#COPPER COIL WEIGHT CALCULATOR

[nexuscopperpvtltd]

COPPER COIL

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Corrosion Resistance: Copper's natural resistance to corrosion enhances the longevity and durability of copper coils, reducing maintenance costs and ensuring long-term performance.

Malleability and Ductility: These properties make copper easy to work with, allowing for the creation of coils in various shapes and sizes to meet specific requirements.

Applications of Copper Coils

Copper coils are integral to numerous industries, each utilizing their unique properties for optimized performance:

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Conclusion

Copper coils are a testament to the remarkable properties of copper and its indispensable role in modern technology and industry. From electrical engineering to HVAC systems, their applications are vast and varied. Nexus Copper Pvt. Ltd. remains at the forefront of copper coil production, ensuring that industries worldwide have access to high-quality, reliable copper coils. Our dedication to excellence and sustainability sets us apart, making us a trusted partner in the ever-evolving industrial landscape.

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Final ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

The choice is yours ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Shattered Reflections‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 8k+ [Final Part] ☆ TW: fluff ☆ Author's Note: I figured I couldn't drag this series out forever, and everything must come to an end; but, I like happy endings(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

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The interrogation room housing Angstrom Levy resembled a surgical theater designed by someone with a fondness for medieval torture.

Clinical steel surfaces reflected the harsh, pulsing light that cast everything in a sickly pallor, transforming even the smallest droplets of blood into obsidian pools against the metallic backdrop. The air tasted of copper and ozone—a potent cocktail of bodily fluids and dimensional energy that clung to the back of Y/N's throat like a physical presence.

Y/N stood in the doorway, hair still damp from her shower, wearing a spare flight suit she'd found in the quarters. The material felt foreign against her skin—too tight in some places, too loose in others, as if her body had somehow been fundamentally altered by recent events. Perhaps it had been. The fabric caught on the tender marks Sinister had left behind, each small pain a reminder of choices made and boundaries crossed.

Nine pairs of eyes turned toward her as she entered—Nine identical faces bearing the unmistakable features of Mark Grayson yet transformed by circumstance and tragedy into something distinctly other. Eight variations of the same man, each carrying the ghost of a woman who wore her face but wasn't her. The weight of their collective gaze pressed against her like a physical force, threatening to crush her renewed resolve before it had fully formed.

Angstrom Levy hung suspended in the center of the room, dimensional energy crackling around the restraints that had been fashioned from components of his own machinery. His body was a ruined testament to the variants' interrogation methods—limbs hanging at unnatural angles, one arm nearly detached at the shoulder, the other missing entirely. His legs were little more than mangled flesh held together by hastily applied medical equipment. Tubes and wires penetrated his torso at multiple points, machinery pumping fluids into what remained of his body, the only thing keeping him alive. His face was swollen beyond recognition, blood dripping steadily from his bloodshot eyes, the tissue bruised and swollen from whatever methods the variants had employed to extract information. 

Despite his obvious suffering, his eyes gleamed with malevolent intelligence as they fixed on Y/N—knowing, calculating, as if he alone understood some cosmic joke at their expense. "The guest of honor arrives," he rasped, voice scraping like sandpaper across raw nerves. Blood dripped from his bloodshot eyes, tracing the contour of his chin before dropping to join the constellation of similar stains on the floor beneath him. "How was your... dimensional detour?"

Mohawk Mark lunged forward, the fluorescent lights catching on the blue accents of his suit as his muscled form coiled with violent intent. "Shut your fucking mouth before I tear out what's left of your tongue," he snarled.

"Unnecessary," Omni Mark interjected, his eyes, only partially hidden behind dark lenses, never left Y/N's face. "He's already told us what we need to know."

Y/N stepped fully into the room, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of their attention. The spare flight suit whispered against her skin as she moved, the sound almost deafening in the sudden silence. "And what exactly is that?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Viltrumite Mark moved toward her, his white suit was somehow untouched by the brutality evident throughout the room. When he stood before her, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze—a reminder of her physical vulnerability despite the Viltrumite strength flowing through her veins.

"You're not what you think you are," he said, his voice softer than expected. Something in his expression shifted—the imperious mask slipping for the briefest moment to reveal an emotion too complex to name. He raised a hand to her face, the immaculate white of his glove a stark contrast against her skin as he brushed a stray droplet of water from her temple.

The touch was feather-light, yet Y/N felt it reverberate through her entire being. Her breath caught in her throat, heart skipping traitorously at the tenderness so at odds with the violence permeating the air around them.

"What are you talking about?" she managed, fighting to maintain her composure beneath the warmth of his palm.

A wet chuckle from Angstrom drew their attention back to the center of the room. "Tell her," he urged, eyes gleaming with malicious delight despite his battered condition. "Tell her what makes her so special. Why every version of Mark Grayson across the multiverse seems destined to orbit her like moths around a flame."

Phantom Mark stepped forward, the same expressionless mask hiding whatever emotions might be playing across his features."You're not just a human injected with Viltrumite DNA," he said, his voice distorted yet somehow gentle through the mask's filter. "You're a constant."

"A what?" Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion.

Emperor Mark's lip curled with disdain as he gestured toward Angstrom. "According to our friend here, certain elements repeat across the multiverse—fixed points around which reality organizes itself." 

"You are one such element."

"In every universe," Lensless Mark contributed, his voice pitchingin an octave higher, with the dried blood flaking from his knuckles, "there exists a version of you. And in every universe—" His voice faltered, a shadow passing across his youthful features.

"In every universe, you die," Prisoner Mark finished bluntly, the scarred tissue of his face pulling tight as he spoke. "Horribly. Tragically. Usually because of him." He jerked his burned chin toward Mohawk Mark, who flinched as if physically struck.

"Not just because of me," Mohawk growled, the aggression in his voice barely masking something more vulnerable beneath. His mohawk seemed to droop slightly, as if the weight of accumulated guilt had physical mass. "Because of all of us. Because of what we are..."

"What are you?" Y/N challenged, her voice stronger now, fed by the confusion and frustration bubbling beneath her surface.

"Destroyers," Sinister Mark's voice slithered from the shadows. He leaned against a far wall, his yellow and black suit now mostly intact thanks to hasty repairs. Though his face showed evidence of the beating he'd received—a purpling bruise along his jaw, split lip still glistening with fresh blood—his customary smirk remained firmly in place. 

"It's what we do best, dove. We break things. Sometimes planets. Sometimes people." His eyes glinted behind his cracked lenses. "Sometimes hearts."

Y/N refused to look away from his knowing gaze, refused to acknowledge the heat that crept up her neck at the memory. "I don't believe in destiny," she stated firmly. "Or cosmic constants. I make my own choices."

"Do you?" No-Mask Mark asked quietly, his unprotected face revealing every nuance of his skepticism. "When we found you, you were under GDA mind control. When we released you, you fell into our orbit. When separated from us, you immediately formed a connection with—" He stopped himself, unable to voice the obvious conclusion.

"With me," Sinister finished for him, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Face it, dove. You're drawn to us. All versions of us. It's written into the fabric of reality itself."

"That's enough," Omni Mark commanded, his quiet authority somehow more compelling than Mohawk's explosive rage or Emperor's imperious demands. He moved to stand between Y/N and Sinister, his tall frame effectively blocking her view of the yellow-suited variant. "What matters isn't why Y/N exists in every universe. What matters is what happens next."

Y/N looked up at him, struck by the intensity burning behind his composed exterior. Of all the variants, Omni Mark remained the most enigmatic—his emotions controlled yet somehow more authentic for their restraint. When he looked at her, she felt seen in a way that transcended the physical—as if those eyes behind dark lenses could perceive every layer of her being and found value in each one.

"Angstrom has given us the means to travel between dimensions," he continued, his gaze never leaving her face. "Each of us must choose our path forward."

Viltrumite Mark's hand, still resting against her cheek, dropped to her shoulder. The touch remained gentle despite the strength she knew those fingers possessed—strength enough to crush diamonds, to tear steel like paper, to break bones with the slightest pressure. Yet against her skin, they were nothing but warmth and comfort.

"Some of us have already chosen," he said softly, his thumb tracing a small circle against the fabric covering her collarbone. The simple gesture sent shivers cascading down her spine, her body responding to his touch with embarrassing immediacy.

From his suspended position, Angstrom laughed—a wet, gurgling sound that sprayed fine droplets of blood into the air around him. "So noble," he mocked. "So self-sacrificing. Tell me, Viltrumite, will you share that choice with her? Or will you let her believe the lie a little longer?"

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, disdain replacing the tenderness that had softened his features moments before. "Silence," he commanded.

Y/N stepped back from his touch, sudden suspicion clouding her features. "What is he talking about? What choice?"

The variants exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that excluded her despite being its subject. The air in the room grew heavier, charged with unspoken truths and fragile alliances on the verge of shattering.

"Tell her," Sinister urged from his position against the wall, his voice thick with something that might have been concern if it came from anyone else. "Or I will."

Omni Mark sighed, a sound so human and vulnerable that it momentarily stripped away his aura of controlled power. "The portals Angstrom creates aren't stable," he explained, turning to face Y/N fully. "Moving between dimensions fractures reality—tears at the fabric holding the multiverse together." (guys, this is real shit here 😎).

"With each jump," Phantom Mark continued, his masked face tilted slightly as if sharing a regrettable truth, "the damage compounds. Eventually, the barriers between worlds will collapse entirely."

"Universal annihilation," Emperor Mark concluded. "Not just our worlds. All worlds. Everything."

Y/N's mind struggled to process the magnitude of what they were describing. "But you've been jumping between dimensions this entire time," she said, her voice faint with realization. "The Invincible War—all those portals—"

"Have already caused incalculable damage," Viltrumite Mark confirmed, his imperial bearing now tinged with genuine regret. "We didn't know. Not until we forced Angstrom to explain why the portals were becoming increasingly unstable."

"There's only one solution," Omni Mark said quietly. His hand reached for hers, enveloping her smaller fingers in a gentle grip that offered support without demanding reciprocation. "We must return to our original dimensions and seal the pathways behind us. Permanently."

The implications crashed over Y/N like a physical wave. "You're leaving," she whispered, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. Despite everything—despite the chaos and violence they had brought into her life, despite Sinister's betrayal and the conflicting emotions they all evoked—the thought of losing them carved a hollow space beneath her ribs.

"Not all of us," Mohawk Mark interjected, stepping forward with hesitation. The blue accents of his suit seemed dimmer somehow, as if reflecting his subdued mood. "Someone has to stay in this dimension. To..." He faltered, searching for words that wouldn't sound like abandonment.

"To close the door behind us," Prisoner Mark finished for him, scarred hands flexing at his sides as if already preparing for combat. "Someone has to ensure Angstrom never opens another portal. Ever."

Understanding dawned like a cold sunrise. "You're going to kill him," Y/N stated flatly.

"Not immediately," Emperor Mark clarified, examining his immaculate gloves with studied nonchalance. "First, he'll send each of us home. Then..." He shrugged, the regal gesture somehow making the implied violence more disturbing.

"And one of you will stay behind," Y/N concluded, eyes scanning their faces—identical yet uniquely marked by their individual journeys through pain and power. "In this dimension. With me."

The silence that followed carried the weight of worlds. These men—these variations of Mark Grayson—had fought across dimensions for her, had shattered realities to find her, had nearly killed each other over her. And now, all but one would vanish back into the multiverse, leaving her with a single version of the man who had become the center of her existence whether she wished it or not.

"The question is," Sinister pushed away from the wall, moving with predatory grace despite his injuries, "which one stays and which ones go?" His smile was all teeth and challenge as his gaze swept the assembled variants before landing on Y/N. "Care to choose, dove? Or shall we fight it out the old-fashioned way?"

Before anyone could respond, the entire structure shuddered around them. Lights flickered erratically, casting the room in strobing patterns of illumination and shadow. A distant boom resonated through the metal flooring, vibrating up through Y/N's feet and into her bones.

Lensless Mark darted to a console, fingers flying over blood-spattered keys. "Perimeter breach," he announced, childlike enthusiasm returning as he read the scrolling data, “Angstroms base has been discovered.”

"The GDA found us," No-Mask Mark concluded grimly. "They're coming for you, Y/N. For all of us."

"How appropriate," Angstrom wheezed from his suspended position, eyes gleaming with malevolent delight despite his battered condition. "Your time runs out just as reality itself begins to fracture. Poetic, wouldn't you say?"

Omni Mark's grip on Y/N's hand tightened fractionally—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground her in the moment. When she looked up at him, she found his normally composed features animated with an urgency that sent her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

"We need to move," he stated, voice calm despite the chaos erupting around them. "This facility won't withstand a concentrated GDA assault."

"Let them come," Mohawk snarled, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging along his forearms as his more volatile nature reasserted itself. "I'll tear them apart molecule by fucking molecule."

"And risk Y/N in the process?" Viltrumite Mark challenged, stepping protectively closer to her, "Think beyond your rage for once."

Another explosion rocked the structure, this one closer than the last. Dust filtered down from overhead conduits, dancing in the irregular light like microscopic snowflakes. Somewhere in the distance, alarms began to wail—a mechanical banshee heralding approaching doom.

Y/N pulled her hand from Omni Mark's grasp, a new determination hardening inside her. "I need answers," she insisted, turning toward Angstrom with purpose in her stride. "Before this place comes down around us. Before any of you leave."

Angstrom regarded her with amused disdain, his mangled body twitching slightly as he struggled to maintain consciousness through the pain. "What would you like to know, my dear? How many versions of you I've seen die? How many versions of him—" he jerked his chin toward the assembled variants, "—I've watched break apart in grief?"

Y/N stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated by his mockery. "Why me? Why do I exist in every universe? What makes me a constant?"

Angstrom's lips stretched into a smile that held no warmth. "Haven't you guessed? It's not you that's the constant—it's what you represent." His eyes gleamed with malicious intelligence. "Loss. Grief. The catalyst that transforms heroes into monsters."

Behind her, Y/N heard one of the variants inhale sharply—a sound like pain given voice. She didn't turn to see which one. Her focus remained locked on Angstrom's bruised face, searching for truth among his calculated cruelties.

"In every universe," Angstrom continued, clearly relishing his role as narrator of their tragic tale, "Mark Grayson loves you. And in every universe, he loses you. Sometimes to violence. Sometimes to disease. Sometimes—" his gaze flicked briefly to the variants, "—because of their own failure to protect what they claims to cherish."

The room fell silent save for the distant alarms and the creaking of the structure around them. Y/N's mind raced, trying to process the implications of what Angstrom was suggesting. If she truly was destined to die in every universe—if her loss was the fixed point around which these men's descent into darkness orbited—then what hope did any of them have for a different outcome?

"You're lying," she whispered, but uncertainty colored her voice.

Angstrom's laugh was wet and hollow. "Am I? Ask them. Ask them what happened to their Y/N. Ask them if they could have saved her, if only they'd been faster, stronger, smarter." His eyes glittered with malevolent delight. "Ask them if they still hear her screams when they close their eyes at night."

A hand settled on Y/N's shoulder—warm, solid, grounding her before she could spiral further into the abyss Angstrom was crafting with his words. She didn't need to look to know it was Omni Mark; something in the gentle strength of his touch was unmistakably his.

"Enough," he said, not to her but to Angstrom. The single word carried such authority that even Angstrom's mocking smile faltered momentarily. "You've had your fun. Now you'll send us home, one by one, as promised."

"And if I refuse?" Angstrom challenged, though his bravado seemed thinner now, worn away by pain and the inexorable approach of GDA forces.

"Then you die now instead of later," Sinister stated simply, stepping forward with deadly grace. The yellow and black of his suit seemed to absorb and reflect the flickering lights simultaneously, creating an almost hypnotic effect as he moved. "And we take our chances with the collapsing multiverse."

Another explosion rocked the facility, close enough now that Y/N could feel the heat of it against her skin. The lights failed completely for several seconds before emergency systems kicked in, bathing everything in a blood-red glow that transformed the interrogation room into something from a nightmare—all harsh shadows and crimson highlights that made even familiar faces seem suddenly alien.

"It seems our time grows short," Emperor Mark observed with aristocratic calm that belied the urgency of their situation. He turned to Y/N, his bearing momentarily softening as he regarded her. "We must make our decisions now. There is no more time for deliberation."

Y/N looked around at the assembled variants—these different versions of the same man, each shaped by tragedy and power into something unique yet fundamentally connected. In the red emergency lighting, they appeared more similar than ever despite their different suits and facial features—united by a singular focus that both terrified and thrilled her.

