#heavy-duty metal fabrication

[metalmanautoltd]

Reliable Heavy-Duty Metal Fabrication for Trucks | OEM Parts Supplier

We provide reliable heavy-duty metal fabrication services for trucks and other heavy vehicles at Metalman Auto Ltd. As an OEM parts supplier, we ensure that every component meets industry standards for strength, durability, and performance.

[metalmanauto]

Reliable Heavy-Duty Metal Fabrication for Trucks | OEM Parts Supplier

We provide reliable heavy-duty metal fabrication services for trucks and other heavy vehicles at Metalman Auto Ltd. As an OEM parts supplier, we ensure that every component meets industry standards for strength, durability, and performance.

[unitedsteelsupplies]

Request Metal Fabrication Estimates: Get Accurate Quotes for Your Next Project

If you're starting a project that requires precision metalwork—whether in construction, healthcare, industrial manufacturing, or custom design—the first step is clear: request a metal fabrication estimate. A detailed estimate ensures you're aligned on cost, materials, and timelines before fabrication begins.

Whether you're looking for custom sheet metal, structural steel components, or architectural metalwork, a professional estimate from a reputable fabrication shop helps you plan with confidence and avoid hidden costs down the line.

Why Requesting a Fabrication Estimate Is Essential

Metal fabrication is not one-size-fits-all. Every job has unique dimensions, tolerances, finishes, and delivery expectations. An estimate tailored to your project lets you:

✅ Budget more effectively

✅ Understand the scope of services offered

✅ Compare multiple fabrication vendors

✅ Get insights into lead time and delivery logistics

✅ Ensure materials and specs meet industry standards

From a single prototype to full-scale production, a detailed quote is the roadmap for your fabrication project.

What to Include When Requesting a Metal Fabrication Estimate

To get an accurate quote, be sure to provide:

📐 Technical drawings, blueprints, or CAD files

🔩 Material requirements (e.g., stainless steel, aluminum, carbon steel)

📏 Dimensions and tolerances

🧰 Quantity and batch size

🎨 Finish requirements (powder coating, polishing, galvanizing)

🚚 Delivery timeline and location

🏗️ Installation or assembly needs (if applicable)

The more complete your request, the more precise and actionable your estimate will be.

Industries That Benefit from Metal Fabrication Estimates

🏥 Healthcare and Hospitals – Handrails, equipment enclosures, medical carts

🏗️ Construction and Architecture – Beams, brackets, canopies, staircases

🏭 Manufacturing & Industrial – Machine guards, frames, platforms

🛒 Retail and Hospitality – Display units, signage, kitchen hoods

🏫 Education & Government Facilities – Railings, fences, infrastructure

How to Choose the Right Fabricator After Receiving Estimates

Once you’ve collected multiple estimates, compare them not just by price, but by value. Evaluate:

📞 Communication and responsiveness

🧪 Material certifications and fabrication capabilities

🔧 Tolerance levels and technical expertise

📋 Scope of services (design, delivery, installation)

✅ Compliance with OSHA, AWS, and ISO standards

🧾 Transparent pricing breakdowns

Always ask questions and request samples or a portfolio of previous work to gauge their experience.

Final Thoughts

Before you cut, weld, or bend a single piece of metal, take the time to request a metal fabrication estimate. This step protects your budget, clarifies expectations, and connects you with the right partner to get the job done.

Ready to start your project? Reach out to a trusted local metal fabricator and request your custom quote today—fast, free, and tailored to your exact needs.

[ub-sessed]

How Not to Break Your Sewing Machine

I work in a shop where we repair sewing machines (a LOT of sewing machines), and unsurprisingly we see a lot of the same problems over and over again, so I'm here with some advice on how to keep your machine running longer.

When you break a needle, dig around until you have found the broken piece. If you leave it in there, it can end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and break something vital.

SLOW DOWN. The function of your sewing machine depends on the different moving parts ending up in the right place at the right time. Having to go through a lot of/heavy material slows the needle down, but it doesn't slow down the mechanism underneath the needle plate. If you try to go your usual speed, the needle will arrive too late and collide with something it shouldn't, breaking either the needle or the bobbin case. If the material is especially heavy (say you're sewing several layers of denim, or sewing webbing onto canvas), take your foot off the pedal and turn the machine by hand.

Clean out the bobbin area after each project. Really. Your machine comes with a little brush for this purpose. If it doesn't, a little dollar-store paint brush will work just fine. Remember what I said above about things being in the right place at the right time? Everything needs to be able to move freely for this to work. I know it looks like it's just a little dust and fluff, but it will jam up your machine eventually.

If you can, get your timing adjusted by a professional. I know most people don't have a sewing machine repair shop in their neighbourhood, but if you can do this, it's worth it. If the machine's timing is good, then you're more likely to have a little leeway for heavier fabric or a lintier bobbin case. When the timing is just a bit off, it takes less of an obstacle to put the needle in a place it shouldn't be.

If you can, buy a machine built before 1980. If it's still working 50 years after it was made, it's gonna keep working. Those older machines are made with metal gears and therefore weigh a ton, so they're definitely not a good choice if you don't have a permanent setup for your machine, but it means they basically last forever. Newer machines are made with plastic parts, and no matter what you do, they will break.

Don't buy a Singer Heavy Duty. I'm sure those machines have their benefits, but they are absolutely not heavy duty. We repair more Singer Heavy Dutys than any other single model of sewing machine. If you're already stuck with a Heavy Duty, then follow my advice above even more scrupulously, and start shopping around for a replacement if you can. You can get a used sewing machine of better quality for significantly less than a new Heavy Duty.

To keep things working properly, make sure you're:

threading your machine properly

using the right kind of bobbin

adjusting your tension properly

and using the right kind of needle for the fabric you're sewing!

(These things are unlikely to break your machine, but they will keep it from sewing properly.)

Other than that, get your hands on your machine's manual and read it carefully. If you can, bring your machine in for a cleaning and adjustment now and then. Your machine will need repairs every once in a while: it's a lot of little moving parts! But these are some basic precautions you can take to avoid some common problems.

[connorsui]

The scent of you lingers—soft, sweet, utterly misplaced amidst the steel and stone that make up his world. Jasmine and rosewater, clinging to the heavy hush of the corridor, weaving itself into the fabric of his being, staining him with something he will never wash away.

He should not breathe it in, should not let it settle in his lungs like something vital, like something he could not live without. And yet, here he stands, motionless, a knight undone by the mere presence of his queen.

You are close. Too ... close.

The space between you is a fragile thing, thin as the lace that drapes over your arms, as delicate as the breath that catches in your throat when his gloved hand twitches at his side, as if longing—aching—to reach for you. The flickering torchlight casts golden embers against your skin, makes a halo of your hair, tricks his mind into thinking you are something divine, something holy. And perhaps you are.

Lace whispers against cold metal as you lift a hand, fingers tracing the ridges of his armor with a familiarity that should not exist. A tenderness that should not be his to claim.

"You stand before me, silent as ever," you murmur, tilting your head, your gaze searching his with something unspoken. "Tell me, my love, has your tongue forsaken you?"

A slow exhale. You are toying with him, as you always do—sharp and knowing, your power lying not in the crown you bear but in the way you speak his name as though it is something sacred. He should not indulge this, should not stand here beneath your touch, should not let his resolve fracture like glass beneath your fingertips. And yet, he does.

"You tempt fate," he says finally, voice low, reverent.

A confession. A warning.

"And yet, it is all I have left."

His breath catches. The weight of your words settles heavy in the space between you, a truth neither of you wish to name. The world will take everything from you—has already begun to. The court has spoken. The match has been made. Soon, you will belong to another, to some noble born into a name that carries weight, to a man who will sit beside you on the throne that he himself has bled for.

Yet you reach for him.

Your fingers brush the worn leather at his shoulder, linger where armor meets flesh, as if you could undo him with a touch alone. And God help him, you can.

"Tell me you do not love me," you whisper, voice steady but for the way your fingers tremble against him. "Tell me your heart belongs only to your duty, and I will go. I will leave you to your honor, to your kingdom, to whatever lies ahead without me."

His jaw tightens. He sways, barely perceptible, as if your words have struck him like a blade to the chest. It would be the right thing to do, would it not?

To let you go? To be the man honor demands he be?

But honor has never known the way your voice softens when you say his name. Honor has never felt the warmth of your hand in his, delicate and desperate and pleading. Honor has never stood in the shadows, torn between love and duty, between a kingdom and the only thing that has ever truly belonged to him.

"No," he breathes, bowing his head, his voice raw with everything he has refused to say. "No, my beloved. My heart is yours, now and always."

A queen must wed. A knight must serve.

And yet, in this stolen moment, he falls to his knees before you—not as a knight, not as a man sworn to duty—but as the only fool who has ever loved you as you deserve.

[santechsheetmetal]

How to install Cantilever Racks in your garage?

It’s crucial to carefully adhere to the manufacturer’s instructions and suggestions while installing custom-made heavy-duty racking systems in your facility. Before installing, abide by all safety regulations and read the instruction booklet carefully. Most importantly, ensure all storage rack installation is done by trained professionals familiar with local safety rules and regulations. To learn more, visit our website today.

[jesuistrestriste]

sage. my flight got delayed AGAIN. i’m not getting back to school til late, i have an assignment due tomorrow i haven’t finished…may i please request some Mickey 17 stuff? smut or fluff or angst idc i miss that little guy:(

⭑.ᐟ cw (18+) : dry humping, tiny bit of fluff —

mickey’s body is a mess.

he’s just been reprinted for the twelfth time, his limbs slimy and his blood whooshing erratically through his veins as he’s sat up on the cold table. the familiar scientists poke and prod at his skin while they scribble hurried little notes in their pads of paper. his head spins badly whenever he gets propped up fresh out of the machine, but he still manages to immediately think of you.

where you’re at right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

he can’t do anything until the people in the lab are ready to let him go though, releasing him until the next agonizing experiment needs his lungs or his heart or his brain. sometimes it’s funny because they’re ready to kick him out the door before his legs are ready to be used, like a mother bird kicking her baby out of the nest before its ready to fledge. regardless, they’re usually pretty quick about finishing their post-printing examinations. and he can use the spare minutes while they’re working on him to think about what he’s gonna do when he finally gets to see you again.

the sting of his new cells adjusting to the atmosphere is drowned out by thoughts of pressing his lips to yours, trying out one of the stupid sex positions you and him made up on one of the tablets, running his hands over your warm flesh. he sighs.

one time—a few bodies ago—you had sucked him off when it had only been about 30 minutes since the reprinting, and you’d told him that his come tasted like plastic and sterilized metal. (which was weird because his body was supposed to be biologically the same as the last, so shouldn’t he have tasted normal? whatever. didn’t matter. you had swallowed. you had licked the rest of it into his mouth afterwards. it did taste artificial.)

the people surrounding him eventually scampered off and he assumed his freedom, got dressed, and slinked off and out. he walked through the hallways and listened to the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the flooring. climbed the stairs to the rooms, then slid open your door to find you laid on your bed. his chest sags with relief.

you smile at him. god, that smile. he can’t help but shut the door in a hasty effort and crawl up on top of you. your guys’ dark colored jumpsuits slide together. its only a tiny spark of friction, but its enough.

his body is always extra sensitive after coming out of the machine; he always feels like a virgin again, not that he’s had much sex in general. he feels your hand over his hip, and he shudders.

“mmgh,” he breathes into your neck, stiff and shaky, “i missed you.”

“missed you too. it’s only been a day and a half, but i really, really missed you,” you whisper against his jaw.

he loves how you can be just as clingy as him sometimes. you even beat him at his own game on occasion, sticking to his side like a glob of glue, but he blames the fact that you only get to see him during select parts of the day. with your duties and his expendable work.. it’s tough. you both take what you can get, and as much of it as you’re allowed. and that usually also means getting handsy as soon as you’re together.

you feel him rock down against your thigh involuntarily, reflexively, chasing a brewing feeling in his stomach. your fingers run through his brown hair, and you bite your lip when it elicits a whimper from him.

“already, mick?” you hum teasingly, the tips of your digits scratching the back of his scalp, just the way he likes it, “don’t you wanna go down and eat first?”

he chokes around a moan when he starts to hump the most perfect spot on your leg, just enough muscle there to give him something to work against. his hands find fabric of your suit, slipping under your back next as he keens. he feels a rush of warmth coat his cock, and then he feels a dribble of something start to leak from his tip.

“don’t wanna eat.. not really hungry..” he gasps, his brow pinched up now in the shadows of the crook of your body, “this.. you.. this feels so good, i don’t wanna stop..”

you tilt your head slightly and then lift your leg under him to press it further against his bulging crotch. a sharp cry spills from his lips. you pet his hair again. he’s like a puppy sometimes—a needy, possessive dog that looks up to you like you’re something to be worshipped. you can’t get enough.

