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starryficsfinishwen · 1 year ago

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𑁍ࠬܓ [activation day special] ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ — lee x reader

ㅤㅤyour whispers, sunlight;

ㅤㅤcold hands feeling for mine

syn. ; lee finds comfort in your arms after a long war.

a.n. - I'm sorry I'm super late TvT its defo my fault bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR COMING HOME TO ME I HOPE U GET A NEW FRAME SO I CAN SIMP MORE!! also I'm really sorry for the slow and bad updates, I was busy for the past few months due to busy sched (eyy thanks uni) and my poor baby lappy unfortunately had her fan broken down so pray she gets her swift recovery soon 🙏🏻🙏🏻 qna: will chrome get his own activation day special? a: HECK YA qna: when? A: yeah imnida

pairing - lee x f!commandant

words - 3,573

content warnings - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW content: cunnilingus, handjob soft sex eeeyyy. mostly soft lee cuz he deserves it after *TOOOT* HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE

divider/s by @/saradika-graphics

Warmth. An unfamiliar word, an evading emotion; one that Lee was devoid of for the remainder of his human years.

It was something hard to find. If ever he had it, he would unconditionally give it to his younger brother, in order to make him safe and happy. Even in the darkest days of his human life, until he breathed his last, it was a feeling that avoided him. Would he ever find it? Who knows.

Maybe someone does. Maybe it would be manifested into someone he was long familiar with, apart from Murray, someone who makes his mechanical heart shake. Someone who was then standing by the doorway, whose figure he had long memorized in his M.I.N.D.

You, his precious commandant of the Gray Raven, stood there, bright eyes brimming with curiosity, shaking a familiar brown bag in hand.

“Lee, what is this?” You sighed, with a little laugh, “Can I have an explanation?”

“Good evening to you, Commandant. I am nearly done with my work.”

Sauntering to your desk, which Lee resided in, you eyed him carefully. “Right. Can I ask why you are here, then?”

He held your eye contact for a few seconds, before looking down at the papers, “I am merely just helping with your paperworks. You seemed to have some problems with it earlier.”

“So you decided to distract me with, this,” Shaking the bag, you continued, “... whatever you planned, it’s working quite well.”

It made Lee chuckle. “I’m glad you think so.”

You mirrored his laugh, before pulling out the little trinket in the bag. It was a little blue robot, L-33, one that seemed familiar—a mixed, mini version of Lee and Punchy—that seemed like a toy.

You tapped its head. “Good morning, Commandant.” Echoed an automated Lee's calm voice, “Here are your mission details for today.”

He smiled. “Oh, you found out its features.”

“Of course I did,” you puffed out your chest with pride, “I spent the whole two hours examining him. Watch this.”

Cerulean eyes intently watched as you expertly pushed around a few buttons, promptly triggering the secret sequence. The amusement on his face dropped.

“You…figured it out.”

“Commandant,” the robot cooed, its next few words that were dreadful for Lee to hear, “there’s something I’d–.”

When you blinked, L-33 had shut off, Lee pushing the off button. “–you heard enough.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, “we’ve been teammates for a long while now, Lee,” you teased with a wink, “You think I wouldn’t know your tricks? I also figured out that you purposely gave me L-33 to distract me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You distracted me so you could do my tasks. On your birthday. Traitor.”

The situation was funny. Activation dates—promptly called that way, not really birthdays—were just like any other day. For Lee, there’s nothing special about it.

“The Science Council may have said it’s considered a small break for Constructs. I took it, didn’t I?”

“And you gave that one to me. This is treachery! You were supposed to use that day to spend it with your loved ones!”

Lee pointed at the robot in your hand. “You can spend the day with L-33. Did you read my letter well? I modified its AI to fit your needs. He can answer well.”

“That’s true, Commandant,” chimed L-33, who somehow woke up halfway through, “Please, hang out with me.”

Lee knew you well. From the way your eyes would sparkle when you’re hit with a good idea, or how your eyebrows would knit together when you’re focused on your battle plan, to the shade of pink in your cheeks when you’re flustered by sweet words. The confusion in your face then was something Lee was also familiar with, and he knew how to counter that.

“You’ve rarely gotten any quality rest, Commandant.” Lee spoke, “please use today as a reward.”

Warmth, again, was something Lee had avoided, and if he had it, he was willing to give it to you.

But alas, like the rock that hindered the gears in your head, you were unshakeable.

“...?”

Putting L-33 on your desk, you stomped your way to the nearest chair, sitting down. Bright eyes still not breaking eye contact to look at cerulean ones.

“Since you won’t heed my request,” Emphasising the word, you grinned, “I may as well just stay here, then. I am not in the mood to argue.”

Lee’s patience strummed a chord. Attempting to change your mind, you quickly raised your hand, shrugging, “Ah, didn’t I say I didn’t want to argue?’

Closing his mouth, Lee decided to just drop it.

It took a few minutes—the scratch of pen against paper, the flickering desk light, the soft hum in your lips, and his little childhood melody—before you shuffled to sit closer to the desk.

“...Commandant?”

“Yes?”

Knowing you, Lee decided to dismissed his thought, resuming to what he was doing earlier. It didn't take long. Your humming grew louder, almost ghosting in his ear. Lee sighed, leaning back to welcome you, slithering your leg across his lap, sweetly smiling at him.

“Lee~,” you purred, hands clasped on his broad shoulders, “thank you for the seat.”

Rolling his eyes, he smiled at you. “Whatever makes you happy.”

You were perfectly slotted in his lap, content in how tiny you were that he could still do his work with you. The smell of vanilla permeated his senses, your breathing music to his ear, even and comforting to Lee. He might have had to lie about it, but you were perfect, you were enough—like the piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

“...But I’m not.”

Lee stopped writing, opting to look back at you. “Really?”

Your lips were in a small pout, lipgloss shining in the lights, “Really. I mean, how could I? Imagine taking a break outside; walking around Babylonia, walking around the streets, but you’re here instead.”

“Commandant,” He shook his head, “We talked about this.”

The hands on his shoulders curled, nails rarely scraping his jacket. Seeing your face turn into a sad frown as you bite your lip, a hint of guilt knocks on Lee’s chest.