"How do we decide?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos erupting around them. "Who stays and who goes?"

"I stay," Mohawk insisted immediately, stepping forward. The blue accents of his suit appeared almost black in the crimson light, his mohawk casting a jagged shadow across his determined features. "In my world, I couldn't save her. I won't fail again."

He moved closer to Y/N, his usual aggression melting into something more vulnerable as he reached for her. His fingers, adorned with the faint traces of dried blood that no amount of washing seemed able to remove, hesitated in the air between them—as if uncertain of his right to touch her after his earlier failures. When Y/N didn't pull away, he gently cupped her face, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone with surprising tenderness.

"I watched her die," he confessed, voice so low that only Y/N could hear the words. "I was foolish, careless not paying attention when she pushed me out of the way of the bullet, taking my placce—" His voice cracked, adam's apple bobbing violently as he swallowed back the memory. "I won't leave you. Not again. Not ever."

Before Y/N could respond, Viltrumite Mark stepped forward, his white suit now stained crimson by the emergency lights, transforming his regal appearance into something more sinister. "Your impulsiveness is what got your Y/N killed," he stated coldly. "I have the discipline and strength to protect her properly."

He moved with grace to stand at Y/N's other side, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back—a gesture that nonetheless sent warmth cascading through her nervous system. The heat of his palm penetrated the flight suit material as if it weren't there, his touch both protective and possessive in a way that made her breath catch.

"In my world," he said, leaning down to speak near her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple, "I could have saved her if I hadn't been away securing the empire's borders. I've built a world where she would want for nothing, where her safety would be guaranteed by my command." His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke, not quite a kiss but something equally intimate. "Let me give you that world, Y/N. Let me give you everything I couldn't give her."

"You have a fucking empire to run," Prisoner Mark sneered, the scarred tissue of his face appearing even more grotesque in the red glow. "You'll take her back to your world and make her another ornament in your collection."

"I've already tasted what she offers," Sinister interjected, tongue darting out to moisten his split lip in a gesture that sent unwelcome heat spiraling through Y/N's core despite her best intentions. "The choice is obvious."

The argument might have descended into violence then—tension crackling between the variants like physical electricity—if not for a soft sound that cut through their posturing with startling effectiveness. It took Y/N a moment to realize the sound had come from her own throat—a small, broken laugh that contained equal parts hysteria and clarity.

"You're still doing it," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Even now, with reality literally crumbling around us, you're fighting over me like I'm a prize to be won. Like I don't have any say in my own fate."

The variants fell silent, varying degrees of shame and defiance playing across their identical-yet-different features. In the red glow of emergency lighting, they seemed almost like apparitions—blood-stained specters of a man she had never truly known but somehow felt connected to on a cellular level.

"You're right," Omni Mark acknowledged, his composure slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable beneath. In the crimson light, the gray portions of his suit appeared almost black, the red accents blending seamlessly with the emergency illumination as if he were dissolving into the bloodied atmosphere. "The choice should be yours. It has always been yours."

He stepped forward, but unlike the others, he maintained a respectful distance, offering his presence without demanding her attention. It was this—this quiet recognition of her autonomy—that drew Y/N's gaze to him more powerfully than any possessive touch or passionate declaration could have.

He removed his dark lenses, revealing eyes so filled with grief and tenderness that Y/N felt her own vision blur in response. "I learned then that love isn't possession or protection. It's presence. It's choosing to stay even when there's nothing you can do but witness." His gaze never wavered from hers, unwavering in its gentle intensity. "Whatever you decide, Y/N, I will honor it. Because that's what I couldn't do for her—give her the freedom to choose her own path, even at the end."

Y/N looked at him—really looked at him—and something shifted inside her chest. Of all the variants, Omni Mark alone had never tried to claim her, had never spoken of ownership or destiny. He had been there when she needed healing, offering soft kisses and gentle touches during those fragile moments after the war began, never taking more than she offered, never demanding what she couldn't give. He had offered support without demanding reciprocation, protection without requiring submission. He had seen her not as a replacement for someone lost but as herself—flawed, confused, but ultimately her own person.

Before she could voice this realization, the entire structure shuddered violently. The sound of groaning metal filled the air as support beams began to give way under repeated assault. Through the walls, they could hear the distinctive whine of GDA energy weapons powering up—the sound heralding imminent destruction.

"No more time," Phantom Mark stated, his masked face turning toward Angstrom. "Begin the transfers. Now."

Angstrom's body convulsed slightly as he channeled what remained of his power, dimensional energy crackling around him as he focused his power. "As you wish," he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. "Who's first to abandon her?"

The question hung in the air, loaded with implications that made Y/N's heart constrict painfully in her chest. Despite everything—despite the chaos and danger these men had brought into her life—the thought of watching them disappear one by one into the multiverse carved a hollow space beneath her ribs.

"I'll go," Emperor Mark stated, stepping forward with dignity. He turned to Y/N, regal bearing momentarily softening as he regarded her. "In another life, perhaps..." He didn't finish the thought, merely inclined his head in a gesture that somehow conveyed more genuine respect than any of his previous interactions.

Angstrom's eyes gleamed with concentration as dimensional energy coalesced around his suspended form. A portal began to form—not the violent tear they had witnessed before, but something more controlled, its edges defined and stable. Through its swirling depths, Y/N caught glimpses of a world both familiar and alien—Earth, but an Earth where Viltrumite banners flew from every building and the Imperial sigil adorned every surface.

Emperor Mark moved toward it without hesitation, his stride confident despite the decision's finality. At the portal's threshold, he paused, turning back one last time. "He was right, you know," he said, gaze fixed on Y/N. "About us hearing your screams at night. About failing you in every universe." A muscle twitched beneath his left eye—the only betrayal of emotion on his otherwise composed features. "Do better this time. Both of you."

With that, he stepped through, the portal closing behind him with a sound like reality sighing in relief.

"Next," Angstrom prompted, dimensional energy already gathering for another portal.

 Prisoner Mark approached Y/N before his departure, the scarred tissue of his face pulling taut as he struggled with words that didn't come easily to him. "I was in prison when she died," he said gruffly, hands curling into fists at his sides as if physically restraining himself from reaching for her. "Gang violence, and torture. I could have stopped it if I'd been there." His eyes, the only part of him untouched by whatever fire had claimed the rest, burned with intensity. "Don't let them cage you, Y/N. Not with walls. Not with expectations. Not even with love." 

He left with a bitter laugh, his scarred form dissolving into the swirling vortex of his home dimension. 

Each departure felt like a physical weight lifted from Y/N's chest, yet simultaneously created a new hollowness inside her. These men—these variations of Mark Grayson—had become the center of her existence whether she wished it or not. Watching them vanish was like witnessing pieces of herself dissolve into the multiverse. 

The structure continued to crumble around them, GDA forces drawing ever closer. Heat from external explosions began to seep through the walls, turning the air thick and difficult to breathe. The red emergency lighting flickered erratically, casting their remaining figures in strobing patterns of illumination and shadow.

 Phantom Mark walked to the edge of his designated portal, his body silhouetted against the emerald swirl. He stopped, looking back at Y/N, his form visibly trembling. Then, with what seemed like immense effort, he shook his head and stepped away from the portal, moving to stand against the wall. He clutched at his masked face with both hands, his shoulders shaking with silent emotion. "I need a moment to breathe before I go," he mumbled, his voice altered by the mask but unmistakably filled with tears. 

Now only six variants remained besides Angstrom—No-Mask Mark, Lensless Mark, and Phantom Mark stood together to one side, talking quietly among themselves as if debating whether to leave at all—Mohawk Mark with his barely contained fury, Viltrumite Mark with his imperial bearing, Omni Mark with his quiet strength, and Sinister leaning against a far wall with studied nonchalance despite the destruction raining down around them. The yellow and black of his suit seemed to absorb the red emergency lighting, transforming the bright colors into something murkier and more dangerous. 

He hadn't stepped forward for departure, hadn't volunteered to return to his dimension. His eyes remained fixed on Y/N, gaze heavy with implications that sent unwelcome heat coursing through her veins despite everything that had transpired between them.

"Time grows short," Viltrumite Mark observed as another explosion rocked the facility. Part of the ceiling collapsed in the corridor outside, sending clouds of dust billowing into the room. The sound of GDA tactical teams grew closer, the rhythmic thud of armored boots against metal flooring like a countdown to their imminent discovery. "We must decide."

Y/N looked between the remaining variants, chest tight with the weight of what was being asked of her. How could she choose? How could she select one version of this man to remain with her while condemning the others to return to worlds where they had already lost her once?

Mohawk Mark stalked toward her, "All my life," he growled, voice tight with barely contained feeling, "I've destroyed. I've hurt people. I've broken things." He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the minute tremor in his hands as he fought to control himself. "But with you, I want to build. I want to create something that doesn't end in blood and fire."

His hand reached for hers, hesitating just above her skin as if waiting for permission. When she didn't pull away, his fingers intertwined with hers, the contact sending electric currents of awareness up her arm. "Choose me," he whispered, the plea so at odds with his usual aggression that it took Y/N's breath away. "Let me show you I can be more than the monster I became after I lost her."

Before she could respond, Viltrumite Mark was at her other side, his presence demanding attention without a word being spoken. He didn't touch her, yet his proximity was a physical force—a gravitational pull that made her aware of every inch of space between them. 

"I can give you worlds," he said quietly, the promise in his voice both thrilling and terrifying. "I can place galaxies at your feet. I can ensure that no harm ever comes to you again." His eyes, so like the others yet distinct in their certainty, held hers with hypnotic intensity. The depths of those eyes contained the vastness of conquered space—stars and systems that had bowed before him, now offered as tributes to her. "In my universe, I rule. What is yours by choice here would be yours by right there."

"Choice," Omni Mark echoed from where he stood, still maintaining that respectful distance. The single word carried a weight that seemed to settle in the room, creating a counterbalance to Viltrumite Mark's overwhelming presence. "That's what matters, isn't it? Not gifts or protection or promises." He stepped forward, movements deliberate yet unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world despite the chaos erupting around them. His footsteps were measured, each one a conscious decision rather than an impulsive action. "You've never truly had a choice, Y/N. Not since the GDA experimented on you. Not since we found you. Not since—" his gaze flicked briefly toward Sinister, "—certain events transpired."

He stopped before her, not crowding her like the others but simply offering his presence. The space between them felt sacred somehow, a deliberate gap that spoke of respect rather than distance. "I would give you that choice. Every day. In everything." The sincerity in his voice was a tangible thing, wrapping around Y/N like a shield against the uncertainty crashing through her. It resonated in her chest like a forgotten melody—familiar though she'd never heard it before, comforting though she'd never known such comfort.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, centering herself amid the chaos. The world narrowed to the rhythm of her own heartbeat, to the warmth of multiple gazes upon her skin, to the weight of a decision that would reshape not just one universe but many. When she opened them again, her gaze fell on Omni Mark—on the quiet strength of his bearing, on the patience with which he awaited her decision.

"I choose—" she began, but her words were drowned out by a deafening explosion directly overhead.

The ceiling gave way in a catastrophic cascade of metal and composite materials, chunks of debris raining down with deadly force. The air filled with a dissonant symphony of groaning metal and shattering concrete, dust particles catching the red emergency light to create a hellish, swirling mist. 

Through the chaos, Y/N felt herself being swept aside, strong arms encircling her waist and pulling her clear of danger with superhuman speed. The world blurred momentarily, her senses overwhelmed by the scent of ozone and dust and something uniquely masculine—a combination of clean sweat and subtle cologne that she'd come to associate with safety despite everything.

When her vision cleared, she found herself pressed against Viltrumite Mark's chest, the pristine white of his suit now finally marred by dust and debris. The imperfection transformed the uniform from something untouchable to something real—humanizing him in ways that all his power never could. Flecks of concrete clung to the royal insignia, the imperfection somehow making him appear more human, more approachable than his usual perfection allowed.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow as he scanned her for injuries. The question carried none of his usual command—just raw, unfiltered worry that stripped away centuries of royal conditioning. His arms around her were steel bands of protection, yet his touch remained gentle despite the strength she knew those limbs possessed. One hand moved to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair with a tenderness that contradicted his royal bearing.

The gentle pressure of his fingertips against her scalp sent subtle waves of comfort through her body, each small circle erasing another fragment of the chaos surrounding them. The gentle circles his thumb traced against her scalp sent electric currents down her spine, awareness blooming across her skin like wildfire. His eyes—so familiar yet distinct in their intensity—searched hers with unexpected vulnerability, as if her well-being mattered more than the chaos erupting around them, more than the multiverse itself.

"You could have been—" he started, then stopped, his tongue failing him at the mere thought of her injury. Instead, his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in her hair, drawing her closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar voice called from overhead—amplified by GDA comm systems yet unmistakable in its conviction.

"This is Cecil Stedman of the Global Defense Agency. The facility is surrounded. Release Y/N immediately and surrender yourselves, or we will employ lethal force against all occupants."

Through the gaping hole in the ceiling, Y/N could see GDA operatives in tactical gear rappelling down on carbon-fiber lines, their movements precise and practiced. Like mechanical spiders descending on gossamer threads, they moved with synchronized precision that spoke of countless drills and absolute dedication to their mission. Their energy weapons hummed with charged particles, the air around their barrels wavering with heat distortion as they took aim at the variants below. Armored vehicles had surrounded the perimeter, their cannons already glowing with primed energy, bathing the crumbling structure in an eerie blue light that cut through the red emergency illumination, creating purple shadows in the corners where rubble had collected.

In the center of it all stood Cecil Stedman himself—diminutive yet commanding, his posture radiating authority despite his slight stature. His frame might have been small, but his presence filled the space with the weight of government authority and personal determination. The grim set of his mouth revealed everything about his determination. His hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed the scene below with clinical detachment, like a chess master contemplating his final, devastating move.

"Well," Sinister drawled, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. The crimson smear across his yellow glove. "This complicates matters."

Mohawk Mark's response was immediate and predictable—blue energy crackling around his clenched fists as his more volatile nature reasserted itself. The energy danced across his knuckles, illuminating the dried blood that no amount of washing seemed able to remove completely. His mohawk seemed to stand straighter with his anger, as if electrified by his rage.

"Let them come," he snarled, muscles coiling beneath his suit like springs wound too tight. Each tensed muscle created ripples beneath the fabric of his suit, the material straining to contain the raw, physical manifestation of his rage as his jaw clenched so tight that Y/N could almost hear his teeth grinding together. "I'll kill each one of them."

"No," Y/N said firmly, extracting herself from Viltrumite Mark's protective embrace, instantly feeling the chill of separation rush across her skin where his warmth had been moments before. She stood straight, shoulders back, finding strength she didn't know she possessed. 

"No more destruction. No more death."

She looked between the remaining variants, each face identical yet utterly unique in the emotions they displayed. Her chest tightened with the weight of what needed to be done. "You have to go. All of you. Now, before more people die because of us."

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, disdain replacing the concern that had softened his features moments before. A muscle twitched beneath his left eye—the only betrayal of emotion on his otherwise composed features.

"I will not abandon you to them," he stated, the words carrying the weight of royal decree. His voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear. "Not when I've only just found you."

"You must," Y/N insisted, reaching up to touch his face with gentle fingertips. The simple contact seemed to surprise him, his eyes widening fractionally at her boldness. His skin was warm beneath her touch, the slight stubble along his jaw creating a pleasant friction against her fingertips.

"In another life," she whispered, allowing her fingers to trace the strong line of his jaw, memorizing the texture of him, "perhaps we could have built your empire together." The confession cost her something, a possibility she was willingly sacrificing for what needed to be done. "Your world needs its emperor. And I..." She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue past the lump forming in her throat. "I need to find out who I am without all of you defining me."

Something flickered across Viltrumite Mark's features—an emotion too complex to name, too brief to analyze. For the briefest moment, the mask of control slipped completely, revealing the raw core of a man who had lost everything once before and now stood to lose it again. 

For a moment, Y/N thought he might refuse, might choose violence over acceptance.

Then, with dignity that belied the turmoil evident in his eyes, he caught her hand in his, turning it to press a soft kiss against her palm. The touch of his lips was feather-light yet searing, branding her skin with a promise as his lips lingered, warm breath caressing her skin in a silent promise.

"As you wish," he said softly, the formal words somehow conveying depths of feeling his bearing wouldn't allow him to express directly.

Time seemed to slow as he gently placed her hand against his chest, allowing her to feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. "Know this," he murmured, his voice a caress against her senses. "In every universe, across all dimensions, some version of me will always find his way back to you."