“okay, well, i snuck you some food anyways, its in my—“

mickey cuts you off, crashing his lips to yours with a hunger that’s almost unlike him. he usually wants you to lead (much preferring following your directions). his tongue seeks yours desperately, flattening over your own once he gets access. you have to swallow down all the little noises he’s making as he starts to thrust his clothed appendage against your body quicker. the movement of his snapping hips is building a warmth between all of the layers.. you wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he burned a hole right through with all the rubbing he’s doing. you lovingly slide a hand over his lower back in an attempt to soothe his frantic movements, but it doesn’t quite work. he breaks from the kiss, body jolting, to look down to your face and hiccup. expression all crumpled and contorted and flushed with an orgasm that he’s almost got clutched in the palm of his hand. eyes glazed over and jaw slacked like he’s high on pure oxy from timo. just a disaster of a man. and to think—a hunk of machinery and a brick of his memories brought him back to life less than an hour ago. birthed him, really. everything about him in this moment is so primal. you can’t shake the need to mark your territory, just in case he’s forgotten somehow.

“easy, easy.. you’re all mine for the rest of the night anyways.. i don’t care what they want, they’re not taking you from me tonight..”

and that’s all it takes.

just those sweet, possessive words pouring like thick honey into his ears, and then he’s gone. easy as that.

his eyes roll back, his head drops to your shoulder, his length spasms in his new underwear, then he’s coming. it happens as quick as you can blink.

“aah! im.. im—!”

he heaves through the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that bloom and spread throughout his nervous system, rendering him a trembling heap on top of you. if it weren’t for the remaining strength in his biceps, he’d collapse and probably fall like dead weight over your chest. he gives a few more shaky rolls of his hips as he rides out the prickling aftershocks of overstimulation. “f-fuck, ohh, ngh..”

then he really does slump over you. lowering himself slowly over your frame so as to not crush you. there’s something tender about the way he moves to ensure your comfort, even when he’s so wrecked, and it makes you instinctively wrap your arms around him. he sniffles while he catches his breath.

“s-sssorry,” the word broken up lazily as he struggles to bring himself back to the reality of your touch, “mmn.. jus’ felt so good, and you smell so nice, and i just couldn’t..” he trails off, shaking his head as he feels his body begin to overheat.

a little laugh bubbles up and out at his incoherency. then your hand over his upper back snakes down to playfully squeeze his rear. he sucks in a gasp and then chuckles into your skin as he squirms.

“s’fine, i like watching you finish like that.”

he chews the inside of his cheek like gum. you can almost feel his lashes flutter against your pulse point.

“felt like i wasn’t myself for a second..”

it’s a joke, one twinged with a bit of shame and guilt, you know that, but it doesn’t feel like one. each time he gets reprinted, a part of him changes—gets stripped away and plastered over with something new. you don’t always mind, but it does make you question which mickey you’ll get next time. will he be soft and kind? blunt and impulsive?

at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t matter much.

“you’ll always be my mickey.”

he lets out a weighted sigh of relief for the second time in the past thirty minutes since he’s been back in your presence, and it’s almost like you can feel the very last of the tension drain from his pores. he only whispers two more words against your ear before he finds his own hands wandering your body, eager to reciprocate and prove that he’s still useful. he owes it to you for loving him through it all.

“yeah.. yours.”

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Thunderbolts* Boys + Cockwarming

Reader is also a member of the Thunderbolts* (ft. Bucky Barnes, John Walker, Bob Reynolds, and Alexei Shostakov)

CW: Thunderbolts* spoilers, fingering, bathing together, kinda thigh fucking, hurt/comfort, dry humping,

a/n: my first time writing for most these guys! really excited to dip my toes in the waters of more characters

Help Me Move?

~~~

Bucky Barnes

Far too fancy suit jacket sat upon his shoulders. Hair slicked back and tie too tight against his throat. Dress shoes bruising the bottoms of his feet.

Another meeting. Congressman Barnes must attend. It was his duty. As if he had not given enough of himself to the government. Or how he still fought day in and day out to protect the city from the next big threat with the New Avengers. Too busy for an old man to be. Even if he was a super soldier.

Bucky swore he never got tired, but you knew better. Knew the side of him that would come home with his shoulders hanging low. Scruff thicker than normal from where he had no time to trim it. Bloody and bruised. Far different from the version of him that stood before you now.

It was late. But you always stayed up to see him. You sat on one of the many couches in one of the many rooms in the new and improved tower. A space intended to relax. Something none of you could spare time to do. Save for moments like this. Where you had finished your own mission and were able to just sit for a moment. Pretending like you had not gotten home only an hour ago. Barely out of the shower. In some comfortable clothing.

Put together Congressman Barnes stood across the room. Case clutched at his side. Knuckles white from the strength he used. It must have went poorly.

You greeted him with a smile. Trying to lighten the mood. Knowing he was not prepared for chitchatting. Mind still filled with the days worth of government jargon. His brows sat heavy upon his eyes. Mouth downturned in a frown. Seriousness leading his demeanor.

Bucky walked over to you, throwing his case absentmindedly into a chair beside where you sat. Shimming his jacket off his shoulders. Plopping down onto the couch beside you. His weight sinking you further into the cushion. Forehead falling against your shoulder. Silently taking in your warmth and scent. Fresh out the shower, he could tell. Wishing he could have joined you.

Your hand petted through his hair. Sticky gel catching against your fingers. His eyes rested closed, breathing loudly through his nose. His hand rested on your exposed thigh. Shorts leaving little covered.

His metal arm wrapped around your back, guiding you onto his lap. Hands now on your hips as he looked up at you. You rested your hands on the fronts of his shoulders. Staring into his hooded icy eyes. His looking between your lips and eyes. Pressing forward to kiss you longingly. Missing your taste throughout the long day.

“Missed you real bad,” he mumbled between kisses.

“I missed you too,” you whispered with a smile. You cupped his face in tender palms. Continuing to press your lips together. His stale cologne filled your senses. Mixing in with the musk of hair gel.

His hand began rubbing circles into your skin. Daring to push his tongue past your lips to taste you better. Fingertips finding their way under the fabric of your shorts.

Removing his hand from you to fumble with the buckle of his belt. Ripping it off his waist and throwing it in the floor. Quickly arching upward so he could pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Cock freed from the confides.

You blushed at the sight. Tip swollen and a bead of cum already at the slit. Feverishly red with his want.

His fingers pushed your shorts to the side. Exposing your slick core. Eyebrows bouncing momentarily at the reveal. Corner of his mouth upturning as he looked up at you. Your face beautifully flushed. Accented by the pale light of the room. Eyes blow with want. You were his girl.

Bucky ran a finger agonizingly slow up your slit. Collecting your juices on his digit. Pushing it into you. Your body rutted forward, hands grasping onto his shoulders for dear life. Moaning delightfully soft in his ear.

“Can I put it in?” Bucky asked politely. Kissing the side of your head with his question. Not being able to wait any longer. He needed relief. Found within you.

“Bucky. What if someone comes in—“

“They won’t,” he said sternly, “I just… need it.” Losing the strong exterior for a moment. Coming out of his shell. You were one of the few he could lower his guard around. Allowing himself to feel human with you.

You nodded. Trusting his judgement. Pushing yourself up on your knees so that he could line himself up. Grasping at his base as he slowly guided you down onto him. Sinking until your hips were flush together. Bucky groaned for a moment. Wide eyes looked into yours, brows knitting softly. A little crease forming between them.

He filled you entirely. Stretching you out and brushing your cervix. Not moving, just allowing the closeness to speak for itself.

You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his back. Resting your head against his chest, nuzzled under his chin. The steady strum of his heartbeat soothed you. Your eyes fell closed. Balancing out your breathing to match his.

His arms held you close against him. Palms flattened along your back. Fingertips digging into your flesh.

It all helped him relax after such a long day. Locked together with his lover. Quietly savoring your touch. Knowing no one would disturb you. Not right now.

~~~

John Walker

The sound of your door sliding open woke you up.

Sitting up and seeing the familiar silhouette of the former Captain America. Backlit from the low lights of the hallway. His shoulders slumped, figure leaning against the doorframe. Pain clear from the way he carried himself.

His mission had been draining. Sent out on his own after everyone refused to join him. Being stretched too thin with assignments.

His muscles ached. Barely holding his head up as he breathed heavily in the doorway. Suit still adorning his body. Blonde locks disheveled and sticking to his sweaty forehead. A hint of shake in his hands. Obvious he had worked himself too hard.

You threw your blanket to the side, joining him at the doorway. Your hands cradled his bearded face. His eyes fell shut at the relief. Now you could fully see him. Little cuts and bruises decorated his face. Dried blood along his suit and neck. Thumb outlining the razor thin cuts, some still bleeding.

It broke your heart to see him this way.

Silently, you interlocked fingers with him. Not an ounce of fight left in him. Leading him into your bathroom where you started the shower. John was barely able to keep his eyes opened. Defeated and finally being able to let his guard down.

Your hands flattened along his chest. His heartbeat rapid against your touch. Breathing deeply with a locked jaw. Wordlessly, you encouraged him to turn around. Helping slide his leather top down his arms. Revealing his beaten back. Scars and forgotten wounds peppered along his flesh.

Tossing the sweat ridden garment into your hamper. He turned to face you once more. Chest beautifully full of blonde and brown hair. Muscles accented by the dim light of your bathroom. Bloodshot eyes tenderly looking down at you. You carefully undid his belt. Pulling his pants down his legs, assisting him with removing each leg. Discarding to the same place as the other.

Even though you had already showered, you removed your own clothing. Guiding him back into the tile shower. His shoulder rested against the wall. Back facing the water. Rivering down the ridges and valleys of his skin. Loving fingertips tickled down his arms. Slowly circling all the spots covered in dirt and grime. His hands gripped your waist, wanting to feel grounded. Knowing you were right before him. There for him. Caring for him.

Allowing the pain and suffering from the day to go down the drain. Reaching behind you for the shampoo you had. Nails softly scraping his scalp as you washed him hair. John’s throat bobbed with each touch. Eyes squinted shut as he savored the feeling. Groaning at your touch.

Gently cradling his head back to rinse. Suds circling the drain. Sucking them away down the pipes. Reaching for your body wash. Lathering his torso with the soft scented liquid. Being especially careful with the cuts that littered him. Articulated fingers got each bit of dried blood and dirt and debris off his body. Reluctantly making him turn so you could get every inch of him. Kissing his shoulder blade as you washed down his body.

John’s hand gripped the wall below the shower head as you finished scrubbing him. Cleaning away any worries and pain that still remained upon him. Taking your time to pour water down him. Getting each and every soap bubble off.

Smiling at him. His hair was soaked. Blonde locks darkening from how filled with water they were. Droplets falling from his beard. His skylike eyes watched you. A smile daring to tug at the corner of his mouth. Stepping forward and pulling you into a tight hug against his strong chest.

Vulnerable and nude together. Bare skin pressing into the curve of the other. Your hands rubbed up and down his back, reassuring him that you would always be here. Anytime he needed you.

John pressed a kiss into your cheek. Backing away to look at you again. Exhaustion finally catching up with him. Blinking slower than he ever had before. It was all so sweet.

You reached to shut the water off. Grabbing towels for both of you. Helping pat down his sore body. Making sure to get any remnants of water off him.

Realizing that none of his clothes he left were clean. Beating yourself up for not doing the laundry sooner. Feeling like you were letting him down.

John shrugged, a smile finally coming across his lips. Loving the idea of your nude bodies pressed together. Sharing intimacy under your blankets. It was one of his favorite things to do.

Both of you walked back into your bedroom. Shutting off all the lights and snuggling under your covers. John’s arms wrapped tightly around your lower stomach. Chest hair tickling your spine. Forehead pressed into the back of your skull. Both your hair still a little damp causing a slight chill to run down your body.

One of John’s hand snaked down to your bare core. Slowly beginning to rub circles against your clit. Your back arched, pressing your ass firmly against his growing cock. Eliciting a low moan from him. His lips pressed a myriad of kisses into your neck. Humming in satisfaction at the way you ground against his member.

Fingers left your soaking core for a moment, wrapping around your thigh. Lifting it so that he could slide his erection between them. Allowing your leg to rest back in its previous position. His hips thrusting. Pinching him between your legs. The head bumping against your sensitive clit.

“Wanna be inside you,” John sighed.

You nodded, arching your leg up so he could enter you. Sliding in without friction, hips meeting your ass. John whimpered in your ear. Arms draping around you once more. Kissing right below your ear.

Knowing it would feel good to get release. But sleep called out to him. Begging him to rest. To allow his body to recover. So he remained still against you. Face nuzzled in your hair against your pillow.