“...you gave me a gift even though it's your birthday,” Softly, in the cold light, you muttered, “shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Lee prides in his stone heart. But oh, it was hard to say no when it comes to you. “Well, in a way, it’s still our duty as Constructs to bring our Commandant joy and happiness.”

You sighed, “But I don’t see you that way.”

Lee looked at you in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t.” You smiled, “Lee, you may be a construct, but you are different to me.”

Your hands, dragging through his shoulders to his jaw, cupped his cheeks. Lee was a construct—blue blood, robotic joints and bodies, built for destruction. But you, human as you were—simple, frail, fragile—and yet, your warmth was far too contagious. He nuzzled your hand, afraid that he’d lose your heat.

“...[Y/N],” Lee rarely called you by your name, but when he does, his voice breaks, turning to kiss your palm, “[Y/N], you are too kind.”

You leaned closer to him, lips leaving butterfly kisses across his cheeks, “I am treating you the way you should be, Lee.”

Like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle, you were a perfect fit for Lee. Kisses on his cheeks, down to his jaw, to the shell of his ear. You breathed into him, ghosting his ear, that made Lee shiver in your touch. His hands found respite in your hips, kneading the area to aid in your movements.

“...by seducing me though?”

You giggled. “Is it working?”

“Mm, a bit.” He sighed in your shoulder, resting there, “But I still have to finish this.”

“No, don’t.” A small whine escaped your lips as you subtly grinded yourself on his lap, “Can’t you see your birthday gift needs your immediate attention?”

A sly little fox, that you were. You had, unknowingly, slipped closer to him, that your warm core was directly on his semi-hard bulge. As you shifted in your seat, Lee groaned at the friction.

“You will miss a lot of these paperworks if I—ugh—can’t finish this…” Lee’s grip on your hips tightened. “What should I do with you…?”

“Do me,” you purred in his ear, “Do me, your gift, Lee.”

Ah, he’d have to use his gift thoroughly.

Warmth was the feeling, the light at the crack that separated your thighs. One that Lee could drown in as he diligently licks at your cunt.

With a harsh tug of his hair and the sultry whine that slipped past your lips, Lee could die in between your thighs and he’d regret nothing. In the dim light of your room, Lee was nestled nicely down there as you were spread in your bed. Small, kitten lips at your throbbing clit, before lapping at your folds. You forgot how long you’ve been at his mercy, yet the dampness that pooled on your bed could say otherwise.

“L-Lee, ha—haah—wait–” You moaned out loud, “slow down, p-please!”

Pussydrunk, Lee moaned at the feeling, eating you away with no sense. You cried out from the overstimulation, desperately trying to push Lee away. But Lee’s hold in your hips were relentless.

“One more,” he groaned, “give me one more.”

His pants were aching from the tightness, but he was better off rutting his cock at the edge of your bed, focusing on your pleasure first and foremost.

Lapping at your juices, Lee realized why addiction was so potent—if they had seen the way your pussy clenched as he licked you clean, they’d be a devout addict. But he’s lucky, this sight was only his. You, your pretty little, soaking wet pussy was all his. No one else could make you cry out this loud, or the way your face contorted in pleasure—it was all Lee’s.

“C’mon, [Y/N], you can do it, do it for me,” Lee whispered between your soaking wet folds, “be a good girl, you can do it.”

A sharp shiver ran through your spine. Bubbling deep in your stomach, you cried as you felt two of his fingers slip deep in your pussy. “A-ah, Lee, w-wait—”

Sucking at your pearl, Lee’s fingers curled upward, hitting a spongy spot that made your pussy clench hard. With a loud cry of his name, you cum hard for the third time, sticky liquid coating his mechanical fingers. Lee fucks you through your orgasm, mesmerized in the way your eyes rolled back, crying as you arched your back.

“Good girl,” he cooed, “good girl, [Y/N].”

Amidst your orgasm, your pussy answered by squeezing the fingers that were still inside of you. As Lee pulled away, you noticed his chin shimmered with your slick in between the haze, which made your heart flutter. Watching through lust-blown eyes, his cerulean eyes were glowing brightly in the dark, and your only thought was—

“Pretty…”

“Hmm?” Lee chuckled, taking your hand to his lips, “Who is?”

“You,” you lolled, “It’s you…”

You opened your arms to welcome Lee, kissing in spite of his state. It’s hot, brightly burning with passion, humming as you mindlessly kissed Lee again and again, fueled in the heat of the moment. Yet you realized soon that his fingers found themselves grazing your overstimulated cunt, lightly rubbing it.

“A-ah, w-wait,” you whined, weakly pushing Lee away, “not yet…”

“Why?” Lee kissed the shell of your ear, “Is there something wrong?”

Your wandering hands finally found the thing you were looking for. The prominent bulge, sensitive enough that made him groan even as you grazed it with your hand.

“It’s not fair,” you pouted, “let me take care of you, too…”

“[Y/N], I’d much rather help you—”

“—Lee, please,” you pleaded, fluttering your eyelashes, “I want you to feel good, too…”

The fly was already down before he could nod, springing his long, thick cock. Lee breathed out a sigh of relief, but the itch was yet to be itched. Fortunately, your fingers were already running through his shaft, cock twitching from your teasing.

“See,” you sat properly, urging Lee to mirror you, “doesn’t it feel nice?”

You grabbed his shaft, enclosing your hand and jerking him lightly. Lee could hardly contain his moans, cheeks and ears blooming red from your ministration. You couldn't take your eyes off, too—your pretty boy, your Lee, feeling the same kind of pleasure that he had always given you.

“Does it feel good, Lee?” You asked, moving closer, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Good, ugh,” Lee managed to say, “You’re doing so—hah, really, g-good.”

You’ve seen him naked a lot of times, no surprise to see his long and hard cock, heavy in your hand that you had to use your other one to help. Watching the way Lee’s face contorted as you jerk him off almost makes your own pussy throb, another set of wetness pooling in your thighs. Thumbing his slit, precum sliding off, you wanted to dip your head down and suck him off.

“You really should let me do this, Lee,” you hummed, leaning closer that your lips were leaving kisses on his jaw, “You should see how pretty you are when I’m touching you like this, mm?”