With visible reluctance, he stepped back, turning toward Angstrom who hung suspended in the center of the room. "Open my portal. Send me home."

Angstrom focused his power as dimensional energy coalesced around his suspended form.  A portal began to take shape—edges defined and stable, swirling depths revealing glimpses of a world where Viltrumite banners flew from gleaming spires and the Imperial sigil adorned every surface.

Viltrumite Mark moved toward it with measured steps, imperial bearing intact despite the destruction raining down around them. At the portal's threshold, he paused, turning back to Y/N one final time. What passed between them in that moment needed no words—a connection beyond language, beyond the boundaries of separate dimensions.

Without warning, another explosion rocked the facility. The entire structure shuddered like a wounded beast, metal supports screaming in protest as concrete disintegrated around them. A massive support beam directly above the portal groaned ominously before giving way completely, crashing down through the swirling dimensional gateway. It fell in agonizing slow motion, its massive weight cleaving through the delicate energies of the portal like a blade through silk. The portal collapsed with a sound like glass shattering, emerald energy dissipating in crackling arcs across the rubble.

Viltrumite Mark stepped back just in time, narrowly avoiding being crushed. His reflexes saved him, body moving with fluid grace that somehow maintained dignity even in retreat. His usually composed features darkened with anger as he turned to Angstrom, covering the distance between them in a blur of movement.

"What happened?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous as his hand closed around Angstrom's throat.

"Not... my doing," Angstrom wheezed, eyes wide with genuine surprise. His body convulsed slightly as he struggled against Viltrumite Mark's grip, dimensional energy crackling erratically across his skin in response to his distress. "Structural... failure. The building... can't withstand... continued assault."

Y/N turned to Mohawk Mark with a sigh, her initial determination wavering in the face of their increasingly desperate situation. His explosive rage had dimmed to something quieter but no less intense. The blue accents of his suit seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, the glow reflecting in the unshed tears that made his eyes shine with dangerous brilliance.

"No," he growled, the single word containing multitudes of refusal. "Not again. I won't leave you again."

He closed the distance between them in three quick strides, his movements carrying the barely restrained energy of a predator. When he reached her, however, his touch was unexpectedly gentle as he cradled her face between calloused hands.

"These hands," he whispered, his rough fingertips ghosting along her cheekbones with reverent delicacy, "have broken so many things. Have hurt so many people." His voice cracked, "But with you, they remember how to be gentle."

"Listen to me," he said, voice rough with emotion. "In my world, I watched her die because she pushed me out of the way and took a bullet to the heart for me." His voice cracked, adam's apple bobbing violently as he swallowed back the memory. The muscles in his throat worked visibly against the tide of grief that threatened to drown his words. 

"Every night since then, I've heard her voice calling my name. Every fucking night." His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones with reverent tenderness that contradicted the harshness of his words. "I won't go back to that emptiness. I can't."

Above them, Cecil's voice rang out again. "This is your final warning. Surrender now or we open fire."

GDA operatives had fully descended into the chamber now, their weapons trained on the variants with deadly precision. The air crackled with tension and primed energy weapons, the situation balanced on a knife's edge of imminent violence.

"We can't stay here," Omni Mark observed quietly, his composed voice cutting through the chaos with remarkable clarity. He moved to stand beside Y/N, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "But perhaps..."

His gaze met hers, something thoughtful and hopeful glimmering behind his dark lenses. For a moment, the lenses seemed less like barriers and more like windows, allowing her a glimpse of the mind working behind them—analytical yet passionate, calculating yet kind. "Perhaps we don't all have to return to our original dimensions."

Sinister pushed away from the wall where he'd been observing, his yellow and black suit almost glowing in the emergency lighting. The distinctive colors seemed to absorb and reflect the chaos around them, transforming the emergency lighting into something almost festive on his frame. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, interest evident in the tilt of his head, the predatory alertness in his stance.

"A new universe," Y/N breathed, the idea forming in her mind even as Omni Mark nodded confirmation. The possibilities expanded in her consciousness like a blossoming flower, each petal a different potential future. "Somewhere none of you have been before. Somewhere we could..." She hesitated, hardly daring to voice the thought.

"Start again," Omni Mark finished for her, his usually controlled voice carrying an undercurrent of something that might have been hope. "Together."

Omni Mark moved closer to Y/N, his hand finding hers with unerring precision despite the chaos around them. His fingers intertwined with hers, the simple contact grounding yet electrifying. "No legacies to uphold," he murmured, his thumb tracing small circles against her palm. 

"No mistakes to atone for. No ghosts haunting our steps." His voice dropped lower, meant only for her despite the others' enhanced hearing. "Just us, discovering who we might become when we're free to choose."

The idea hung in the air between them, tantalizing in its simplicity yet revolutionary in its implications. A universe where they weren't defined by past failures, by tragedies that had shaped them into monsters. A universe where they could choose who they wanted to be.

"Angstrom," Mohawk Mark growled, turning toward their prisoner with renewed purpose. "Can you do it? Can you send us somewhere new?"

Angstrom's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "Anywhere in the multiverse," he confirmed, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "But the damage to reality remains. Each portal weakens the barriers between dimensions."

"Then we make this the last jump," Omni Mark decided, his quiet authority somehow more compelling than Cecil's amplified commands or Emperor's royal decrees had been. "One final portal to a dimension where we can begin again. After that, we ensure no more portals are opened." His gaze fixed on Angstrom with deadly intent. "Ever."

Another explosion rocked the facility, closer than the previous one. The shockwave rippled through the floor beneath their feet, concrete cracking in spider-web patterns that spread with alarming speed. Concrete dust rained down from what remained of the ceiling, coating their hair and shoulders in a fine gray powder that resembled premature aging.

"Decide quickly," Sinister urged, eyes fixed on the GDA operatives who were beginning to encircle them. "Our window of opportunity is closing."

Y/N looked between the three remaining variants—Mohawk with his barely contained emotions, Omni with his quiet strength, and Sinister with his dangerous allure. Each represented a different path, a different kind of future—passionate chaos, thoughtful stability, or dangerous excitement. In the shadows across the room, she noticed No-Mask Mark, Lensless Mark, and Phantom Mark quietly conferring, their expressions grave as they discussed their options.

"Who else stays?" she asked, voice stronger now, fed by the certainty growing within her,n"Who goes?"

Phantom Mark approached Y/N, his masked face turning to the corner where he had withdrawn. His movements were fluid and graceful despite the rigid material of his mask, body language conveying emotions his covered face couldn't express. He stood silently for a moment, form trembling slightly as he reached up to touch the edge of his mask. His gloved fingers traced the seam where mask met suit, hovering over the clasp that could reveal what lay beneath. Taking a deep breath that was audible even through the mask's filter, he looked back at the portal forming behind him, then shook his head decisively. 

"I've hidden behind this mask for so long," he said, voice distorted yet somehow more vulnerable through the filter. "In my world, hiding was the only way to survive after losing her." His hands fell to his sides, clenching briefly before relaxing. "But maybe in a new world, I can learn to show my face again. To feel the sun without this barrier between me and life."

He moved to stand beside Y/N, his presence solid and reassuring without making demands. Though his face remained hidden, something in his posture conveyed a quiet hope that spoke louder than words ever could. Something about his quiet resolve reminded her of Omni Mark, though his masked features made him more enigmatic, more difficult to read.

No-Mask Mark stepped forward, his unprotected face openly displaying the conflict within. Without the barrier of a mask, every emotion played across his features with startling clarity—grief, determination, and fragile hope battling for dominance. His eyes, identical to the others yet somehow uniquely pained, searched Y/N's face with a mixture of grief and determination.

"I'll stay too," he said, surprising even himself with the decision. The words emerged tentatively at first, then gained strength as he committed to them fully. "I've lost too much already. William..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. His eyes glazed with unshed tears at the name, the loss clearly still raw despite whatever time had passed. "Maybe this time, things can be different. Maybe this time, I can protect what matters."

Lensless Mark bounced on his toes, childlike energy barely contained despite the gravity of the situation. His movements were perpetual, fingers drumming against his thighs, weight shifting from foot to foot—a physical manifestation of his inability to remain still even in crisis. "I'm staying too!" he declared, grinning despite the dried blood flaking from his knuckles. His smile transformed his entire face, erasing the shadow of the killer he had become. "Always wanted a big family anyway."

Above them, Cecil's patience had clearly run out. "Fire warning shots," his voice commanded, followed immediately by the high-pitched whine of energy weapons discharging.

Beams of concentrated energy sliced through the air around them, deliberately missing but close enough to feel the heat against exposed skin. The air crackled and sizzled where the energy passed, leaving behind the acrid scent of ionized particles and the lingering taste of ozone. The message was clear: the next volley wouldn't be a warning.

"Now or never," Mohawk growled, positioning himself protectively between Y/N and the GDA forces. 

Y/N turned to Angstrom, determination hardening her resolve. Something shifted in her stance, in her expression.  "Do it. Open a portal to somewhere new. Somewhere safe."

Angstrom focused his power, dimensional energy gathering around him like a storm. The air around him began to distort, reality itself bending and warping as emerald light crackled across his suspended form in increasingly complex patterns. 

"As you wish," he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he concentrated. "One last journey."

A portal began to form—larger than the previous ones, its edges shimmering with untapped potential. Unlike the violent tears they had witnessed before, this portal coalesced with almost musical precision, emerald energy flowing like liquid light to create a perfect circular gateway. 

Through its swirling depths, Y/N caught glimpses of a world bathed in golden sunlight. Rolling hills covered in lush vegetation stretched toward a horizon where twin moons hung in the sky, their pale surfaces visible even in daylight. A massive structure stood in the middle distance—part castle, part modern fortress, its architecture unlike anything on Earth yet somehow reminiscent of home.

"Perfect," Sinister murmured, appreciation evident in his tone. "Uninhabited but hospitable. No indigenous sentient species to complicate matters."

"How can you tell all that from just a glimpse?" Y/N asked, momentarily distracted by his apparent knowledge.

Sinister's smirk was all teeth and dangerous charm. "I've destroyed thousands of worlds, dove. You learn to assess a planet quickly." He winked, the gesture somehow making the casual mention of genocide even more disturbing. "Useful skill for picking vacation spots too."

Another barrage of energy blasts cut through the air, this one closer than the last. The heat from the blasts washed over them in uncomfortable waves, leaving skin tingling and hairs standing on end. The GDA was done with warnings.

"Go!" Omni Mark urged, his hand finding the small of Y/N's back—not pushing, just guiding, always respecting her autonomy even in crisis. The warmth of his palm radiated through the material of her flight suit, gentle yet urgent. "I'll ensure Angstrom follows and seal the doorway behind us."

Mohawk didn't wait for further discussion. With a feral grin that promised violence to anyone who tried to stop them, he swept Y/N into his arms and leaped toward the portal. His movements were fluid and powerful, muscles bunching beneath her as he carried her weight with effortless strength. Just before they passed through, he paused, looking down at her with unexpected vulnerability.

"Together?" he asked, the single word carrying the weight of promise and question and hope all at once. 

Y/N's hand came up to rest against his cheek, thumb tracing the strong line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath her touch, the slight stubble creating a pleasant friction against the pad of her thumb. "Together," she confirmed, something warm unfurling in her chest at the brilliant smile that transformed his usually fierce expression.

The smile that broke across his features was transformative—years of rage and anguish momentarily washed away, revealing glimpses of who he might have been before tragedy shaped him into a weapon. In that unguarded moment, Y/N saw not the killer he had become but the hero he might yet be.

Then they were through, the world dissolving around them in a kaleidoscope of color and sensation. Reality itself seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, conventional physics surrendering to the impossible mathematics of multidimensional travel. 

Y/N felt Mohawk's arms tighten protectively around her as reality itself seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, the experience both terrifying and exhilarating.

When solid ground reformed beneath them, they stood on a grassy knoll overlooking a valley bathed in golden light. The ground beneath their feet felt somehow more vibrant than Earth's soil—as if the very molecules contained more energy, more potential. The air tasted sweeter than Earth's, with subtle notes of unfamiliar blossoms and mineral-rich soil. Each breath filled her lungs with intoxicating freshness, oxygen seemingly more potent, more invigorating than what she was accustomed to. The twin moons hung in the sky like watchful guardians, their surfaces etched with patterns different from Luna's familiar face.

One by one, the others followed—Phantom Mark stepping through with characteristic grace, No-Mask arriving with quiet determination in his unprotected features, Lensless bouncing through with childlike enthusiasm, Sinister sauntering through as if dimensional travel was nothing more extraordinary than crossing a street. Last came Omni Mark, dragging a semi-conscious Angstrom with him.

"It's done," Omni Mark stated, releasing Angstrom who collapsed to the grass with a pained groan. He dusted his hands off, "The portal is sealed. No one can follow."

Y/N stood in the circle of these men—these variations of Mark Grayson who had turned their grief into rage and their rage into destruction. Men who had crossed dimensions to find her, who had chosen to stay with her despite the cost. Men who now looked at her not as a replacement for someone lost but as herself—flawed, confused, but ultimately her own person.

"What now?" she asked, the question encompassing far more than their immediate future.

Omni Mark stepped forward, removing his dark lenses to reveal eyes filled with quiet determination. Without the barrier of tinted glass, his blue eye gaze was startlingly direct—intelligent, perceptive, and unexpectedly gentle. "Now we build something new," he said simply, offering his hand to her—not demanding, just inviting.

"Not an empire," he continued, his gaze briefly flicking toward Viltrumite Mark with understanding rather than judgment. 

"Not a fortress," another glance toward Mohawk. 

"Just... a life. Together."

When she took it, his fingers closed gently around hers, the touch grounding and elevating her simultaneously. His skin was warm against hers, with his free hand, he gestured toward the fortress in the distance. "There's our new home. A place where we can be whoever we choose to be."

"A fresh start," Phantom added, his masked face tilted toward the twin moons as if contemplating their significance. The alien light reflected off his mask, creating patterns that seemed to dance across the surface like living things.

"A family," Lensless contributed, already bouncing on his toes with excitement at exploring their new world. His energy was infectious, bringing a lightness to the moment that balanced the gravity of their decision.

"A kingdom," came Sinister's smooth addition, his yellow and black suit glowing almost gold in the alien sunlight. 

"No," Mohawk corrected, his usual aggression softened by something more tender as he gazed at Y/N. The permanent furrow between his brows eased slightly, aggressive posture relaxing into something that better matched the gentleness in his voice. "A home. Just a home."

Y/N looked between them—these men from across the multiverse, each bearing the face of Mark Grayson yet transformed by circumstance and choice into something distinctly other. Men who had been monsters but might choose to be more. Men who had lost her once and found her again.

"A choice," she whispered, understanding blooming inside her chest like a flower seeking sunshine.

"For all of us." Her gaze traveled between them, seeing not just what they had been but what they might become. "Not versions of the same person, but individuals with the freedom to grow in different directions."

As the alien sun began its descent toward an unfamiliar horizon, casting their shadows long across virgin soil, Y/N felt something unfurl within her chest—not quite peace, not quite certainty, but perhaps the beginning of both. Whatever came next, whatever they built in this new world, it would be their choice—not fate, not destiny, not cosmic constants.

Just choice.

And for now, that was enough.

–––––––––

Wow, I can't believe it's over... !!UNLESS!! ☆ If y'all want separate individual chapters dedicated to the Marks in their new universe with Y/n :) Fluff Ansgt Smut you name it (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

Following Fluff/Smut series!! 𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜

[aspenmissing]

hello!!!! i’ve been a fan of your work for so long and i’m happy you’re taking requests again. please try not to overwork yourself though!! could you do young silco x an inventor reader? she gets invited to on of the Children of Zaun meetings to see if she’s interested in sharing her work: weapons, smoke bombs, etc. she has a strong passion for her work and only trust people who won’t deface her good name. thank you so much!!

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ

ʏᴏᴜɴɢ!ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ.ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 3227 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ/ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ! ɪ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ

The air was thick with smoke — not the kind from her carefully formulated smoke bombs, with their distinct chemical bite and telltale shimmer — but something more organic. More stagnant. It clung to the cracked walls and low-hanging beams of the distillery like soot on lungs. The kind of smoke that lingered long after the fire had gone out. The kind that marked simmering unrest.

Y/N stopped just inside the rusted doorway, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust. It wasn’t the darkness that unsettled her — she’d grown up working under dim lamps and shoddy fluorescents in her workshop — it was the atmosphere. The coiled tension. The way every head in the room turned toward her at once.

