#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.

[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.

[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.

[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

[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?

[k1ngpin42]

POV: 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧r- (mini fic)

Warnings: Dating, public 18+, dominant Abby, fingering

You, Abby, Mel, Manny and Whitney are sitting at a table in the WLF base. You and Abby aren’t allowed to be paired together on patrols anymore after Mel snitched about the time she caught you two fucking while on duty. To be fair, though, the door of the room you two were in had been locked from the outside, it wasn’t your fault Mel didn’t knock. 

Anyway, not being able to see her throughout the day was fucking with you. Images of what you two would do the night and morning before you’d go on patrol, things you two used to do at any available moment on away missions. Against the wall when the other soldiers turned their back, on the floor, against an old car,  on the table where you and the others would plan routes around seraphite camps, one time you even fucked while in a room full of clickers. (It was the most terrifying orgasm you had ever experienced if you’re being honest with yourself. Still amazing though.)

She sits down and the tension is immediate, you’d let her take you right here and now if she asked.

“Hey love, how were your assignments today?” She asks. Fuck. You didn’t know what was up with you today cause you were fucking wet at the site of her.

“What? Oh, yeah, it was alright…” You say, eyes scanning her body. You hear the others talk indistinctly and your gaze immediately drops to her hands.

“Did you really have to invite the game nerd?” You hear Mel whisper. You roll your eyes.

“Whitney’s my friend, Mel, don’t be a dick.” You tell her bluntly, and Whitney looks up at this. Mel looks at her with a guilty expression.

“Whitney I didn’t mean….”

“Oh it’s okay Mel. I can just sit by myself like I usually do.”

“Nonsense, you’re with us.” Manny reassures.

Once this drama clears up, Abby and Mel start telling the others stories about their mission today. Various jokes and exaggerations. None of this was relevant to you, though, cause for the love of everything holy, you couldn’t focus.

You watched as she enhanced her story with hand movements, her laugh was a melody in your ears, her voice a chorus. The veins on her hands were still prominent, she must have had to beat up some form of enemy, usually runners. Or maybe she had been lifting something heavy.

A smile smile pressed your lips at the thought of that. The thought of her big arms straining, she would groan slightly before the metal crate behind a door would move and she’d let out another satisfied sigh. Fuck. Those arms, those hands, you needed them inside you, on you, you didn’t care which. 

“He grabs the EMPTY gun and points it at the woman. She’s got a fuckin club or something and he says….well, something in Spanish.” Abby explains to the group who have been intently listening, making you feel slightly bad for zoning out.

“ Estás acabado, cabron. You are finished, asshole.” 

“Haha…nice.” Abby replies, taking a bite of her food. She looks over at you, who is still too focused on the way the vein on her right hand is more prominent than on her left. When she notices this, she smirks. That same cocky fucking smirk when she knows that, once again, she’s read you like a book.

“Hey so, that new training manual you read, what was it again?” She asks you as she slips a hand on your thigh. You’re wearing baggy blue jeans and even with them on you feel heat trickle down your spine.

“Oh the one about long guns? Well…the main premise is about rounds.” She moves her hand so it’s cupping your cunt through the fabric. 

“I-“ You clear your throat. “Each gun has a unique gear that allows the rounds to move more fl-“ Abby cautiously unzips the jeans. “Fluidly.” You explain. She starts teasing your pussy with her index fingers and painting your clit with slick.

“Have you tested it out on a gun? The upgrade?” Abby asks, watching you with an amused expression as she increases the pace.

“Wh-at…oh um, yeah.” You stumble over your words.

“Ah well you can come improve my weapon, do you know how many times this gun has been stepped on? I’m surprised I can put new rounds in at all.” Manny laughs. Your eyelids flutter as she puts her two middle fingers inside you and circles your clit with her thumb. She does all this with her left hand, not even taking her eyes off of the group, she doesn’t have to. 

How does this not make her uncomfortable? How does the fact that our whole friend group will watch you cum work for her in any way?

“Only if you gi-mm~” You stifle your moan with your hand.

“You okay?” Mel asks you. You nod.

“Just tired, I was gonna say, only if you give me a….ah~ a good gun too since he always hogs them all.”

“I do not.” He laughs. 

Fuck, Abby’s hands rubbing you feels fucking insatiable but you need to be alone with her, you can’t stand how embarrassing this feels. You want her to fuck you till you can’t breathe, not tease you in front of people you have to interact with on the regular.

“I might go to bed early.” You say, attempting to push Abbys hands away. She grabs your arm tightly and gives you a warning look.

“Aw don’t be silly, we’ll go when you’re finished.” She pauses. “…Eating.” Abby adds, increasing her pace as well as the pressure on your clit. Fuck, you could scream at how good it feels. You want to scream. 

“Who were you with today baby?” Abby asks. Fuck you could kick her right now. She’s clearly doing this on purpose to hear you make a fool of yourself in front of her your friends. It won’t work, you try to convince yourself.

“Um, I don’t know, it was me, two guys and a girl. The girl was dating one of the guys so me and the other guy did most of the patrolling while they probably, I don’t even know, did each other or something.” You explain, enjoying the feeling of her thick, warm fingers. Fuuuuuuck.

Mel looked guilty again. She always did, maybe this is just her resting face?

“I’m sorry that you and Abby can’t go on patrols anymore.” Mel utters, quietly. You roll your eyes but before you can even think to be annoyed at her, Abby pushes just the right place and you let out a gush of satisfied air.

“Agh~ all good.” You say, keeping your composure fairly well. Abby rewards this by easing up slightly and you instinctively buck your hips forward. 

“Do you prefer hot places or cold?” Abby asked, and at this point you’re forcing your eyes open. 

“What?” You ask, bitterly. Fuck you’re painfully close, you’re so gonna hit her when this is over. 

“Abby…” You whisper to her, her smirk widens, cocky prick.

“Did you say something baby?” You sigh and poke at some of the food on your plate. 

“Hot. I don’t like the cold or the rain, snow’s the only…f….um, exception.” You breathe out. Abby can tell by the look on your face that you’re cumming and she tilts her head, admiring you.

“I prefer the heat too. It’s always hot in Mexico.” Manny says, his voice just a murmer as you see colours through your eyelids. Holy fuck, you’d give anything to let out a loud moan right now. 

“I’m actually pretty tired too, I think we’re gonna turn in early.” Abby explains to the others. Mel nods and Manny looks mildly disappointed, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Have a good night.” Whitney says with a warm smile. You nod and Abby helps pull you up. You bite back a wince at how sensitive it feels to have your legs together and you hurry with Abby out of the hall.

“Abigail fucking Anderson.” You warn, simply. She smiles, kissing you playfully on the cheek.

“Yeah?” She asks. You punch her arm lightly. 

“Do you like making a fool of me? All our friends saw-“

“Did you like it?” She asks, that seductive and almost arrogant smirk still evident on her pretty fucking face. You roll your eyes. She kisses your neck and leans in to your ear.

“I bet you were thinking about it. My hands, my fingers, I was just giving you what you want.” 

“Yeah but…I mean at dinner? That’s just torture.” 

“Aw.” She says with fake sympathy. “Want me to make it up to you?”

°..·°¯°·._.· 🎀 >.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°🎀 >-.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hello Hazel!

I'd like to request for a Protection ritual for Il Capitano with lavender, black tourmaline and frankincense please!

Thank you and take care!

Evergreen (the unexpected), Black Tourmaline (safety, shielding), Frankincense (confidence) Il Capitano x gn reader | Protection Ritual warning: listen --- I make no excuses (also am I a Capitano girlie??) -- uhhh, reader gets a head injury, Il Capitano being demanding, reader held in arms and manhandled a bit (this is SFW but somehow inappropriate?)

Your bones rattled as the mitachuri's ax connected with your spear. The impact shoved you through the loose dirt leaving a scratch of determination in its wake.

Using what dwindling strength you had, you shoved back hoping it would be enough power to buy you time to escape. It managed to throw the brute off balance, but not for long.

Pivoting, you twisted and bolted toward a line of sharp rocks. If you could reach them, they might provide enough of a shield to keep you safe. Unfortunately, a reaction of electro and cryo exploded to your right, pitching your world and sending you flying through the billowing grass. Your head slammed into the ground, stars flared in the midday sun.

You coughed, gasped violently, and laid on your back. Everything hurt.

The shadow of the mitachuri blocked out the sun, its massive, looming figure sending a wave of adrenaline through you. Bending to your side, you pawed through the grass in search of your weapon but before you could grab it, the monster snatched your leg and pulled you toward it. You kicked, but it did nothing.

Fear stole your senses and you stared in stilled horror as its weapon barreled toward you. Your vision clouded. All you remembered was a biting wind, crow feathers, and the sound of someone's voice telling you to hold on.

---

Warmth. Inviting, powerful warmth roused you from the black. You tried to move but the pain in your head warned you to be still. Groaning, you turned into the scent of freshly fallen snow.