“[Y/N],” a sensual moan of your name rolling off of his tongue, your pussy clenched around nothing in response, “God—hah, don’t stop…”

Gritting his teeth, grasping your sheets as you jerked him harder. Your heart was beating wildly, like how you were too entangled with Lee—too wild, too indecent.

But your movements were halted, Lee’s hands wrapped tight around yours.

“Huh?”

“No,” Lee shook his head, ignoring his hot red dick throbbing, moving your hands away, “I can’t cum like this…I need to be inside of you to do that.”

For what it’s worth, Lee had always been wanting to bury himself deep in your cunt before the fun was over. Giggling at his answer, you pecked his lips. “Okay, okay.”

Thinking it wasn’t enough, Lee pulled you closer to kiss you better. Blind hands sought for the dip of your hips, leading you to his own. With twin moans, your pussy was pushed flush on the shaft of his aching cock. You even had the nerve to drag your soaking folds against the sensitive pulsating vein on his shaft.

“You’re teasing again,” Lee warned as he pulled away for a moment.

“I’m only letting you know how much I want you.”

With lips never leaving yours, you reached for his manhood, angling the tip to your awaiting hole. Lee helped in grounding you, gripping your hips hard as you shallowly fucked yourself on the tip.

“I can taste how much you want me, [Y/N],” his voice dripped in your ear, making you shiver, “Look how desperate you are for me.”

“I am,” you whined, feeling the bulbous tip finally slip past your tight ring of muscle, “I am fucking desperate for you, Lee.”

You sobbed as Lee’s cock was fully sheathed inside of you, already hitting your sensitive spot. Burying your face on the crook of his neck, Lee took the time to caress your shaking back.

“Even after we’ve done this a lot of times now—ngh—you’re still too tight for me.”

Your pussy fluttered around his shaft. “G-glad you think so.”

Attempting to rock your hips to move, Lee stopped you. You pulled back, noticing his gaze.

“As much as I want to move,” He whispered, “I’d like to take the time to admire my gift, please.”

You awkwardly laughed, “I thought you’ve done that before.”

“Mm, yeah, I have.” He inhaled, “but it’s different like this.”

Thoroughly content like this. Amid the dark room, moonlight found itself splattered on the floor, on your bed. Lee took your hand and held it back to his lips, gently kissing the back of your hand. Without looking away, his glowing cerulean eyes held too much emotion; there was lust, but they were love and adoration. Watching as he kissed every finger, from the pinkie, to the thumb, kissing one particular finger, lips lingering longer there. A display of emotion, one that Lee has long reserved only for you.

“Did you enjoy your gift, Lee?” You whispered, minding the wild flutter of your heart.

“How could I not?” He said, “You are the best gift I could ever receive.”

Despite everything, Lee is yours. All the pain, all the fear—the Tower, the red tide, the war raging outside of your door—and all you could do was rest your other hand to his chest, the metal cool as you feel the mirroring throb of his mechanical heart.

“Do you know why I love you, Lee?” You asked. He shook his head.

“I don’t.”

“I used to think that we wouldn’t be able to have the luxury for love.”

Looking away, you watched the sea of stars outside of your window. They were twinkling, shimmering; somewhere, constellations blanketed the universe, but they were hiding. You couldn’t care less, but the thought made you think so.

“We’re always sent to battle, and you were made to fight the virus. I didn’t think I’d be able to make a valuable connection, unless it was for the better of the majority.”

Flashes of your graduation from the F.O.S., to your first mission, Kowloong, the church, the Tower—it made you curl your fingers, grasping for Lee’s hand.

“But the Gray Raven…but you, it all changed.”

In the haze of memories, the only clear vision was Lee. Cupping his cheeks, thumb grazing the outline of his jaw, you laughed.

“It’s honestly funny. Gray Raven changed it for the better. But you made me believe that love…it exists, even in this damned world.”

Lee mirrored the smile on your face, as you traced his eyebrows, the shape of his eye, the bridge of his nose. Grazing his lower lip, you lightly left a kiss.

“I’m glad you exist, Lee.” You whispered, “Everything you went through was proof of your existence. I cannot imagine how painful it muat have been, but I want to use all the years of my life proving you that you are loved, that you are deserving of it.”

You’re already pressed flush against one another, but if you could, you’d collide closer to Lee.

“I love you, Lee.” You confessed, “I love you, I will live for you. If you stay on Earth, I’ll crawl out of heaven. Wherever you’ll go, I’ll follow. I never want to be apart from you. Just let me spend all the years with you, to shower you with all of my love.”

Lee took pride in his stoicism. But for you, oh, may that be damned.

Warmth was something he’d not have, but sometimes he covets. But you, you who deserves it all, somehow wants to share this warmth with him, out of all the people. You, who selfishly, gave a warmth unlike others. You, you, you—warm blood, flows freely within you, and you were his, as much as he was yours.

“That’s my line.” He laughed, leaning forward to kiss you, “I’ll love you for all the years, too, [Y/N].”

Every kiss with Lee felt like healing. Grasping at whatever to hold, at whatever skin, you never want to be apart from him. Lee started to move his hips, causing you to moan in between your fervent kisses.

Lee loves you. Lee makes love to you, precisely and deeply plunging his cock inside of you, hitting your sensitive spots. It doesn’t take long though, when your pussy spasmed as you cum through the pressure, crying out Lee’s name.

Lee followed shortly, groaning as he painted your walls, filling you full.

Labored breaths echo throughout the room, two lovers entwined, without the need to break away from each other.

“I love you, [Y/N].” Lee nuzzled in the crook of your neck, “I love you so much.”

“Mm, I think you made me lose the ability to walk at the moment…”

“Consider it a reward. Thank you for being my gift.”

It took a while to settle back into your bed, with Lee wanting to wash you up, but you insisted to stay until the numbing feeling in your legs disappeared. For now then, you were content with Lee on his back, and you sprawled on his chest.

The thump of his mechanical heart was a lullaby.

“Don’t doze off, [Y/N]. I still need to clean you up.”

“Lee,” you yawned in response, “Let’s get married.”

“That’s quite random,” you heard him laugh, “Why the sudden proposal?”