There were twenty, maybe twenty-five people gathered — some seated around the heavy tables scarred with burn marks and knife gashes, others standing against the crumbling brick walls, arms folded, eyes wary. They all looked like they belonged here. Grease-streaked uniforms, makeshift armour plates, soot on their faces, rage in their bones.

She didn’t look like them. Not exactly.

Her long coat was worn but meticulously kept, every stitch intentional, the pockets heavy with tools. Her gloves, fingerless and reinforced with copper rivets, bore the familiar stains of someone who worked with dangerous materials. She carried a duffel bag over one shoulder — thick canvas reinforced with leather and multiple locks, its weight undeniable.

It wasn’t her appearance that made them look at her like she was an alien dropped from the sky — it was her presence. Controlled. Calculated. She moved like someone who didn’t fear them — and in places like this, that kind of confidence was dangerous.

She let the silence stretch before Vander broke it.

"She's the one I told you about," he said, his voice carrying across the room with an ease she envied. He stood at the far side of the table, his arms crossed, jaw tight. "Y/N. Inventor. Smart as hell. Could help us tip the scales.”

Vander gave her a nod — respectful, not patronizing. He was the only reason she was here at all.

Still, his words sparked a wave of murmurs. Some skeptical. Some amused. One man scoffed under his breath. Another leaned in, whispering something to a companion. They didn’t bother hiding it.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room. Evaluating. Threat assessment. She wasn’t afraid — she never walked into a room without at least three hidden tools designed to disable, blind, or explode. But she was alert. Razor-sharp. Because this wasn’t a science fair.

This was a test.

She didn’t blink when she saw him — standing near the back of the room, half shrouded in shadow. Arms folded. Shoulders taut. A sharp line of a fresh scar running just beneath his eye. He didn’t speak. Didn’t whisper. He just watched her.

Eyes like storm clouds. Controlled chaos.

Something told her he saw more than most. And gave less than anyone.

“You don’t look like someone who makes weapons,” said a tall woman near the front, her voice edged with mockery. She had a metal plate grafted over her jaw, and her cybernetic eye gleamed as it focused in. “You look like someone who teaches art in a school.”

A few chuckles echoed around the room.

Y/N’s lips quirked up, but there was no warmth in it. She stepped further in, her boot crunching a bottle underfoot.

“I do,” she said coolly. “Except my art punches holes through armour and leaves Piltover snobs coughing up blood.”

That got real laughter — rough and genuine.

But the man in the shadows — Silco, she guessed, based on Vander’s vague descriptions — didn’t laugh. He tilted his head just slightly, like he was re-evaluating her.

A beat passed. Then another voice — his voice, calm and sharp as a knife gliding through silk.

“You brought toys?” The word toys was deliberate. Testing. Y/N’s eyes met his. She didn’t flinch.

“You mean the prototypes I don’t trust people like you to handle without breaking?” she countered, arching a brow. “Sure.”

She swung the duffel off her shoulder and set it on the scarred table with a heavy thud. The locks clicked open one by one — not keyed, but triggered by a subtle pressure code in her gloves. Every precaution was earned in Zaun.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet lining like precious relics, were her latest designs.

A trio of flashbangs, each with a coloured cap denoting the effect: white for light only, red for disorientation, green for sonic burst. Smoke bombs, cylindrical and sleek, designed to release a thick miasma laced with non-lethal chemical irritants. A collapsible rifle, polished steel and brass, the core etched with runes and sealed valves — custom-built for firing toxin-laced needles.

She lifted the rifle with reverence, clicking it open to full form. The lighting in the room gleamed off the barrels.

“This one,” she said, tapping the central valve, “fires micro-darts coated in a fast-acting paralytic. Non-lethal. Temporary. Unless you aim for something soft — like the neck.” She paused, letting that sit. “It’s quiet. Precise. Useful for crowd control.”

Someone across the room snorted. “What’s stopping us from just taking them?” The room went still again. Y/N’s smile was slow, dangerous.

“You could try,” she said lightly. “But you wouldn’t get past the primer switch without blowing off your own fingers. They’re rigged to my fingerprints. Literally.” She gestured casually. “Go ahead. Test me.”

No one moved.

Then — slow, deliberate — clapping.

Not sarcastic. Not mocking. But deliberate. Rhythmic.

Silco.

It was the kind of clap meant to draw focus. A calculated sound in a room where everything was noise. He stepped forward at last, out of the shadows.

His frame was leaner than Vander’s, but there was a coiled tension in his movement — like a blade sheathed, not dull. His face still bore youth, though his eyes were old. Tired. Sharp.

“You’re clever,” he said. “Proud, too. Not the type who bows.”

“I kneel for no one,” she answered, voice quiet but firm.

They locked eyes.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken — not attraction yet, but challenge. Recognition.

Silco stopped just a foot from her. Closer than anyone else had dared to stand since she walked in. He glanced at the rifle, then back at her.

“You built these by yourself?”

She nodded. “With my hands. My mind. And a little help from the people who didn’t steal my tools.”

A flicker passed through his expression — almost a smile, almost.

“You care about your work,” he said.

“I care about my name,” she replied. “My reputation. If you use my tools for something stupid — I walk.”

A few more eyes turned toward Silco, curious to see how he’d react to that kind of defiance.

But he didn’t flare. He didn’t posture.

He nodded once. “Then we won’t use them stupidly.”

She studied him, searching for a crack in the composure — a sign of arrogance or deceit. But there was nothing but cold conviction.

“I don’t trust easily,” she said finally.

“Neither do I.” Another beat of silence. A wire pulled taut between them. Then — Silco extended a hand. The movement was deliberate. An offering.

Y/N looked at it. Then at him. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. Trust wasn’t something she gave. Not without reason.

But this… this wasn’t about trust. This was about potential. She took his hand. Not to submit. But to build something. Together.

And just maybe, in the shadow of war and invention, the first spark of something more — dangerous, brilliant, inevitable — began to glow.

The meeting ended with less ceremony than it began. A few nods. Some grunted approvals. One man asked about the flashbangs before Vander gave him a look that said not tonight. But Y/N didn’t linger to bask in attention — she packed up her prototypes with quick, precise movements, her gloved fingers dancing over each device with practiced care. The weight of the duffel bag in her hands was familiar, almost comforting. She double-checked the fingerprint locks on each device, ensuring her work was secure before zipping it up with a satisfied click. Her heart beat steady and controlled — nothing about this moment felt new, but she couldn’t shake the peculiar sense of heat pooling in her chest.

Zaun’s air hit her like a slap as soon as she stepped outside — cold enough to bite but thick with the city’s ever-present stench of rust, oil, and desperation. It was heavier tonight, though, mixed with the faint, acrid scent of Shimmer from a nearby alley. Her breath curled in front of her, visible in the dim glow of the streetlamps that flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows on the metal streets.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

Even now, though, her mind was tangled in thoughts of the meeting. And him. Silco. That man. His eyes, sharp as a blade, watching her every move. His voice, smooth and deliberate, each word calculated. She'd known men like him before, dangerous, but there was something about Silco that was different — something that didn’t feel like the usual arrogance or empty posturing. No. Silco wasn’t just looking for power; he was building something. And that intrigued her in a way that both unsettled and electrified her.

Her boots clicked in rhythm with her thoughts as she made her way toward her workshop, navigating the familiar alleyways of Zaun’s underbelly. Her shop wasn’t far — a converted boiler room beneath an old processing plant, nestled deep within the spine of the city’s industrial heart. The only light in the room came from a flickering bulb overhead and the faint, eerie blue glow of runic circuits that hummed softly along the ceiling. The low hum was a comfort, the pulse of her machines like a heartbeat.

She reached the entrance, her fingers brushing over the worn metal latch, and locked the door behind her with a practiced twist of the key. The sound of the lock falling into place was a small, satisfying thing. She could finally breathe a little easier, even if her mind refused to slow.

Dropping the duffel bag with a thud, she peeled off her coat, revealing her oil-streaked gloves and the blackened stains on her sleeves from hours of tinkering. The tension in her shoulders was still there, a dull ache. She hadn’t allowed herself to show it during the meeting, keeping her spine straight and her expression unreadable. But now, in the solitude of her sanctuary, she could feel the weight of it, the weight of everything that had happened in the last hour.

Her eyes drifted over the cluttered room — a patchwork of workbenches, half-assembled inventions, jars of chemicals, and a few scattered tools that had been through more than their fair share of rough use. This was hers. This was her domain. Her art.

And yet, her thoughts kept returning to the man who’d been watching her. Silco. The way his eyes locked onto hers, never flinching, never backing down. There was something about his gaze — dark, unyielding. It was too calculated. Too steady. But beneath that, there was a flicker of something…raw. Real. It unsettled her more than she’d care to admit.

She was halfway through disassembling the rifle when the knock came.

Two taps. A pause. Then one more.

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She wasn’t used to interruptions. Her fingers instinctively reached for the small switch beside the door that controlled the camera feed — static. As always. She cursed under her breath; the wiring was a mess, and she didn’t have time to fix it tonight.

She approached the door slowly, her hand brushing the hilt of the knife she always kept tucked in her boot. Her instincts screamed, warning her of something she couldn’t quite place. Every muscle in her body tensed as she peered through the peephole, and then — that voice.

Silco.

Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t hesitate. Not really. She unlocked the top latch, and then, after a long breath, slid the door open just a fraction, enough to meet his gaze.

His face was softer in the dim light, the usual sharp edges of his features softened by the shadows. The scar beneath his eye glinted faintly — a silver line in the half-light. He didn’t move. Just stood there, as if waiting for her to speak, or perhaps to deny him entry. His presence filled the narrow space like smoke — almost suffocating, but undeniably magnetic.

“I didn’t invite you,” she said, her voice low and steady, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down.

“You didn’t throw me out either,” he answered, his voice smooth like oil, but sharp underneath. He wasn’t here to be polite.

“Not yet,” she replied, her words like a challenge, even if she didn’t entirely mean them.

His eyes softened just a fraction. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but she caught it. There was something there — an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, something that mirrored her own curiosity.

“I won’t waste your time,” he said, stepping forward, and his movements were calm, deliberate, measured. “I want a closer look. At your work.”

“That’s what the meeting was for,” she shot back, her tone hard, but not dismissive. Not quite.

He didn’t flinch at her words. His gaze remained steady. “I’m not the crowd.”

She exhaled slowly, her breath escaping in a cloud of steam in the cold room. She’d known it was only a matter of time before Silco would want more than just a show. Still, she wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to come here, to her workshop, when there were countless other ways he could’ve gotten the same information.

Finally, she unlatched the deadbolt with a slow, deliberate motion. He didn’t wait. Just stepped inside.

His gaze flicked over the room, not stopping on any one thing. He didn’t touch a single tool, didn’t disturb a single piece of equipment. Just watched. Cataloged. His eyes were sharp, almost too sharp, taking in the chaos of her world with an intensity that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“This is where it happens,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. As if he could see the future unfolding before him in the midst of her workshop.

“My sanctuary,” she answered, her voice quiet but firm. This was hers. No one else could claim it.

He took another step closer to the workbench where the collapsed rifle lay, half-disassembled. He stopped just short of touching it, his fingers hovering in the air as if weighing the risks of disturbing something that was hers.

“May I?” he asked, the question soft but insistent.

She didn’t hesitate this time. “Go ahead.”

He leaned in, his breath steady as his eyes traced over the intricate details she had built into the weapon. The modified trigger chamber. The custom pressure valve. The slight modifications she’d made to the frame to make it lighter, more mobile.

“You made this with scrap,” he observed.

“I made this with genius,” she corrected, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was steady, but there was a quiet pride beneath her words.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for the briefest moment, she caught something — a flicker. A curve at the corner of his lips. Not a full smile, but something close enough to feel like a challenge.

“You’re not like the others,” he said quietly. His tone had shifted again, lower, softer, as if he had only now begun to understand the true nature of her work — and her.

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze unwavering. She wasn’t like the others. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let him think he had any control over her just because he walked into her shop.

“Because I don’t beg for permission?” she said, her voice cool but biting.

“Because you build,” he said, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “You shape things with your hands that most people can’t even imagine.”

She stepped forward, a deliberate movement that closed the distance between them. The air between them felt charged now, each breath an electric pulse. She met his eyes, unflinching.

“I don’t hand over my work to men who want glory,” she said, her voice low and almost a whisper. “Or blood. Or power for power’s sake.”

He held her gaze, not breaking it. “And what do you want?”

The question hung there, heavy in the air. A challenge. A promise. A reckoning.

She didn’t answer immediately, her thoughts colliding like the clashing of gears and metal in her mind. It wasn’t a simple question. It wasn’t a question of tools, or of power. It was something more.

“I want change,” she said at last, her voice steady. “But on my terms. I want to see the world crack open and know I had a hand in it. I want to make tools that no one can ignore — that can’t be misused without consequence.”

He studied her like she was a weapon of her own making. His eyes softened slightly, and in that moment, he wasn’t just the man who wanted power. He wasn’t just the enigma that had walked into her shop. He was something else — something more dangerous.

“Then we’re not so different,” he murmured.

He stepped closer still, until their breaths mingled in the cold air between them. His eyes were dark, steady, unwavering. And in that moment, she didn’t back away. Her pulse raced, a subtle, electric tension between them that neither spoke about, but both felt.

“You care about your name,” he said softly. “I care about Zaun’s. I don’t need foot soldiers. I need people who see what’s coming.”

She didn’t pull away, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she felt, but it was more than respect. It was more than curiosity.

“You want my inventions,” she said, her voice almost a whisper now.

“I want you on our side,” he corrected, his voice steady, almost gentle.

Another silence. Denser now, filled with the weight of unspoken words. Of promises half-formed.

She didn’t know who moved first, but the air between them was suddenly thicker. The distance between them vanished in the quiet intensity. It wasn’t a kiss — not yet — but it lingered in the space between them like a burning thread.

He was the first to step back, the quiet finality of his movement leaving a charged emptiness behind him.

“You’ll think about it,” he said, his voice steady, not a question but a certainty.

“I don’t take orders,” she replied, the words sharp but not as firm as she’d intended.

“I know.” That almost-smile again, like a promise. “That’s why I’m here.”

With that, he turned, leaving the space between them once again, the door clicking shut behind him. The finality of it made her heart beat even faster. She stared at the empty space where he had stood, the stillness in the room now deafening.

Her fingers brushed over the metal frame of the rifle again, the touch almost mechanical as her thoughts spun.

And as she stood there, her breath still hitching, she realized one thing: He wasn’t just a threat. He was something far more dangerous than she had ever expected.

And now, more than ever, he was in her thoughts.

[draculasintern]

Odds and Additions...

OH YEAH IM BACK. After many days of no laptop charger and a dead laptop, I have been revived. Can I get a 'Thank you V's Mom!' All together now! 'Thank you V's mom!' Anyways PT 5 YAYAYAY

Days blurred into each other. Not with ease—never with ease—but with the kind of stubborn routine that left little room for anything but work. You felt a constant ticking, it lingered under your nails and on your scalp. An uneasy pulse. You showed up. Viktor showed up. The machines buzzed. The lights flickered. Ink bled into margins, diagrams stacked higher, and something unspoken thickened in the air between you, as constant as the hum of the lab. Something was so unsettling about the way you two worked together, a distant yet on tempo rhythm.

It should have been easier now. Cleaner. Clearer. Better.

Instead, it felt worse. 

You were no longer fixing his work. You were no longer daring to correct a single line, a single screw. But in doing so, you realized something worse had taken root: You weren’t partners. You were competitors. And neither of you was winning, only adding to the mess.

The dean’s words lingered like smoke in the rafters, thick and heavy—“I need something that will help the people.” A simple request. A simple hope. And yet somehow, it felt like a blade pressed to both your throats. Because Viktor wasn’t slowing down. But neither were you.

If anything, the challenge had made him sharper. More ruthless. More brilliant. His schematics grew more ambitious, his calculations more daring. And you—driven by your own stubborn ache to matter—matched him, step for step, idea for idea, spark for spark. Adding and adding and adding..

It wasn't a collaboration. It was combustion.

And every day you let it burn a little hotter, daring it to consume you first. Letting it simmer only enough for it to bubble to the top but not overflow.

═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══ It started with a diagram. A blueprint.

Not even a full design—just a concept sketch Viktor had left on the corner of the shared table, edges still smudged with graphite. You paused over it without meaning to. Something in the layout—it was elegant, but impractical. Too much weight on one side, too much tension in the copper coils. It wouldn’t last a month of use, not in Piltover. Not out there. Not in Zaun where everything either burned out or exploded. It just wouldn’t work. You knew you should have kept walking. You knew better than to touch anything of his. But you made a noise, small, involuntary. A half-breath, half-sigh. And Viktor, who was hunched over another schematic, stiffened just slightly. Not enough that someone else might notice. But you did. Of course you did.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t ask. Instead, he spoke. Cool. Flat. Careless.