"You've awakened," someone hummed above you. A crips timber and aged depth. You tried to open your eyes but it was too bright. "Ah, one moment. There, try now."

Haloed light formed around your blurry vision. The scene came back to you in flashes. A flaming ax, a crystalized blade, and the frame of someone you didn't recognize. When your vision adjusted, you found yourself gazing up at a man shrouded by metal and fabric.

"Ouch," was all you managed to get out.

"It's likely you hit your head. Try not to move."

"Head."

"Do not worry. I have things under control."

You twisted your neck and saw a battle raging on in the distance. Close enough that you could hear the cries and bashing weapons. Instinctually you reached for your own.

"Did you lose something?" the man asked, his free arm repositioning above you as if to help. You wanted to respond but your head was heavy, filled with a fog you couldn't clear. It lulled to the side. "Now, now, stay awake." Powerful fingers gripped your chin and turned you so he could look at you. "You cannot sleep now."

"But ... I'm tired," you mumbled, slurred, and winced at the oncoming pain. You wanted to throw up.

"You will stay with me, do you understand?"

You grimaced, lips curling into a frustrated pout. The man groaned and jostled you awake.

"Il Capitano, sir," a new voice sounded beside you, grating, painful. You whimpered and tried to turn away from it but the hand on your chin refused to let you.

"What is it?" Il Capitano asked, his attention on you never wavering.

"The numbers are thinning out, what would you have of us?"

His fingers pressed into the soft of your cheek, the action forced your lips apart. "Assist the people. See they do not come to harm."

"But - sir." Il Capitano snapped his head to the scout and an uncomfortable silence followed. "Yes, yes sir."

You could hear their shuffling feet, displaced dirt and gravel as they ran back toward the fray. You wanted to fight.

It was your duty.

Where was your spear?

"Are you eager to fight with them?"

Heavy, tired eyes looked at the man with a hidden face. In the swirl and distortion, you swore you could see the outline of something beneath. The edges of a jaw, the silhouette of a nose, the curve of lips. In your daze, you lifted your hand toward him but he captured your wrist before your fingers could touch him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but it didn't really sound like a question. Something in his tone changed. "How strong is your delirium, little one?"

You stretched your fingers and brushed against something warm. The man's grip faltered allowing you to run them along what you assumed was his lips. They moved right toward the corner of his mask but where warmth once was, cold suddenly appeared.

Il Capitano stole your hand and returned it to your chest, but he lingered, his thumb running along the back before fading from your senses.

"Tired," you repeated and fell against him.

"I have not yet given you permission to sleep."

"Give it to me."

The sound of battle roared to life while the stranger known as Il Capitano held you in his arms. You couldn't see his eyes, but you felt their pressure, their intensity. Your head fell back so he grabbed your chin and gave you a light shake. "Tell me your name."

And you did.

He requested and you provided, and when your mind began to recover, your world found itself one Fatui Harbinger larger.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the promise)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: her grace

- Next part: the flight

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The brilliant hues of the setting sun bathed the gardens of Casterly Rock in a warm, casting an ethereal glow over the gathering as the royal visit began to draw to a close. Servants hurried to and fro, preparing the final feast, while lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries one last time. The air was heavy with the bittersweet knowledge that this brief union of East and West would soon come to an end.

Jason Lannister stood at the edge of the gardens, his eyes fixed on you as you walked slowly along a pathway lined with blooming roses. Ser Lorent trailed at a respectful distance, his watchful gaze ever-present, but you seemed entirely at ease, your fingers brushing lightly against the soft petals of the flowers as you passed.

Jason took a deep breath, his heart pounding in a way it rarely did. He had waited patiently, bided his time, but now, with the royal family preparing to depart, he knew this was his last chance. He straightened his doublet and began walking toward you, his strides purposeful but measured.

“Your Grace,” he called softly as he approached, his voice warm and steady.

You paused, tilting your head slightly toward him as a small smile graced your lips. “Lord Jason,” you replied gently. “I thought you’d be busy with the preparations for tonight’s feast.”

Jason stopped a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back. “I couldn’t let this moment pass,” he said earnestly. “Not without speaking with you.”

Your smile widened faintly, a note of curiosity in your tone as you asked, “What is it you wish to say?”

Jason hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, his green eyes searching your serene expression. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice low but unwavering, “I have thought of little else since the day I left King’s Landing. Every moment spent here with you has only strengthened what I already knew to be true.”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression soft but attentive as you listened.

Jason took another step closer, lowering his voice. “I wish to ask for your hand in marriage, Princess. Not for duty, not for station, but because I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”

The words hung in the air, carried by the gentle rustle of the evening breeze. For a moment, you said nothing, your fingers brushing lightly against the delicate fabric of the dress you wore. Then, you turned your face toward him, your voice soft but steady.

“Jason,” you said, your tone carrying a quiet vulnerability, “are you certain? Marriage to a Targaryen is not a simple matter.”

Jason’s green eyes softened, his expression earnest as he replied, “I am certain, Y/N. You are unlike anyone I have ever known. Your grace, your strength, your ability to see the world in ways others cannot—it has changed me. I will spend the rest of my life proving my devotion to you if you’ll allow it.”

You smiled faintly, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush as you reached out tentatively. Jason caught your hand gently in his, and you tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight of his presence as he stepped even closer.

“May I?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, and before you could say another word, Jason leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. It was gentle and warm, a promise woven into the brief moment of closeness. When he pulled back you felt the faint brush of cool metal against your fingers.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you touched the chain around his neck. “You’re still wearing it,” you murmured, a note of surprise in your voice.

Jason glanced down at the simple necklace you had given him before he departed from King’s Landing, his smile softening. “Of course,” he said quietly. “I’ve carried it with me every day. A reminder of you.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression unreadable for a moment before a warm smile curved your lips. “You are persistent, Jason,” you said softly, your tone carrying a note of fondness.

Jason chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “I prefer determined,” he replied lightly. “But I will accept persistent if it means you’ll consider my proposal.”

You tilted your head slightly, your fingers tightening briefly around his. “I will,” you said simply, your voice carrying a quiet certainty that made Jason’s heart swell.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was a sight to behold, transformed into a dazzling display of wealth and splendor befitting the West’s pride. Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, their glow reflecting off polished marble floors and rich crimson banners adorned with the lion of House Lannister. Long tables were laden with an extravagant array of dishes—spiced roasted boar, fresh river trout, golden honey cakes, and towering confections sculpted to resemble roaring lions. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation as lords and ladies from across the realm indulged in the hospitality of the Rock.

King Viserys sat at the high table, his face flushed with wine and merriment as he regaled a group of Westerlands lords with tales from his youth. His goblet never seemed to empty, refilled with alarming frequency by attentive servants. Beside him, Queen Alicent sat with poised composure, her eyes quietly observing the room. Though her children had been taken to bed, she remained vigilant, her gaze sweeping over the gathered nobility with a cautious air.

Rhaenyra, meanwhile, stood near the edge of the hall, a slice of lemon cake in hand as she watched the festivities with a furrowed brow. Her gaze lingered on the dance floor, where Jason Lannister was guiding you through a graceful waltz. The room seemed to part for you, the crowd’s attention drawn to the striking sight of the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Targaryen princess. Your pale hair shimmered in the candlelight, and your serene smile captivated onlookers, while Jason’s eyes never left your face.

“She moves so effortlessly with him,” came a familiar voice, pulling Rhaenyra from her thoughts. Lady Leonella Lannister, Jason’s mother, had approached, her expression warm but curious as she followed her son’s movements. “Your sister has a rare grace about her, Princess Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to face Leonella. “She does,” she admitted, though her tone carried a note of reluctance. “Y/N has always been… unique in that way.”

Leonella smiled faintly, though there was a sharpness in her gaze. “And Jason,” she added, her voice soft but pointed. “He has rarely been so attentive to anyone as he has to your sister.”

Rhaenyra took a slow bite of her cake, her expression unreadable for a moment before she replied, “Jason is a charming man, but charm is not always a virtue.”

Leonella’s brows arched, though her smile remained. “Is that so? I take it you do not approve of my son’s interest in your sister.”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back to the dance floor, where Jason spun you gracefully, his hand firm yet gentle at your waist. “It isn’t personal,” she said carefully. “But Jason’s reputation precedes him. He’s known for being ambitious, for his… indulgences. Y/N is kind and gentle; she deserves someone who will cherish her, not someone who might see her as a prize to be won.”

Leonella’s smile faltered slightly, and her tone hardened. “I see. And do you truly believe that is all Jason sees in her? A prize?”

Rhaenyra glanced at her, her violet eyes steady. “I mean no offense to House Lannister,” she said diplomatically. “Your son is a formidable man, and he has proven himself a capable lord. But my sister is precious to me, and I will not see her hurt.”