You gently brushed his empty ring finger, “Well, I don’t know what will happen next time. I’d rather have the proof that I’m already taken, and I’d rather have the rest of my life with you.”

“...Unless you like another?” You smugly added, looking up.

But Lee, with a chuckle, only pulled you up, kissing you.

“...We’ll get married, then. Whenever you want.”

“What if I want it tomorrow?”

He’d have to humor you for now, noticing the droop of your eyes. “Alright, sure.”

“I love you,” you dawdled, the last echoes of your consciousness drifting into the sea of dreams, “Lee, tomorrow, okay…?”

“Tomorrow.”

“...mm, don’t forget tomorrow, too…spend your birthday with me…”

“...Yes, I will.”

Lucky for you, a certain ring awaits near your table.

God pls give me a Lee I love You

— starry needs a bf

#punishing gray raven #pgr #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr lee #pgr hyperreal #happy activation day lee!!!!

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morgan-va · 7 months ago

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Chapter 10: Automation (Serial Designation N x Reader)

Short double post cuz I felt bad about the last one being so sad :3

Masterlist

The shrill sound of your alarm jolts you awake, the bright red numbers on the clock declaring that it’s already Monday morning. A wave of grogginess settles over you as you sit up, the ache of a restless sleep clinging to your limbs. You slept the entirety of Sunday away, pat yourself on the back.

You glance around the room, half-expecting something—or someone—to be there. But the room is silent, lifeless. Just like yesterday.

With a resigned sigh, you push yourself out of bed. Everything feels distant, mechanical, as you go through the motions of your morning routine. Shower. Dress. Toast some bread. Not because you’re hungry, but because skipping breakfast will only make you feel worse later.

The drive to work is no different. Your hands grip the wheel, your eyes focused on the road, but your mind drifts. The radio hums in the background, but you barely register the words.

You park in your usual spot and trudge into the building, the gray walls of the office swallowing you whole. Everything looks and feels the same as it always has, yet somehow it feels more… hollow.

As you settle into your desk, pulling out your to-do list for the day, your mind flashes back to the weekend—the park, the library, N’s smile as he hugged that golden retriever, his wide-eyed wonder as he quizzed you about random groceries.

You shake your head, trying to focus, but the memories won’t stop coming. You find yourself clutching the branded pen in your hand tighter, as if holding on to it will somehow ground you.

The office buzzes with life around you—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations blending into a dull roar. But none of it reaches you. You’re here, physically, but your heart is somewhere else entirely.

You settle into your usual rhythm, replying to emails, logging reports, and checking off the mundane tasks that make up your day. The work keeps your hands busy, but your mind won’t stop wandering. Every time you pause to think, you see N’s smile, hear his laugh, feel the warmth of his embrace.

“Hey!” a voice cuts through your haze, and you glance up to see one of your coworkers motioning toward the boss’s office. “You’re being summoned.”

Great.

With a sigh, you push back from your desk and head toward the corner office. The door is ajar, and you catch sight of your boss leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, a cigar clamped between his teeth despite the “No Smoking” signs plastered everywhere.

“Come in!” he barks as you knock lightly on the doorframe. He gestures for you to sit. “Got some things to go over.”

You take a seat, trying to gauge his mood. His theatrics never make it easy.

“So,” he begins, puffing on his cigar as he swivels his chair back and forth. “I’ve been looking over the reports from that assignment I dumped on you.” He squints at a file on his desk. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Honestly, didn’t think you’d pull it off. Drones like that can be... unpredictable. Liability is our passion, after all!” He laughs heartily at the company motto.

You force a small smile, waiting for the hammer to drop.

“But,” he continues, leaning forward, “don’t worry. I’m not gonna make you do something like that again anytime soon. You’ve earned a break.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You knew this was coming, but hearing it confirmed still stings. N won’t be coming back. You’re alone now, for good.

“What, uh…” You hesitate, your throat dry. “What happens to the drones after testing is done?”

He waves a hand dismissively, like it’s the most trivial thing in the world. “Standard procedure. Memory wipe, clean slate. Then we box ’em up and ship ’em off to the nearest JCJensonMart for sale. Customer gets a fresh drone, none of the baggage. Good for business.”

Your stomach churns. “Memory wipe?”

“Yep,” he says, chomping down on the cigar again. “Can’t have ’em remembering personal details from testing. Liability, remember? In fact, the one we sent you was whining and moaning about wanting to see you again, wouldn’t shut up. Can’t sell a drone like that! Anyway, that’s it. You’re free to go.”

You stand, your legs feeling like lead at his words. “Thanks,” you mumble, turning to leave.

“Oh, and,” he calls after you, “keep up the good work, yeah? Corporate’s watching.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and shut the door behind you.

Back at your desk, you sink into your chair, staring blankly at your computer screen. You try to focus, to drown your thoughts in spreadsheets and emails, but it’s no use. The image of N, bright and joyful, keeps intruding.

A memory wipe. He won’t even remember you, his last moments were spent begging to see you again, and the company effectively killed him.

You clench your fists under the desk, willing yourself not to break down. You can’t afford to. Not here. Not now.

With a deep breath, you force yourself to return to your work, your fingers flying over the keyboard in a desperate attempt to drown out the ache in your chest.

The day drags on, every tick of the clock feeling like an eternity. You go through the motions: answering emails, filing reports, checking off tasks. But it’s like you’re running on autopilot. No matter how hard you try to focus, your thoughts keep circling back to N.

The way he laughed. The way he marveled at the world. The way he made you feel... alive.

And now, he’s just gone.

The thought eats away at you, growing heavier with every passing hour. By the time the workday finally ends, you’re drained—not from the work itself, but from the weight of your own emotions.

You gather your things and head to your car, the parking lot bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel tightly.

“Get it together,” you mutter to yourself, but your voice sounds hollow.

Starting the engine, you pull out of the lot and onto the familiar route home. The drive is uneventful, the scenery blurring past as your mind drifts. The hum of the engine does little to drown out the emptiness gnawing at you.

When you finally pull into your driveway, the sight of your house—a place that once felt like a sanctuary—feels cold, lifeless. You sit in the car for a moment, staring at the front door. The thought of going inside, of facing the silence and emptiness waiting for you, feels unbearable.