Finally able to truly relax.

~~~

Bob Reynolds

A crack of lightning illuminated your bedroom.

Storms had been persistent for the last week. Sheets of rain pattering against your windows. Blurring any view you had outside. You laid on your side staring at the glass. Sleep wanting to wash over you, but something told you to stay awake.

A knock at your door.

You knew exactly who it was. Getting up and walking over to unlock the door. Sliding open to reveal Bob. Fiddling with his fingers in his oversized sleeves. Lips pushed tightly together as he looked around the hallway, finally meeting your eyes when he realized. Gaze softening.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled. Blinking slow as you looked at him. A nervous man. But learning to calm those anxieties. He was gorgeous. As much as it pained you to remember, Valentina had been completely right about him being the perfect man.

“Everything okay?”

Bob swallowed, clicking his tongue as he thought, “Uh, yeah! Wait— no, I mean— no. Can I come lay with you?”

He hated the storms. Too loud. Too forceful. Reminding him of when he would have to hide under his bed as a child. Later being mocked and ridiculed by his father for not being a man. So when he found out storms kept you up late at night too, he thought it smart for you to console each other.

You were always happy to invite him in. Stepping back to let him inside. This happened often enough that he had his own side of your bed. Where he now moved the blanket so he could get under the cover. Goofily grinning over at you. Watching how you stepped over to him.

Both of your cheeks glowing with sweet blush. Finding more comfort in each other’s company than you ever had before. Bob’s dark eyes followed you intently. Loving the way your legs poured from your shorts. There was definitely a reason you only wore them to bed.

You crawled into the bed, Bob quick to lazily press into you. His head nestling into the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanning over your collar. Arms loosely draping around your waist. Fingertips meeting the swell of your ass.

Another loud clap of thunder.

Causing Bob’s entire body to jump. Alarmed and holding tightly against you. Breath coming out broken and shaky as he tucked his face further into you. As if you would somehow protect him from it.

You readjusted so that your legs were tangled together. Pressing as close together as possible. Bend of your knee meeting his groin. Causing him to shutter. Fingers digging little crescents into your cheeks. Breath catching in his throat.

He was already hardening from the simple pressure of your leg. Really easy when you are as touch starved as him. Losing himself in the way your heartbeat sung to his ears. How tenderly your hands caressed him, playing with the back of his hair. Able to feel how deeply you cared for him simply from your touch.

His lips pressed a chaste kiss into your neck. Nose cascading along your pulse. Whimpering softly as he began to roll his hips against your knee. Finding a distraction from the raging storm outside. Open mouthed breathing against your skin.

“Can I…?”

It was meek. Unsure of himself but knowing exactly what he wanted. It caused your cheeks to heat up. Kissing the top of his head and agreeing.

His long fingers pulled your shorts down your body. Following with his own. His cock slapped against his stomach for a moment. Bouncing from its release. He nudged your legs apart, hiking one over his waist. His length swiped along your folds. Collecting your release on it. Bob whined at the feeling, his eyes squinting shut.

Slowly he pushed inside you. Parting your folds perfectly and meeting his hips flush with your own. He was so warm. He nuzzled his face between your breasts. Groaning with broken breaths.

“ ‘s so good,” Bob grumbled into your chest. As badly as he wanted to fuck you, this was better. Bodies connected. Soothing his rapid heartbeat. You were his safe space. Whenever he needed comfort he knew exactly where to go.

When the next strike of lightning hit, Bob was too far lost in you to notice.

~~~

Alexei Shostakov

Snow blanketed the ground outside.

You were curled into a ball under the thin blanket you were given. The tent you were sharing was by no means insulated. Shivering uncontrollably in the subzero temperatures. Cold enough to see your breath in front of you. Trying not to disturb your companion beside you.

Alexei had his back to you. Barely a foot between you. Broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath he took. His body radiated heat. You wanted so badly to wrap yourself around him, steal any bit of warmth he could spare.

But it would be rude of you to intrude.

So you continued to freeze. Tip of your nose practically forming an icicle. Forcing your eyes shut hoping that you could sleep, knowing it would be impossible like this. Shuttering and teeth chattering.

He began rustling behind you. You froze. Trying to stop your body’s natural instinct. You must have been disrupting his sleep, why else would he be rolling over?

“Are you cold?” voice thick with his accent barely above a grumble.

“I’m sorry—“

Alexei’s arm wrapped around your lower stomach. Pulling you flush against him with his strength. Shifting so that you were layered under the same blankets. Curve of your spine perfectly fitting his front. He hummed into the crook of your neck. Breath warm. His body was like a heater. Finally feeling a moment of tranquility.

“You know, there’s a way to make us both warmer,” Alexei said with a hushed voice. Lips pressed against your ear. Beard tickling your skin. Husky voice sending chills down your body that pooled between your legs.

You pressed back further into him. Arching your ass so that it ground against his groin. Earning a low huff from him. Fingers splaying along your stomach as he gripped you tighter. Heartbeat pounding against your ears as you awaited his next move.

A soft kiss was pressed into your neck. His thumb hooking around the waistband of your thermal pants. Tugging them down your legs. Chill of the air a fading memory when his fingers dipped into your core. You whined at his touch.

Alexei chuckled, “Let me get you ready.”

Thick, calloused fingers circled your clit. Sliding them into your hole repeatedly. All heat in your body was between your legs. Growing slicker with each touch. Fingers spreading you out with each insert.

His hand abandoned you for a moment. You pouted wanting his digits inside you once more. Hand reaching behind you to grab his wrist. Finding it where his hands were pulling down his own pants. Half-hardened cock springing free, slapping against your back. The tip was molten hot. Leaking cum already. You imaged it was swollen and red. Girthy. Obscenely warm.

Large hands hooked around the bend of your leg. Arching it over his hip behind you. Cock now prodding at your core. You rolled against it. Tip pushing barely past your folds. Alexei’s hand lined him up with your core. Sheathing inside you in one fluid motion. Hips flush against yours.

“Tight cunt,” he breathed into your ear. Sounding as if the air had been punched out of his lungs. The stretch of his cock burned for only a moment. Now able to feel the way it pulsed inside you.

And he was right. This did warm you up significantly. Alexei rested his chin on your shoulder. The two of you heating up together. Finally comfortable in the igloo like tent.

Alexei felt good inside you. As badly as you wanted to start hopping up and down on him, you knew this was far more comfortable. Bodies combined as one.

“ ‘ll keep you warm all night,” Alexei muttered half drunk on the feeling of your walls encapsulating his length.

You could feel yourself drifting to sleep. Alexei’s arms tight around your torso, your leg tossed around his waist. Making sure to keep the heat trapped between your bodies.