Leonella’s expression cooled, though her voice remained calm. “I appreciate your candor, Princess,” she said, her tone carrying a subtle edge. “But I would remind you that Jason has done nothing to warrant such judgment. He has shown your sister respect, patience, and genuine affection—qualities that many men lack.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, though whether in irritation or amusement was unclear. “Perhaps. But affection does not erase a man’s history.”

Leonella’s gaze sharpened, her voice dropping to a quieter, firmer tone. “And yet, history is not always a fair reflection of the present, is it? My son has grown into a man who understands the weight of his responsibilities and the value of what he holds dear. If he has chosen to court your sister, it is not out of whimsy but out of genuine admiration.”

Rhaenyra studied Leonella for a long moment before turning her attention back to the dance floor. You and Jason had finished your waltz and were now exchanging quiet words, your serene smile still in place as Jason bowed slightly, his hand lingering near yours. The sight brought a flicker of unease to Rhaenyra’s expression.

“I only hope,” Rhaenyra said finally, her voice softer but still guarded, “that your son’s intentions are as honorable as you believe them to be.”

Leonella inclined her head, her tone carrying a note of finality. “As do I, Princess. And perhaps it would do us both well to trust that your sister is capable of discerning the truth for herself.”

With that, Leonella turned and walked away, leaving Rhaenyra standing alone, her gaze still fixed on you and Jason. The faint sound of Viserys’s laughter echoed from the high table, but Rhaenyra remained quiet, her unease now visible. In her heart, she could not shake the feeling that the bond forming between you and Jason was one that could not easily be undone—and whether it would bring joy or heartache remained to be seen.

As the music shifted to a livelier tune, the lords and ladies in the hall began to rise, their gazes flickering toward you and Jason. The two of you stood near the edge of the dance floor, slightly removed from the main crowd, but the attention you commanded was impossible to ignore. Jason’s hand rested lightly at your elbow, a protective gesture that did not go unnoticed by the courtiers.

You tilted your head slightly toward him, sensing the growing tension in the room. “They’re watching,” you said softly, your voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Jason chuckled under his breath, his green eyes scanning the room. “They are,” he admitted, his tone low. “But it’s not every day the realm witnesses a Targaryen princess and the Lord of Casterly Rock standing together. It stirs… imaginations.”

You smiled faintly. “Imagination is often louder than truth,” you murmured. “But let them watch.”

Jason turned his gaze to you, his expression softening at your composed demeanor. “You handle their scrutiny better than most,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice.

“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” you replied simply. “But I imagine you’re not entirely comfortable with this… attention.”

Jason smirked, his green eyes glinting with humor. “Oh, I’m no stranger to being the center of attention, Princess. But this is different.”

“Different how?” you asked, tilting your head slightly toward him.

He hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice quieter. “Because this time, it matters.”

Before you could respond, the first of the lords approached—a rotund man with a jovial smile and an elaborate doublet adorned with the sigil of House Brax. He bowed deeply, his gaze flicking between you and Jason. “Your Grace, Lord Jason,” he greeted warmly. “What a striking pair you make. Truly, a sight to behold.”

Jason inclined his head politely, though his grip on your elbow tightened slightly. “Lord Brax,” he said smoothly. “A pleasure, as always.”

The lord beamed, clearly pleased to be acknowledged. “I must say, the thought of such an alliance—Targaryen and Lannister—would be a boon to the realm. Strength and fire united. What a legacy that would be.”

You smiled faintly, your voice measured as you replied, “The strength of the realm lies in its people, Lord Brax. Alliances are but one thread in the greater tapestry.”

The lord blinked, slightly taken aback by your response, before recovering with a hearty laugh. “Well said, Your Grace. Well said.”

As he moved on, another lord approached, this one younger and more ambitious in his demeanor. He carried himself with an air of calculated charm, his eyes assessing as he addressed Jason. “My lord,” he said, bowing slightly, “and Princess. A pleasure to see you both enjoying the evening.”

Jason’s smile tightened slightly, though his tone remained polite. “Lord Reyne,” he said, his voice cool. “I trust you’re finding the festivities to your liking.”

“Indeed,” Lord Allard Reyne replied smoothly, his gaze lingering on you. “And I must say, Princess, your presence has elevated this visit to something truly remarkable.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, though he masked his irritation with a faint smile. “The Princess’s presence elevates any gathering, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Without question,” Allard said, his tone too saccharine for Jason’s liking. “The lords of the realm will surely speak of this visit for years to come—especially with such… compelling figures at its center.”

You inclined your head slightly, your expression calm. “Your words are kind, Lord Reyne. I trust you’ve found ample opportunity to enjoy the Rock’s hospitality.”

“More than ample, Your Grace,” Allard replied, his smile widening. “Though I must admit, I find myself drawn more to the company than the surroundings.”

Jason stepped slightly closer to you, his presence a clear but silent warning. “I’m sure the Princess appreciates your sentiment, Lord Reyne,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge. “But I believe we have more guests to greet.”

Allard hesitated briefly before bowing and stepping aside, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than Jason deemed necessary.

As the evening wore on, more lords and ladies approached, each with their own carefully crafted words and veiled intentions. Jason remained steadfast at your side, his demeanor shifting between polite host and protective guardian. Though he engaged in the conversations with practiced ease, his focus never strayed far from you.

When there was finally a brief lull in the procession, Jason turned to you, his expression softening. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips. “I am,” you said simply. “And you?”

Jason chuckled under his breath, his green eyes warm as they met yours. “I think I’ve weathered worse storms, Your Grace. But only just.”

Your smile widened slightly, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. “You underestimate yourself, Jason. You’re managing quite well.”

Jason’s gaze lingered on you, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Only because you’re here,” he said softly.

The words hung between you, unspoken truths woven into the quiet moment. And as the night deepened, the lords and ladies continued to watch, their whispers growing louder, each one adding another thread to the tapestry of intrigue surrounding the Targaryen princess and the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Jason offered you his arm, his touch light but steady as he guided you through the bustling hall. The lords and ladies parted as you walked, their whispers trailing behind you like an unseen cloak. Despite the noise of the grand feast—the clinking of goblets, the laughter, and the music—Jason’s focus remained solely on you, his eyes glancing at your serene expression every few moments.

When you reached the royal table, Jason paused, bowing slightly as King Viserys turned his attention to the pair of you. The King’s face was flushed from wine, but his smile was warm and genuine as he gestured for Jason to step closer.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone jovial. “Join us, won’t you? There’s no need for you to stand on ceremony, not tonight.”

Jason straightened, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with a gracious smile. “Your Grace, it would be an honor.”

You turned your face toward your father, your expression soft but curious. “Father?” you asked gently, sensing the unusual invitation.

Viserys chuckled, waving a hand as if to dismiss any concerns. “You’ve spent much of this visit in the company of Lord Jason, my dear,” he said warmly. “It’s only fitting he joins us for the final feast. Besides,” he added, his gaze shifting back to Jason, “we’ve spoken, haven’t we, Jason? About the matter of your proposal.”

Jason froze for a brief moment, his composure faltering ever so slightly before he inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace. And I remain deeply honored by your blessing.”

The King beamed, lifting his goblet. “Then sit, Lord Jason. Sit beside my daughter and share this meal with us.”

Jason hesitated only briefly before pulling out a chair for you, guiding you into it with a practiced ease that drew approving murmurs from some of the nearby courtiers. He then took the seat beside you, his movements careful as he settled into the rarefied air of the royal table.

Queen Alicent, seated beside Viserys, offered Jason a polite smile, though her sharp green eyes flicked briefly to you, their expression unreadable. “Lord Jason,” she said, her tone measured. “It seems your courtship of the Princess has become the talk of the feast.”

Jason smiled faintly, his gaze steady. “A testament to the Princess’s grace, no doubt, Your Grace. It’s difficult not to admire her.”

You tilted your head slightly, your cheeks warming faintly at his words. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Jason,” you said softly, your tone laced with quiet humility.

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Jason replied, his voice low but sincere. “If anything, I don’t say it often enough.”

Rhaenyra, seated across from you, watched the exchange with a guarded expression. Her goblet rested lightly in her hand as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to signal her discontent. “Father,” she said, her tone calm but probing, “you seem unusually invested in this match.”

Viserys chuckled, oblivious to his eldest daughter’s tension. “Rhaenyra, your sister deserves a match that values her, just as you do. Lord Jason has proven himself a capable lord and a devoted suitor. I see no reason to not allow his intentions this time.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she said nothing further, her gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to her wine.

The table fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, the King engaging Jason in conversation about the Westerlands while Alicent remained a quiet observer. Jason, for his part, handled the attention with practiced ease, though his focus remained firmly on you. When the King eventually turned his attention elsewhere, Jason leaned slightly toward you, his voice dropping to a quieter tone.

“Your Grace,” he murmured, “I must thank you for allowing me the privilege of sitting here tonight.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your expression calm but warm. “There’s no need to thank me, Jason,” you replied gently. “It was my father’s decision.”