But you can’t sit out here all night. With a heavy sigh, you step out, the door closing with a dull thud behind you. You head inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeting you like an unwelcome reminder of your solitude.

The house is quiet, too quiet. You drop your bag by the door and stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The thought of eating, of doing anything, feels exhausting.

Without another word, you head straight to your bedroom. Kicking off your shoes, you collapse onto the bed, not even bothering to change. You curl up under the covers, closing your eyes and willing sleep to come.

But even as you lie there, the ache in your chest remains, a constant reminder of the warmth and light that’s now missing from your life.

Days bleed into each other in a monotonous blur. You wake up, drag yourself through the morning routine, and head to work. At the office, you do what’s required—barely. Emails, reports, meetings. Your coworkers don’t seem to notice the change, or if they do, they don’t say anything.

You return home, the weight of the day pressing harder each time. Dinner becomes an afterthought. Some nights you eat, but more often you just crawl into bed, too drained to care. Sleep doesn’t come easily, and when it does, it’s restless. Dreams evade you, leaving you staring at the ceiling for hours, the silence of your empty home deafening.

Dishes begin to pile up in the sink. Plates with crumbs, cups half-filled with stale coffee, forks haphazardly tossed on the counter. The laundry basket overflows, but you tell yourself you’ll deal with it tomorrow. Paperwork you meant to organize instead spreads across the couch, untouched. You sit among it each evening, staring blankly at your phone or the TV, not really processing anything.

The house feels colder. Not in temperature, but in spirit. Like the warmth N brought with him is gone, leaving a void you can’t seem to fill. You glance at the empty spot on the counter where his mug once sat, or the couch where he’d eagerly leaf through a book, and the ache in your chest tightens.

It’s the same every day. Wake up. Breakfast—if you remember. Work. Home. Sleep. Repeat.

You don’t know how long you can keep going like this.

Friday soon arrives, the process is the same, but a lonely weekend is on the horizon. Not even pizza and a documentary will salvage it. You finish up at work with a final email, a faint hope in your heart that a Manila folder will fall into your hand when you reach for your coat, maybe N needs more testing, maybe they didn’t wipe his memory. But that doesn’t happen, your boss isn’t waiting to ambush you with golf clubs slung behind him; sadly, and ironically so, you’re free to go home.

You sigh to yourself, stepping into the elevator.

The doors slide shut with a soft chime, and you lean back against the wall, staring at the floor numbers as they light up one by one. When you reach the ground floor, you shuffle through the lobby and out into the parking lot, the cool evening air brushing against your face.

It feels like any other night, but that doesn’t make it easier.

You make your way to your car, unlock it, and slide into the driver’s seat. Turning the key, the engine rumbles to life, and you sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. It’s not like you’re in a rush—there’s nothing waiting for you at home. With a quiet sigh, you shift into drive and pull out of the lot, the usual podcast playing over the speakers to drown out the silence.

The drive home is rough. Each mile feels like it drags on longer than the last, the hum of the tires against the road doing little to drown out the thoughts spiraling in your mind. The quiet hum of the podcast fades as you focus on the familiar path ahead, but it's hard to ignore the weight that's pressing down on your chest.

N is gone.

The thought hits you again like a heavy blow, and your grip on the steering wheel tightens. His memory wiped, a clean slate for whoever ends up buying him, his purpose reshuffled like everything else. All the moments you shared—the laughter, the quiet talks, the warmth of his company—it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

You can’t shake the gnawing ache in your chest as you drive. It’s the same routine. The same cycle. You were fooling yourself if you thought anything would change. It’s just you, again. Alone.

The city lights blur past you, but all you can think about is the emptiness that waits. You can't remember the last time you felt this... hollow. It wasn’t even just him. It was everything. The silence that greets you when you walk through your door, the same tired routine that only serves to fill the hours with nothing but monotonous tasks. No real conversations, no one to make you laugh, no one to talk to at the end of the day.

Just the quiet.

You pull into your driveway, the hum of the engine finally stopping as you shift it into park. The familiar stillness of your neighborhood feels suffocating now, the calm before an inevitable storm. Your headlights cast long shadows across the driveway, stretching over the sidewalk and up the front steps. You’re about to get out when something catches your eye.

The lights inside your house—they’re on.

Your stomach drops.

You didn’t leave any lights on. You were barely there earlier, just enough to grab your things and leave for work. That’s it. So why are the lights on now?

You freeze, fingers stiff on the steering wheel.

Then, as if on cue, your eyes are drawn to the front door.

It’s cracked open—just a few inches, enough to make your pulse spike. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, and the quiet that had once been soothing now feels ominous. You hadn’t left it open, had you? You’re sure you didn’t.

And then you see it.

Mud.

Fresh, dark footprints leading up to your doorstep. They’re unmistakable, leaving a trail from the front garden straight to the door. Whoever came inside didn’t bother to wipe their feet.

Your throat tightens. A chill runs down your spine.

Every instinct in you screams to leave, but you can't. Not yet.

You glance toward the back seat of the car. The crowbar, your trusted tool, rests within reach. It feels reassuring to see it there, a small comfort against the tension growing in your chest. You reach for it, your fingers curling around its cold metal handle, the weight grounding you. Thank Robo-Jesus that JCJensonMart had a Buy 4 Get 1 Free sale on crowbars.

Gripping it tight, you open the car door, the gravel crunching underfoot as you step out. Every movement feels like it could echo across the night, but you’re careful, deliberate, staying quiet. You have to know what’s going on inside.

Approaching the front door, you feel the cold air settle around you, and the sound of your own breathing fills your ears. The door stands ajar in front of you, almost mocking you. The light from inside casts long shadows, but there’s no sign of movement. Still, you feel like you’re being watched.

You can hear the faintest sound, a rustling. It’s not an animal. It’s... too human.

You draw a slow breath, steadying yourself. Your fingers tighten around the crowbar, and you take one step forward, then another, until you’re standing right in front of the door. The shadows inside seem to stretch towards you, pulling at you. You can’t see anything clearly yet, but you know something’s wrong.