"If you have a suggestion," Viktor said, pen scratching on the page, "keep it to yourself."

The dismissal sliced cleaner than anger ever could. You stood there a second longer than you should have, heartbeat thudding somewhere between your ribs and your throat. 

Fine, you thought. Fine. If he wanted a fight, he wouldn’t get one. Not today.

You left the table without a word, the idea—your idea—burning a hole in the back of your mind. Whatever he had planned was going to crash and burn.

═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══ You buried yourself in your own work after that.

Not because it was the right thing to do. Not because you were the better person. Because you had to. Because if you let yourself linger too long on the blueprint, on his voice, on the way the graphite still smudged your fingertips— You would have said something you couldn’t take back.

And if there was one thing you both understood, it was that you couldn’t afford to look weak. Not here. Not in this war you pretended was a partnership.

So you worked. Viciously. Relentlessly. Like each stroke of your pen was a blow aimed at something you couldn't name. The numbers blurred, the ink bled, but you kept going. If Viktor noticed the way you leaned closer to your own designs, if he noticed the sharp, surgical edge your work had taken on—he said nothing. He was too busy sharpening his own knives. Ones he’s had since childhood, ones that he was born with. But he doesn't know you were born with them too. Zaun isn't one to birth weak people, and it wasn’t going to start now, you both would make sure of it. Even if the other didn’t know.

It wasn’t long before the silence in the lab stopped feeling neutral. It started to feel like a challenge.

The kind you answered not with words, but with work. More, faster, better. You started leaving your designs out too, deliberately careless. Letting him see the gleam of a better solution without handing it to him. Daring him to steal it. Daring him to acknowledge it. But he never did.

If he so much as glanced at your sketches, he never let it show. And if you caught yourself wishing he would—just once—you buried the thought so deep it suffocated.

The dean's words echoed in your mind whenever you started to slip: Help the people. Create something lasting.

Neither of you was doing that. You were just trying to survive each other. But one of you would kill the other in the end. ═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

It happened late one night. The lab was quieter than usual—the machines had been shut down for maintenance, the overhead lights dimmed to a soft, humming glow. It should have been a reprieve. It wasn't. It was eerie and uncomfortable.

You hunched over your desk, pencil moving with reckless precision, each stroke a catharsis, a chance to keep the growing tension from breaking you in half. Viktor was across the room, just as intent, but something was off. There was an edge to his movements tonight. A slight twitch in his jaw, a clipped breath between his teeth.

You glanced up, just once, before you could stop yourself. He was staring at the papers in front of him. His pen—now lying discarded, untouched—next to a diagram that was too perfect. Too polished. You didn’t need to look any harder to know: He was waiting for you to do something.

The air was thick with that unsaid question, that challenge. His eyes slid over to you, just for a fraction of a second, long enough for the silence to break you open. Your heartbeat quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Not on the outside. On the inside, though, everything felt raw. Open. Vulnerable.

“Did you fix it?” he asked, voice flat. Too flat. Too careless.

You didn’t even know what he meant at first. What the hell was he talking about? You? Fixing his work? For him? You didn't bother to answer. He didn’t need to know what you’d already done. How much time you'd spent redesigning the entire thing without touching a single line of his. How many times you'd wondered, How much longer until I have to walk away?

You couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let him see you slip. “Of course not,” you finally said, tone colder than you meant, like a slap to the air between you. The words were barely out of your mouth before he dropped his gaze back to the page in front of him.

There was a moment—a beat—before he spoke again. But it wasn’t what you expected.

“Then why don’t you?” he murmured, so quiet, so flat. And then, without waiting for your response, he turned his back to you, completely uninterested in your silence.

You stared at his retreating figure, your pulse hammering in your ears, the faint hum of the machines somehow louder than before. Every muscle in your body tensed, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Not until the urge to rip him apart settled into something colder. Something you could control.

That moment lingered between you like smoke in the air, choking the space, suffocating any attempt at reasoning. What the actual hell did that mean..You’d played this game for long enough, hadn’t you? You’d fed into it. Respected it. Hoped, even, that one of you might finally cross the line and admit the truth: You weren’t just here to work.You were here to break each other.You were here to see who would snap first. And it felt very clear who was getting close to snapping. Pt 6

[ill-loveyouthroughthestars]

Harry Potter x Irish!reader

Serieslist

Chapter 2

“And Proud of it”

The stone room buzzed with nerves, each whisper sharpened by the weight of what came next. Every eleven-year-old spine seemed coiled tight with anticipation. The heavy oak doors to the Great Hall stood closed, unmoving. Some students paced. Others clutched sleeves or fidgeted with wand holsters.

Y/N stood near the far wall, arms loosely crossed, her h/c hair slightly damp from the train and swept back with a copper comb that gleamed under the torchlight. Her e/c eyes scanned the crowd with quiet calculation, occasionally flicking to the two boys whispering nearby - one lanky with bright red hair, the other with a lightning-bolt scar.

Then the room shifted - like it felt him coming even the whispers started before the door opened.

“Harry Potter?”

“He’s here?”

“Did you see his scar?”

The stone chamber outside the Great Hall thrummed with nerves and curiosity. Eyes darted toward the boy with the untidy black hair and round glasses — and lingered on the faint lightning-shaped scar beneath his fringe.

Y/N stood a few feet to Harry’s right, arms crossed loosely, eyes flicking over the crowd with the same quiet sharpness she’d carried since the train. She watched as a pale-haired boy pushed through the group like he owned the floor, flanked by two hulking shadows.

Malfoy.

“It’s true then,” the boy said, his voice cutting through the buzz. “What they’re saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply gestured to the two boys beside him.

“This is Crabbe. And Goyle. And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Ron let out a snicker. He didn’t try to hide it.

Malfoy turned sharply, his grey eyes narrowing.

“Think my name’s funny, do you?” He barely gave Ron a second glance. “No need to ask yours. Red hair. Hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasley.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her wand hand twitched at her side.

Malfoy turned back to Harry, studying him — but now aware of the girl standing near him, watching without blinking.

A pale boy with white-blond hair sauntered forward, flanked by two hulking shadows that looked more muscle than mind.

“You’re Harry Potter,” the boy said, not asking. His gaze dipped to the scar, then turned to Ron with visible distaste.

“I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Harry said nothing. Ron’s jaw clenched, eyes flicking sideways.

Draco’s attention drifted — and landed on Y/N. His eyes raked over her, pausing on the wand holster at her hip and the quiet defiance in her stance.

“You’ll soon find,” he said smoothly, “some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You wouldn’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.”

Y/N stepped forward before Harry could speak, voice cool and even — the Irish lilt wrapping razor-edged words in silk.

“Like you, then?”

Draco blinked, surprised. “And you are?”

“Y/N O’Callaghan,” she said, calm as a coiled wand. “I’m sure your father’s warned you about us.”

Draco’s lips curled. “Blood traitors.”

She met him head-on. “And proud of it.” With a smile that had a thousand words hidden behind it that could possibly put her in detention before she got placed in a house

His nostrils flared. Before he could reply, the great door groaned open. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, face composed and expectant and with her, the weight of the Sorting fell over them like mist.

“They’re ready for you.”

A hush fell.

Draco turned away with a final scowl.

Harry, Ron, and Y/N exchanged brief looks-not quite smiles, but something close. Then they stepped forward, side by side, into the Great Hall.

Three figures. A quiet, forming front.

The Great Hall glowed with soft candlelight, the floating flames casting gold across the faces of wide-eyed first-years. Above them, the ceiling shimmered with stars — deep, silver-dusted indigo, exactly matching the sky outside.

“It’s enchanted,” Hermione Granger whispered, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “It’s meant to mirror the actual night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

Beside her, Y/N tilted her head back, eyes following a slowly drifting constellation.

“It’s an old sky-mirroring charm,” she added softly. “Layered with seasonal illusions. Celtic, mostly. Probably reinforced every solstice.”

Hermione blinked, then turned to look at her properly-surprised yet curious. Y/N glanced back. The smallest smile tugged at both their lips, half amused, half impressed.

They didn’t say another word, but a faint smile passed between them. The kind that blooms slowly and shy but certain.

A beautiful girlhood thing.

Professor McGonagall stood tall at the front of the hall, parchment in hand, voice crisp and commanding.

“When I call your name,” she said, “you will come forth. I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.” She glanced at the first name.

“Hermione Granger.”

Hermione straightened. “Oh no. Okay, relax,” she whispered to herself before walking to the front.

Ron leaned toward Harry. “Mental, that one, I’m telling you.” Harry nodded, amused.

Hermione perched on the stool. McGonagall lowered the tattered hat over her bushy hair.

“Ah, right then… hmm, right… okay…” the Sorting Hat murmured. “Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindor table burst into cheers. Hermione jumped down with a wide, triumphant grin.

Next came: “Draco Malfoy.”

The pale boy strutted forward. As the Sorting Hat was lowered onto his head, it barely made contact before shouting:

“Slytherin!”

There was polite applause from the Slytherin table, a bit cooler than Gryffindor’s.

Ron whispered, “There isn’t a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin.”

McGonagall continued. “Susan Bones.”

A small redhead stepped forward. As the Sorting Hat considered her, Harry glanced around—then froze. Across the room sat a black-robed man with lank, greasy hair and an intense, unreadable stare.

Harry flinched, grabbing his forehead.

“Ahh!”

Ron’s voice was low. “Harry, what is it?”

Harry winced. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

The Sorting Hat called, “Hufflepuff!” and Susan hurried off to her new house.

“Ronald Weasley.”

Ron gulped, shot Harry a nervous look, and made his way to the front. The Hat chuckled as it was placed on his head.

“Ha! Another Weasley. I know just what to do with you… GRYFFINDOR!”

Ron exhaled, grinning, and jogged off to join his brothers.

Then—

“Y/N O’Callaghan.”

The room hushed again. The name clearly meant something — old magic, older reputation. Y/N stepped forward with quiet confidence, her h/c hair catching the light beneath the floating candles.

She sat. The Sorting Hat dropped low over her head, hiding the watching eyes of the hall.

“Oho!” the Hat breathed. “Well, this is easy. You burn like fire beneath still water. An instant Gryffindor, no doubt about it. Quick mind. Brave heart. A storm coming.”

Y/N didn’t even get a chance to reply before it shouted:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

As she returned to the table, Hermione shifted over to make room.

“Instant?” she asked, curious but warm.

Y/N nodded. “Didn’t hesitate.”

Hermione gave her a small, understanding smile- a mirror of her own pride, and something more: recognition.

McGonagall called the final name.

“Harry Potter.”

The room fell dead silent. Harry stood and walked forward, head down, heart racing.

The Sorting Hat was barely on his head before it began to whisper.

“Hmm, difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent-oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?”

Harry whispered, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…”

“Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It’s all here, in your head… and Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that.”

“Please,” Harry whispered again, desperate. “Anything but Slytherin.”

“Well… if you’re sure… better be GRYFFINDOR!”

The hall erupted. Y/N clapped along with Ron and Hermione as Harry joined them, red-faced but smiling faintly.

And just like that, the four of them sat side by side at the Gryffindor table - not yet friends, but already something.

The beginning.

[hollow--sun]

🕒 When: Today

📍 Where:

👥 With Whom: Cairn Woods @cairnivore and Henri O’Dea @hollow--sun

��� Summary: Henri and Cairn meet for the first time in the aftermath of a violent encounter with a bezkost.

It smelled wrong. Like copper and mildew. Cairn slowed as she moved deeper into the alley, steps light over broken glass and old water. Her eyes flicked up – always check above you, you never know what’s watching from the trees, or in this case, the roof.

Too late.

The thing dropped fast. Silent, like meat sliding off a hook. It hit her shoulders with crushing weight, more than it should’ve had, all pliable mass and those sick, hooked hairs catching the back of her neck, her coat, her wrists.

She went down hard, shoulder first into the concrete, barely keeping her head from cracking open. Hot, wet pressure coiled around her ribs. It wasn’t trying to maul. It was trying to wrap. Trap. Whatever it was had enough of a mind to plan and it thought it had just caught something soft.

They were wrong.

Cairn hissed, jaw clamped shut. She jammed her knee upward, searching for tension in the mass, something solid she could hurt. Found it, a ridge, just under her ribs. She slammed her elbow down on it once. Twice. On the third strike, it convulsed, loosening.

Her breath came hard. In the flicker of pain and panic, a memory rose. Pama’s voice, sharp in her ear: “Soft don’t mean safe. Remember when you squeezed that slug too tight?” She had. She’d also done worse. Cut too deep gutting a deer once, not paying attention. It burst on her. The stink stuck to her for days. This thing, this bloated thing trying to wrap around her, it was no different. Overfed. Ready to pop.

Cairn shoved herself upright, the alley swimming sideways. When the creature lunged at her face again, she snatched her hatchet from her side. Her grip tightened as she twisted, aiming low. The blade sank into the swollen gut, and the pop came loud enough to make her wince. Blood hit her and the brick wall like thrown paint. The thing screamed, deflating into a sack.

She didn’t flinch. Kicked a stack of old wooden crates into its path, the broken boards and bent nails tumbling into a sharp, tangled wall. Not a kill, but enough to keep it still.

Her breathing slowed. She watched it twitch, curling in on itself, air bubbling in and out of its wrecked shape. It wasn’t done. Neither was she.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Blood smeared thick and tacky.

Footsteps, coming closer, not hurried, not loud. Cairn didn’t move. Just turned her head toward the alley mouth. Someone was coming. She was covered in blood, surrounded by the aftermath. But she was whole. And waiting.

__

The blood hit first.

Not scent — though the familiar metallic essence came a moment later— but sight. It flew in a slick arc across bricks, thick and viscous in the dim haze of the alley.

Then, the body.

Or what could be considered a body. A sack. A blood bag.

And then… the girl — no, not a girl, not exactly. He wasn’t sure. What he knew for certain was that they weren’t trembling. They weren’t panicking. Their stance was too measured. Blood on their clothes, stinking of burst entrails, perfectly still hands.

Henri slowed his steps.

Not out of fear. Out of calculation. They had their back toward the Bezkost. Hatchet down. In hand. Eyes on him. Waiting.

He didn’t raise his own hunting knife. He didn’t need to. Not yet.

“I was tracking the fucker,” he said calmly, voice low. “The plan was to get to it first.”

He gave the bezkost a glance and saw it twitch. Good. If he killed it himself, he would know for sure it had been done right.

Looking back at them, Henri began studying them. Compact frame. Worn boots. Holding the weight on the ball of their feet, alert, sharp. Who were they ?

“You hurt?” he asked, not kindly, not unkindly—just data collection.

And then: “Is that your first kill?”

Not because he thought it was. Because he hoped it wasn’t.

—

Cairn kept her gaze on the figure that appeared. Tall. If he came for her she’d have to stay low, cut across. Her dark eyes tracked his hands, looking for a twitch, a shift. Any of it could be the start of a reach.

At the mention of the thing on the floor, her head turned and with it her stance, adjusting to keep both in view. The sack still moved. Slow, shallow twitches. Not fully immobilized.

It was being tracked, that gave Cairn pause. What knowledge did this person have, to follow something like that? And why?

“Is it… done?” Cairn asked, motioning toward the sack with a sharp tilt of her hatchet. She ignored his questions because what did any of that matter?

If he knew more then by all means, teach. This was far from the first creature she bled and her pama’s voice surfaced once more, something she’d heard more than once - “don’t call a beast dead ‘til the crows do.”

And if that thing was still moving, it wasn’t over yet.

“I just need to know that thing won’t get back up.” She said, quiet but steady. That’s all that mattered.

She’d check for injuries later. Cairn could feel the blood on her, it coated her top, slickened her sleeves. None of it was hers — she’d know. Yet it clung onto her like guilt. Warm and close.

She kept her eyes on him, observing. She had left a path open between him and the twitching thing. If he had been truly tracking it, he wouldn’t see her as a threat and she was definitely not trying to block his way. Cairn couldn’t get a good look at it before it burst but judging by the mess it left on the bricks and the withered sack it left behind, she figured it would be something most people wouldn’t want to see twice.

—

“No,” he said simply, glancing at the twitching pile again. “It’s not done.”

Henri moved forward without hesitation, boots crunching through glass. Not toward her, but toward the thing on the ground — the creature looked insignificant now, but he knew better than to lower his guard. The stench was worse up close—fermented rot. His eyes narrowed.