Jason smiled, his green eyes softening. “Perhaps, but it’s one I cherish all the same.”

The warmth in his voice was unmistakable, and for a moment, the noise of the feast faded into the background, leaving only the quiet understanding between the two of you. 

Excerpts from Fire and Blood: The Life of Y/N Targaryen

The Farewell at Casterly Rock (115 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"As the sun rose over Casterly Rock, the royal procession prepared to depart, marking the end of a visit that had stirred whispers across the realm. The final moments of the royal family’s stay were marked by formal farewells, though one particular exchange stood out among the many. Lord Jason Lannister, ever attentive to Princess Y/N throughout the visit, escorted her to the courtyard where the carriages awaited. Their parting was witnessed by many, and though decorum was maintained, there was a tenderness to their interaction that did not go unnoticed.

Jason Lannister, with all the gallantry befitting the Lord of Casterly Rock, held the Princess’s hand in both of his, his green eyes fixed on her as if memorizing every detail of her face. Those who observed the exchange later remarked on how the Princess’s serene expression softened as Jason bent to kiss her hand one final time. He then raised her hand to his cheek, a gesture so intimate it caused more than a few gasps from the assembled courtiers. And yet, the Princess seemed unbothered by the audience, her parting words to Jason spoken softly enough that only he could hear. What was said remains unknown, though Jason’s expression shifted, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face. He then kissed her hand one last time before leaning in, his lips brushing hers in a brief but unmistakable farewell.

Though their kiss was fleeting, it was a bold gesture in the presence of so many onlookers, and one that cemented the rumors already circulating through the court. Jason Lannister, it seemed, had made his intentions toward Princess Y/N abundantly clear, and she, in turn, had not rebuffed him. When the royal procession departed, the tension in the air was palpable, as if everyone present understood the significance of what they had witnessed."

Mushroom, ever dramatic, recounts:

"Ah, what a sight it was to behold, dear readers! The lion of Casterly Rock, bold and brash as ever, stood there in full view of lords, ladies, knights, and servants, holding the Princess’s hand as if it were the most precious gem in the Seven Kingdoms. Jason Lannister, who had once swaggered through the courts of the realm with the subtlety of a charging bull, suddenly looked more like a love-struck boy than a fearsome lord.

He kissed her hand, yes, but that wasn’t enough for him, oh no! He pressed it to his cheek, his eyes so full of longing that even the coldest of hearts might have softened. Then, with all the decorum of a drunken septon at a wedding feast, he leaned in and kissed her—a kiss so tender it left the entire courtyard breathless.

‘Bold as brass, that one,’ I whispered to myself. And the Princess? She didn’t shy away, didn’t scold him, didn’t slap his face as I half-expected. No, she stood there, calm as a still lake, her blind eyes unseeing but her heart wide open.

Now, I can’t say for certain what she said to him before they parted, but I swear by the Seven, I saw Jason’s face crumble like a child who’s lost his favorite toy. He kissed her hand one last time, holding on as if letting go might shatter him, and then she was gone, swept into the royal procession like a dragon into the clouds.

And there he stood, the proud lion, watching her leave with the look of a man who’d just realized he’d given his heart away and wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back."

Septa Rhaedis writes:

"The parting of Princess Y/N and Lord Jason Lannister was as poignant as it was public. Though their gestures were restrained and decorous, there was a clear affection between them that could not be hidden. As Lord Jason kissed the Princess’s hand and bid her farewell, there was a profound stillness to the moment, as if time itself paused to bear witness.

While some whispered that their bond was born of ambition, those who observed them closely could see a deeper connection—a rare understanding between two hearts often misunderstood by the world around them. Whether their story would continue was a question that lingered in the minds of all who stood in that courtyard, watching as the royal procession departed and the Lord of Casterly Rock remained behind, alone but resolute."

Thus concluded the royal visit to Casterly Rock, a chapter in the life of Princess Y/N Targaryen that would be recounted by bards and chroniclers alike for years to come. The bond between the Targaryen princess and the Lannister lord, forged in the shadow of the Rock, would shape the course of events in ways that neither could yet foresee.

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 5: Let It Once Be Me

Summary: Lucius and Aurelia bond.

A/N: I am back! Thank you for following along. This is more of a filler chapter but our Empress and Emperor bond and we love to see it. I have like three WIPs and this one is ever so present in my brain....

Warnings: forced marriage, kissing, Geta being a dick, use of flashbacks

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

It had been nearly a month since the Senate had tested them both, since that night when Aurelia had stood before the assembly and defended their union with a strength she hadn’t known she had or wanted to have. In the days that followed, there had been more meetings, more formalities and more attempts to define what their relationship would be as Emperor and Empress of Rome. They’d learned to function together, to stand united in front of the Senate, but behind closed doors, the marriage still felt like a fragile, untested thing—something that existed more in the realm of duty than desire.

However, tonight was different. There was something in the air—a subtle shift that neither of them could explain. The palace was quiet now, the usual bustle of advisors and courtiers having faded into the background. Aurelia had dismissed most of the attendants earlier, craving solitude after a day full of speeches, meetings, and the ever-present undercurrent of political maneuvering.

She stood before a mirror in the grand dressing room, staring at her reflection with a mixture of weariness and determination. The weight of the imperial robes felt heavy on her shoulders and the gold laurel wreath she wore seemed more like a burden than a symbol of power. She reached up to remove it, her fingers trembling slightly, but before she could, the door to the room opened.

Lucius stepped in without knocking, as was his usual way—no pretense, no formality. His piercing blue eyes found her immediately, and for a moment, they just stood there in silence, neither of them saying anything. He was dressed in a simple tunic, the black fabric a sharp contrast to the golden robes he’d worn earlier in the day. His dark hair was tousled from the long day, and the way he stood—hands casually resting on his hips—made him seem like an Emperor but yet entirely human.

"Is this how it’s always going to be?" he asked, his voice low but with a certain wry edge. He nodded toward her reflection in the mirror. "The crown, the robe, the constant formality?"

Aurelia raised an eyebrow at his reflection, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "Do you expect something less formal from the Empress of Rome, Lucius?" she teased, not looking away from the mirror.

Lucius chuckled softly, crossing the room toward her. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping for a little... less grandeur. Something more..." His voice trailed off, and his gaze fell to the empty space between them, as if trying to find the right words.

"More what?" Aurelia asked, intrigued despite herself.

"More human," he said, his voice suddenly more serious than she expected. He stood beside her now, leaning casually against the stone wall, his blue eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "Less of the queen and more of the woman. Do you know what I mean?"

Her breath caught in her chest. There was something in his tone, something unguarded, that made her feel as though she wasn’t just a political pawn anymore. She wasn’t just the Empress or his wife—she was Aurelia.

And she hadn’t been just Aurelia for years. 

"I think I do," she said slowly, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crown on her head. She removed it and set it gently on the table beside her. The cool, heavy metal felt like a weight lifted from her brow. "But it’s not that simple, is it? This is Rome. We don’t get to drop the titles and just be. We are what the Empire makes us. Besides, the Aurelia I was before all of the Empire - I don’t think she exists anymore.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "I don’t know. I think Rome has always been about more than just titles. It’s about the people, too. The ones who actually live here. The ones who, every day, don’t get to play by the rules of power and court politics. They just... live."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat at his words. The rawness of it, the simplicity—it was unlike anything she had expected from Lucius. He’d always been so composed, so controlled, but in this moment, he seemed to be searching for something—perhaps for her, for something more than just the role they were both forced into.

"And what do you want, Lucius?" she asked, turning to face him fully, her voice quieter now. "What do you want when the titles, the robes, and the politics aren’t in the way?"

Lucius smiled, but it wasn’t the hard, calculated smile of an emperor—it was something softer. Something real. "I want to see who you really are, Aurelia. Not just the Empress, not just the woman Rome expects you to be. The real you. The woman behind all of this," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the palace, toward the Empire that had consumed them both.

Aurelia stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his directness. It was something she wasn’t used to—people looking at her, not just her role, not just her status. And for the first time, she realized how much she longed for that, too. To be seen for who she was. To be Aurelia, not just the pawn of Rome’s political machine.

"You’ve seen me already," she said, her voice quieter. 

Lucius laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. "Maybe. But I don’t think I’ve seen everything yet."

The playfulness in his tone made her heart flutter—something she hadn’t expected. She stepped closer to him, the space between them charged now, the air crackling with a strange, new energy. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else in the room—the Empire, the Senate, the crown—faded into the background.

"What do you want to see, then?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer, more intimate.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Maybe I just want to see the woman who isn’t afraid to laugh. The one who isn’t afraid to live a little, even if it’s only for a moment when we have time to set the Empire aside.”

