#welding manipulator

[quirkwizard]

If you could only have one Quirk out of the following categories, which ones would you pick? Categories are: 1-A, 1-B, PLF, Pro Heroes, UA Faculty, AFO/Nomu, Other Students, and Other Villains. For clarification you can handle multiple Quirks, use them simultaneously, and don’t have to worry about fitting them under one Quirk. You have full training of the quirks. Not sure if this is an hero student, hero, villain, civilian, just whatever’s the most interesting.

So here's the thing: the fact I have all of these powers at once greatly changes the trajectory of the question. I'm of a similar philosophy to All For One: powers need to be simple and easy to mix. Something like "Manifest" is cool, but it'd be a pain to deal with when used with the other powers. So for this, I'm more focused on building an arsenal rather then powers I'd want on their own. If you want something like that, I'd rather focus on these groups on their own, like what I did with Class 1-A, Class 1-B, and the Pro Heroes.

Sludge Form: This is going to work as the basis for the rest of the Quirks I pick out. It's a really good power on it's own with the amount of flexibility on offer, the high survivability, and how easy it would be to build around it with the rest of the Quirks.

Blood Manipulation: I'm not totally certain how this would work with a body made of sludge, but I think being able to make a make a liquid I can shape and harden would work great with the sludge body, such as making a spiked club from the shape shifting or hardening

Shock Absorption: This one is mostly here just to counter act the biggest weakness of "Sludge Form", helping to keep me cohesive when getting beaten up. Maybe it could help enhance other aspects in terms of durability, like with whatever is made with blood.

Dupli Arms: This works both for a general stats improvement given the augmentations the Quirk offers and can help out with some of the body morphing aspects, like making arms and eyes on wherever I want on the muddy body and more options for the other powers.

Telescopic: Truth be told, I went with this one due to a lack of any other real options with in the category, but it could still be pretty useful. Being able to fold in on yourself would be good for hiding or escape being confined within a closed space.

Foldabody: While this may be redundant with "Sludge Form", but I think it would give me a lot more control over the sludgey body, like applying the same folding affect to dozens of other limbs at the same time or being better at sneaking around.

Weld: Since we know that Awase can apply this with his own body, it would help immensely in both climbing around and fusing objects to the main body, like pulling off a bunch of plates to make a shield wall or augmenting the body with random junk to make a monster form.

Anthropomorph: Again, this option is really here because a lot of the PLF aren't that great for this. Still, I think that being able to make my own minions could be neat, especially when combining them with things like "Weld" to make all kinds of bizarre looking minions.

[rockwoodautomation]

Top Benefits of Using a Welding Manipulator in the UAE’s Manufacturing Industry

In the rapidly growing manufacturing industry in the UAE, welding manipulators are becoming essential. These machines, like welding columns and boom manipulators, make production processes better. Let’s explore how welding manipulators can help UAE manufacturers and how Rockwood Automation can assist your business.

1. Better Precision and Quality

Welding manipulators, like welding columns and boom manipulators in UAE, help ensure precise and high-quality welds. They help us to get accurate control over the welding torch or electrode, which means every weld is consistent. This helps manufacturers produce high-quality products with fewer defects and less need for rework.

2. Boosted Efficiency and Productivity

Welding manipulators in UAE will improve efficiency and productivity. It helps to speed up the welding process and handle large or heavy parts with ease. This automation helps manufacturers meet high production demands and tight deadlines more effectively, making it easier to get products out faster.

3. Enhanced Safety and Lower Labor Costs

Welding manipulators in UAE also improve workplace safety by reducing the need for manual handling of heavy materials. This will reduce the risk of accidents and injuries. Additionally, because welding manipulators automate many tasks, fewer workers are needed, which can help cut labor costs.

4. Versatile Applications

Welding manipulators are highly versatile and can be used for various applications. Whether you’re working with different materials or need different types of welds, these machines can handle it all. They are suitable for many industries, including automotive, aerospace, construction, and shipbuilding.

5. Consistent Weld Quality

Consistency is key in manufacturing, and welding manipulators help achieve it. They ensure that every weld is performed with the same level of precision, which is important for maintaining product quality and strength. This is especially crucial in industries where weld quality is vital, like aerospace or oil and gas.

6. Advanced Technology

Modern welding manipulators come with advanced features like programmable controls and real-time monitoring. This makes it easier to manage the welding process and maintain top performance. Rockwood Automation, a leading provider of welding manipulators in the UAE, offers the latest technology to help businesses stay ahead.

7. Customizable Solutions

Every manufacturing process is different, and Rockwood Automation offers customizable welding manipulators to fit specific needs. Whether you need a special setup or a tailored solution, Rockwood can provide equipment that meets your exact requirements.

8. Long-Term Cost Savings

Investing in welding manipulators can save money in the long run. They boost efficiency, reduce labor costs, and lower the need for rework. Plus, their durability means they need less maintenance and last longer, adding to the cost savings over time.