The handle feels cold beneath your fingers.

You slowly press down.

The door creaks open.

Just a crack.

Your heart races, every part of you on high alert, waiting for any sign of what’s inside. The silence feels deafening now, and the tension thickens, making it hard to breathe. You’re not sure what you’ll find when you step through that door, but you know one thing for sure.

You have to know.

With one final breath, you push the door open just a little more…

#murder drones #murder drones x reader #murder drones fanfic #murder drones headcanon #murder drones n #murder drones n x reader #serial designation n #serial designation n x reader

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falloulex · 4 months ago

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Can you give us more descriptions about the casino? And mayhaps some headcanons about how our ocs and characters interact with it? <3

Regarding Alex's casino,

I don't have a lot of details or solid plans about how it will look or function in the story,

Right now, I'm calling it the "King's Crown Casino", although I don't know if that's permanent or not yet.

I liked the idea that the color palate is lots of black, and grey, and purple, I think that palate is kind of fitting of the vibe Alex himself would give off.

When Alex delivered Evangeline (@skyrim-crossing) to the Lucky 38, House offered him a reward, and Alex requested that House help rebuild the casino with the aid of the Securitrons

After some arguing about improper utilization of securitron models, House eventually relented at the request of his daughter, and The King's Crown was rebuilt, the top floor renovated into Alex's personal workspace, and the warehouse redesigned (without House's help or knowledge) to serve as the base of operations for Alex's raider activities.

He keeps the raider and casino businesses separate, for all intents and purposes the Casino's work is extremely professional and 'legal' (if legality is even a concept that has any meaning in this new world)

The casino itself sits on the way to Freeside, but far enough away that most caravanners and travelers use it as a rest stop before continuing their journey, as such as it has all the amenities that a good rest stop has - there's restaurants, there's a mall, kind-of, sort-of, it's a small handful of opened shops selling the bare essentials, weapons, ammo, armor, food, chems, so on and so forth, but a vast majority of this mall is closed off and abandoned.

It tends to cater more towards the average wastelander, as opposed to most of the casinos in New Vegas that thrive on glitz and glamour,

The showroom mostly has the same cast of characters, a couple singers and actors doing their own thing mostly unsupervised, but that also means that they lack any true vision in what they are doing, so it's not the most popular aspect of the casino.

As far as security goes, Alex spares no expense, he has automated turrets at every entrance and on every side of the building, and due to his close friendship with The King, that faction oftentimes serves as hired guards, and when the King needs a break from the stresses of Freeside, he has a nice fancy suite in the Casino's hotel.

There's an indoor pool if you don't mind the rads, the purification systems are on their last legs, and until Evangeline eventually takes it upon herself to fix them so she can experience a clean shower again, Alex just kinda leaves em to rot away.

(This requires some context, after the death of Frank Horrigan in Fallout 2, the Chosen One is given a quest to bring his body parts to a merchant to sell as memoribilia. Alex got his hands on Horrigan's helmet, and it is his prized jewel, kept in a heavily guarded display in the game room.

The Casino has an 'inner circle' of people who take care of most of the responsibilities while Alex is away, they're something of a family of their own, with each member having dedicated tasks; one handles the merchants, one handles the gambling, one handles security, and one handles guest services and the hotel.

The showroom also serves as a psuedo-nightclub, when there aren't shows or performances happening, and the VIP booth is reserved pretty much only for Alex and his closest friends, because the price is too high to get in unless you are in the post-wasteland's 1% equivalent.

Alex's fondness of Sunset Sarsaparilla, lead to him distilling and creating an alcoholic moonshine variant of it that is sold exclusively in the Crown, aptly named "Sunshine" (this was inspired by Nukashine from 76, sue me lmao)

There's also a vintage diner right by the front door to the left when you walk in, they sell all kinds of pre-war foods made with post-war ingredients; brahmin burgers, gecko dogs, iguana on a stick (the iguana kind, not the Fallout 1 kind lmao), it's probably the most popular part of the casino, and entirely thanks to Evangeline's pre-war sassy ass being devastated that she couldn't find good burgers anywhere on the Strip.

I might add more to this and expand on the casino later, as time goes on, but for now, this is all I've got to offer,

Thank you for the question, Sugar. Love you! 🧡🧡🧡

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silenceofthewave · 2 months ago

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[ closed starter for @quantumlogician ; Megatron ]

--------

The nerve center of the Decepticon Intelligence Division was never really empty. Day and night, reports poured in from agents across the planet, from both spy operatives and commanders. Round-the-clock surveillance was expected at this point; it mattered not if there was enough personnel to carry on such a task. The only thing that mattered was victory.

Soundwave had taken to almost enjoying the nightshift. It was peaceful; no one was attempting to ask for its opinion, nor did anyone really bother it. The nightshift was a refuge of deep focus and flow.

Soundwave stood at the usual terminal in the center of all things, datacables connected and pulsing with the electrical charge they carried. The terminal itself was an almost wholly automated system that separated reports by author, type and urgency. Soundwave didn't necessarily need to be there, the system could handle this on its own, but he couldn't help enjoying the feeling of the data washing over its processors.

Old reports from during the day and the current ones flowing in moved through Soundwave's processor. He had turned off the automation and rather sorted each one himself. Almost like a race, he would time his processing speed against the terminal's. Some may see this as showing off, but to Soundwave it was an exercise. It kept him present, in the moment, and most importantly busy.

That's why he was here in the first place. Technically, his shift had ended two cycles ago. He was supposed to be getting sorely needed recharge, but to be quite honest, he hadn't recharged properly in orbital cycles. Nightmares plagued his processor. Images of his lost siblings and the feeling of warm energon dripping down his plating were a constant. They woke him out of whatever deep stasis he found himself in and left him trembling for the rest of the night.

He wasn't sure what the point of that all was. Soundwave knew that he had made his grave, and he must fill it one day. The grave had been dug since his first match in the Pits. Soundwave didn't necessarily believe in destiny, but he believed in the consequences of choices. His choices had led him here, hollow and alone.

