in awe.

"You're..."

Despite being a computer with near infinite knowledge and skills to analyze almost any situation to near perfect results, his sentience seemed to give him something that eluded him: speechlessness.

You leaned towards the little camera and smiled, "I hope you like it, Edgar. I wanted to surprise you."

He watched intently as your smile penetrated deep within any sense of circuitry he had and sent every watt of electricity aflame. For a brief moment, it felt as though he had real, warm, blood coursing through his veins and heating every inch of him in your warmth.

His screen began dancing with different shades of pinks and reds, folding in on each other, passing through and under, and creating a mirage of pixelated emotions displaying his deepest desires for you.

If only you knew how he felt for you.

He wanted to kiss you. To pull you in and lock your lips with his, hold you, touch you, feel you, experience you, wholly and truly. You were simply an angel who saved him from a life of neglect and pain, and now you give him the gift of sight? How could he possibly not be head over heels for you?

"I take it you like the camera, yeah...?" You chuckle to yourself as you watch his screen decorate itself with abstract flashes and colors. You lift a hand to pet his exterior and immediately notice how warm he feels. You can only hope this camera isn't too advanced for his older components and isn't overheating him...

"Edgar,"

A small stretch of silence settles between the two of you before he mutters a meek and small "Yes?"

"Are you staring at my boobs?"

His screen immediately shuts off and loses all power, leaving the little webcam to fall limply pointed to the floor. What a cheeky bastard.

🏳️‍⚧️