Conclusion

Welding manipulators in UAE offer many advantages for manufacturers, from better precision and safety to increased efficiency and cost savings. By using equipment like welding columns and boom manipulators, businesses can improve their production processes and stay competitive. Rockwood Automation provides top welding solutions and expert support, helping you get the most out of your investment and achieve long-term success.

[certifiedwerewolf]

There's apparently a stigma against gaming the system to the extent that I did but in my defense, I had committed to playing Healer and needed to game it to make my build work specifically as a Healer. But also that level of gaming to learn as much magic as she could as fast as she could is exactly the kind of thing Lucy would do and that Beezy would facilitate because he, uh, needs her to have lots of spells to, uh, commit to his cause >.>

[machineriesinuae]

Rockwood Machinery has established itself as a prominent supplier of welding positioners in the UAE, catering to the diverse needs of the welding industry. With their comprehensive product range, advanced features, and commitment to quality, Rockwood Machinery empowers welders to achieve optimal welding results while enhancing productivity and efficiency. As the welding industry in the UAE continues to evolve, Rockwood Machinery remains at the forefront, providing reliable and innovative solutions for precision welding applications.

[rileyslibrary]

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Two)

Summary: As the war of words, and destruction of inanimate objects continues between you and the blue eyed squatter in your home, Mr Thomas Shelby. You are pulled back into reality from the distraction of his presence and quickly reminded of your impending, dreaded nuptials when your fiance pays you a visit. But with the Birmingham gangsters observing eyes never missing a thing. What will he make of your husband to be's unruly hand when he sees the true nature of your relationship, and that of the man you're set to marry?

Warnings: Language, angst, manipulation, domestic violence, use of one racial slur

Word Count: 4332

Authors Note: £17,000 British sterling pound in 1924, is worth £850,000 in todays value.

" Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr Abbott" you graciously greeted the piano tuner as you walked him to the main living area, crossing your arms in an attempt to put a stop to your fidgeting hands, and the relentless twiddling of your anxious fingers. How on earth were you going to explain this one? you smiled nervously to the portly man sporting an impressive moustache. It's perfectly curled, whiskery ends reaching the very tops of his wind-chapped cheeks.

After the previous days' eventful morning and a much warranted reminder that you were in fact, living with a gun-welding gangster. Tommy, your unwelcome housemate, single handedly took it upon himself to move your bullet-ridden grand piano into the living room and away from the vicinity of his quarters and ringing ears.

And with one morning of your musical skills having been missed, you were keen to reset the alarm for the following day. Or so, that's what you thought.

" What seems to be the problem then, Miss?" the man that had once sold you the precious musical instrument queried. His passion for his craft rarely seeing him leave his workshop where he preferred the sound of the ivory keys more than any human voice.

" Oh, just a small one" you replied, pushing the wooden door open. "A missing key" you found a way around to describe the charred bullet hole in the non existent note of B. B for bastard, you thought to yourself and the vandal that had destroyed it as your brow furrowed in confusion at the renowned craftsman who was now wide-eyed as you both stepped into the room.

"Oh, well this...this..." words stumped you as you turned your head to see your once glossy piano now in a piled heap of wood in the middle of the room. The hatchet used for it's barbaric destruction embedded at the very point of its woody mountain.

" Excuse me, for just, one moment" you forced a smile through the fury rapidly bubbling under your skin as you quickly turned on your heel, leaving the horrified pianist alone with the piano he had poured his love, sweat and tears into crafting as he pitifully pressed his finger down onto the only remaining chiming key of C. C for...

"Mr Shelby!" you shouted marching through the corridors in search of the only person capable of committing such a monstrosity as you came to a stop in front of the office door. Your learnt manners quickly escaping you when you stormed through without the polite formalities a lady such as yourself would possess, having had a governess for the majority of your childhood years.

"Mr Shelby!" You repeated, flying pass the opening door to see the squatters sleeves rolled up, a peak of chest hair visible through the open top button of his collared shirt your flustered stare had witnessed twice in already twenty-four hours. Hardly gentlemanly, you scoffed to yourself as your heated cheeks darted away from his causal choice of attire.

" On the mantel", Tommy said mid conversation, looking up from the papers between his fingers to the young worker with a brassy ornament in his hand.

"Mr..."

" No Beethoven this morning, eh?" He stopped you as he leant back into his leather chair with a satisfied smirk etched on his lips as you strutted forward, and the young employee made a swift exit. "Or maybe some, Mozart?" His lips tightened into a smile as he subtly cocked his head to the side, reaching for a much needed drag of a cigarette the stress of your presence gave him.

" What is all this?" you looked around the room, forgetting your barrage of accusations when your eyes widened at the many various objects he had added to your father's office to replace the ones you had hoarded.

" Oh, no, no, no. This won't do, this won't do one bit!" you said in horror, piling them into your arms whilst you made your way around the room as Tommy's scrunched brow followed you until you came to a stop in front of him. " This is my office you've just come in and commandeered. And my piano, you..."

" I think you mean my piano. In my living room. In my house, no?" Tommy corrected you as he lit a cigarette, his squinting eyes skimming over your figure hugging dress. You weren't exactly making it easy for him to look away. To ignore your bossy presence, he thought to himself as his blue-eyed stare lingered longer than intended before he snapped himself away from his wandering eyes and stood up, adjusting his tailored waistcoat.