Aurelia’s breath caught in her chest. There it was—the invitation, subtle but clear. She couldn’t help but smile, her lips curving upward. It wasn’t a smile of royalty, not a smile of duty—it was something real, something that was just her.

"You’re a bold man, Lucius Verus," she said, her voice a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something more uncertain. "Is that how you always speak to people? Or am I special?"

He grinned, his eyes flickering with something she hadn’t expected—a spark of mischief. "Only the ones who interest me."

Her smile widened and for a heartbeat, she felt something shift between them—something less about their roles, less about the duty they both carried, and more about the two of them as people. They were no longer just Emperor and Empress. It felt like she was a child again. Hopeful even. 

They were Aurelia and Lucius. For once they could just be themselves and not have to worry about the Empire. 

"Well," she said softly, moving just a bit closer, "I hope I do interest you."

Lucius’s expression softened and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The tension between them was palpable now, the shift undeniable. There was something magnetic about the way they stood there, so close, yet still unsure of how to bridge the gap completely.

"I think you do," he replied, his voice low. And then, with a small, teasing smile, he added, "I think I’d like to get to know you better, Aurelia. Much better."

The flirtation hung in the air, playful but laden with something more—a promise, perhaps, of something more to come. Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. She was no longer just a political partner, a piece of the Empire’s machinery. She was herself, and that, for the first time in a long while, felt like enough.

"Well, then," she said, her voice a bit breathless.

Lucius’s grin widened, a glimmer of something new—a hint of warmth, of genuine interest. "I look forward to it."

For the first time since she had become an Empress, Aurelia felt the weight of the Empire lift—if only for a moment—leaving only the two of them, standing there, on the edge of something neither of them could yet define.

Flashback ~ What Life Was Like

It had been a time of gilded isolation.

Aurelia sat in the grand, dimly lit hall of the imperial palace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the smooth edge of a marble table. The air was thick with the scent of incense, which mingled with the weight of oppressive silence. Her surroundings, vast and opulent, were meant to inspire awe in any visitor—gleaming columns, the soft glow of golden lamps, intricate mosaics that depicted Rome’s triumphs over its enemies. Yet, for Aurelia, the luxury felt suffocating.

Her gaze wandered to the floor, where a servant was arranging purple flower petals for the evening’s banquet. The sound of her soft footsteps was the only sound that filled the silence between them. Aurelia had long since ceased to care for these grand displays. Everything, it seemed, had become a performance—a pageantry she could neither partake in nor escape from.

Across the room, the throne of Emperor Geta stood empty. Though she had once believed that the seat of power would imbue her with the sense of importance she had dreamed of when she was young, she now found the empty throne to be a reminder of all the things she had lost.

Her marriage to Geta had never been a love match. Her family, desperate to secure their own position in Rome, had arranged the union, hoping it would elevate them. She, a highborn woman with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of politics, had come to the imperial court with grand aspirations of power—of leading alongside her husband. But Geta had always kept her at arm’s length, a distant ruler who seldom involved her in any decision of importance. He was a man ruled by suspicion, even cruelty, and his cold demeanor had always kept her at bay.

They had been married for nearly two years now. Two years of watching him rule with an iron fist, of feeling his icy indifference toward her. Despite her noble birth and her intelligence, despite her natural grace and the strength she possessed within, Geta had never truly seen her as his equal. She was Empress in name only. To him, she was little more than an ornament for the court—a figurehead.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, drawing Aurelia from her reverie. Her heart quickened, and she stood up, smoothing the layers of her dress, the fine fabric rustling around her. She turned to face the door, where the figure of Emperor Geta emerged.

He was a striking man, his dark eyes piercing, his expression always a mixture of arrogance and brooding dissatisfaction. His frame was imposing, his movements calculated. Yet, despite his external power, there was always a certain fragility to him—an insecurity that gnawed at the edges of his confidence. Aurelia could feel it, even if she did not acknowledge it aloud.

“Ah. My Empress… Are you ready for the banquet?” he asked, his voice cold, as though speaking to a subordinate.

Aurelia nodded, masking the frustration she felt deep inside. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady, though she couldn’t hide the weariness beneath it. She had long since stopped expecting warmth from him, but the emptiness of their interactions cut deeper with each passing day. It was almost as though her very presence was a burden to him.

“Good,” he said curtly, barely sparing her a glance before walking toward the gilded doors that led to the banquet hall. He did not wait for her to follow. He never did.

Aurelia stood still for a moment, letting the heaviness of the moment wash over her. The palace, the empire, her marriage—they all felt like a gilded cage. She was trapped by her title, by the expectations of her family, by the political machinations that surrounded her. She was not a partner in governance; she was a symbol—an accessory to his rule.

She followed him to the banquet, her every step measured, her heart hardened by years of silence. She entered the grand hall behind him, where the guests were already gathered—senators, generals, wealthy patricians, all partaking in the splendor of the empire’s wealth. There were laughing voices, clinking goblets of wine, and the warmth of firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. But for Aurelia, it felt like a performance. She was simply another figure among them, her status as Empress making her the center of attention, but never allowing her to truly belong.

Geta had taken his place at the head of the table, as always. He barely acknowledged her presence when she sat beside him, his gaze drifting past her as he spoke with a senator on his left. Aurelia stared down at her goblet, swirling the wine, her thoughts miles away. The lavish feast, the sweet fruits and delicate pastries, the elaborate platters of roasted meats—none of it brought her comfort. Her mind wandered to the emptiness of their marriage, to the distance between them that seemed only to grow as the days wore on.

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered to a young general across the room—Tiberius, a man of strength and courage whom Aurelia had met a few times at official events. There was a glimmer of warmth in his smile whenever their eyes met, a subtle acknowledgement of shared frustration with the court. Aurelia quickly turned away, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t that she found him attractive—no, it was something more dangerous than that. It was the quiet recognition in his gaze, the understanding that she was more than just a figurehead. He saw her.

But of course, she could never act on such a thing. Not while Geta ruled.

The evening dragged on. Aurelia’s interactions with the other guests were formal, polite, as always. She engaged in conversation with senators, her words clipped but measured. Her smile was reserved for the public, and though she knew how to play the part, every moment of it felt like a lie. She couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in her own life.

When the banquet finally ended, and the guests slowly trickled out of the hall, Aurelia was left alone with Geta once again. He had barely spoken to her throughout the evening, consumed by his own concerns and the ongoing political games he was playing with the senators and generals.

She stood by the door as he moved to leave, her heart aching for something—anything—that could make her feel truly seen. But Geta didn’t notice. He never did.

“Aurelia,” he said, his voice distant, almost as though he were speaking to a servant. “Make sure your chambers are prepared tonight. I will be there shortly.”

Her heart clenched in her chest at the dismissal. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, her throat tight. But she nodded, as she always did. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

As Geta exited the room, Aurelia stood there, feeling smaller with each passing second. The silence enveloped her once again, the weight of the palace pressing in on her. There was no love here. There never had been. Only duty. Only the cold, suffocating politics of Rome.

In that moment, she realized the truth that had been building in her for so long: she was not loved here, not truly. She was an asset, a tool in a political game. She had tried, for a time, to win her husband’s affection, to find some way to warm his cold heart. But the effort had always been in vain.

Aurelia’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep her composure. The realization stung, but it was a sting she had grown accustomed to. In time, she would learn to wear the crown without longing for the affection it had failed to provide.

She turned and left the hall, her steps echoing in the empty corridors as she walked toward her chambers. Alone. 

Always alone.

The night had settled over Rome like a blanket, the cool evening air filtering through the open windows of the Imperial chambers. The palace was quiet now, the bustle of the court and the weight of their first day as rulers fading into the background. Aurelia  sat by the hearth, the soft glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face, her thoughts far from the polished, orderly world of politics and power that they had navigated earlier in the day.

Lucius Verus had long since retired to the other side of the room, taking a seat at the long table where scrolls and reports had been hastily abandoned. His cloak was discarded across a nearby chair, and the golden laurel wreath that signified his imperial authority sat forgotten on the table next to him. The informalities of the day had peeled away his usual stoic demeanor, and for the first time since their wedding, Aurelia saw him not as an emperor, but as a man—vulnerable, perhaps, but also strangely familiar and perhaps, relatable.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than she meant to. He had removed the tight formal tunic, his muscular frame now encased only in a tunic of simple linen, his dark hair messy from a long day of work and council meetings. He was still the warrior—he couldn’t shed that part of himself, not even when it was just the two of them. There was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected. Something raw, human. It was a side of him that made her feel less like a prisoner in this marriage and more like a partner, though the line was still delicate given the circumstances.

He caught her gaze, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers across the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to break it, to make the next move, to give a sign that they were no longer just husband and wife in the eyes of the Empire, but something more.

Aurelia looked away first, but not before she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t about duty, politics, or the Empire. It was just… him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator turned emperor, a man who had spent years fighting for survival, now standing on the edge of something he had never intended to find. Something neither of them had bargained for.