“You have done remarkably well,” he commented, after a beat. “But, if I don’t finish what you’ve started, it will crawl through a crack and come back whole in a few days, a week maybe. And it will remember what just happened.”

He reached into his coat then, drawing out a narrow blade which he drove clean through the distorted, twisted sack with no sign of hesitation. There was a hissing sound, like air finding its way out of an inflated mattress. Then silence.

Henri rose to his feet, wiping the blade clean on a rag before he looked at her again.

The girl hadn’t run. Smart. She also hadn’t answered his questions, which he could respect. Priorities. Her posture was defensive, but measured. The hatchet still in hand, but not raised. Blood soaked her to the elbows but none of it dripped from a wound. He’d seen enough field reports to know: this wasn’t a panicked bystander.

“I’m Henri. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He didn’t step closer. Let the words sit instead, factual and simple. No warmth—but no threat either. Just a line in the dirt. She could cross it if she wanted.

Or not.

_

Cairn didn’t lower her hatchet right away. She watched him work, the way he moved with certainty, like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like that. The hiss of the creature’s death felt final, but not unfamiliar to him. That mattered.

When he stepped back, wiping his blade clean like this was just another job, her grip loosened slightly. Not out of trust but out of calculation. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t asked dumb questions, hadn’t made a mess of it. That said something. Cairn wiped her own blade against her leg before holstering it once more.

“I’ve seen things keep twitching long after they were supposed to be dead,” she said quietly. “You were right to finish it. My pama used to say some things die slow on purpose. Just to hear what you say around their corpse.”

Her gaze drifted to the sack, then back to him. “That one had shape. Intent. I’ve fought things that were just teeth and hunger, but this…” Cairn gestured vaguely with her hand. “It tried to wrap around me. Not kill me. Like it was thinking.”

Finally, she straightened, still watchful but no longer on edge. “Cairn,” she offered, nodding once in return. She didn’t bother lying, if he’d tracked that thing, he could track her too. And besides, he’d given his name first.

“You knew what it was. You knew what it would do if it got away. So tell me…” Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in curiosity sharpened by survival. “What was it?”

_____

Henri gave a slow nod at the name—Cairn. Not common. Feral at the edges. Fit.

He crouched near the collapsed creature, inspecting the final folds of skin as they began to stiffen, no longer twitching. His tone stayed calm as he answered, but there was something clipped about it too, like he’d said this before. Too many times.

“Bezkost,” he said. “Slavic in origin. The name means boneless. Doesn’t really matter what it used to be—it’s not that anymore. These things don’t rot. They bloat.”

He glanced up at her, face unreadable in the low light. “It probably didn’t get the time to properly get a read of you. Good for you.”

He stood slowly, wiping a bit of splatter off his sleeve like it annoyed him more than disturbed him.

“They’re not apex. Just scavengers with ambition. But they adapt.”

The weight of that hung a moment, then Henri looked at her again, this time with a bit more… investment. He wasn’t just looking at her stance now. He was taking stock.

“You’re too composed for this to be your first time. Or your tenth.”

Henri didn’t move any closer, but his gaze had shifted—sharper now, more curious. Not hostile. Like he was trying to figure out if he’d just stumbled on a variable he hadn’t accounted for. Not the Bezkost. Her.

“Who are you?”

—

The blood had settled on her like a second skin. Thick in places, drying in others, it clung to the creases of her elbows and the curve of her throat, sticky where it soaked through the inner lining of her coat. Still, it had weight. It dripped from the edge of her sleeve in slow, lazy drops that darkened the alley floor. Cairn didn’t flinch. She’d worn worse. Blood was blood—warm or cold, familiar or not, it always dried the same.

It was starting to itch where it dried too fast along her jaw, but she didn’t wipe it off. Not yet. Cairn was too busy thinking of what Henri said, appreciative of the knowledge, noting characteristics she’d need to remember—bloat, scavenger.

“Bezkost,” she repeated, trying to sound the syllables similar to him, believing it was as important to name a creature as it was to know what it was. She kept her eyes on it, as if not fully trusting it was truly finished with.

When Henri spoke again her eyes flicked to him not fully understanding the question. “I told you. Cairn.” Her voice wasn’t defensive, just matter-of-fact.

While Cairn was no stranger to gruesome things in the dark, this was her first encounter with a bezkost. But she’d long since lost the need to flinch. She glanced at the remains, then back at him. The threat was gone. She could be, too. Still, she didn’t move. Not yet.

“Do you always track things like this?”

___

Henri didn’t react to that immediately. Maybe she didn’t understand the hidden meaning of his question, or maybe he had to be clearer. He was starting to get the impression that they were a very literal person. He didn’t mind that. “I meant … Are you… You did not seem too shocked. You did not scream or run when that thing landed on you.” A pause. Explicit, he remembered. “Do you have some sort of experience dealing with bizarre creatures?”

He glanced down at the remains and allowed himself a smile. “I always track things like this when they leave a full spine across a storm drain.” This wasn’t the sort of comment he would have made in front of just anyone, but she seemed capable of handling a lot worse (which raised the question, again, of who she was).

“Generally, I don’t have someone doing half the work for me though, so thank you for that.”

Henri allowed himself a second to consider his options there, before settling on unbridled honesty : “I’m not going to beat around the bush, you don’t seem like someone who needs that. I’m just curious, really. Who taught you how to get rid of a creature like this one?”

___

Cairn wondered why that was what he focused on, that she didn’t flinch, that she survived. As if surviving something meant she was something else. As if there was ever another option. You survive or you die, that was how it had always been. You or them. And it wasn’t going to be her.

She glanced down. The words didn’t come easy. Not because she didn’t have them, but because she wasn’t used to speaking them aloud. For most of her life, she’d been beside someone who just knew. Now she wasn’t. And she probably never would be around someone like that again.

She rubbed her fingers together, like remembering the texture of something else. A different kill, older. “I’ve slipped things like that before. Not like that, exactly. But things that grab, crush, wrap. You only have a few seconds, sometimes. If you’re slow, you don’t get a second try.���

Cairn’s voice lowered. “Monsters were just part of living. We learned to move around them, stay breathing long enough to get away.” Her eyes dropped to the remains. “This one didn’t let me.” And when you don’t have a choice, you bare your teeth just like them. Now it was dead. She was alive. That was the only count that mattered.

She stepped back, giving him plenty of space as she moved past, already tugging at her clothing—slick with drying blood. Not rushing. Just… done.

“If you’re ever tracking something and need another set of eyes,” she added, pausing just long enough to say it without looking at him, “I know how to follow signs.”

And with that, Cairn walked into the street, the blood clinging to her like the kind of stories her pama used to whisper by firelight.

___

Henri stayed by the carcass a moment longer.

“Cairn.”

His voice wasn’t raised. It was steady as though spoken like punctuation. If she looked back, he wouldn’t be smiling, but something had shifted in the set of his shoulders : no longer braced, no longer tense.

He sheathed the blade and finally straightened. The alley was silent now, save for the faint coat of dripping gore drying on brick.

“If you meant what you said,” he added, glancing toward the street she’d taken, “I’ll find you.”

He didn’t ask how. Didn’t need to.

And just like that, Henri turned back toward the deeper dark. The night was young. What else, who else would he find ?

[pearlshims]

3 Important types of shims

Types of Shims: Stainless Steel, Brass, and Copper

Shims are an ordinary necessity in the different industries as they help to form seams or fits, provide relative accuracy also act as supporting materials for structures and mechanism. Therefore, among all the shims, the stainless steel, brass, and copper shims operate much differently from the rest of the types because of their properties. It is now time to look at these three important types of shims in a bit more detail.Pearl Shims  is considered as a leading Shims manufacturers in India.  Stainless steel shims manufacturer

Stainless Steel Shims

Durability and Strength

Stainless steel shims are praised for their sturdiness and hardness, making it hedge essential to opt for a positive one. It also possesses anti- corrosive properties hence can be used in applications where materials are exposed to tough environment, moisture, and chemicals. This corrosion resistance prolongs and guarantees the durability of the coated material even in harsh environments. We specialize in Shim Washer Manufacturers,, and are top-notch SS Coil Manufacturers in India.

Precision and Stability

In addition, stainless steel shims used in construction has the capability of offering alignment and rigidity. These are familiar in aviation industry, automobile manufacturing, and construction where precision and relative stability is acknowledged. Shims made of stainless steel are used in keeping distances constantly adjusted and in right order in different equipment and constructions.

Versatility

Stainless steel shims are thin and can be procured in small dimensions as well as thickness, thus the option of creating specialized ones. They are mostly employed in fields where they are required to provide excellent support and precision for example the alignment of the machinery, motor holding point, and leveling structures.

Brass Shims

Malleability and Workability

Brass shims are the most preferred types as they are easily malleable and can easily be worked on. It is quite convenient to work with them and one can easily modify them for a certain use. Because of this, they are useful where adjustments in the amount of torque required to set the tools, or the orientation of the tools, are desirable to achieve the set angle.Key products: Steel Coil Weight Calculator, Metal Shim Manufacturers, and Stainless Steel Coil Manufacturers in Vietnam.

Conductivity

Brass slip is a good conductor of electricity and heat; thus, brass shims are used in electrical and thermal applications. They are applied in electronics, electric contacts, as well as heat exchange equipment since they demonstrate high-conductivity characteristics.

Aesthetic Appeal

Another advantage of using brass shims is the appearance, so it is suitable for use where the appearance of the structure is essential. They are applied to decorative hardware, musical instruments and in any other application where the usages and the aesthetic value are critical.

Copper Shims

Excellent Conductivity

Copper shims are very much preferred due to the fact that it has great electrical and thermal conductivity. They are preferred in electrical and electronics industries to construct various circuits, keep certain distance, and control of heat absorption. Copper shims are important in parts like PCBs, sliders, and connectors much as in heat sinks.interested in Shims manufacturers usa and Stainless steel shims manufacturer

Antimicrobial Properties

Copper itself is known to have self-disinfecting nature and thus copper shims to be used in health related and food processing sectors. They assist in ensuring clean environs through the avoidance of bacterial infiltration mostly in those highly sensitive to germs.

Corrosion Resistance

Copper shims are relatively good in terms of corrosion resistance depending on the context in which they will be used. They are mostly employed in marine equipment, pipes and HVAC structures where they are likely to come into contact with moisture.

Conclusion

Thus, while stainless steel and brass shims have their advantages and drawbacks, copper shims’ peculiarities make them valuable adding to the assortment of diverse materials for different industries’ needs. Stainless steel shims offer the advantages of corresponding to high thickness tolerance and One Piece Turned Work accuracy, while brass shims are easily formed and has conducting properties. Knowledge of these variations enables one to decide on the kind of shim to use in a given application to improve performance and durability of the respective equipment.

[kshery-j]

Understanding the intricacies of motor construction

Let's embark on an exciting journey into the world of FPV drone motors! In this comprehensive guide, we will delve deep into the intricacies of motor construction, design features, and the various factors that can influence the performance and efficiency of these essential components. Armed with this knowledge, you'll be well-equipped to select the perfect motor for your upcoming drone build.

Brushless vs. Brushed Motors

In the realm of RC (remote control) devices, two primary types of motors exist: brushless and brushed motors. For our purposes, we will exclusively focus on brushless motors, which are the preferred choice for most FPV drones. Brushless motors are renowned for their durability and power, making them the top choice in the FPV community, while brushed motors are commonly found in toy-grade drones due to their cost-effectiveness.

Estimating Drone Weight and Frame Size

When contemplating the total weight of your FPV drone, it's crucial to account for all its components, from the frame and flight controller (FC) to the electronic speed controllers (ESCs), motors, propellers, receiver (RX), video transmitter (VTX), antenna, LiPo battery, GoPro camera, and more. While precision isn't mandatory, a reasonably accurate weight estimate is essential. It's better to overestimate the weight to ensure your drone has the power it needs rather than to underpower it, which can lead to difficulties during takeoff.

Additionally, determining your frame size is vital, as it dictates the maximum propeller size your drone can accommodate.

Determining Thrust Requirements

To calculate the minimum thrust necessary for your specific motor and propeller combination, you must consider the estimated total weight of your drone. A rule of thumb dictates that the combined maximum thrust generated by all the motors should be at least twice the total weight of your quadcopter. Insufficient thrust can result in sluggish control response and difficulties taking off.

For instance, if your drone weighs 1kg, the total thrust produced by all motors at 100% throttle should be a minimum of 2kg, with each motor generating 500g of thrust for a quadcopter. Of course, having excess thrust available is always beneficial.

For racing drones, the thrust-to-weight ratio, or power-to-weight ratio, should be significantly higher than the example mentioned above. Ratios of 10:1 or even 14:1 are not uncommon. In acrobatic and freestyle flying, it is advisable to maintain a thrust-to-weight ratio of at least 5:1.

A higher thrust-to-weight ratio grants a quadcopter greater agility and acceleration but can also make it more challenging to control, especially for novice pilots. Even slight throttle adjustments can cause the drone to shoot upwards with great force. A pilot's skill and experience play a substantial role in managing this power.

Even if you plan to use your drone for slow and stable aerial photography, it's advisable to aim for a thrust-to-weight ratio higher than 3:1 or even 4:1. This not only enhances control but also allows for the addition of extra payload.

Connecting a Brushless Motor

To operate a brushless motor, you'll need an electronic speed controller (ESC). Unlike brushed motors, which have only two wires, brushless motors are equipped with three wires. These wires can be connected to the ESC in any order. To reverse the motor's rotation direction, simply swap any two of the three wires.

Motor Size Explained

In the world of RC, brushless motor size is typically denoted by a four-digit number, following the AABB format:

The "AA" represents the stator width or diameter.

The "BB" represents the stator height, both measured in millimeters.

The stator serves as the stationary part of the motor, featuring coils of copper wire, which are coated with enamel to prevent short-circuiting as they are wound into multiple loops. When an electrical current flows through these stator coils, it generates a magnetic field that interacts with the permanent magnets on the rotor, resulting in rotation.

The motor's key components include:

Motor Stator: This stationary element of the motor consists of multiple metal coils. The coil wire is coated in enamel to prevent short-circuiting as it's wound into numerous loops. When an electrical current passes through the stator coils, it generates a magnetic field that interacts with the permanent magnets on the rotor, leading to rotation.

Magnets: Permanent magnets create a fixed magnetic field within the motor. In FPV motors, these magnets are attached to the interior of the motor bell using epoxy.

Motor Bell: The motor bell serves as a protective casing for the motor's magnets and windings. Typically constructed from lightweight materials like aluminum, some motor bells are designed with fan-like structures to enhance airflow over the motor windings for improved cooling during operation.

Motor Shaft: The motor shaft, connected to the motor bell, is the component responsible for transferring the torque generated by the motor to the propeller.

Increasing either the stator width or height results in greater stator volume, larger permanent magnets, and more extensive electromagnetic stator coils. This, in turn, enhances the motor's overall torque, enabling it to spin larger, heavier propellers at faster speeds and generate greater thrust. However, larger stators are heavier and less responsive.

KV (Revolutions per Minute per Volt)

The term "KV" indicates the number of revolutions per minute (rpm) a motor can achieve when 1V (one volt) is applied with no load, such as a propeller, connected to the motor. For example, a 2300KV motor, powered by a 3S LiPo battery (12.6V), will spin at approximately 28,980 RPM without propellers mounted (2300 x 12.6). KV is usually a rough estimation specified by the motor manufacturer.

Once a propeller is attached to the motor, the RPM significantly decreases due to air resistance. Higher KV motors tend to spin propellers faster, generating increased thrust and power (while also drawing more current). Larger props are typically paired with low KV motors, whereas smaller, lighter props work better with high KV motors.

It's important to note that if a high KV motor is paired with an excessively large propeller, the motor will attempt to spin it as quickly as it would with a smaller prop. This places a higher demand on torque, resulting in increased current draw and heat generation. Overheating can lead to motor damage, as the enamel coating on the coil wires may melt, causing electrical shorts within the motor. Consequently, a higher KV motor is likely to run hotter than a lower KV motor of the same size.

KV also influences the current and voltage limits of a motor. Higher KV motors feature shorter windings with lower resistance, reducing their maximum voltage rating and increasing the current draw when combined with a propeller. However, the motor's product page typically provides information on the allowable voltage and maximum current.

With this comprehensive guide, you now possess a thorough understanding of FPV drone motors, from the choice between brushless and brushed motors to estimating drone weight, determining thrust requirements, connecting brushless motors, and deciphering motor size and KV ratings. Armed with this knowledge, you'll be better prepared to select the perfect motor for your next FPV drone build. Happy flying!