Both of you forgetting about the blizzard outside.

~~~

// Thank you so much for reading! This is different than the longer stories I normally do, but it’s like this idea hit me like a bus the other day and I just HAD to write it. As always, my inbox is open. If you want to be tagged in anything in the future, have requests, or just general questions, feel free to let me know! Comments and Reblogs are appreciated //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @ghostofmarvel ~ @oof-ouch-ouchie ~ @lc-birdie ~ @buckys-knife-flip ~ @flow3raurora ~ @makaria-burton ~ @augustisnotonline ~ @hinata7346 ~ @ae-aeitch ~ @reader-lola ~ @puppygar ~ @maryzoka ~ @killerwendigo ~ @gonzo-induced-gender-crisis ~ @tsunderecamour ~ @lovelively ~ @dean097 ~ @smooth-raikkonen ~ @dollylvr ~ @simps-r-us-blog ~

[our-trans-punk-experience]

THE BATTLE JACKET MASTERPOST

FINALLY PUNKS IT'S HERE

a battle jacket (also called battle vest, cut-off, punk jacket, patch jacket, and probably other stuff) is a jacket (duh) usually made from denim or leather with DIY additions of patches, studs, flags, painted panels, chains, and other bonuses, used to signify subculture. Punk, metal, and biker scenes all use patch jackets, but I'll only go into specifics about how they're used in the punk scene. Metalheads, I think, almost solely personalise with music/band shit. Bikers use them to signifying which club you're riding with. Punks started using them in the 70s and they've remained a staple of the subculture's style since. They're good for signalling your politics, bands you like, and other information you might want to get across. They also look cool.

HOW TO START

If you're here I assume you wanna learn how to make your own so I'll cut the history lesson short and get on to the practicals.

1: first you're going to want to get a plain jacket, probably denim or leather, but you could get a canvas jacket if you're nervous and new to the scene because it's way easier to stitch canvas, so you could experiment with that as you're building confidence. The jacket should be at least a bit oversized because with all the stitching and painting or whatever you'll be doing, you could run into fit issues with a very form fitting jacket. also, this jacket might frequently be worn over other jackets or layers so that will help with that too

2: start making choices. namely whether you want to keep the sleeves. obviously you can remove or reattatch the sleeves later but I think making that big mod first is a good starting point to help you feel like it's a work in progress. so if you're going to chop the sleeves I say do it now

3: brainstorm. I know, I know, coming up with your own ideas is hard, but this is your own totally literally unique piece, so think about what sorta look you want

4: you don't have to brainstorm alone though. search tumblr or pinterest for punk jackets, punk patches, punk clothes ect for inspiration. you might get a good idea for an individual patch, or for a broader layout

PATCHES

1: the big deal. this is what will make your jacket into a battle jacket. there are some unofficial rules/sayings in the scene about what sort of patches you should put on your jacket. some people get dickish sometimes about if you put a non-punk band on your jacket? however i think that is bollocks and you should do whatever you want forever. one saying i do personally mostly stick to is "politics up front, bands on the back" with the idea you stick your politics on your front so you can see the punches coming

2: where do you get the patches? you make them yourself. You can buy ofc but don't get shit off amazon or shein or whatever the fuck. If your fav band or small artist is selling patches go for it though. You will have the most choice if you make your own patches. Do you have scrap fabric (maybe the sleeves of the jacket, which is where i got a lot of my patch material)? Do you have paint and paintbrush? good. you can make a patch

3: how do you do that? well depends on whether you stencil or freehand. stencil means you cut out an outline, of say a band logo, out of card, and use that as a stencil. freehand means you paint whatever tf you like

4: paint?? yes paint. messy as you like. start maybe with simple slogans or symbols often found in the punk scene like "ACAB" or "eat the rich". maybe an anarchy symbol. i also like to paint a layer of mod podge over my designs to waterproof them.

5: great, you've got a patch, what are you going to do with it? sew it onto the jacket. unless ofc you bought an iron-on in step 2, in which case iron that shit on and be careful punks. most likely though, you're sewing it on. a lot of punks use tooth floss to sew on because its cheaper, easier to find, readily waxed and waterproof, and does a better job sewing shit down onto heavy duty material like leather or denim. I use a combined running stitch and whip stitch personally

STUDS n SPIKES

1: all those punks you've seen have metal sticking out their jacket eh? yeah, theres a whole lot of options here. spikes of many different sizes and shapes, which within that can be stitch on, screwback, or have fold down prongs on the back of them

2: where do you put them? probably the front or top of the jacket. you can put them on the back but that might be uncomfortable, or rip up someone's upholstery

3: where do you get them? you can still DIY these by cutting up a metal drinks can [whole other post] but BE CAREFUL. i suggest checking out the internet for these, same buying rules as patches though. no shein. no amazon.

OTHER SHIT??

1: go wild

2: other common additions would be chains, lighter caps, badges, and can tabs

HAVE FUN PLS ASK ME QUESTIONS AND SHARE IF YOU START A BATTLE JACKET

[astrologydray]

—💋💋Rising Signs as Style Personas💋💋—

-Aries Rising – The Bold Trailblazer-

• Sporty-chic, lots of red from vibrant crimson to deep merlot. gold jewelry, sneakers & moto jackets

• Loves a statement piece and fearless combos. bold hairstyles, including big hair, wild curls, and hats

Sharp, modern, and slightly androgynous silhouettes, like tailored suits or sporty outfits, can showcase their assertive nature

• Vibe: Off-duty model meets rebel cool

What to avoid:

Frilly or overly feminine styles Unless there are other feminine placements in their birth chart

• Don’t overdo pastels or ultra-delicate looks

Avoid looking “overly safe” or forgettable

Taurus Rising – The Sensual Minimalist

• a style that is both classic and sensual, Loves comfy, high-quality fabrics (cashmere, silk, velvet, leather)

• Neutral tones evoking a sense of comfort and groundedness, earthy luxury, elevated basics, Coquette Core

Taurus risings might go for richer, deeper jewel tones like emerald, sapphire, or amber

• Vibe: Soft luxury. Expensive but not loud

What to avoid:

Avoid cheap-looking or overly synthetic fabrics. Scratchy textures and fast-fashion fads can dull your luxe aura.

• Stay away from chaotic prints—simplicity is your superpower. Don’t chase trends that don’t feel good on your skin.

Gemini Rising – The Playful Trend Hopper

• Constantly changing style: graphic tees, Y2K, funky prints. can experiment with layering different textures and styles

Yellow, orange, green, and white are great choices, as these colors align with their playful and vibrant energy. Blue, especially cobalt or sky blue

• Loves mixing colors, accessories, and eras

• Vibe: It Girl with 6 personalities

What to avoid:

Avoid boring basics or monotone outfits. Minimalist styles with no flair = style boredom for you

Super heavy, restrictive fabrics can kill your “light on your feet” energy. Avoid overly mature or serious looks

Cancer Rising – The Vintage Romantic

• Soft silhouettes, retro-inspired, dainty details

• Classic and Timeless Styles think flowy skirts, lace, and pearl accessories or Bold Colors and Vintage/Retro styles

• Vibe: Cottagecore princess with a nostalgic twist

What to avoid:

Avoid anything too edgy or cold-looking. Harsh lines, aggressive cuts, or cold metals can clash with your softness

• Avoid overly futuristic fashion—you glow in classic, romantic styles. Skip overly stiff or corporate looks that harden your energy

Leo Rising – The Glamorous Showstopper

• Bold colors like gold, orange, and red, as well as patterns, such as leopard print or bold stripes, gold jewelry, high-glam energy. statement pieces, and luxurious fabrics

• Designer logos, animal print, dramatic outerwear, large earrings, bold necklaces

• Vibe: Main character with a paparazzi fantasy

What to avoid:

Avoid blending into the background, neutrals and overly minimal outfits can rob your main character glow

• Avoid anything “meh” or dull—your presence is meant to shine. Don’t be afraid of drama—just avoid looking try-hard

-Virgo Rising – The Clean Girl Chic-

• Structured pieces, monochrome looks, subtle elegance

Clean Lines: crisp and simple silhouette is favored, often avoiding overly flashy or intricate designs

• Loves sets, blazers, and refined neutrals a focus on essential pieces and a cohesive style

• Vibe: The polished Pinterest muse

What to avoid:

Avoid messy, chaotic, or over-layered outfits. Over-accessorizing or clashing patterns can make you feel uncomfortable

• Avoid overly trendy, low-effort looks—your strength is in intentional styling. Sloppy = your style kryptonite

Libra Rising – The Trendy Tastemaker

• Always on trend, perfectly balanced outfits

• Pastels, silk, chiffon, and other lightweight materials, curated jewelry, polished glam, pale pink, and light blue

Shades like lavender, pale pink, and light blue, which complement their gentle and graceful nature

• Vibe: Fashion influencer energy—effortlessly pretty

What to avoid:

Avoid anything unbalanced or clunky. Harsh colors or mismatched silhouettes throw off your harmony

• Avoid hyper-casual outfits that lack polish. Don’t skip details like accessories—your beauty is in the finish

Scorpio Rising – The Mysterious Seductress

• Dark tones, silk, leather, corsets, bold lips. Black, deep reds (maroon, burgundy), and purples

• Loves contrast: sexy + covered, classy + edgy. Subtle Sensuality: Clothing can hint at sensuality without being overtly revealing

Intriguing Accessories: Statement jewelry, striking watches, and dark gemstone accents can add depth and intrigue

• Vibe: Femme fatale who owns the night

What to avoid:

Avoid overly bright, bubbly fashion. Neon colors and cartoonish prints can feel out of alignment

• Avoid exposing too much randomly—it should feel mysterious, not just sexy. Light-hearted styles may undercut your magnetism

Sagittarius Rising – The Worldly Free Spirit

• Boho layers, fringe, bold patterns, comfort meets cool. A flair for the dramatic and enjoy statement pieces

• Think earthy travelwear, vintage denim, cultural inspo. They are not afraid to experiment with different styles, colors, and patterns

Flowy fabrics, maxi dresses, caftans, ethnic prints, and accessories from different cultures resonate with their adventurous nature

• Vibe: Jet-set fashion nomad

What to avoid:

Avoid overly tight, restrictive clothing. Structured suits, bodycons, or stiff materials = outfit jail for you

• Avoid dull, uninspired outfits—you thrive in expressive, worldly fashion. Comfort and freedom are key: don’t fake a look that isn’t you

Capricorn Rising – The Luxe Executive

• Power dressing, clean lines, high-end accessories. quiet luxury.

• Tailored fits, structured bags, black & neutrals like gray, and navy. structured clothing like tailored blazers, column dresses, and shoes with sculptural heels; business-casual

Invest in high-quality materials and design, building a wardrobe of well-respected designer pieces.

• Vibe: Corporate baddie who closes deals & slays

What to avoid:

Avoid anything sloppy or trend-obsessed. Hyper-youthful or chaotic outfits can feel off for your natural poise

• Avoid super busy prints or too many layers. Cheap-looking details? Hard no. You’re all about refined presence

Aquarius Rising – The Style Rebel

• Experimental, futuristic, gender-fluid vibes. Mixing patterns, wearing vintage pieces.

• Think metallics, platform shoes, bold shapes. unconventional choices, unexpected pairings, and a touch of the avant-garde.

Versatile Wardrobe: As their interests are varied, their wardrobe likely reflects that with a mix of styles.

• Vibe: Runway from the year 3030

What to avoid:

Avoid blending in or playing it safe. Basic mall-core or anything too “normal” dims your edge

• Skip ultra-traditional or conservative styles. You were born to break rules—not follow them

Pisces Rising – The Dreamy Drifter

• Flowy fabrics like maxi dresses, tiered skirts, water tones, artistic layering. Pastels, lavender, seafoam green, whites, and light blues.

• Loves soft textures think chiffon, silk, tulle, satin, and lace. sheer details, whimsical looks.

Bohemian and vintage styles: Items with a retro or free-spirited vibe.

• Vibe: Fairycore meets ethereal fashion muse

What to avoid:

Avoid sharp, overly structured silhouettes. Harsh fabrics or heavy, dark styles can drown your ethereal energy

• Avoid looking too “grounded”—you’re meant to float. Stay away from ultra-serious fashion—your magic lies in softness

[penvisions]

one trail or another {din djarin x reader}

Pairing: Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: At the end of a long day, running into a Mandalorian is the last thing you expected to happen when the lift to your temporary apartment stalls.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: flashbacks of the attack on madalore and aq ventina, readers home world was also attacked, forced proximity, itty bitty panic attack, din is soft in this cause i wanted him to be, kissing, i think that's it!

A/N: this is a little piece i whipped up for @toomanystoriessolittletime writing challenge -> 47 minutes in heaven. also perfect timing with all the new mandalorian content from the star wars celebration yesterday!

An automated ding rings through the air, the lift that came at your beck and call opening. You tap your fingers on the side of your thigh, right over the flowing fabric of your tunic, nerves getting the best of you. You just wanted to go home and enjoy in a canter of something bubbly after the day you’ve had.

The doors hush as they open, clanging loudly as they do so completely- to reveal a figure already inside.

Gleaming, beautiful armor fastened securely to a broad, tall man is directly in the middle. His visor is dark and blank, unreadable as you shuffle on your feet before biting your bottom lip and enter the lift with a tight hand on the strap to your bag. He’s a little intimidating, his form so broad and tall. You duck your head as you settle into the minimal space beside him, voice gone from you as you feel your heartbeat pick up.

The lift barely makes it up two floors of the tall building before it’s jolting to a sudden stop. Your bag thuds heavily to the floor as you loose your balance, body careening toward the interior wall as you stumble back. You brace for the contact, already anticipating a headache, eyes clenched shut but you never collide with it. Your silent companion has his arms wrapped around you as he stands firm on spread out feet, keeping you both from jostling as the lift sways for a few moments more.

Your breath wooshes out at the sting of how cold his armor is even through your clothing, the leather of his fingers a shock as they hold you tight around your ribs and the back of your head. His chest plate is firm where your cheek rests against it. He’s cradling you to his body, a thick thigh between yours, your head never cracks against the back of the lift. When the lift finally stills, you glance up at him and see the visor already aimed down at you.

Your fingers grip the heavy duty fabric of his flight suit, just underneath the pauldrons fastened to his shoulders.

And then the lights go out, dousing you both in complete darkness.

You go completely still with a sharp breath, memories plaguing you of the last time you were plunged into darkness so completely, so intensely. Only this time there isn’t the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air and dust from crumbled concrete and glass.

“I got you, mesh’la.” His voice rumbles against your chest, filling the space even if your mind is wiped completely clean of anything but this very moment. Your realize that the odd wheezing sound you hear is coming from you, deep in your throat as you take sharp breaths. Metal, you smell and taste metal and see red behind your eyelids, so much red. From the deep, rich cloth you used to wear to the blood splattered all around and covering your hands. The phantom physicality of being pushed has you gasping and pressing into the solid form holding you tight.

“Easy now, you’re okay.” The Mandalorian’s voice is even, far more controlled and that alone seems to sooth some of the panic rising in your nerves.

“W-what’s your job here?” You try to distract yourself as the lift groans as the cables go taut above and below you, racketing up your heart rate even more.

“What makes you think I’m on a job?” His fingers dig into your back where he holds you. The thigh between your legs tenses and you feel lightheaded. You try to focus on the feel of him, on the way his helmet is relaying the gentle rasp of his breath through the modulator.