She pulled her gaze back to the fire, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The taste of it still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the ceremonial banquet they’d shared earlier. The lavish meal, the formal toasts, the endless speeches. Yet none of it felt real—not compared to this moment. This quiet, unscripted moment in the stillness of their chambers.

Lucius stood then, moving toward her, his bare feet silent on the marble floor. He didn’t speak right away, but his presence was enough. Every step he took felt like an unspoken challenge, a question hanging between them. What were they, really? Were they just two people forced into a marriage for the sake of an empire, or was there something else starting to bloom between them? Something fragile, maybe, but real?

"Do you ever think about how this all happened?" Lucius’s voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant, as though he were treading into dangerous territory. He paused beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "About the roles we’ve been given? About what we’ve lost to get here?"

Aurelia’s chest tightened at his words, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire, watching the flames dance, but the weight of his question settled heavily in her chest. It had been only a few days since their wedding, but it already felt like years. What had they lost? What had she lost? Her husband Geta. Her autonomy. Her dreams.

"Every day," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a small flicker of bitterness lacing the words. "I think about it all the time. The life I had before I married Geta, the things I thought I could control. And now... this." She gestured vaguely, indicating the palace, the crown, the empire that bound them both. "I was never supposed to be here still.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her closely, his gaze piercing in a way that made her feel as if he could see every one of her secrets. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the armrest of the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but not touching her. Yet, in the space between them, something shifted.

"We’re both here, Aurelia," Lucius said, his voice lower now, more intimate. "You might not have chosen it, but neither did I. I didn’t ask for any of this. But here we are. Together."

The words felt strange coming from him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator who had survived the worst of Rome’s brutality, the man who had fought his way to power for the honor of Rome. For all his bravado, there was something different in the way he spoke now. Vulnerable, perhaps, or just honest. It was a side of him that Aurelia hadn’t expected, a side of him that made her question everything she had believed about him.

She turned toward him then, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met again, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the anger that had been simmering in her since the day they were wed. Instead, there was something softer in her heart—a quiet understanding, maybe even a flicker of trust.

And, just like that, the distance between them felt smaller.

"You’re right," she said softly, her voice a little unsteady. "Here we are." Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, a smile that held no pretense, no obligation—just the fragile reality of two people trying to make sense of the mess they’d found themselves in. 

Lucius didn’t respond with words. He reached out, slowly, as though waiting for her to pull away, but when she didn’t, his fingers brushed gently against hers. The contact was light at first, tentative, as if they were both testing the waters, uncertain of what it would mean.

But in that touch, something unspoken passed between them. Something raw. Something real.

Her heart began to race, and she found herself leaning toward him before she could stop herself. He did the same, as if drawn to her by an invisible thread that neither of them could explain.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

Lucius’s lips were warm, his kiss slow at first, like the soft brush of a breeze across the skin. But then, as if the world had fallen away, it deepened, a kiss that was no longer just the joining of two people by duty, but the merging of something else—something fragile and tender and unexpected. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not yet. It was the kiss of two people who had been bound together by circumstance but were beginning to feel the stirrings of something more.

Aurelia’s breath hitched as she kissed him back, her hand rising to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She had no idea how this had happened, how this strange intimacy had unfolded between them in the quiet of the night. But she knew one thing—whatever they had been before, whatever had brought them here, this moment was theirs.

While it was only the second time they had shared this closeness, Aurelia felt like it was the thousandth.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Lucius’s blue eyes were dark with something she couldn’t quite place, but she saw it now: the vulnerability, the softness beneath the warrior’s armor.

"You never answered my question," he murmured, his voice low, his breath still warm on her skin, his lips brushing against hers. 

Aurelia smiled faintly, her hand still resting against his chest. "Which question?"

Lucius laughs, a genuine laugh that filled Aurelia’s heart with actual joy. “I don’t remember. Forgot all about it to be honest.”

For the first time since they’d met, Aurelia felt something she hadn’t expected. Hope.

And, as their lips met once again, she realized that, perhaps, this unexpected marriage—this strange partnership—wasn’t as much a prison as she had once thought.

[metalmanautoltd]

[metalmanauto]

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[moodymisty]

lowkey been thinking about the concept of Aqulian Shields with a charge that is deeply insecure about the protections given to them: a lowly imperial citizen. how are *they* meant to be important enough to warrant it? they have complete faith in the emperor, of course, but cannot fathom their own importance, do not understand that this is a galaxy where *they* are important.

(i.e. i need a very large man to praise me or i’ll die)

Ok i know requests are closed but like, this has been eating at my brain for days sorry for making you wait. Forgive this being very rough.

Relationships: Valerius Caledon(Aqulian shield oc)/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Reader is a lowly sort of seamstress/seamster? for a lord and doesn't understand their value, Low self esteem, Awkward pep talk from a custode

The fabric bolts on the table are scattered about uselessly, some unrolled from their bolts as you prepare to cut.

Getting them had been, an adventure.

You haven't gone that deep into public since Valerius started 'protecting' you. To be nothing one day and then to suddenly have a man covered in gold, one of the Emperor's finest watching your every move, it's overwhelming.

The man you'd gone to in order to buy the fabric you needed had simply let you have them for free, pushing them towards you. You may not have seen his face, but you knew that Valerius behind you had been watching the man's hands intently, when he got close. You're sure he only gave you it all without payment to get you and you Aqulian Shield far away from there.

You wonder how your lord will react when he get news of this upon his return. He'll surely be furious, that one of his random workers was bestowed one of the Emperor's greatest protectors and not himself.

You hold your cold metal scissors in your hands, and nearly get lost in the pattern of the fabric.

"Something is bothering you."

Valerius' voice is stoic and deep, no matter where you are in the room it sounds like he's nearly in your ear. You sigh.

"I just, I don't get it." You hear the thumping sound of him rounding you, until he stands at your front. He blocks a good portion of the window, and looks down on you with the same heavy, thinking expression you're already used to from him.

"Why me? I just, I don't get why you consider me worth protecting," You continue. "I only sew clothes for my lord and his lady, what is there about me that will help the Imperium?"

Valerius comes closer, leaning his spear against the wall for a moment; It is still within reach, just in case. Given you're sitting and his massive height he's forced to kneel in order to come close to eye level with you, but even then you have to look up slightly.

"When that day comes we will find out. Perhaps it might be months or years, but you will accomplish something of great importance. No matter your station." He hesitates for a moment before putting his hand on your knee, the massive gauntlet covering much of your leg.

"I will protect you with all I have until you reach that day, and then my duty is done." You smile and softly laugh.

"I'll miss you when you leave. I've been enjoying your company."

Valerius surprises you, as for the first time since he charged into your life, he gives a small smile.

"None of my charges have ever said that before."

That surprises you; He's amicable company, all things considered. Such as being unable to be rid of him. He's even offered his advice at times, though he's largely quiet. You've learned in those rare moments that his favorite color is clearly red.

"Well, I'm glad to be the first."

Valerius continues to smile, before removing his hand from your leg and rising back to his feet. You let out a breath of air and reach for your fabrics, deciding to get back to work while you feel his presence not far away.

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[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: This was supposed to make part of the Halloween event but it's more cutesy than scary. Ortho, my adorable son, I know he can be scary but like I can't seem to write it well lol

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere, fluff, gn!reader

“Ready or not, here I come!” Ortho’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful, echoing through the vast corridors of the STYX headquarters. You ducked behind an old, heavy curtain, the type of curtain one usually overlook, your pulse quickening as you tried to make yourself as small as possible.

Idia had upgraded Ortho's infrared and heat sensors, telling him to test them. And this was where you came in; playing hide and seek with the young robot so he could test them while Idia watched over you through the cameras and, if he was amused enough, he would tell you where to hide.

The faint whirring of Ortho’s mechanical parts grew louder, signaling his approach. You held your breath, hoping he’d pass by just this once, hoping you’d manage to stay hidden a little longer and win this round. But deep down, you knew it was futile. Ortho always found you. Always.

“Yuu-senpai” His singsong voice drifted closer, now laced with a faint, metallic echo. “Where could you be? Could you be hidden behind theeee couch? Oh, no. Ok. Could you be hidden inside the closeeet? Oh, also no."

You felt a bead of sweat trail down your neck, and as you shifted ever so slightly, the fabric of the curtain rustled. The sound was barely there, but Ortho’s sensors were incredibly sharp.

You knew it was over the moment his voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, there you are.”

Before you could react, the curtain was pulled aside, and there he stood, glowing eyes locking onto you with a triumphant gleam. “Found you!” He declared, beaming with pride. “You’re getting better, but I’m still the best, aren’t I?”

You chuckled, it was quite humiliating to lose every round to him but his smile and playful attitude were contagious. You offered a hug for yet another victory.

“You’re the best, buddy. You used to play a lot with Idia, didnt you?” Ortho chuckled softly while he rethought your question. Then he nodded.