[busbarmachine001]

Portable parent row processing machine manufacturer (what is the price of the Copper row band bending machine in Inner Mongolia)

Copper resistance to low mechanical strength high -mechanical strength is good for contact connection. It is an excellent conductor but my country is not much storage and more expensive. Essence 62%of the aluminum conductivity is copper, and the weight of the aluminum parent line of the same current of the same current is calculated by the weight of the same length. In addition, the amount of aluminum parental line due to large section area caused by large section area The amount of aluminum parent line that transmits the same current is about 44%of the copper bus.

Starting current increases as the braking current increases. Through the correct fixed value, the actual start -up current of the relay can be greater than the corresponding imbalance current under the action of any large short -circuit current of any size. The longitudinal protection of the transformer can reliably avoid the unbalanced current when the transformer is short -circuit. Portable parent processing machine manufacturer

The coil skeleton, coil winding, coil and isolation layer, and the outermost layer of the coil shall be padded with a polymer film and yellow wax silk according to the drawings. When the drawing is not stipulated, the coil layer cushion 0.05 phone paper or yellow wax silk layer, the coil winding group, the coil and the isolation layer are all the two layers of the phone paper or the yellow wax silk, the outer layer of the coil is yellow wax and silk thin film Three layers.

The bronze row processing machine of the portable busbar bending machine is generally composed of three industrial stations: punching, bending and cutting. The hydraulic driver is used to control the control of each process by PLC. Bending and shearing processes are high -efficiency small machine tools for large quantities of machining mothers in the electrical industry. As one of the three major stations, the scissors station, its function is to cut off the copper row of 20 to 160mm and 3 to 15mm thick and ensure the smoothness of the incision and the vertical of the section. The focus and difficulty in design.

Once a failure during operation, please turn off the total power switch of the device immediately, that is, the air switch is placed in the "OFF" state. And timely contact with Shandong Dalin CNC.

Food safety problem is an eternal topic. With the emergence of many casual foods, many people are boring time. Behind these delicious casual foods, there are many additives that do not meet national standards and are harmful to the human body. While paying attention to food safety, you should also pay attention to the safety of the equipment you are in contact with. When purchasing the homeline processor, you must choose the product of the regular manufacturer. The quality of the machine is strictly controlled. Portable parent processing machine manufacturer

The role and influence of sales staff are not underestimated, because it largely affects the sales volume of enterprise products and is related to the future development of the enterprise. Essence Enterprises have hired professional technical lecturers to carry out lectures, improve their professional skills through technical training, improve the enthusiasm of sales employees through more reward and punishment mechanisms, and improve sales employees' business levels through learning for further studies.

[absurdthirst]

Can you do the prompt “I didn’t believe you cared.” With Ezra pretty please 🥺🥰

***ANGST!!!!

Mistaken

She held the railgun in her hands, staring down the newcomer that had turned the tables on them. She didn’t bother to turn to look at the little girl that had a thrower trained on all of them, concentrating on the one that managed to get Ezra’s gun off of him.

She had told him that they should just leave the lone prospector alone when they ran across him. Her partner had just given her that cocksure grin of his that made him seem so rakish and told her to lower the screen inside her helmet so the man couldn’t see her and stay silent.

So she did. Listening to the echo of her breathing in the confines of her helmet, she watched Daemon’s hand twitch. He was about to shoot. Pulling the trigger, she aimed for his heart and prayed that he didn’t shoot Ezra.

Piercing agony ripped into her body. Bolts of pain shooting through her as the metal flew. Funny how her thoughts weren’t on that, they were still on her partner.

They had met several stands ago. Right after Ezra had been marooned by his own team on the green moon. Her own partner had not listened to her warnings about infection and had passed two days prior. The fringe was unforgiving in that regard.

“Y/N!” She heard him as she fell to the ground, knees buckling under the cumbersome weight of the suit that she had to pilfer after her own had been compromised beyond repair. It had made her seem like a veritable giant, even though she was nearly the same height as Ezra.

Rushed hands started running over the thick fabric, uncoupling the over shield. The helmet had two layers, the fearsome exterior that seemed to make her look like a knight of old, like her loquacious partner likes to wax poetically about, and the clear visor that let them look easily upon one another.

Those russet eyes that normally had such a calculating look in them were wide with horror. She could feel the blood, taste the copper at the back of her throat. It was bad, they both knew it.

His voice shook, that hypnotic and steady voice betraying him. “Stay with me, little mole.” His helmet pressed against her as he looked down, his gloves covering the entrance to one of her wounds. “You must not abandon your mortal coil in this desolate place.” He begged.

Little Mole. The moniker that he had bestowed upon her after discovering her penchant to dig out the best harvesting spots where no obvious signs were present. She had believed that was why he had kept her around. That and for the ability to hear a voice other than his own.

Her laugh was cut off by her choking on the blood that filled her mouth, coughing it out to spray against the clear shield. Giving his face a speckled appearance. Her next laugh had a breezy quality, her lungs filling rapidly with the crimson lifeblood. “I didn’t know you cared.” She breathed, drinking in the face that she had come to adore. Her eyes raking over the blonde patch of hair, the scar over his left cheek, the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips. Memorizing them for the afterlife.

His face collapsed for a moment, a small sob coming over the radio and filling the ragged silence in her helmet. “My little mole, I must confess that I have been enamored with you since our first meet cute, right here in the weary hazards of the green.” Ezra pulls her up closer to his body, his voice cracking. “Stay with me, please.”

She lifted her hand, wishing that she could caress his cheek. Trace the scar with her fingers and brush them through the hair that she loved. Feel his lips, like she had imagined so many times before. Her gloved hand hit the clear protective shield of his helmet, before falling to rest on his arm.

“Ezra...I” Y/N coughed again, weaker. “I lov-”

Her body relaxed, eyes open and staring up at him, but not seeing.

He looks up, realizing that he had completely forgotten about the little girl that had a thrower pointed at him the moment he heard Y/N cry out. Leaving himself vulnerable to being killed himself.

She was standing there, the long thrower in her hands with a wide eyed look, fearful. His eyes bore into hers for a moment, wondering what her move will be as he holds Y/N’s body in his grips. She takes off, darting into the safety of the trees and out of his sight, fleeing from the carnage.

Emotion gripped his throat as he looked back down at her still form, making his voice thick. “I admit defeat, little mole. I was so grievously wrong. Religious scholars of old proclaimed that greed was one of the seven deadliest sins, and I fear that you have paid my price.” He squeezed his eyes together before looking back at the tree line where the girl disappeared. “I’ll find her, Y/N. I’ll make sure no harm comes to her. For you.”

He gently moves her body to rest against the log, looking out over the beautifully swampy waters of the marsh. Knowing that she always preferred to look out over the untamed harsh beauty of the green.

He stood over her, looking at her face one last time, committing her beauty to memory. “Not often have I found regret in my endeavors. But I will eternally mourn your mistaken assumptions that I held no affection for you, my little mole. For you are the keeper of my heart and I find that I am adrift in this universe without your angelic presence by my side.” He took a deep breath. “Rest well my love, may your everlasting slumber be peaceful.”

Ezra moved toward the packs they had dropped during the skirmish and collected what was needed to go find the girl. He would protect her better than he had his love, even if it meant sacrificing himself. He walked away from the spot, leaving a portion of his heart behind.

MasterList

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[spinbitchzu]

lazarus | harumi

The elevator descends with sickening stagnance. All around her, the bodies tremble and sweat, fear pouring off of them in waves. Harumi has stopped being afraid; her skin is glass and everything underneath is missing, leaving only the terrible hollowness. Her heart beats slow in her head and chest and fingers, until she can hardly hear the whirr of the elevator car over the dull thud that feels like a countdown.

The shaft shakes with the commotion outside, and everyone moans in terror as one. Harumi is pressed against the cold doors as the inhabitants of the elevator seem to expand as if there’s anywhere to escape to. The walls seem to shrink down and the cold of the metal leeches into her skin. Another child whimpers and begins to sob, hidden somewhere in the crush of people.

“Honey, listen to me. Listen to me, everything will be okay,” a voice comes, shaking but tender. Harumi feels sick to her stomach.

The soft chime of the bell announces their arrival on the first floor, and as the doors crack, Harumi is shoved forward as the crowd flees in panic, scattering like ants. The woman, whose arms her parents had shoved her in, momentarily hesitates, a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, kid, you need to get to safety!” she cries. The whites of her eyes are too big as her eyes roll like a spooked horse.

Harumi stays rooted in place, listening to the rumble in the distance that shakes her to her core. She’s completely paralyzed.

“My parents,” she manages to whisper, resisting the jostling. “They’re still in there.”

“Kid, they’re as good as dead, you need to leave with me,” the woman urges her, pulling more insistently.

Harumi shakes her head frantically, panic bubbling in her throat. “I need to wait for my parents!”

The woman stares at her for a moment, almost calculating, and then her head snaps up as she catches a glimpse of something over Harumi’s shoulder. She blanches, and when she looks back, any semblance of compassion in her eyes is replaced by the unflinching hunger of someone who’s survival hangs in the balance. The sword of Damocles whistles as it cuts through the air and the woman turns tail, leaving Harumi alone.

It’s a funny feeling, to be standing in the middle of the chaos as it erupts. Harumi turns, too slow, to see the source of the woman’s fear and watches in captivated horror as all hell breaches the earth. A colossal serpent explodes through the sky scrapers, sending debris in every direction, and blasts through the street, following a red blur. She stares at it, realizing it’s one of the ninja that protects the city.

Her heart lifts and her lips part to shout to him, shout that her parents need help, but he’s gone before the words come. Instead of rescue, she sees gleaming muscular coils constrict around her apartment building. The structure creaks and groans, cracks spiderwebbing up the stucco sides. Harumi’s breath catches.

And then the building just gives, shattering in every direction.

Plumes of dust billow into the air and all around her, the screaming swells, harmonizing in a dissonant chord with the wail of sirens and car alarms and something else. There’s a wild, almost animalistic shriek mixed in with the cacophony. It takes a moment before she connects it to the choked fire tearing up her throat, and she dimly realizes the scream is coming from her.

“Mom! Dad!” The words escape her in a wretched howl. Before she can even process, she’s kneeling in the wreckage, shards of glass digging into her knees. Her hands scrabble and scrape on the jagged edges as she digs through the pile, desperation coursing through her veins like rolling lava.

Unlike before, she’s no longer empty—rather the opposite. Every warring emotion seems to spill over the brim, every heightened sensation too overwhelming to process. She becomes aware of the hot tears spilling down her cheeks and tastes the salt mixing with acrid ash.

The sobs that escape her are huge and gulping as she furiously digs through the rubble. The yawning cavern that gapes in her chest feels like it’s swallowing her as her fists fall fruitlessly on the uncaring heap.

“Mommy!” she bawls, voice splintering. “Daddy, please come back! Please, where are you?”

Where are you?

She shoves what must have once been a table and keeps digging. Her fingers catch on a broken window pane and slick, hot blood courses down her palms.

I need you!

A fit of coughing descends upon her as dust motes float into the air. She blinks away the tears that mingle with the grime on her face and sniffles and keeps digging.

I don’t want to be alone...

The drywall she moves crumbles to reveal more rubble, endlessly heaped in every which way. But if she gives up, what will she have left? The all-consuming maw that threatens to finish her? Harumi grits her teeth, eyes stinging once more, and keeps digging. Every inch of her quivers with adrenaline and need.

I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE!

The thought explodes across her like a wildfire and she flies into a frenzy of digging. Everything kind of whites out for the next few moments. Harumi tastes metallic copper with the salt in her mouth, and as her breath turns ragged, her spittle is dyed scarlet. It seems like a loop where as much as she digs, she only finds more debris.

Then suddenly, she heaves a fallen door over and her whole world freezes over. Time trickles to a stop. Even her heart seems to pause in its hammering rhythm. Her hands stiffen over what she’s uncovered.

The flesh under hers is cold and clammy, and does not give. It’s strange, almost grey, as if it isn’t human at all, but Harumi knows with annihilating certainty that it is.

And—

And it hurts unimaginably so. More than she thought it ever would. Pain seems to physically press against her heart as she lets out a strangled gasp, desperate for the inflation of her lungs to alleviate the pressure.

Her gut clenches, and she throws herself to the left as the contents of her stomach make a violent reappearance. She can’t help but weep even when her stomach settles and all the tension leaks from her body as she collapses into what used to be her home. She doesn’t stir from her position, eyes locked on the very thing that caused her nausea: a pair of intertwined hands that once stroked her hair and pinched her cheeks. Their wedding bands, though veiled in a thin layer of dirt, shine dimly in the light.

Harumi thinks, in an oddly abstracted way, that this is what it feels like to die.

Is this what damnation is? To have every little bit of you that loves be extinguished in one fell swoop? And if she lives still, what is left over? What survives the loss of everything that matters?

In the background, the sounds of the city carry on. The car alarms continue to rise and fall in their endless cry. The people continue to shout in fear. Even that forsaken snake continues to tear through the city, trailing destruction. But in Harumi’s head, everything has become eerily quiet.

Her eyes crack open as she senses something change. She opens her eyes to complete darkness, with just one beacon of light. Harumi’s eyes lock onto the tiny dark figure at the top of the building, sparkling with the golden weapons he raises. The crushing weight on her chest lifts for the briefest moment as Lord Garmadon’s mouth twists in a wordless scream as he plummets off the building. It should inspire terror or concern or satisfaction or something, but instead—

Instead, her mouth knifes up into a ruined little smile. And slowly, softly, Harumi’s heart begins to beat again.

…

Harumi waits for the rescue she knows will come. Soaked in the slimy aftermath of the Great Devourer’s defeat from head to toe, she sits cross-legged on the pile and makes up a little song in her head to pass the time.

The paramedic who puts a blanket around her shoulders has a gentle voice despite the exhaustion she must be fighting. Her tone is light as she remarks:

“My, my. Aren’t you the quiet one!”

... In the wake of the battle, Harumi is shepherded from place to place like a lost lamb. First, it’s a shelter full of cold strangers and burned-out volunteers. Then they drop her in an orphanage where the linoleum floors smell of lemon cleaners and the children cry all night.

Finally, she’s being chauffeured into the royal palace, feeling small and out of place to meet the royal family. The king and queen smile beatifically at her, but their painted masks ruin the effect. She shivers and pulls away from them, with their moon-white faces and blood-red lips, grotesquely beautiful. The cloying luxury of the palace, untouched despite the battle, disturbs her.

“This is your new home, Harumi,” the queen tells her, tucking her into bed. “Try to leave the past behind, okay? You’re a princess now.”

“And you should call us mom and dad,” the king adds kindly. “Good night, Harumi.”

She studies the happiness on their porcelain faces with detached curiosity and then imitates it. Like a little doll, she parrots back, “Goodnight, Mom, goodnight, Dad.”

That night she dreams of the elevator, of the doors that slide shut and seal her fate. Then four pairs of ink-black hands appear in the gap just before they close and pry the doors back open. In the darkness, a pair of glowing violet eyes appear, along with a razor-sharp smile.

Do not fear. I will protect you, daughter.

Harumi wakes up with something to believe in.

[itsdisguisetimerobbierotten]

A Heavy Crown

    The Autumn Queen sat upon her throne, a massive thing of thick dark branches and dark gold. Leaves of rich copper and deep purple framed the tall back and coated the padding. Her crown felt heavy on her brow, the stylized rose gold leaves set with shining purple topaz, calm and balanced clarity. Mama Rosaline Rotten sat in contemplation.

    Long gone was the wild child from her youth who danced barefoot across the wooden deck of her father’s ship with a bottle in hand. Gone was the wild child who chomped cigars and shook dice while covered in sea water and tattoos and little else. The child had aged and gone to shore, long locks cut short and feet planted in the earth to sow and reap the harvest. Fingers to tangled in the vines and nurture life to ripen for the great harvests. Where once Rossie was carefree, now she calculated and planned. Summer was for wild freedom, Autumn was for preparation.

    The power of her station, the mantle of the Queen, thrummed through her. Rosaline didn’t regret her life choices, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. She had regrets, loss… but that was part of life as all of Autumn accepted. Death would come to claim all in time. Still… the Queen was restless, she needed to stretch her legs. Perhaps it was time to go play… The Autumn Lady could fill in for a bit while Rossie pursued the gambling halls and breathed in the thick smoke again. It was a deep craving that coiled in her gut like a snake.