“Because I’ve never seen you here before,” You carefully detangle yourself from him, body lighting up and you think that his own hands linger as yours do. You back yourself into the wall of the lift, silence deafening between you now. Assuming you said the wrong thing, you bring your palms up to your eyes and rub at them, exhaustion and self-consciousness the only things you feel after the long day you’ve had. Your body slides down the wall until you’re sitting against it, legs crossed as

“I’m working a job, yes.” His voice comes from beside you, startling you but you don’t flinch or show that you didn’t hear him move about the small space.  

He’s searching for someone who has beskar, a lot of it. Won it in an illegal gambling ring and was rather harsh when confronted by those who tried to jump in the aftermath of the game- seems they were pretty convinced that the person cheated them- played them into a false sense of comfortability that the game would end in their favor. He thinks, briefly, for a moment that it’s a lost cause. The trail only led to this city, guiding him from two different ports at two different planets.

Then it went cold and he decided to rent a room for the night, a small relief he doesn’t normally indulge in. The cramped cockpit of his small ship and the small, cooing figure he misses guiding his decision.

He wants the beskar, but he knows he needs to rest as well before setting off to scour the city.

“I’ve seen your kind before, they came to the rescue of my home world. A long time ago.” Your memories play out, the ones of cramped and dusty spaces. Of blaster shots and explosions. Red fabric stained dark. When you had emerged, it was too late. The blood you were splattered with was alarming, resulting in your extended stay at a medic center on an entirely different planet. The only one in the room with you had been a blue armored Mandalorian that left the moment you woke up.

“We are a sparse people, now. Perhaps we extended ourselves into near extinction with our rescuing.”

It’s certainly an interesting statement, one you think he’s been mulling over since the attack that nearly wiped them from the planet. You remember it vividly, you remember the destruction of your own world all the same.

“Mercy and kindness override wrath,” You know it all to well, the sentiment you let sit in the open air you now share with someone who feels all too familiar and foreign at the same time. The muscles in your stomach jolt, the mechanics hidden underneath the skin there are beginning to cool down. If more time passes, they’ll power off completely, the spring needs to be replaced and you’ve put it off until the end of the day.

You must’ve made a noise as you hold a hand to the spot underneath your clothing because you hear the shuffle of fabric beside you.

“Are you hurt?”

“My mechanics need to be replaced.” Removing your hand, you glance at your communication link on your wrist as it beeps. Signaling the exact thing you already knew, there was someone on your tail. But you suspect it’s the man right beside you in the dead and stalled lift.

The glow of the screen is dull, but you read the time all the same. It’s been nearly half an hour since the lift trapped you both inside it.

“You’re a cyborg.” It’s not exactly an accusation, but it is more a statement than a question aimed at you in that deep, resonating voice through the helmet.

“No,” you huff a laugh as you feel the very small currents cease their humming. “I’m very much human, don’t you fret. Just the result of a bad injury that wasn’t treated in time.”

You weren’t so lucky as the only other person who you recall seeing ducking and weaving around debris flying through the air and the droids that mercilessly took down every person that crossed their paths as they ran run buildings and tried to escape. A little boy, with tan skin and dark hair. The last glimpse you had of him was his parents lowering him into a supply bunker. Your vision through a small hole in the large slabs of concrete encasing you blocked by blue armor.

When it was clear again, both the group of armored fighters and the boy were gone.

But you don’t worry for him any longer, as you’re sure he’s grown into the man beside you. Taken into the care and oversight of the very people he’s pledged his life too. The ones who you’ve kept tabs on in your travels, the ones who left you a pendant to connect with them should you need to- should you need more help from them.

The cables groan once again, signaling power running through the lines once again. As the lift begins to hum at a low frequency, you wrap a hand around your middle and begin to stand. Large hands are on you once again, hooking in an elbow and helping you back up to your feet. He’s as silent as you are.

But you know who he is and he doesn’t know that you’re the one he’s been searching for.

His hands don’t lift when you’re both upright. He’s close, his armor is cool even in the warm space from your shared breaths. He must be tired too, because his feet scuff when the lift jolts suddenly back to life and the lights flicker back on.

Without missing a beat, the lift begins to ascend again, like it wasn’t just shut down for nearly an hour.

Connecting two people who once occupied the same planet, lead the same life despite being completely different now.

He finally releases you when the lift comes to a smooth stop on your floor. Stepping back from you as the doors open. He follows a few paces behind, helmet swiveling as he takes in the number plaques beside each door. He’s about to open one a few down and across from yours when you turn to him and let out a low hum that has his helmet turning quickly.

With a crooked smile and a shove to open your unlocked door, you step aside with words that have him narrowing his eyes and palming the blaster in the holster at his hip.

“Don’t you want the beskar you came all this way for, Din?”

The little boys bright smile flashes in your mind and you wonder what it looks like now in his matured face. Does he have scruff, are his eyes still that dazzling brown that catches the light and turns amber?

He’s stalking toward you with silent steps, his hand wrapping around the handle of his blaster as he stands on the other side of the open door. His helmet peeks inside the apartment, assessing the empty space. The velvet bag on the dining table catches his eyes through the visor but the sensors don’t pick up any threats or hidden heat sources.

The dark visor trains solely on you. It would be intimidating if you weren’t positive you knew who was hidden behind it. With a dip of your head, you reach for the pendant around your neck and pull it over the fabric of your tunic. The glint of the beskar skull tells him all he needs to know.

His cape flutters as he moves through the door, his fingers twitching on his weapon as the door closes and locks behind him.

“No tricks here, the beskar is yours by right. It’s important to your people. I was simply taking it from the very people who stole it from you to begin with.” You reason with the man who looks ready for a fight, you’re sure he would attack simply on the basis of you knowing his true name and nothing more. It’s a secret now, a threat to his entire way of life- of who he’s become.

“Your trail went cold in the shuttle depot.” The blaster is returned to the holster at his hip. His gloved hands reach for the bad and he’s lifting an ingot of beskar from within it. Its reverent, the way he looks down at it, the gleam of it something that brings him a little bit of peace.

“All I did was go to work and then came home. Went right back on shift this morning.” You step further into the space. He doesn’t move or seem to be on alert any longer, even when you settle into one of the chairs at the able and pull a small coil from your bag.

“Then, how?” You feel the wright of his gaze on you, roving over the pendant left over your tunic to the way your hands press into your middle to disengage a panel. You lift the fabric up just enough to display the little bit of yourself that isn’t human and use nimble fingers to remove a burnt out looking coil.

“I tend to run cold due to the mechanics in my middle. Doesn’t leave much of a lingering warmth for your helmet to trace. It gets lost in the shuffle of every other set of steps.” You replace it with the new one from your bag. “And I know your name because you told me that first day of school. You were nervous, I remember that much too, though I doubt you’re subjected much to that feeling these days.”

And suddenly he remembers it too, the way he was swept from the very rubble you were. A toothless smile set into the kind face of a young girl his age swims up in his mind’s eye. He had been nervous, the second to last time he announced his name. But it wasn’t because it was the first day of school, it had been because of that little girls giggling stirring butterflies in his stomach.

He always wondered if she made it out like he did, though he received no answers from those who took him in. Told him he was the only survivor. But he wasn’t, because he’s pretty kriffing sure that that same little girl is now sitting in front of him and effortlessly changing a component of her mechanics. The mechanics you claim are from a life-threatening injury.

As soon as the panel is pushed back into place, you’re being lifted from your seat. Gloved hands cradle your face as the visor peers over you.

“They told me I was the only survivor.” His words are low, almost as if they’re a whisper through the modulator.

“I made it.” You whisper though you’re not even sure he can hear it over the loud rattling of your heart against the inside of your ribs. Then suddenly the hiss of his helmet being disengaged drowns it all out, catching you off guard as you flinch at the puff of air against your face. You clench your eyes tight, but his gravel rasped voice is close as his bare nose brushes against yours.

“We made it.” His lips press to yours; a firm kiss you were both destined to share on a sunny afternoon between childish giggles as you grew closer through years of friendship. But it’s okay that it’s shared now, that time had to pass by you both as different paths were walked- different lives were led. The paths intertwine, the paths finally connected and it was all thanks to a kriffing faulty lift.

for my fellow din girlies (gn): @dindjarindiaries @sin-djarin @djarins-cyare @burntheedges @saradika @littlemisspascal @the-mandawhor1an

dividers and banners by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

[metalmanautoltd]

[metalmanauto]

Bus Components and Heavy Vehicle Parts | Precision Fabrication Services

Metalman Auto Ltd. offers precision fabrication services for bus components and heavy vehicle parts. Our expertise in heavy-duty metal fabrication ensures reliable and long-lasting parts that are designed to meet the rigorous demands of commercial vehicles.

[unitedsteelsupplies]

Heavy-Duty Wall Coverings: Durable Protection for High-Traffic Spaces

In high-traffic commercial and institutional environments, walls take a beating—literally. From rolling carts and equipment to daily foot traffic and cleaning routines, interior surfaces need serious protection. That’s where heavy-duty wall coverings come in. Built to withstand impact, moisture, and constant wear, these wall protection systems are a must-have for hospitals, schools, hotels, industrial spaces, and other demanding settings.

If you're looking to protect your investment, improve aesthetics, and reduce long-term maintenance costs, installing heavy-duty wall protection panels is the smart solution.

What Are Heavy-Duty Wall Coverings?

Heavy-duty wall coverings are specially engineered panels or sheets designed to shield walls from dents, scratches, stains, and other forms of damage. Unlike standard paint or wallpaper, these coverings are made of impact-resistant, antimicrobial, and fire-rated materials such as:

Rigid vinyl (PVC)

High-impact acrylic

Stainless steel

Polycarbonate

Fiberglass-reinforced panels (FRP)

Available in a range of colors, textures, and finishes, they offer both functionality and design flexibility.

Benefits of Installing Heavy-Duty Wall Protection

✅ 1. Long-Term Durability

These coverings are built to last. They resist cracks, dents, and abrasions even in the most punishing environments.

🧼 2. Easy to Clean & Maintain

Smooth or textured surfaces make cleaning simple, supporting hygiene in sensitive areas like healthcare facilities and food service environments.

🧯 3. Fire and Code Compliance

Most commercial-grade wall coverings meet ASTM fire safety standards and ADA regulations, making them ideal for public buildings.

🦠 4. Antimicrobial Options Available

Perfect for hospitals and clinics, antimicrobial coatings reduce the spread of bacteria and viruses on wall surfaces.

🎨 5. Design Versatility

Today’s wall coverings come in various patterns, from wood grain to sleek metallic finishes, allowing designers to blend protection with aesthetics.

Best Applications for Heavy-Duty Wall Coverings

Heavy-duty wall panels are perfect for:

🏥 Hospitals & Medical Facilities (e.g., patient rooms, corridors, ORs)

🏫 Schools & Universities (e.g., hallways, gymnasiums)

🏢 Commercial Buildings (e.g., lobbies, breakrooms, conference areas)

🏨 Hotels & Hospitality (e.g., service corridors, kitchens)

🏭 Industrial Facilities (e.g., factories, warehousess

Choosing the Right Wall Protection System

When selecting a heavy-duty wall covering, consider:

📏 Wall dimensions and coverage area

🧪 Material strength and impact resistance

🧼 Cleanability and sanitation standards

🎨 Color and finish options

🔥 Fire and safety code compliance

🛠️ Installation method (adhesive, mechanical, pre-fab panels)

Pro tip: Work with a supplier who offers both material and installation services for full support.

Final Thoughts

Don’t let walls become a liability in your commercial space. Heavy-duty wall coverings are a cost-effective way to protect your interiors, reduce maintenance, and elevate design standards in even the most demanding environments.

Looking for durable wall protection solutions? Contact a trusted supplier or contractor today for product recommendations, material samples, or installation quotes.

[theonottsbxtch]

A LOYAL HEART | OP81

an: the longer i was writing redcoat the longer i was falling in love with this version of oscar and i was held at gunpoint to write something for our dear boy. i loved writing this little universe, come talk to me about it if you like it!

warnings: mentions of death and miscarriage

wc: 5.0k

summary: Following Lando's story in Redcoat, this follows Oscar, a former soldier adrift in the quiet after war. Burdened by loss and shaken faith, he finds unexpected solace in a sharp-tongued widow with wounds of her own. Through rainstorms, shared silences, and slow-blooming trust, they learn that even the most weathered hearts can find home again.

redcoat part one | redcoat part two

CHARLESTON, 1785

The war had ended, or so the papers claimed.

But the streets still bristled with the memory of it. With boots, with bruised pride, with banners torn down but not forgotten. Charleston stood like a house after a storm: upright, but no longer quite the same.

Oscar had been posted there six months now. Not as a soldier, they said, but a man of peace. He wore the same red coat, only now it felt thinner. Not in fabric, but in meaning. Where once it had shielded him with duty, now it hung from his shoulders like a story no one wanted to read again.

He still polished his boots each morning. Still folded his letters to Lando with precision. Still stood when women entered a room and removed his hat as if God Himself were watching.

It was routine that kept him breathing.

And routine that led him, one golden afternoon, into the old quarter, where homes leaned tiredly into one another and shops bore names not meant for British tongues.

There, nestled beneath the shadow of a drooping willow, was a small apothecary.

It was nothing grand. A bell that clattered like a cough when the door swung. Shelves lined with glass jars, some empty, some filled with dried herbs, some labelled with scrawl barely legible. A counter smoothed from the brushing of many elbows. And behind it was a woman.

She did not smile when he entered. Nor did she greet him. She simply looked up from her mortar and pestle and said, “You’re bleeding.”

Oscar blinked. Looked down. Sure enough, a thread-thin cut ran across the back of his knuckle, courtesy of a brass buckle and his own damn stubbornness.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said.

“No,” she replied, “you lot never do.”

And then she turned, muttering something about oak bark and stubborn fools, and disappeared into the back.

He should have left. Truly, he should’ve.

But Oscar stayed. Drawn by something he could not name—perhaps it was the way she had not flinched at the red of his coat. Or the way she’d looked at him not like a soldier, not like a symbol, but like a man too daft to clean a wound.

She returned moments later with a scrap of linen and something bitter-smelling in a chipped jar.

“This’ll sting,” she warned.

“Good,” he replied.

She arched a brow, and the corner of her mouth twitched, but did not smile.

“Sit.”

He obeyed, without question.

And for the first time since the war had ended, Oscar felt something stir in him that was not guilt, not weariness, not displacement.

It was... quiet.

And curious.

And very much alive.