The stray thought tree was cut as soon as it made itself known. Soundwave had no intention on focusing its awareness towards the ache of its empty deck. Instead, it shifted. It brought its background awareness to the transformation seams of Laserbeak's docking mechanism. She was snuggled in tight, her side of the bond indicating that she was in stasis and had been for some time. Soundwave wasn't truly alone as long as Laserbeak was here.

Soundwave let a small sense of comfort shine through its side of the bond, knowing full well that Laserbeak would miss it. Still, it distracted from the four hollow places in its spark; another exercise to keep its focus in the present. It lifted a servo to gently trace the spine of its final avian friend. It focused on the thrum of her engines and their gentle purr as she recharged.

The final nail in the coffin for Soundwave's focus towards its task was the door to the nerve center sliding open. It briefly looked over its shoulder, catching the glint of silver and red armor move just out of the line of sight. A familiar field touched its heightened senses, alerting Soundwave to who had decided to pay a visit. What for? Only time could tell.

Soundwave turned back to the terminal it stood behind. An OS window appeared and was quickly filled with the commands to return the system to normal functioning. The wash of data over its processor ebbed away, leaving the open neural pathways achingly empty. Soundwave did its best to ignore this sensation (and the way it mirrored its empty deck) as it unhooked its datacables. They returned to their housings with a quiet snkt!

Soundwave remained at the terminal. It was unmoving, still as stone as it tried to bring the comforting feeling of data processing to the moment, despite the distinct lack of work being done. An after glow, if you will, but one as fleeting as life during war.

#->| quantumlogician: megatron #v ->| cybertron #tw: grief #tw: self neglect

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andmaybegayer · 1 year ago

Text

This is very interesting: a novel CAD package built on a text based file format that should allow you to check files into version control and automate tasks, plus a geometry engine optimized for GPU compute.

It's also got some noteworthy backers, the appeal of this is obvious to anyone who has ever tried to integrate CAD into a larger workflow, it takes a lot of manual shunting of files and tagging of releases and fighting with export formats, even with all the features SolidWorks and Inventor and SolidEdge have added over the years.

It's not parametric, of course, because that's a totally different approach to modelling that's much harder to automate this way. I'm not sure if that's reasonably possible without just doing SVG bullshit.

There's an LLM powered Text To CAD thing where you are meant to be able to just describe an object and get back the CAD for it but at least for now it can only do things that are relatively simple, it feels a little like a crutch to deal with how slow generating simple parts through code CAD can be. Defining an I-beam parametrically is the kind of thing you can do basically without thinking. I guess you'd probably want to have a library of parametrically defined common parts to pull from once you've been doing this for five minutes.

Close but no cigar! It does get the flange and web the right way around. Using inches because I assume it's trained in Freedomheit.

They're keeping their geometry solver closed source, but I'd be interested to see if declarative cad like this takes off in industry, it's a slow moving space but hardware design is increasingly available to startups and small businesses who might be willing to throw away a lot of old CAD philosophy.

A lot of industry uses constructive CAD like this, the US military has BRL-CAD. Never could get my head around it.

#cad

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rthidden · 10 months ago

Photo

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#artificial intelligence #automation #machine learning #business #digital marketing #professional services #marketing #web design #web development #social media #tech #Technology

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aaliya-b · 4 days ago

Text

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year ago

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Snippet Thursday: Baby Croc Chaos

(For context, the first time the boys were allowed outside, someone took a shot at Croc, because you don't see that every day. It ended up injuring his leg. Jak attacked the man, and Damas was called to break up the fight. Despite being presumed too young for Arena trials and not having cleared the necessary obstacle training course, Damas gives permission for Jak to demand a duel on Croc's behalf. Normally this would be done by the guardian or parent of the injured child, but it's clear that the boys have no parents. Obviously, Jak won.)

Most expected the angry shapeshifter from the Arena to start making more frequent appearances after the battle trial. He had his first amulet -- earlier than most orphans in the youth barracks got them -- and his gate pass now, making him eligible for the work roster. He could start finding artifacts of his own now, and earn enough to support the creatures he called his siblings. With the ferocity he'd shown in the ring, it had been assumed that he'd jump at the chance to carve out a place for himself in Spargus.

And yet the king had sent word that they were to be returned to C-Ward in the tower the moment the Arena settled. And no one had seen them since.

Perhaps it was a confinement of sorts. The king had been fairly displeased to find the foundling boy and Tarn in the holding cells after the market brawl. He'd been even angrier when he learned the context of it.

Those who had been in the market that day, and had witnessed the scaly spirit-child thing, suggested that Lord Damas was simply being cautious. As strange as "Croc" was -- even disturbing to some -- it was a child, unmistakably. There'd been no call for Tarn to fire at it -- and firing willy-nilly in the market was a good way to get a shell to the head anyway.

The matter came up during the city's weekly review of the wall defenses. Hutch, head of the city architects' guild, handed over the blueprints for his wall turret proposal and glanced to the far edge of the throne room. Strangely, the shapeshifter was there, sitting amongst the date palms with the talking animal and the spirit infant.

What a time to be alive that such a sentence could even be thought-!

Had Damas summoned the boy? For what purpose?

Hutch saw the orange creature point to one of the trees, and the boy moved as fast as lightning. He slapped a palm to the trunk as if trying to crush something, then took a small spray bottle from the mustelid.

Ah, the king had put them to work removing pests from the trees. Fifteen of the palms filled the room in large planters, and the architect pitied the foundlings for the unenviable task of applying pesticides to them all. Maybe they were being punished for something.

The king scanned the blueprints carefully before passing them to the director of finance.

"This design is compact enough that adding it to the wall wouldn't put a burden on the city's budget. However, I am concerned about the amount of eco an automated turret would consume. What do you plan to run it on?"

"S- solar...power...actually," Hutch answered sheepishly. "I've just realized my proposal for solar panels is still sitting on my desk."

Lottie, the finance director, looked at him dryly. "Probably would've helped to start with that one."

The architect flushed slightly. "It's been a busy week," he protested, "The monks have been at me for old archived blueprints of Tributary!"

Then he wearily asked, "Should I go home and get the other proposal, sire?"

Damas didn't answer right away, which was unlike him.

Instead, his eyes were fixed on the trio of inhu'men orphans working in the artificial grove. (What were they? Hutch didn't think they were actually spirits, but darned if he'd ever seen a Lurker with so little hair!)