    Quietly Rossie ran she fingers over the hard wood of her throne, grooves worn by fingers far older than hers. Responsibility meant she could not take such a leave lightly. There would have to be plans in place, preparations made. Wearily, she had a pang of nostalgia for the days when she could simply dive off her father’s ship and disappear for years at a time. 

    Rising, she stepped down from the dais of the throne, fur trimmed cloak trailing behind her. Reaching the ground floor, her heels clicked against the polished stone floor as she turned towards her personal garden. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her guards and servants. The Queen would tend to her garden alone. It was her sanctuary.  

    There were no flowers in the garden of Autumn, the pants were instead heavy and ripe with fruit, ready for the harvest. Apples and pears hung heavy on the branches of her orchard, thick vines coiled around the squash. The leaves thick and green with life, some changing to brilliant colors in deep reds, purples, and oranges. Nearly metallic in their hues. Her heels clicked in the stone path as she walked, chin high and serene. 

    With the doors closed behind her and the warm sunlight pouring into the private sanctuary, she removed her crown. Hanging it from a branch, she slipped out of her long evening cloak as well. With a deep sigh of relief, she ran her fingers through her gray locks. For just a moment. She could steal just a moment to herself. The crown was just far too heavy today.

   Reaching out and taking a lush pear into her hand, nearly purple in color, she bit into it. The juice dripped down her chin. With a sinful moan, she finished the pear and tossed the core into the brush. Its corpse would feed the others that still lived. The sweet musk of fallen ripe fruit filled the air of the garden, thick with the sounds of bugs and birds and small critters. Life and death hung in heavy balance under her careful hands.

   Stepping out of her heels, she twisted from her dress, letting it fall to the ground. Her stocking followed so that her bare toes could sink into the fresh earth. With a deep groan, the corset was unlaced and dropped behind her. Her toned back was covering in tattoos, a mermaid twirling up her spine below a compass. Her chest was all but flat as she ran her painted nails across her broad chest. The corset had forced a shape that had not been entirely her own.

    Clad only in her underskirt and jewelry, Rossie danced through her garden, a song from her childhood bubbling to her lips. She sang of undersea adventures and fighting krakens, of mermaid lovers and high sea battles. At the height of the chord, she spun, she painted nails like claws as she sank them into the bark of a tree. Rending it with her nails, the Autumn Queen claimed its life, it withered under her touch. Following its corpse to the earth, she sank her hands deep into the roots and coaxed out a new sapling. 

   Her song shifted to one she had learned from the dryads. When the sea had lost its wonder, the wild child had found pride in creation. In being a mother. Placing a fond kiss on the green sapling, Rossie rose to her feet. Spring sowed its seeds without care, they did not tend their gardens. What grew, lived; what did not, was lost. Autumn always planned. Sacrifices were calculated and with purpose. Every life mattered, even if its purpose was to nourish others. 

    Covered in dirt, Rossie settled into vines that hung from a tree like a hammock. They curled under her, cradling the Queen. Her crown was heavy, but she could imagine no other life. She was born to rule, to command. Never could she image settling for less. She would take her vacation, domineer the gambling dens, maybe take a lover again. But she knew she would soon itch to return. Her brow felt empty without the weight of her crown. 

[paper1125]

What are the advantages of toroidal transformer

What are the advantages of the toroidal transformer? The core of the toroidal transformer is made of high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheets (the thickness of the sheet is generally less than 0.35mm), which is seamlessly rolled, which makes its core performance better than that of the What are the advantages of toroidal transformer The core of the toroidal transformer is made of high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheet (the thickness of the sheet is generally less than 0.35mm), which is seamlessly rolled, which makes its core performance better than the traditional laminated core. The coil of the toroidal transformer is evenly wound on the core, and the direction of the magnetic field lines generated by the coil almost completely coincides with the core magnetic circuit. Compared with the laminated type, the excitation energy and core loss will be reduced by 25%, which brings the following series The advantages.

High electrical efficiency The core has no air gap, the stacking factor can be as high as 95% or more, the core permeability can be 1.5 to 1.8T (the laminated core can only be 1.2 to 1.4T), the electrical efficiency is up to 95%, and the no-load current is only 10% of the laminated type. The small size and light weight toroidal transformer can reduce the weight by half compared with the laminated transformer. As long as the core cross-sectional area is kept equal, the toroidal transformer can easily change the ratio of the length, width and height of the core, and the outer size can be designed to meet the requirements. The magnetic core with low magnetic interference has no air gap, and the winding is evenly wound on the toroidal core. This structure results in small magnetic leakage and small electromagnetic radiation. It can be used in high-sensitivity electronic equipment without additional shielding. For example, it is used in low-level amplifiers and medical equipment.

Vibration noise is small. The core does not have an air gap to reduce the core. Product classification According to foreign literature, toroidal transformers can be divided into three types: standard type, economic type and isolated type. The characteristics of each type are: series capacity 8 ~ 1500VA, there is a small The voltage regulation rate and temperature rise at full load operation are only 40 ° C, allowing short-term overload operation, suitable for demanding use occasions. Class B (130 ° C) polyester film insulation is used between the primary and secondary windings. At least three layers of insulating tape are required to withstand the voltage test of AC 4000V and 1min. What are the advantages of toroidal transformer How is the transformer power calculated Calculate the transformer input power P1 (set the transformer efficiency η = 0.95) and the input current I1 where: K—the coefficient is related to the transformer power, K = 0.6 ～ 0.8, take K = 0.75; select the core size according to the existing core specifications as : Height H = 40mm, inner diameter Dno = 55mm, outer diameter Dwo = 110mm. In the formula: f—— power frequency (Hz), f = 50Hz; B—— magnetic flux density (T), B = 1.4T. N2 = N20 · U2 = 3.23 × 11.8 = 38.1 turns, take N2 = 38 turns. 6) Select the wire diameter. The wire diameter d of the winding wire is calculated according to formula (10). Where: I——current through the wire (A); j——current density, j = 2.5 ～ 3A / mm2. When taking j = 2.5A / mm2 into the formula (10), two wires with d = 2.12mm (considering the maximum outer diameter of the insulating paint is 2.21mm) should be used and wound. Because the cross-sectional area of ​​the Φ2.94 conductor Sd2 = 6.78mm2, and the cross-sectional area of ​​the d = 2.12mm conductor is 3.53mm2, the cross-sectional area of ​​the two parallels is: 2 × 3.53 = 7.06mm2, which fully meets the requirements and has a large margin . 6 Calculation of the structure of the toroidal transformer The winding of the toroidal transformer is wound by the winding ring of the winding machine in the iron core. Therefore, the size of the inner diameter of the iron core is very important for the processing process.

The purpose of the structure calculation is to check the complete winding After the winding, how much space is left in the inner diameter. If the calculated inner diameter space is too small to meet the winding requirements, the core size can be modified, as long as the cross-sectional area remains unchanged, the electrical performance is basically unchanged. It is known that the inner diameter of the core Dno = 55mm, the thickness of each insulating layer in FIG. 7 is to = 1.5mm, and t1 = t2 = 1mm. Calculate the inner diameter Dn2 after winding the primary winding and covering the insulation. Calculate the number of turns of each layer of the primary winding n1 where: Dn1-the inner diameter after the core is insulated, Dn1 = Dno-2t0 = 55- (2 × 1.5) = 52mm ; kp——overlap coefficient, kp = 1.15. Then the number of layers of the primary winding Q1 is the thickness of the primary winding δ1. Transformer temperature rise problem Temperature rise problem The temperature rise characteristic curve of the toroidal transformer is shown in Figure 6. From Figure 6, it can be seen that the temperature rise of the toroidal transformer is relatively low. For the standard series, even if the overload is 120%, the temperature rise does not exceed 70 ° C. The temperature rise of the transformer is determined by the iron loss and the copper loss. For the laminated transformer, the two parts are basically equal, but the toroidal transformer is wound with high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheets and cooperates with a good annealing process. The loss is only (10 ~ 20)% of the total loss, so the temperature rise is mainly determined by the copper loss of the winding. The reasonable design is that the power consumption of the primary and secondary windings should be basically balanced. The temperature rise is also closely related to the heat dissipation area. Since the temperature rise of the core of the toroidal transformer is low, the winding is evenly wound on the entire core, the heat dissipation area and the heat dissipation conditions are better, so a lower temperature rise can be obtained.

[pearlshims]

How Coils Function in Heat Exchangers and Their Importance in Industrial Applications

Introduction

There are many uses of heat exchangers in various industries for giving robust thermal control by exchanging heat between the fluids. Coils, in particular, are the essential parts of these systems. Now the time has come to look at how coils operate in the heat exchangers and their importance for industries.Pearl Shims is a Best  Shims Manufacturers In India and SS Coil Manufacturers in India.

What Are Heat Exchangers?

Heat exchangers as a category of equipment are designed to exchange heat between one or more than one fluids without letting the fluids mix with each other. They are used in almost all industries which include the chemical processing industry, power industry, HVAC, and food processing. The appropriate temperature rates that are attained by heat exchangers make the different processes to be safe and efficient.: Steel Coil Weight Calculator, Metal Shim Manufacturers, and Stainless Steel Coil Manufacturers in Vietnam.

Coils are one of the significant components of heat exchangers.

Coils are one of the inherent components of heat exchangers that enable the exchange of heat between two sections of the equipment. These are often fabricated from metals with high thermal conductivities including copper, aluminum, or stainless steel. Here's how they work:You might be interested in Shims manufacturers USA and Stainless steel shims manufacturer

Heat Transfer Mechanism: The most common arrangement is to place coils into a number of tubes or have finned elements. A hot fluid is passed through the coil to allow the heat transfer from the hot fluid to the coil material. On the other hand, when cool fluid, flows through the coil, heat from surrounding environment is transmitted to the side of coil heats the fluid within it.

Maximizing Surface Area: Coiling enhances the exposure of the volume of fluid to be overheated hence increasing the area of heat exchange. For instance finned coils have an increased surface area of the coil that raises the area of contact that is available for the interchange of heat between the coil and the fluid.

Fluid Flow Optimization: Coils are made to provide smooth paths for the fluids to flow through with little opposition and /or pressure loss. The way the fluids are passed and recirculated through the coils makes it possible for it to transfer heat in an efficient manner.

Coils and Their Role in Industries

Coils are critical to the functionality and efficiency of heat exchangers, impacting various industrial applications in several ways:Coils are critical to the functionality and efficiency of heat exchangers, impacting various industrial applications in several ways:

Energy Efficiency: Industries are benefited by heat transfer through coils since less energy is used because of proper coils for transfer of heat. This shows that through efficient heat management the cost of energy is reduced hence enhancing the reduction of the impact on the environment.

Process Safety: Temperature control is vital in chemical processing and in the production of power since involvements of extreme heat create a high likelihood of dangers. There are coiled used in heat exchangers to make sure that there are no high temperatures that cause dangerous reactions.

Product Quality: Temperatures control is very critical in food processing because this affects quality and safety of the processed products. Coils support steady temperature regulation, thus, maintaining high quality of the final product.

Equipment Longevity: Thus, coils help to increase the performance of industrial equipment, protect it from overheating, and increase its durability. This cuts on the frequency of having to undertake elaborate maintenance and also means that the units do not spend too much time in maintenance.

Conclusion

Coils in heat exchangers are very useful in many industrial processes ranging from improved energy efficiency, process safety and product quality. Thus, the significance of heat exchanger can be understood by the industries involving the technology to enhance their functionality and value so as to reduce costs and incorporated maximum standards of safety and efficiency.

[printingproducts0318]

What are the advantages of toroidal transformer

What are the advantages of the toroidal transformer? The core of the toroidal transformer is made of high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheets (the thickness of the sheet is generally less than 0.35mm), which is seamlessly rolled, which makes its core performance better than that of the What are the advantages of toroidal transformer The core of the toroidal transformer is made of high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheet (the thickness of the sheet is generally less than 0.35mm), which is seamlessly rolled, which makes its core performance better than the traditional laminated core. The coil of the toroidal transformer is evenly wound on the core, and the direction of the magnetic field lines generated by the coil almost completely coincides with the core magnetic circuit. Compared with the laminated type, the excitation energy and core loss will be reduced by 25%, which brings the following series The advantages.

High electrical efficiency The core has no air gap, the stacking factor can be as high as 95% or more, the core permeability can be 1.5 to 1.8T (the laminated core can only be 1.2 to 1.4T), the electrical efficiency is up to 95%, and the no-load current is only 10% of the laminated type. The small size and light weight toroidal transformer can reduce the weight by half compared with the laminated transformer. As long as the core cross-sectional area is kept equal, the toroidal transformer can easily change the ratio of the length, width and height of the core, and the outer size can be designed to meet the requirements. The magnetic core with low magnetic interference has no air gap, and the winding is evenly wound on the toroidal core. This structure results in small magnetic leakage and small electromagnetic radiation. It can be used in high-sensitivity electronic equipment without additional shielding. For example, it is used in low-level amplifiers and medical equipment.

Vibration noise is small. The core does not have an air gap to reduce the core. Product classification According to foreign literature, toroidal transformers can be divided into three types: standard type, economic type and isolated type. The characteristics of each type are: series capacity 8 ~ 1500VA, there is a small The voltage regulation rate and temperature rise at full load operation are only 40 ° C, allowing short-term overload operation, suitable for demanding use occasions. Class B (130 ° C) polyester film insulation is used between the primary and secondary windings. At least three layers of insulating tape are required to withstand the voltage test of AC 4000V and 1min. What are the advantages of toroidal transformer How is the transformer power calculated Calculate the transformer input power P1 (set the transformer efficiency η = 0.95) and the input current I1 where: K—the coefficient is related to the transformer power, K = 0.6 ～ 0.8, take K = 0.75; select the core size according to the existing core specifications as : Height H = 40mm, inner diameter Dno = 55mm, outer diameter Dwo = 110mm. In the formula: f—— power frequency (Hz), f = 50Hz; B—— magnetic flux density (T), B = 1.4T. N2 = N20 · U2 = 3.23 × 11.8 = 38.1 turns, take N2 = 38 turns. 6) Select the wire diameter. The wire diameter d of the winding wire is calculated according to formula (10). Where: I——current through the wire (A); j——current density, j = 2.5 ～ 3A / mm2. When taking j = 2.5A / mm2 into the formula (10), two wires with d = 2.12mm (considering the maximum outer diameter of the insulating paint is 2.21mm) should be used and wound. Because the cross-sectional area of ​​the Φ2.94 conductor Sd2 = 6.78mm2, and the cross-sectional area of ​​the d = 2.12mm conductor is 3.53mm2, the cross-sectional area of ​​the two parallels is: 2 × 3.53 = 7.06mm2, which fully meets the requirements and has a large margin . 6 Calculation of the structure of the toroidal transformer The winding of the toroidal transformer is wound by the winding ring of the winding machine in the iron core. Therefore, the size of the inner diameter of the iron core is very important for the processing process.

The purpose of the structure calculation is to check the complete winding After the winding, how much space is left in the inner diameter. If the calculated inner diameter space is too small to meet the winding requirements, the core size can be modified, as long as the cross-sectional area remains unchanged, the electrical performance is basically unchanged. It is known that the inner diameter of the core Dno = 55mm, the thickness of each insulating layer in FIG. 7 is to = 1.5mm, and t1 = t2 = 1mm. Calculate the inner diameter Dn2 after winding the primary winding and covering the insulation. Calculate the number of turns of each layer of the primary winding n1 where: Dn1-the inner diameter after the core is insulated, Dn1 = Dno-2t0 = 55- (2 × 1.5) = 52mm ; kp——overlap coefficient, kp = 1.15. Then the number of layers of the primary winding Q1 is the thickness of the primary winding δ1. Transformer temperature rise problem Temperature rise problem The temperature rise characteristic curve of the toroidal transformer is shown in Figure 6. From Figure 6, it can be seen that the temperature rise of the toroidal transformer is relatively low. For the standard series, even if the overload is 120%, the temperature rise does not exceed 70 ° C. The temperature rise of the transformer is determined by the iron loss and the copper loss. For the laminated transformer, the two parts are basically equal, but the toroidal transformer is wound with high-quality cold-rolled silicon steel sheets and cooperates with a good annealing process. The loss is only (10 ~ 20)% of the total loss, so the temperature rise is mainly determined by the copper loss of the winding. The reasonable design is that the power consumption of the primary and secondary windings should be basically balanced. The temperature rise is also closely related to the heat dissipation area. Since the temperature rise of the core of the toroidal transformer is low, the winding is evenly wound on the entire core, the heat dissipation area and the heat dissipation conditions are better, so a lower temperature rise can be obtained.