He came back two days later.

No injury this time. Not even a scratch to excuse his presence. Only a chill to the morning air, and the slow, unsatisfying drag of time between dawn and noon. He told himself it was the sound of the apothecary bell that drew him. That odd, metallic cough. Something needed mending.

But it wasn’t the bell.

It was her.

She looked up as he entered. Still no smile. Still no formal greeting. Just that same flat stare, heavy with appraisal, as though weighing not his presence, but his purpose.

“You’re not bleeding,” she observed, arms crossed.

He cleared his throat. “I noticed the door hangs. Makes a racket when the wind kicks in. Thought I might fix it.”

“Do I strike you as someone helpless with a hinge?”

“No,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But I’ve spent so long fighting men, I thought I might try fixing something instead.”

There was silence. Then, with the softest exhale, something between disbelief and reluctant amusement, she gestured with her head.

“Toolbox’s under the stairs. Don’t break anything.”

He nodded once. Removed his coat, slowly, almost reverently, and hung it over the back of a nearby chair.

It struck her then, how deliberately he did everything. As though every action were a confession. As though the very act of folding, of lifting, of hammering quietly, was his penance.

She watched him work. Not openly, but from behind her shelves. Between tasks. A careful, covert study.

He didn’t hum, as some men did. Didn’t boast or explain or ask for praise. Just knelt, straightened, tightened, and tested. All in holy silence.

At one point, he murmured, “You’ve made something peaceful here.”

She paused. Dried her hands on a cloth. “Peace is expensive.”

He glanced up. “And who paid for yours?”

She didn’t answer. Only said, “If you’re after a confession, you’ll have to find a priest.”

Oscar smiled, not broadly, but in that quiet, stunned sort of way a man does when something warm touches a cold place he’d forgotten about.

“I stopped trusting priests when mine told me war was glorious.”

She looked at him then. Properly. And something unspoken passed between them, not flirtation, not fondness. Something older. Graver. A shared truth without the burden of speaking it aloud.

When he stood, the door no longer squeaked.

He gathered his coat, eyes still on her. “I’ll be by again,” he said.

She arched a brow. “More hinges?”

“Not if I can help it.”

It was the kind of storm that made you feel watched. Thunder low and rolling, like God pacing behind closed doors. Rain that struck the shutters with impatient fingers. Wind that howled not for entrance, but in warning.

She had just locked the shop when the knock came.

Not loud. Just three quick raps. Measured. Controlled. And yet somehow...desperate.

She opened the door to find him drenched. Hat forgotten. Red coat darkened by rain, hair plastered to his brow, shoulders hunched like the weight of silence had finally broken him.

“Oscar,” she said, blinking. “What in heaven’s name—”

“Our quarters flooded and I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, voice raw, like it had rubbed against something sharp.

She stepped aside without question.

Inside, the apothecary felt even smaller against the storm. Shelves cast long shadows by the hearth’s glow. The scent of dried lavender and damp wool clung thickly in the air. She handed him a towel without asking. He accepted it with a murmur of thanks.

They didn’t speak for a moment. Just the fire. The distant moan of wind. And the quiet thump of his heartbeat trying to calm itself.

She watched him as he stood by the hearth, drying his hands but not his eyes. He looked like a man who’d wandered too long in a wilderness of thoughts.

“What’s on your mind, soldier?” she asked, soft but steady.

He let out a laugh, bitter and hollow. “You ever sit so still the past catches up with you?”

She tilted her head, waiting.

“I’ve been... proud,” he said slowly. “Too proud to admit it. But the war didn’t just take lives, it took the map I lived by. God, country, command, all of it. Gone quiet. I watched boys younger than me fall with prayers still on their lips. And I kept waiting, for something. Some divine sign. Some reason.”

He swallowed.

“But it never came. Only more orders. More blood. And now... Lando is alive, and happy. And I’m glad. I truly am. But it makes the quiet louder, somehow. Like the war gave him purpose. And all it left me was... this.”

He gestured vaguely, to the coat, to the rain, to himself.

Silence fell again, thick and reverent.

She looked at him, not with pity, but understanding. A shared ache. A mirror held at an angle.

“It’s funny,” she said, “how quickly the world moves forward while we’re stuck in the past, isn’t it?”

Oscar turned to her, brow furrowed but not questioning.

She met his gaze. Unflinching. Voice softer now, almost lost to the crackle of fire. “I was married. Before the war.”

He said nothing, but his eyes said everything.

“He was a printer. Fingers always ink-stained. Used to read scripture aloud even when no one asked him to. Said it kept the walls holy.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched, as if holding something back.

“They sent his effects in a box smaller than a Bible,” she said. “Told me it was a noble death. As if nobility made the bed feel any less empty.”

A beat.

Then she smiled—not brightly, but with the grace of someone still alive despite everything.

“So no, you’re not the only one who’s lost his faith.”

Oscar breathed in. Something shaky. Sacred.

And then, after a long moment, he said, “May I stay? Just for a little while. I don’t wish to be alone tonight.”

She nodded once, and crossed the room to light a second candle.

Not for brightness.

But for company.

The storm pressed on, but the room had settled. Two souls made smaller by time, and yet somehow, just tonight, stretched wider than they’d dared in years.

Oscar sat in the chair closest to the fire, boots off, coat hung to dry, sleeves rolled just above his elbows. He looked… less like a soldier now. More like a man learning to breathe again.

She handed him a mug of something warm and when their fingers touched, just briefly, he didn’t flinch.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough from use.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, but there was something in her eyes that said it was.

A kind of silence grew between them. Comfortable. Earned.

“I used to love storms,” she said, glancing at the window where rain danced like it had secrets. “When I was a girl, I’d stand on the porch and count the seconds between thunder and lightning.”

“And now?”

“Now I just listen. There’s something honest about a storm, don’t you think? It doesn’t pretend.”

Oscar smiled faintly. “I used to think they were God’s way of shouting.”

“And now?”

“I think… maybe He’s just tired of whispers.”

That made her look at him. Really look. And for the first time, Oscar didn’t look away.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone like this in a long while,” he admitted.

“You mean a woman?” she teased, brows raised.

He chuckled, low and unguarded. “I mean anyone who doesn’t expect me to salute or bleed.”

That quiet fell again. Like a blanket. Like a church.

After a while, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on the fire.

“Lando… he has a future,” he murmured. “He talks about land. About building things. You can hear it in his voice, hope, like he’s already halfway there.”

“And you?”

“I’ve only just stopped being angry. I don’t know what comes next.”

She moved to sit across from him, knees close, skirts brushing his boots.

“You don’t have to know,” she said. “Not tonight.”

Oscar looked up at her, something fragile in his expression.

Then, “Will you read to me?”

She blinked. “Read?”

“You said he used to read scripture aloud. Your husband.”

“I—yes. I did.”

“You don’t have to. But… I’d like to remember what it sounds like. Holy words in a quiet room.”

She hesitated, then reached for a small worn Bible that still lived on a shelf above the counter. She hadn’t opened it in some time.

Her fingers turned the pages until they found something old and comforting.

She read, voice soft but sure. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest…”

The storm cracked loud outside, but Oscar closed his eyes.

And in that moment, with scripture on her lips and thunder in the heavens, something inside him, something angry and hard, bent ever so slightly toward peace.

When she finished, they said nothing.

But he stayed. All night.

On the floor beside the hearth, with a spare blanket and a pillow she brought without question. She watched him fall asleep, his brow soft in sleep, his shoulders less haunted.

And just before she climbed into her own bed, she looked up to the ceiling and whispered, “Maybe You haven’t gone quiet after all.”

He was up before her.

She found him standing in the kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled once more, hair sleep-ruffled, brow furrowed like the kettle had offended him personally. He held a spoon in one hand and stared at it, as though willing it to explain what, precisely, it was meant to stir.

“You look like a man attempting sorcery,” she said, leaning on the doorframe.

Oscar glanced up, utterly unbothered by the state of him. “I’ve faced battle with less confusion.”

“Did you… attempt tea?”

“I may have boiled it to death.”

She crossed to him, took the kettle gently from his hand and laughed, soft, lovely. “That’s not even tea, Oscar. That’s penance.”

He huffed through a smile. “Fitting.”

As she re-boiled the water properly and laid out two chipped cups, he leaned back against the counter, watching her. Something in him had quieted. Not dulled, but steadied.

“I haven’t had a morning like this in years,” he said at length.

“With poorly made tea and a storm-soaked floor?”

“With… kindness.”

She didn’t look at him, just poured the tea, steady hand and all. “It’s not kindness,” she said. “It’s tea.”

He took the cup she offered, holding it with both hands. “It’s more than that.”

She sipped her own, smirk tugging at her lips. “You always speak like you’re mid-sermon.”

“And you speak like you’ve no time for sermons.”

“Perhaps because I haven’t,” she replied, lifting her chin. “I’ve lived through war. Grief. Raising a child who never came.”

That silenced the room a little. Not heavy, but honest.

Oscar swallowed. “You never mentioned a child.”

“Because I didn’t get to know them. War doesn’t just steal men, Oscar. It takes the things they leave behind.”

He said nothing for a moment, just set down his cup and reached for hers. His hand touched hers when he took it, eyes holding hers with a gentleness that undid her for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not asking for sorrow.”

“Then what would you ask?”

“Company. Real company. Not charity or pity or pride. Just… presence.”

A pause. He nodded. “That, I can offer.”

They stood there, the kettle between them, the storm long gone but its echo still on the windows.

After a moment, she sighed. “So. What now?”

He blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Are we just two people in a kitchen, or are we friends?”

Oscar looked at her for a long, long moment. Then he stepped forward, ever so slightly.

“We’re two people,” he said. “But I think… I’d like us to be more.”

“And what does that look like?”

“A promise. Not grand. Not immediate. Just, if you’ll have it, a loyal heart. Mine.”

She smiled, the sort of smile she hadn’t dared since the world ended.

And as the clock ticked on the mantle and the morning sun peeled itself over the wet horizon, she reached for his hand and said, simply.

“I’ll have it.”

The storm passed. The roads dried. And Oscar didn’t leave.

He made excuses at first, something about checking the roof tiles, how the cellar door didn’t shut properly, how she oughtn’t be lifting crates that heavy. She scoffed, but never told him to go.

They fell into rhythm. Not of love, yet. But something gentler. She caught him humming once as he mended a broken latch. He caught her staring too long at his hands, then pretending she hadn’t.

They shared tea in the mornings. Supper in the evenings. Walks when the weather allowed. Silence when it didn’t.

It wasn’t rushed. There was no grand declaration, no clumsy grasping at passion to fill the empty space between them.

Just… space filled with something else.

One morning, she found him kneeling in the garden, sleeves rolled, palms in the soil like it might speak to him. A sprig of rosemary tucked behind one ear. She leaned against the doorway and called out, “If you’re going to start whispering to the vegetables, I’ll need warning.”

Oscar looked up, grinning. “They’ve heard worse confessions, I imagine.”

That evening, he brought her a handful of violets. Didn’t say a word about them. Just left them by the bread bin and pretended they weren’t there.

She noticed.

Later that week, he fixed the fence at the back and returned with a cut on his palm. She stitched it with a sure hand and said, “Try not to bleed on the sheets.”

He didn’t miss the ‘our’ she hadn’t said.

They went to market together on Saturday. She bought flour and honey. He bought a book of poetry he said he hated. She read from it at night, by the hearth, and he closed his eyes and listened like it was scripture.

One night, after too much wine and too little food, she leaned her head on his shoulder and murmured, “Do you believe in second chances, Oscar?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. Then—

“I think I’m living one.”

She nodded, quietly. “I think I am, too.”

One particular nice day, the bell above the apothecary door tinkled.

She looked up from the counter, apron dusted in dust, and saw a stranger with the air of a healing man. His coat was a little too fine, boots polished to an almost theatrical shine, and though his hair was longer than regulation, there was no mistaking the military in his past.

“Good morning,” he said, voice rich and warm like burnt toffee. A British accent. “Is this the apothecary that also stitches windows and fixes fences and lends books of poetry with dog-eared pages?”

She blinked. “Depends who’s asking.”

He smiled. “A friend. Hopefully still one.”

From the back room, Oscar’s voice called out, “I’ve got the ledger right—” and then it stopped. She turned just as he came into view, cloth in hand, and froze.

“Lando?”

The stranger grinned wider. “Hello, Osc.”

Oscar cleared his throat. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Went to your quarters. Your old bunkmate, Logan, was it? Said you’d vanished. Thought you’d gone back to sea. But no here you are, keeping house and hearth.” His eyes flicked between them. “Rather domestically.”

Oscar looked like he wished the floor might open up and swallow him.

She raised a brow. “Friend of yours?”

Lando turned to her, offering a hand with gentlemanly flourish. “Lando Norris. At your service, miss.”

She hesitated because the name meant nothing to her but took it politely. “Pleasure.”

He looked at Oscar again, smug now. “May we… walk? A moment?”

Oscar muttered something and shrugged on his coat.

They walked the back path into the tree-line, boots scuffing frost-hardened soil. Lando waited until they were far enough to be alone with the wind before elbowing him lightly.

“So, Osc,” he said, with mock gravity, “I think you’re not telling me something here.”

Oscar groaned. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“She’s lovely.”

Oscar stared ahead. “I know.”

“Sharp, too. Pretty sure she could kill me with a piece of cotton.”

“Probably.”

Lando chuckled. “You haven’t told her about me.”

Oscar shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have, just not much.”

“I’m hurt Oscar, I thought I was your best friend, you don’t even mention me.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched. “What’s there to say? That once upon a time I was a soldier, and now I’m not? That once I watched you get nearly drowned, and thought maybe I should’ve joined you?”

Lando was quiet. Then, gently, “She’s brought you back, hasn’t she?”

Oscar let the silence stretch. “I don’t know where I went, Lando. But yes. She did.”

Lando nodded. “Then you ought to tell her. Eventually.”

Oscar looked up at the grey sky. “Maybe. When it’s time.”

The sky had gone full pewter by the time they turned back for the house, quiet now but not awkward. Comfortable. Like an old coat dug from the chest, worn but warm.

Oscar spoke first, voice low. “So why’d you really come, Lando?”

Lando gave him a look, wry, gentle, just a shade too soft to be teasing.

“Because I wanted to see you,” he said. “And because my wife’s expecting.”

Oscar stopped walking.

Lando laughed, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Aye. I know. I still feel like a boy some mornings, and now I’ve got a child on the way.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say. “Congratulations,” he managed, voice a bit raw.

“There’s more.”

He looked over.

“I want you to be godfather.”

Oscar’s breath caught. “Lando—”

“You saved my life, Osc. More than once. I want my child to know that kind of loyalty. That kind of love.”

Oscar looked down at the mud-spattered path, lips pressed together.

“You know I don’t go to church,” he muttered. “I barely know if I believe anymore.”