“Idia os the best older brother one could ask for, he is very smart and funny too." Ortho was so sincere on his praise, his eyes sparkling while he talked about his brother. You resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks - uhh, the metal? - while he held your hands.

"Now, let's go. Even if all the phantoms are trapped, these corridors aren't that safe.” His eyes dimmed just a little, and he leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I’d be so sad if I lost you, you know?”

You squeezed his hand tight. “Sure, sweetie, lead the way.”

His smile returned, bright and innocent, as if all the heaviness had disappeared. "Not to worry, as long as you stay close, I’ll always be able to find you and protect you.” He tightened his grip on your hand just a fraction, leading you back to the main room.

For someone so young as he was, Ortho had a very strong sense of duty, without a doubt because of all games he played with Idia. It was kind of cute to see, yet you didn’t tell him that you were capable of dealing with those Phantoms on your own as you did months ago.

"Can we talk a break when we get to the control room?" You were not fond of continuing losing to him, even if it was adorable his little "yays", plus it's been awhile since you both started playing.

And Ortho nodded. He was just happy you were there spending time with him and his brother.

[askarsjustsoswedish]

GENERATION KILL - MILITARY TERMINOLOGY AND SLANG USED IN THE MINISERIES (Part 1, A-M)

// I've been reorganising my files I thought this may be useful for some GenKill fans. //

All rights HBO

For Immediate Release                                                          June 25, 2008

.50 Caliber:  the standard heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun used by U.S. forces since World War Two; aka “Fifty cal,” “the Fifty,” “M-2” and “Ma Deuce.”

5.56 Machine Gun Rounds:  the diameter of bullets in millimeters used by US forces in all rifles and light machine guns; aka “NATO rounds.”  Distinguished from Iraq’s Soviet standard military, which uses 7.62mm rounds in their weapons.

507 Maintenance:  U.S. Army unit that took a wrong turn into Nasariyah and was ambushed.  Note: This is best known as the unit to which Jessica Lynch belonged, though the platoon will not learn of Lynch by name, or her status as the most famous U.S. prisoner of war, until Part 3.

Alpha Company:  Bravo’s sister company in First Recon Battalion, commanded by the highly popular and respected Captain Patterson, the polar opposite of Bravo’s commander “Encino Man.”

America’s Shock Troops:  a catchphrase invoking Donald Rumsfeld’s plans of a lean, stripped-down invasion force modeled after German forces of WWII.  This is a deliberate reference to the German Shock Troops, the SS, used to spearhead blitzkriegs across France and Poland.  Ferrando takes pride in knowing his battalion will be the premiere shock-troop unit of the entire Marine Corps.

Amtrac:  a loud, ungainly amphibious vehicle used to transport Marines on the ground in Iraq; also used as a mobile fighting platform.

A-O (Area of Operations):  an A-O can be as large as all of Iraq or as small as the area around a Marines encampment.

Ass:  Marine slang for any weapon system or unit that packs a lot of fire power.  “We’re rolling with a lot of ass today” means “We will be accompanied by tanks or attack helicopters today.”

Assassin:  radio call sign for First Recon’s Alpha Company.  “Assassin Actual” is Alpha’s Company Commander, Captain Patterson.

Assault Through:  primary Marine tactic when encountering a close ambush, linked to the mantra drilled into every Marine since day one of boot camp when every Marine must repeat, “I am a Marine, and every Marine is a rifleman and a rifleman’s duty is to locate, close with, and destroy the enemy by fire...”  This is, in a nutshell, the doctrine of the entire U.S. Marine Corps.

AT4 Rocket:  the ubiquitous anti-tank rocket carried by Marine ground forces.  Fired from a self-contained plastic tube about a meter long and weighing just a few kilos, it can destroy a heavy tank.  During the Iraq invasion most AT4s are fired into Iraqi homes to clear out potential enemy forces.

Atropine injector:  atropine is a chemical that counteracts certain nerve agents.  Atropine injectors are issued to troops who expect to be preparing or receiving chemical attacks, and in this instance, Iraqis.

Attriting:  to wear down; verb version of “attrition,” peculiar to the military.

B.R.C. (Basic Reconnaissance Course):  the school a Marine must attend and graduate from to become a Recon Marine; the most sought-after training course in the Corps.  Only about one percent of all Marines qualify to enter B.R.C. and half of those who enter fail to complete it.

Battalion Commander:  Lt. Colonel Stephen Ferrando, commander of the 370-man strong First Recon Battalion, call sign “Godfather.”

Beanies:  black-knitted watch caps typically worn by sailors.  A powerful status symbol; only Recon Marines are allowed to wear them within the First Division.

Belt-fed:  excited; refers to linked rounds fed through a machine gun.  Can also be used an intensifier, as in, “That guy is a belt-fed son of a bitch,” i.e., a real son of a bitch.

Blouse his boots:  to tuck pants-legs into the tops of one’s boots and keep them in place by wrapping a metal spring around the fabric just below the boot-top; part of Ferrando’s hated Grooming Standard.  Not only are the springs used in the boot blousing uncomfortable, blousing one’s boot ensures that all the ambient sand will pour directly into the wearer’s boot.

Blue Force Tracking Antenna:  an antenna for the Blue Force Tracker, a new computerized mapping system that – when it occasionally works properly – identifies the locations of all “blue,” or friendly, forces and the locations of all known “red,” or enemy. forces.  Locations of such forces across the entire Middle East are updated every 30 seconds.  Sgt. Colbert possesses one of only a handful Blue Force Trackers in the entire battalion.

Boonie Cap:  a standard issue floppy field hat, like a camouflaged version of the hat worn by Gilligan on “Gilligan’s Island”;  aka soft cover.

Bound past:  “bounding” is a specific form of maneuver favored by the Marine Corps, employed by two-man fire teams or the entire division.

Buck Fever:  too quick to identify threats; a hunting term that comes from the expression to “put buck’s horns on a doe,” i.e., seeing a valid target when there is none.

Butterfly Trigger:  a safety trigger that requires two thumbs to actuate.

C.G. (Commanding General):  always means General Mattis, Commanding General of the First Marine Division, when these Marines use the phrase.

C.O. (Commanding Officer):  usually applied to the Battalion Commander (Maj. or Lt. Col.), or less frequently the Company Commander (Capt.), but never to a Platoon Commander (Lieut.).

C.O.I., freqs covered, freqs plain:  Encryption lingo necessary to operate radios.

“Captain America”:  derisive nickname for Capt. Dave McGraw, commander of Bravo’s Third Platoon, sister platoon to the heroes in Second Platoon.  Note:  Although Captain America is a rank above Lt. Fick, as commanders of respective sister platoons they are peers with one another.

Cas-evac:  casualty evacuation; similar to the older phrase med-evac.  Cas-evac technically means an evacuation in a combat zone of a patient who has not yet been stabilized, but it’s become the cool way to say any form of medical evacuation.

“Casey Kasem”:  a mocking nickname applied to Gunnery Sgt. Ray Griego, Encino Man’s aide de camp, based on the smarmy host of the Top 40 radio show and the voice of Shaggy in the original “Scooby Doo!” cartoon series.

Charms:  brand name of a hard candy provided to U.S. troops in the meal rations, but seldom consumed due to the belief that they produce bad luck.

Cleared hot:  given permission to fire your weapon by a superior.

Cobra Gunship:  armored helicopter used only by U.S. Marines,  unique because Cobras work in extremely close proximity to Marine ground forces.

Col. Joe Dowdy:  Commander of Regimental Combat Team One, popular among his troops for his reputation of caring about their welfare.  Later relieved of his command by General Mattis for not being aggressive enough and risking his troops to achieve battlefield goals.

Command Vehicle:  Lt. Fick’s Humvee, configured like a pick-up truck with a canvas covering.

Completely outside of what First Recon does:  this battalion is trained to swim or parachute behind enemy lines, not to drive into attacks in Humvees.  Their motto is “Swift Silent Deadly.”

Condition One:  a verb that means to put one’s weapon on red con one; rack a round into your chamber.

Contact:  a visual or physical encounter with enemy forces, said when you either see them or they start shooting at you.

Cyclone:  fierce swirls of dust common to Iraq, which dance across landscape and in some cases will collide with a person, tent or vehicle.  They range in height from a few meters to several hundred meters; aka dust devils.

D.C.U. (Desert Camouflage Uniform):  any field garment with desert camouflage.

DASC and DASC-A:  Direct Air Support Communications headquarters, with one based on the ground and one based in an AWACs plane.

Deck:  keeping with their nautical tradition, anything Marines stand on is the deck, be it on a ship, the desert or the floor of a tent.

Delta Company:  a company of reservist Recon Marines expected to be attached to First Recon Battalion.  Delta will prove to be a bunch of under-trained, overzealous, poorly equipped cops-on-leave and office guys who know nothing about war.