After a moment, the king seemed to shake himself.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said quickly. "Just...explain it to Lottie when we adjourn for noon rest."

Unexpectedly, that week's patrol leader for the gate wall spoke up.

"They get noon rest too, right, sir?"

Evidently the presence of the shapeshifter and siblings had concerned him as well. Odolan shifted uncomfortably, whether because of the boys or because of -- apparently -- calling out the king himself.

"Shouldn't they be in the barracks during meetings?" Odolan pressed.

"No," answered the king. He sounded almost disinterested, as if the matter barely merited comment. "They have a room here. They just don't stay in it."

Now his other advisors began to shift and frown between each other. The only people who should've been living in the tower were the ruler of Spargus and his personal guards, a detachment of medics and patients in the warriors' Convalescence Ward, and the staff of the water treatment and kitchen facilities. Underage foundlings -- almost always rescues or defectors from Marauders, not exiles -- went to the youth barracks. They had to make connections with their age mates, to form Squads! It was a well-established part of Spargan culture by now. Why in the world would their king deny the new foundlings that? Was it because of their appearance?

Odolan looked deeply uncomfortable as he asked, "Is- is this because of how the boy killed Tarn? He was well within his rights to do so."

"Mhm. That's partially why." Damas didn't look up. He scratched notes quickly into a pad of recycled paper. "Here, Hutch. Look this over and tell me if it's sound."

He handed him a rough diagram of the front wall with alternate turret locations, then twirled the pencil between his fingers.

"Er...mostly, sire. But that junction there is above several wall residences."

"Ah, right. Scratch that one then." Damas took the pad back and drew a line through the box meant to represent a turret.

"Actually- here. Draw me those solar panels you're on about. Show me where you'd put them before you discuss it with Lottie."

When he finally glanced up, he saw that half the guild heads and advisors were still casting confused or curious glances over at the boys in the grove. The children were eavesdropping, of course. The chores had been implemented in an attempt to mitigate that somewhat, but with the amount of scarring and eco healing marks in their bones, Damas suspected they'd learned to listen carefully no matter how busy they looked. He couldn't explain to his council why he indulged Jak’s refusal to go back outside until Croc's nightmares stopped. Or admit that his own curiosity was keeping him from sending them to a barracks RA to sort out. It may have been -- he had trouble admitting it, even to himself, without pain -- the age of the youngest. He was no older than Mar had been when he was taken. He was small, and helpless, and the youth barracks were for teenagers, not toddlers. Separating Jak from his younger sibling just seemed cruel. And too much like how he'd lost Mar.

With a long-suffering look, Damas asked dryly, "Does anyone else have concerns about the gremlin gang they'd like to voice so that we can focus on the task at hand?"

Taking it as an invitation rather than sarcasm, -- she'd never been good at detecting sarcasm, in her defense -- Lottie remarked, "Who's going to look after the wee creatures when the lad enters his first Squad?"

Damas waved that off immediately. "They're not ready for Squads. Not in the least."

"Not ready for Squads?" Hutch muttered to Odolan, not quiet enough to go unheard, "How can a foundling not be ready for basic training?"

At that moment, the nature spirit thing came scampering out of the palms with an excited trill. Scuttling along before him was a very panicked scorpion -- no doubt it had been sleeping in the soil brought up for the planters. The scaly toddler crouched, tail lashing, then pounced. He held it it up by the tail, proudly showing the small arachnid to the adults, then his brothers.

"Good catch, Croc!" Jak ducked out of the palms. "Let me see it."

He ignored the presence of the council and crouched to examine the absolutely furious scorpion.

"Cool. Never seen one this small before. Check out the carapace-"

"Urr?"

"Hard shell. Body."

"Urr!"

"It ain't a juvenile. That means this sucker's got some pretty major poison in that stinger."

Damas opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and shook his head. Perhaps eventually the council would learn what he had: it was completely and utterly useless to try to interrupt Jak when he was excited about something.

Carefully, Croc set the scorpion down and pinned it in place with his foot claws. With chubby fingers and the SparSign common to infants and toddlers, he asked, "I eat dat spicy bug?"

"Yeah sure, just not the tail."

Instant panic amongst the adults.

Damas launched out of the throne.

"Oh for the love of- Croc! No! Do not eat raw scorp-"

Too late.

The wide, wide mouth opened, and with a noticeable crunch, the scorpion met its end. While the adults stared in wide-eyed expressions ranging from disbelief to bravely stifling explosive laughter, Jak relieved Croc of the stinger.

"We'll put this with the other ones."

Jak finally looked up and stared impassively at Damas, still ignoring the council.

"What?"

"He's an infant, Jak! You don't know he can eat scorpions safely," Damas sighed.

The boy shrugged. "He's eaten way worse and been fine."

The orange one scurried out and up onto Jak’s head.

"Bald-faced lie. Eatin' KG gave him the most unholy flatulence and you know it."

Jak pretended not to hear this.

"Besides," he said, sounding cocky, "Dax and me ate scorpions plenty of times when we were little. It didn't hurt us."

This got an...interesting reaction from the Wastelanders. In what environment were young children allowed to catch and eat scorpions regularly? They were supervised, of course, they would have had to be-

"You realize," Daxter said with a hint of bitterness in his voice, "That we wouldn't have had to hunt scorpions if your absentee uncle had actually fed us instead of spending the grocery money on treasure maps every month."

Well then.

As one, the advisors turned to look at Damas. He simply gestured to the boys as if saying "you see?"

Dry as dust, the king asked, "Any other objections to continued adult supervision?"

Odolan shook his head and wondered how the strange orphans had even lived this long.

"I withdraw the question."

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #baby croc #baby croc au #free day thursday #i think the explorer was affectionate but not a responsible guardian #i mean his hut is like all books and maybe two pieces of furniture and he's just 'bye unaccompanied minor I'm leaving on yet another quest'#jnd croc #btw you can actually cook and eat scorpions. apparently they taste like crab #council is like 'we have established protocols for orphans'#damas is like 'yes but they were raised by seashells and might wreck the barracks'#they're like 'oh. i see. carry on.'

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