Lando just smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll do it anyway.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the shop. Lando kissed the woman’s hand with a bow that was both sincere and mischievous, then vanished into the dusk like a ghost in.

That night, the rain returned, soft against the windows.

Oscar lay awake on the bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The candle flickered low on the side table. He’d barely touched the stew she’d left him, too full of something else.

Not quite sorrow. Not quite joy. Just… time. The feeling of it passing. The knowing that he wasn’t young, not anymore. That his hands ached in the mornings and he no longer reached for his boots out of habit.

She knocked on the doorframe softly. “You still awake?”

He turned his head. She stepped inside, arms crossed.

“I saved you a roll. It’s got more butter than sense.”

He smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

She hesitated. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“In a way, I have.”

She perched beside him, folding her legs beneath her. “What did he want, the friend?”

Oscar stared at the candle. “He asked me to be godfather.”

Her brows lifted. “That’s—”

“I haven’t set foot in a church in three years,” he cut in, quiet. “And even when I did… I don’t know. I think somewhere between the dying and the silence, I stopped looking up.”

She didn’t answer straight away. Just reached over and placed a hand gently over his.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still good,” she said softly. “Still worthy.”

He looked at her then, and something in his chest shifted, like a stone being moved after years at rest.

A week passed and they never spoke of that conversation again, Oscar had mulled over the idea of being the Godfather to Lando’s child but he still held some hesitation. What if he wasn’t enough.

Oscar was sat near the hearth, polishing his boots though he had no real cause. They weren’t dirty, hadn’t been since the last rain, but the motion soothed him, gave his hands something to do while his mind wandered far from the worn leather.

She was sat across from him, her fingers moving deftly over wool and needles. The fire threw warm shadows across her knuckles, catching in the curl of her hair. He’d seen her like this more and more, half-turned from the world, busy with something gentle.

“What’s that going to be?” he asked finally.

She glanced up, smiling faintly. “A bonnet. And mittens, if I can manage it.”

“For...?”

“Lando’s wife. The baby.”

Oscar stilled.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, and chose to pretend otherwise.

“Thought it might be nice,” she added, soft. “You said the other day you two went far back. And she, well. I imagine she’s nervous. I was, first time.”

He nodded slowly, the ache rising in him like water through floorboards. Not for her knitting. Not even for Lando.

But for the grace of her. The quiet, unspoken goodness that made her think of others while still mending her own shattered life. She had not just stitched wool, she had stitched him back together without even meaning to.

She stood to fetch more yarn from the corner basket, and as she passed, the firelight caught on her cheek in just the right way, and he saw her not as widow, nor war-bride, nor shopkeeper.

But as hope. As forgiveness.

He rose, as though pulled.

“Don’t move,” he said, low. His hand brushed hers before she turned fully, and she stilled beneath the touch.

“Oscar—”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Too long, maybe. But I reckon now’s the time.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

He kissed her like a man afraid he’d wake from it. Not hurried, not forceful. Just quiet. Like a prayer whispered in the dark.

When they parted, she blinked up at him.

“About time,” she murmured.

He huffed a laugh. “Aye.”

The moment lingered between them like the softest of silences, one that spoke far more than either had ever expected to articulate aloud. His lips still tingled where they had pressed against hers, but the feeling was not rushed, not desperate, only a deep understanding. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was something else. Something neither of them had known they needed until the moment their hearts had silently declared it aloud.

Oscar pulled back just slightly, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers, eyes closed, as though he feared this was a dream he might wake from too soon. The air between them was thick with a thousand unspoken things, things that had been building, unravelling, stitching themselves together, even when they hadn’t noticed.

She, too, felt that tension easing from her chest, the weight of grief and doubt beginning to lift, replaced with something else. Something raw. Something tender.

“What was that sigh for?” she asked, her voice a little unsteady, as though she wasn’t sure if she was reading too much into every little everything.

Oscar’s hands lingered on her arms, his fingers tracing patterns, as though drawing her closer even in the stillness. “I think,” he said quietly, “it was one of relief, I should have done that long ago.”

Her breath caught, not in surprise, but in understanding.

“You’ve been broken,” she whispered, looking at him with eyes that had seen her own version of that same thing. “I know what it’s like to feel lost. Like you’ve reached a place where you can’t feel anything anymore. Where everything you thought you knew is... gone.”

He nodded slowly, his voice lower now, a confession of his own. “I’ve spent so long fighting the world. Fighting everything inside of me. For what? For who?” He paused, meeting her gaze, the vulnerability raw. “Then I met you. And you fixed me.”

Her eyes glistened, a soft laugh escaping her lips, though it was full of something deeper, something more complicated. “Oscar… you were never broken. Not to me. You just needed a little time. A little care. Maybe you needed someone who could see past all the pieces you thought were shattered. And all this time…” She inhaled, holding onto the truth of what she was saying. “All this time, I’ve needed you too.”

His heart raced with something that felt like relief, like the burden of years, of pain, of lost faith, lifting from his chest. "You make me believe, you know," he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. "You make me believe that maybe I’m worthy of something more than just being a soldier. More than a broken man."

She gave a small, trembling smile, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his coat. "I never thought I was worthy of more either. Not after... everything." Her voice cracked, and she steadied herself. "But you showed me that there could still be something good. Something to hold on to, even in the hardest parts of life."

Her eyes met his, and he could see the raw emotion there. The kind of emotion that had once been buried beneath layers of grief, now unspooling in front of him. “I never thought I’d trust anyone again. Not after everything I’ve lost. But you’ve been patient with me. You’ve never pushed. You’ve just been here. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that's the only thing I need to keep going.”

Oscar’s heart clenched at her words. She was giving him pieces of herself that she’d kept locked away for so long, pieces he didn’t deserve but would cherish with every fibre of his being.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder, of something he hadn’t felt in years: hope. “But I do know this. I don’t want to lose you. Not now. Not when you’ve made me feel like I’m not just a soldier anymore. Like I’m something more.”

She smiled through her tears, gently wiping them away, the softness of the gesture almost making his heart shatter. “You won’t lose me, Oscar. Not if you’re willing to try. Not if we’re willing to try.”

There was something deeply comforting about that promise. Not an empty one. Not a fairytale. But a promise of a shared struggle, of quiet companionship through the storms they both carried.

She reached for his hand, her fingers trembling as they intertwined with his. "I think, maybe for the first time in a long while," she said, her voice catching, "I’m not afraid of what comes next."

Oscar's breath hitched, a soft smile breaking across his face as he pulled her into his arms once again. This time, there was no hesitation. Only trust. Only the quiet certainty that they had both found something rare in each other, something worth fighting for, no matter what.

And as they stood there in the warmth of the firelight, with the rain still softly pattering outside, they realised that maybe they hadn’t just found each other. Maybe, just maybe, they had found the courage to begin again.

Extra:

Oscar’s letter to Lando with the bonnet and mittens:

Lando,

You’re a bastard, asking me to be godfather. But you knew I’d say yes. I’ve no cross hanging round my neck, no perfect prayers left in me but I’ll love that child like blood. I’ll teach them to read, to keep their chin up, to look after those smaller than them. I’ll tell them stories of their father both the soldier and the fool who once nearly drowned in a river.

Give my love to your lady. Tell her the wool’s from someone who knows what it’s like to start again.

Yours, Oscar

He sealed it with wax. Not a crest. Not a signet.

Just the simple stamp of a man beginning again.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana @bookishnerd1132

[blood-smiles]

𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑-𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 - TW MDNI . yandere content . yanderes . creepy thoughts from both yanderes . post-apocalypse AU .

╰┈➤ Long ago, it was said that humanity thrived together as a whole in peace and harmony, they all went to the same places and had similar experiences, they shared and traded food and items, the peace was always kept because of laws, the air was pure and the water was clear and tasteless, complete perfection.

But where was that now? It’s the year 2313, it’s been a long time since that chapter was ripped from the ancient book of humanity,

You wrapped a mask around your head, clicking your tongue as your fingers fiddled with the leather buckles of the mask,

After a struggling with the mask for a few seconds you finally succeeded in fastening the item to the back of your cranium,

The thick belt wrapped around your head and behind your ears, the borders of the leather digging into your skin and leaving an aching red imprint on your head,

You steadily got up from your couch, walking over to the deserted shopping cart in the corner, putting your hands around the cart’s bars and lifting it up from the floor, putting it back on its wheels as it used to be,

You rolled the cart around your laboratory, listening for squeaks or strange sounds, when you made sure there wasn’t any problems with the cart you put it aside momentarily,

You ran over to one of your counters as snatched a pair of goggles from the metal surface,

Securing them on your eyes as best you could, your hands grabbed the flimsy fabric of your coat and pulled up the hood, you were all geared up and ready to go.

Your hands gripped the bar of your shopping cart, your eyes scanning the inside of the empty shopping cart, the once silver metal was oxidizing, slowly turning into a murky brown tint,

you pushed your cart through your run down town, waving at acquaintances and kicking little pebbles out of your way,

This is how your everyday life went, around 5 p.m you would get geared up and go into the junk yard to look for unwanted “trash” from Ether,

most of the time what you found wasn’t even trash, maybe a little worn down, but these people were throwing away full shampoo bottles and moisturizers! You wish you had that problem..

Ether was the island above the slums or better know as “the pit”, Ether was known as the place only peasants like you could wish they could end up there, which wasn’t ever going to happen,

Only the richest of the rich or elite are allowed up there, and the people down in the pit were uneducated and poor, having nothing more than a button and a few pieces of clothes to their name,

Truly pitiful, and you were no different, the only thing you had was a run down laboratory your father left behind,

He was supposedly a smart man, one of the first developers of the species known as “Androids” yet none of his work was given credit towards him, which ended him up here, in the pit.

You knew how to repair an android, but coding one was beyond your abilities, you worked as a handyman for a few silver coins, that’s how you went on about life,

You developed your skills as you went, and apparently the only note worthy trait you had was your ability to salvage broken things,

You kicked away some trash with your muddy boots, the rubbish flying far away and into the piles of trash,

“Fuckin’ trash..” you complained under your breath, your heavy duty boots clinging to the sticky mud underneath, making unpleasant squelches in the mud,

The sound of clanking was heard when the piece of trash hit a surface, your ears immediately pricked up,

Whipping your head into the direction of where the trash fell, you immediately let go of your cart and jogged over to a pile of crap,

You stepped onto the unsteady heap of trash, your knee beginning to buckle under your own weight, warning you that you were about to loose your footing,

You fell forward, wind brushing by your ears as you began your descension , sticking your arms out, you braced for the impact,

with a loud clank you landed on top of a scrap of metal, your hands laying on a hard, cool material, you pushed yourself off the object to get a better look on it,

it seemed to hold a humanoid shape, but it by no means looked like one, instead of a face it had a screen, which was pitch black and roughed up, split right through the middle, nothing you couldn't fix.

It didn't have the look of a typical android, it seemed like it was missing its silicone skin, a normal android look closely alike to a human, this one looked more like a robot,

Its body was large, made of a sturdy material, despite having no muscles it did have something alike to it but made of steel, the shine being dulled by the dirt,

your eyes trailed to its chest, which was steel, a shocker. It seemed to have a symbol on its left pectoral in an electric blue tint, while its right one seemed to have a name tag, but the letters were scratched off, what looked deep jagged scratches on its chest, whoever did this either didn't like their name or didn't want anyone to see its real name,

that logo.. That was the logo of the best android engineers in Ether, Its obviously an android, but its strange that they would throw out androids,

your eyes wandered down the android's body to its legs, which were missing, cables poked out of the holes where its legs were supposed to be,

you rand your hand down your face, where were its fucking legs? You couldn't take it home without its legs! You put the Android's upper body on your back, then letting it slip off your back and into your shopping cart with a loud bang,

you began to look around, lifting rubbish with the tip of your shoe, peeking under all surfaces until you saw what seemed to be a foot poking out from a pile of soggy cardboard,

you pulled out the limb with your whole body weight, the sheer height and thickness of that single limb was impressive, the leg stood in height about where your waist was,

you tossed the heavy limb in your shopping cart with the Android, you walked around for about 40 minutes, looking everywhere for the other leg,

just when you were about to give up you tripped over something, looking at what made your hit the ground, you realized it was the leg you were looking for,

your heart beat happily in your chest as you pushed the heavy cart back to your house lab,

you had a dopey grin on your face the whole way home, you couldn't help but have a pep in your step, you were already thinking of how you would name your new Android,

"(Y/n)? O-Oh! It is you! How are you, sweet pea?" You could recognize that voice anywhere, if it wasn't the the village doctor!

You turned around, smiling widely at the man, still in his clad white uniform, hair tie slipping down his long ginger hair, and those characteristic cracked glasses, it was Kairo.

"Heya Kairo! 'm good, jus' pushin this home.'" You waved to him weakly, your calloused hands tired from pushing the cart,

Kairo jogged up to you, stopping only inches away, he brought a hand up to his face, his cheeks adorned with alight dusting of pretty pink,

"I recall asking you to rest, didn't I? You better have a good reason to be wearing yourself out like this.." the ginger scolded, crossing his arms across his chest, his magenta eyes staring you down something alike to a mother’s disappointed gaze,

Kairo was an absolute blessing to have down here in the slums, he was the doctor and used to be a scientist, his knowledge in both fields was greatly appreciated, especially since it seemed the world had it out for you and your physical well being,

he got kicked out of Ether many years ago, you were about 13 when he got dropped in the pit,

He really stirred the pot when he got here, no one even tried getting closer to him due to their reluctance about him and his origins, no one here trusts those who were born in Ether,

Kairo got pushed away, glared at, kicked and even sometimes people spat on him, no one really knows what he did to get him off Ether,