Deuce Gear:  a web of straps and hooks worn as an outer garment, to which one affixes extra gear such as ammo packs and canteens; aka Load Bearing Vest or L.B.V.

Devil Dog:  a Marine.

Dip:  smokeless tobacco used by American fighting forces; a dip is a quantity of tobacco placed between one’s lips and gums.  To dip is the habit of consuming smokeless tobacco.

Donkey Dicks:  venerable Marine Corps term for a variety of phallic-shaped implements from engine hoses, to gas can funnels, to cleaning brushes for large mortar tubes.

“Echo Four Lima”:  refers to Corporal Lilley, whose pay-grade is “E-4” and whose last name begins with “L.”  In radio code phonetics, he becomes “Echo Four Lima.”  Sergeant Colbert, whose pay grade is “E-5,” would become “Echo Five Charlie” over the radio.

“Encino Man”:  Captain Craig Schwetje, Commander of Bravo Company, Lt. Fick’s immediate superior officer; the nickname is a reference to the dim-witted Neanderthal hero of the film “Encino Man.”  This Encino Man is a former football star, none too bright, with an ape-like face:  he is also referred to in phonetic alphabet code, in which “Encino Man” is changed to “Echo Mike.”

Enlisted Tent: Area where privates through to sergeants sleep.  The senior non-commissioned officers such as Staff Sergeants, Gunnery Sergeants, Master Sergeants and the Sergeant Major are technically of the enlisted ranks, and occupy an elite position somewhere between sergeants and officers.

Ephedra:  over-the-counter diet pills, now banned by Marines as a speed-like stimulant.

E-tool:  a collapsible shovel carried by all Marines; short for “Excavation-tool.”

F.O.:  Forward Observer; anyone spotting targets for Iraqi or insurgent forces.

Fedayeen:  a Baathist paramilitary unit trained in guerrilla tactics and established by Saddam Hussein’s son in the 1990s to infiltrate and terrorize the Shia populace, but in the current conflict, arrayed against the American invasion, they are also referred to generically as “insurgents.”

Fiddies:  fifties, i.e., .50 cal. machine guns; former ghetto car repo man Espera uses the gangsta counting system in which “fiddie” equals 50, a “buck” or a “hundo” equals a hundred, a “deuce” equals either two or two-hundred, a “grand” equals a thousand, etc.

Flak jacket:  a heavy yet flexible shrapnel-resistant vest.

Foot-mobile:  a person on foot.

Forty Mike-Mike:  40 millimeter; refers to either an individual 40mm self-propelled grenade round or the weapon that launches them, such as the M-19.

Foshizzle…Hajizzle:  a goof on Snoop Dogg’s hip-hop lingo to mean “for sure” and “Haji.”

Free-balling:  not wearing underpants.

Fucking Sixta:  Sgt. Maj. John Sixta, Sergeant Major for this battalion;  aka “The Fucking Retard,” “Mister Potato Head,” “The Coward of Khafji.”  His role and actions both dictate that he is despised by enlisted men.

Get some:  to “get some” means to do any thing really cool like run a fast mile or kill someone.  [Mo here: I’ve removed one extremely graphic sentence here, which basically says that the term can also apply to sexual conquest.] [O]ften used as an exclamation or cheer.  Latino Marines use the Spanish “Chingaso” and whites have adopted it, so “Get some!” and “Chingaso!” are interchangeable.

Godfather:  call sign of Lt. Col. Ferrando, as well as his battalion.  Ferrando earned the call sign because his vocal chords were removed after a bout with cancer, causing him to speak like Marlon Brando in the noted film.  Note:  Godfather often speaks of himself in the third person:  instead of saying, “I think…,” he will say, “Godfather thinks…”

Grape Beverage Base:  grape juice powder; the name printed on the packaging in the military rations.  Used by Marines rather than the more familiar civilian term.

The Grooming Standard:  not to be confused with Marine Corps standard grooming regulations, the Grooming Standard is Battalion Commander Ferrando’s much more exacting dress and grooming code for those who serve under him.

 G-Shock Wristwatch:  the popular xtreme sports watch, as essential to Marine fashion as Oakley sunglasses.

H & S Company:  the Headquarters and Supply company.  More than half the 370 men in the battalion belong to H & S, responsible for supporting the “line companies” or combat units, made up of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Companies.

Habudabi:  a nickname for Arabs.

Haji:   an Iraqi or Arab or Muslim of any ethnicity, from the Arabic “Haji,” which is the honorific term for anyone who has made the trip to Mecca, the Haj.  Most Americans who use the term Haji are probably not referring to that pilgrimage, but to the once-popular children’s cartoon show “Johnny Quest,” in which the white boy hero’s turban-wearing sidekick was named Haji.  Not necessarily a pejorative term, Haji may be used as an adjective to describe anything Middle Eastern, e.g., Iraq’s customary flat bread is referred to as “Haji bread” or “Haji tortillas.”

Hardball:  paved road, as opposed to unpaved.

Herringbone:  to halt a convoy of vehicles at a 45-degree angle to the axis of a highway, much like the pattern of fishbones.  Herringbone can be used as a noun or verb.

Hitman Two:  “Hitman” is the radio call sign for Bravo Company and “Two” refers to second platoon, one of three platoons in the company.  “Hitman” can refer to the actual company commander of Bravo or the company itself.  All units have call-signs, rather like official nicknames, which are used in radio communications.  For example, General Mattis, commander of all Marine ground forces in Iraq, is “Chaos.”

Hitman Two One Actual:  Bravo Company’s Second Platoon Team One Leader, Sergeant Colbert.  While “Hitman Two One” refers to the entire team, “Actual” means the actual commander.  “Hitman Two” refers to all of Bravo Second Platoon, but “Hitman Two Actual” is the platoon commander, Lt. Fick.  In addition, “The Actual,” or commander, is also referred to as “The Zero.”

“I glassed it:”  “I viewed the object through binoculars or a rifle scope.”

“I got your six”:  “I’ve got your back”; from the clock point in which the hour of six is at the bottom of the dial, if you were oriented toward the 12 hour.  “On your three” would indicate something or someone on your immediate right.  “On your four” would indicate something or something on your right and slightly behind you.

I.A. (Immediate Action):  whatever you train to do when the shit hits the fan.

Javelin Team:  two Marines who carry and operate a powerful anti-tank missile called a “Javelin.”

K-bar:  a knife carried by Marines.

Kevlar:  a helmet; while civilians know Kevlar as the brand-name of a bullet resistant material, Marines refer to their Kevlar helmets simply as Kevlars.  Note:  Even though flak jackets are also made of Kevlar, they are never referred to as such.

Kill Zone, Kill Box:  the area where the enemy hopes to direct, channel and trap you in order to kill you, or where you hope to do the same to him.

L.A.V.’s (Light Armored Vehicle):  used only by the Marine Corps;  amphibious, eight-wheeled machines that look like upside-down bathtubs painted black.

L.O.D. (Line of Departure):  the border between Kuwait and Iraq.

Leatherman:  the all-in-one pliers, screwdriver and knife tool carried by Marines.

The L.T.:  nickname for a Lieutenant.  Note:  A specific lieutenant or other commanding officer is often also referred to as “The Sir.”

M.R.E.:  Meal Ready to Eat; standard military fare, food manufactured a decade ago and served as a complete, self-heating meal in a plastic bag.

M.S.R. Eight:  Main Supply Route Eight; any paved road is typically referred to as an “M.S.R.”

M.S.R. Tampa:  Main Supply Route Tampa.  Not only are roads designated M.S.R.s,  but American military planners have also given them names that will be easier for U.S. troops to pronounce than Arabic ones.

M-19:  a heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun that fires armor-penetrating grenades instead of bullets; AKA MK-19, Mark-19, and Forty Mike-Mike.

M-249 SAW:  hand-held or bipod-mountable machine gun common to U.S. forces.  “SAW” stands for Squad Automatic Weapon and fires at a rate of 750 rounds per minute.  Notoriously easy to discharge by accident, hence Marine folklore:  “The SAW’s got a mind of its own, it wants to kill a motherfucker.”

M-4:  rifle carried by most recon Marines; similar to the standard U.S.-military M-16, but with a shortened barrel and collapsible stock.  Note:  Officers and POGs carry M-16s.  (2-3)

M-40:  standard, bolt action Marine sniper rifle.

Mathilda:  Northern Kuwait camp where these Marines stayed, with about 5,000 others, in the weeks before the invasion.

MOPP:  a nuclear, biological chemical protection suit; stands for Mission Oriented Protective Posture.  Can be an adjective, as in “we were MOPPED-up,” or “wearing our MOPP suits.”

Moto:  from motivational, anything that expresses the highly-motivated spirit of Marines.  Shouting “Get Some!” is a moto thing to do.  Moto films are the small movies and slide shows Marines make documenting the crazy things they see in this war.

Mud:  the white supremacist term for a non-white individual.