Yet it is still a fact that even if the others have warmed up to him, they still treat him exponentially different from the other habitants of the slums,

you were the first and only one to extend your hand out to him in times of need, you gave him a safe haven when he needed it most, and just for that fact he has sworn to always be with you, through thick and thin, he will protect you and put you back together time and time again, just how you loved him, he will love you back tenfold.

your smile turned bashful, wiping your sweaty hands on your shirt you started trying to recount the events of today,

"..So then I decided to take him home to repair him back up! He's in pretty good shape, I jus need ta' wire his legs back on then fix his screen, give him a lil' bath and I will be done with him!"

Kairo looked back at the robot with narrowed eyes, a dark shadow casting over his pale features,

you felt oddly unsettled by his sharp gaze, this side of him was completely unknown to you, and gee was it scary.

"..Where did you find this thing?" He asked—no, demanded, his voice dropping an octave lower, the sharpness of his tone wasn't quite directed at you though, but more at the robot in your cart,

"Uhm, I found him in the Junk yard.." You rasped out, your throat feeling constricted, words barely audible out of the feeling of fear you had, this mood of him was awfully uncharacteristic of him, it really creeped you out,

Kairo seemed to notice your state, the last thing he would want was to make you fear him.. for now, he will let it go.

"I see.." the taller male responded, a tinge of worry in his voice "Well, all I ask of you is to be careful, you don't know where it came from, and personally, I don't want to see you hurt.." He hugged himself, looking off to the side shyly, his gloved hand reaching up to twirl a strand of his cantaloupe colored hair around his finger,

the carefree smile you had earlier started returning as you saw Kairo softening up again, you were glad he wasn't upset at you,

you ran up to him, momentarily leaving your cart and new companion behind to give him some affection,

your arms wrapped around his slender waist as you cuddled his chest, your cheek pressed up right next to his heart,

Kairo's breath hitched, a kaleidoscope of butterflies going off in his guts, the wings of the small insects making contact with his insides, the pleasant feeling didn’t help the flush in his face spreading like a wildfire,

his longer arms wrapped around your neck, hugging you closer to him, he pressed his lips against your forehead gently, intentionally catching a whiff of your hair's scent, ‘my sweet baby.. You really don’t realize what I feel for you, do you?’ His eyes fluttered closed, long eyelashes ghosting over his tired under eyes,

these were the moments with you he could kill for, he would do anything to be this close to you always, skin to skin, heart to heart, and hopefully one day, lips to lips.

The ginger reluctantly let go, crossing his arms once again as he gazed at your retreating form longingly, his mind couldn't help but wander back to that specific Android, dangerous thoughts leaking into his brain continuously like a broken faucet,

"If you do something to her, I will rip your fucking head off.."

But you on the other hand were giddy as fuck, you had already unloaded the android and sat him down on your lab counter,

lifting his left leg up you propped it below the wires hanging off the holes of where his legs were supposed to be in,

you connected the wires carefully, melting them together once again, soon you connected the legs into his hip socket, a loud clicking noise let you know you did the job correctly,

you did the same with his right leg, another loud click reached your ears, you pulled on the legs as best as you could from different angles, and they wouldn't budge, not a single creak or sign of the limbs wanting to detach from the body anymore,

and with that you moved onto the cracked screen of the head of the android,

you somehow managed to seal the cracks and give the mask a polish to leave it looking good as new, you were pretty satisfied with the results,

you scrubbed off the dirt and grime off the metallic protective plates, you scrubbed and scrubbed every single crevice of its body until the robot was spotless and shining under the dim lighting,

he was beautiful.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, anxiety coursing through your veins, sweat beads ran down your skin, dampening your shirt,

you opened the back of his cranium, cables wrapped in metallic material linking to the back of his head, a blue power button inside all the wires and mother boards inside, green and silver peeking out from inside his head,

you pressed on the button, then stepped back, crossing your fingers that he would come to life, you clasped your hands together in prayer,

buzzing came from the Android, limbs twitching, sparks coming from its joints,

soon, the screen on its "face" lit up, something alike to a smiley face being displayed on the black screen,

it looked down at its hands, closing and opening its fists, kicking its legs, it realized it was alive once more, that it was moving and that it was okay,

you didn’t know how to react, should you be happy? Scared? It was all so conflicting, you wanted to jump out of happiness but at the same time you wanted to run away, cry and vomit.

It turned its head to you, the gentle sound of ticking coming from deep inside his metal plates,

The sound of its metallic feet hitting the murky ground startled you, making you jump violently, you would have jumped out of your skin if it came closer,

It seemed to stop when it saw that you were scared, and so it stopped, it stared at you, not moving an inch from it place,

slowly, it extended its long arm, opening its robotic palm and holding it out to you, (e/c) looked down at its hand, analyzing how his joints popped and twitched,

you were starting to regret taking the massive machine home, Kairo was right, this Android totally had something off about it,

but even as your common sense screamed at you to stay back and run away, it all was drowned out by the overlapping thoughts buzzing in your head,

how much could this thing sell for? It was modified, Obviously, it was crystal clear that these modifications had been done illegally,

you carefully put your smaller hand in his own, you looked up at the screen that was his face warily,

“a-ah..” the android made a noise, was his voice box broken? You tried repairing him as best as you could, but his voice box was something you unfortunately didn’t know how to repair,

he pointed a finger towards you, tilting his head while making more noises,

“ah.. ah?” Was it asking you something? It gently tapped your arm, pointing at you,

oh. It was asking you for your name.

“oh.. You can’t speak, can you?” It shook its head, putting it hand on its throat to emphasize,

“well.. I’m (Y/n), and.. It’s nice to finally meet you..?” You coughed into your fist as you finished, awkwardly shifting from side to side,

an emoticon of sorts appeared on the metallic male’s face visor, it seemed… happy?

“Aaah?” It pointed to itself, looking down at its name tag, only to realize that it had completely scratched off,

it stayed silent before looking up at you, gently guiding your hand to its chest, where it’s name tag once resided,

“..You want a name?” It nodded, pointing to itself once again,

“..I actually was thinkin’ about what to name you.. Welcome to the world, Exo.” You gave it a toothy grin, watching as how the screen visor of his suddenly showed a blue glowing heart,

It took you by surprise when the droid grabbed onto you by under your arm pits, lifting you up to his height,

you watched as how the glowing blue heart on his visor beat like how a heart would, and it only seemed to be getting faster,

it brought you closer to it, holding you like a baby, it rubbed its cheek(?) against yours, the uncomfortable friction of its glass screen making contact with your own,

And that’s when you heard it, a low rumbling sound resounded from its chest, the vibrations melting against your skin,

is he fucking purring..?

“I’m glad— urgh.. you liked your name..” you barely made out, trying to create some space between both of your bodies, however the bot wouldn’t move a centimeter away from you,

after pleading with it, he decided to put you down,

it gently pat your head, before putting its hands on its knees to observe you more closely,

“uh.. Okay, Well.. You can just follow me around, I want to see how good of a job I did at fixing you..” and with that you walked out of your laboratory,

a larger hand grabbed onto your sleeve, you already knew who it was so you didn’t spare him a look,

you let him grab onto your sleeve, the cool feeling of it’s metal fingers making contact with your skin,

Exo didn’t know what to make of things, he was especially surprised when he woke up to a little human greeting him,

he couldn’t see anything, but from the noises and fleeting touches around his body he could tell that someone was trying to fix him up,

and then he could see everything, from the little scars on your skin to the exact shade of your eye color,

his memory board felt empty, he tried to remember, but his mind was a blank slate, it was like trying to squeeze water from a stone, impossible.

but one thing he did know was that he was eternally indebted to this cute human, Exo wanted to assume that this was his creator, but he knew better, his real creator didn’t care about him,

he knew he was thrown off somewhere high, he didn’t know when or from where, but just that action showed him that whoever created him had no care for him,

But.. You took the time to fix him with your caring hands, you didn’t have any obligation whatsoever to even touch him, but you did,

from looking down at his own body he could tell you spent countless hours polishing his body, not even a crevice of his body had a single spot of filth,

his joints were smooth, his movements were swift and elegant, something he never thought he would be able to regain,

you might as well be his owner now, you are so small.. So frail, he looked down at you and he felt this inexplicable feeling of wanting to grab you and cradle you like a human baby,

your smaller form was so comfortable to hold in his arms, he could accommodate his body to your liking,

he understands that his chest isn’t the most comfortable, under the heavy metal plating there is soft layers of silicone that could help with trying to make you more comfy against his body,

he wished nothing more than to communicate with you, to tell you how much he appreciated you and how he wished to serve you in the way you served him,

but the only type of noise that made it out of his mouth (?) was pathetic moans and sighs, that was no way to communicate with you,

He heard the voice of a man earlier, his sensors picked up on his heart rate, it was.. familiar, he knew that rhythm from some where.. but he can’t quite remember from where,

this mysterious man’s heart beat spiked up as soon as you approached him, his breathing turned slower and heavier,

Exo heard you call out to that man, apparently his name was Kairo.. the android repeated his name in his mind, Kairo, Kairo, Kairo.. That was an unusual name..

then he spoke, and his voice hit home, he still had no idea who this man was, but his hate for him tenfolded,

Exo hated how he spoke to you, his voice was so warm and welcoming towards you, pure love and adoration in his tone, he just knew that man wanted to shove his tongue down your throat, repulsive.

but Exo has claimed you long ago, ever since you picked him up and ever so gently put him into your cart he had vowed to be by your side,

‘Kairo’ directed his tone towards him and Exo didn’t like it one bit, his tone was so sharp, the iron-clad Android could feel the intensity of ‘Kairo’ on him, his eyes feeling like they could burn through the thick layers of metal of his body,

Then he felt a warm calloused hand on his shoulder, gently running up and down the ridges of his armor, that touch made him melt into a puddle of goo,

making him forget about the developing grudge against Kairo,

however he knew that wasn’t going to be the last time he would see him.

. . .

Several days had passed since you had booted Exo’s system up, and it was safe to say that the last days had been nothing but bliss,

it was like he was lying on cloud nine, he started to believe that he had been blessed by some force and sent you down, it was nothing less than euphoria.

You, however had to head into town, and Exo could never dream of making you go alone, never in a millennia would he allow that,

So he decided to accompany you, his large hand clasped around your own, your hand gently grabbing onto his pointer finger,

Exo kept a close eye on you, trying to sense of something was amiss, your heart beat seemed steady, your glucose was normal and your oxygen levels were okay,

he wished he could just carry you so you wouldn’t need to walk, he wouldn’t want to wear down your fragile bones!

but you refused his offer.. you said that you were ‘too old for that’, Exo really didn’t want you to be embarrassed, he decided to let this slide— for now.

his steps were heavy behind you, loud thumps being heard when his mechanical feet hit the ground,

you were pushing your cart through the dust and dirt, while Exo was carrying your backpack and money, who were comically small compared to his large and broad body,

you snickered to yourself as you looked back at him for a split second, he seemed to notice, suddenly his screen lit up, a blue heart blinking on the screen,

“a-ah..” he moaned out, tilting his head close to his right shoulder, you really wished you could understand the damn thing, but it seemed to be able to communicate through moans and exhales,

“Ya know I have zero idea what yer sayin’, right?” You sighed as you looked away, your cart wheels getting jammed on a rock out of nowhere,

it had you clicking your tongue as you bent down to pick the rock out of the old wheels,

the bot bent down to assist you, kneeling right next to you, there to help you if you needed anything,

“(Y/n)! What a coincidence! It has been a bit since we have last spoken, you aren’t running away from me are you?” The familiar voice of a certain admirer rang out from above you,

“hah? ‘Course not, You are my favorite person in this old dinky town..” you gave Kairo a crooked smile, dusting off your pants to face him fully,

his eyes softened, a gentle smile marking his plump lips, sometimes you really forgot how pretty Kairo was,

“..Y-You really think so..?” Aw shit, did you say that out loud? You nodded your head either way, an embarrassed flush warming your cheeks, Kairo put his hands on his face trying to hide the blush heating up his whole face, his hand gently extended out towards you,

Kairo was about to put his hand on your head, however his hand was stopped by a silver encased one, the mechanic fingers tightening around the Ginger’s arm,

“…” a certain chrome plated male stopped Kairo’s arm from going any further,

“..Huh. And who do you think you are?” Kairo retaliated, veins sprawling across his arm and porcelain face, an unnatural look to his other wise doll like appearance,

his glasses slipped down the slope of his nose, showing a pretty little bump on his upturned nose,

his thick brows furrowed, his pretty face twisted into a menacing scowl, his lively magenta eyes losing the shine they had when they met with your (e/c) eyes,

Exo on the other hand didn’t show a sliver of emotion, the screen visor he possessed didn’t show the emoticons he tends to show, instead a pitch black screen was shown,

Expo refused to utter a single sound, which was somehow more menacing than anything, fear instilled deep inside you, slimy tendrils of uncertainty and the urge to run pooling in your intestines,

“ha..haha— How about we calm down?” You suggested as calmly as you could, which was not very good since you were about to piss your pants,

You didn’t notice your hands shaking violently, your fingers and hands being unable to keep still, you were so distracted trying to tone down the situation you forgot about keeping calm yourself,

Both of the men turned to face you, noticing your shaken up state they seemed like they were about to stop,

the duo simultaneously reached out to you, trying to touch you, they seemed to have gotten distracted from their fight, however they were far from over,

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Can’t you see she is scared? Tsk.. what a disgrace, to think you would care about a human being.. Touch her and I won’t hesitate to pull those cables out of your fucking head.” Kairo threatened, his hand balling into a fist

“…” the bot just stared at him, unresponsive.

This was your chance to book it out of here, a crowd of people were coming your way, you took advantage of their ‘moment’ to get away,

you blended into the streets, luckily you had a few silver coins on you, so you could hang out until Exo came to find you, which he always did,

you could apologize to Kairo later and spend some well deserved time with the ginger, not today though.

shit.. Did they team up to come after you? Because.. they aren’t where they were going when you looked back..

Is it just you or.. Are two people breathing down your neck?