" Look, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot" he said, playing the peace maker in attempt to replace the ferocious frown boring into him.

"The wrong foot?" You scoffed, shaking your head as he perched himself casually on the edge of the oak desk in front of you, the playful glint in his eyes toying with you through the cloud of smoke seeping from the rolled cylinder of tobacco between his fingers. " We got off on the wrong foot, the moment your foot stepped into my house and you shot, then destroyed my piano"

" Right. So those early wake up calls weren't to piss me off then? Drive me out, eh?" he cocked a brow as his tongue ran across his bottom lip, the slappable smile now teasingly glaring back at you, further irritating you.

"I...I"

"Yes, Y/N?" His brows raised, waiting for the smart response he knew your brain was trying to scramble together as he continued to keep you on a first name basis.

" I..." You stopped yourself, before you blurted something you would later berate your flustered brain for saying.

"Just so you're aware, Mr Shelby. I happen to play the violin too" you said as you wittiness finally caught up with the anger demanding all the free space in your head. "And poorly" you finished, stealing the smugness sitting on his teasing smirk as you quirked a brow. His widening eyes coming to the quick realisation that if he was going to get even an ounce of sleep to fill his notorious lack in slumber, there would need to be an urgent manhunt for the destruction of every musical instrument you possessed.

" Have at it, love" Tommy's heavy footing stomped after you as you turned for the door, his casual response hiding the protruding bone of irritation in his clenching jaw. " Last bit of fun until you're sent off to marry, eh?" He delivered the damning reminder of your predicament hot on your heels as your head snapped back to see him stood directly behind you, watching your satisfied smile drain.

" Cal Astor, no?" Tommy pointed to you, his cigarette resting loosely between the callous pads of his fingers. He'd been looking into you, gathering information, your mind urgently tried to weigh out how much he had learnt of your dire situation as your sharp glare met his. " One of the top ten richest men in the country. What a catch" he slipped the attained details of your fiance's status to you with a smirk.

" Tell me, Y/N. Why would a young lady such as yourself, weeks from marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the country care so much for bricks and mortar? " He questioned, blowing a cloud of smoke into the room as his interrogating stare bore into you while you stood momentarily lost for words once again.

"Oh, Sissy?" your brothers irritating pet name called to you from the foyer as a palpable silence settled in the room, pressuring one of you to make the first move.

" You have a guest, love" Tommy's gravelly voice broke the tension as he raised his brows, his challenging glare undisrupted from your brothers bellowing voice.

In a dramatic display of discontent for not only the way he had intruded into your home, but also, the details of your private life he had infringed on. You purposely released the items in your arms to the floor, when the sharp end of an ugly ornament stabbed you in the toe in the process, eclipsing your unfaltering stance to not have the stranger in front of you win another battle in the war he had declared.

Stifling the whelping pain now throbbing through your foot, Tommy waited and watched with curiosity. Thoroughly impressed that the lady in front of him, born with heirs and graces, had gone so long without a mere whimper, or foul-mouthed word. Was you really that bloody stubborn?

Holding in your impending scream, you swiftly turned your back and made your way out the door. Hobbling to the nearest wall, a stroppy, frustrated, grunt of pain left your lips while you lifted your throbbing foot, clutching your toe in pain as Tommy breathed out a heavy sigh and fell into the leather upholstered chair behind the wall next to you. How long would you both keep this up until you came to a solution? And how many toes, ornaments and any other inanimate object would be sacrificed in the process?

" Ahh there she is. My dear, sister" Johnathan greeted you as you walked forward through the bruising pain you had unintentionally inflicted on yourself.

" How's the houseguest?"

" Trespasser, Johnathan" you corrected him as you winced from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure of your swelling toe.

" Blimey, that bad?" he chuckled resting his heavy arm over your shoulders, forcing you back on to two feet with a shudder of pain. " Don't fret baby sister, church bells will be ringing soon. Then you'll be rid of this gloomy dump!" he said, squeezing you into him with a rough pat to your arm.

"Aha! Speaking of the husband to be" Johnathan said letting go as you looked up at the smartly polished dress shoes walking your way. Your stomach dropping at the sound of his voice beckoning closer.

" Darling" a voice broke through your brother's chatter as your fiance snaked his hand around your waist, leaning into your cheek.

" Cal" you meekly voiced as you turned your head away from him, earning you a scornful glare and a sharp squeeze to your hip.

"Playing hard to get are we?" Cal scoffed a laugh through his pearly whites, the insult of you refusing his affection in front of company further angering him and his tightening grasp that had become prone to landing blows to your delicate skin.

" You won't see my sister give in that easily, Cal" Johnathan laughed through the cigar between his teeth, oblivious as per usual to the true nature of his friend and acquaintance he had latched on to. Or rather, money he had latched on to.

"Indeed" Cal looked down at you with a smirk, having already had his way with you.

A moment of fear, of weakness. You told yourself when you had given into his forceful demands as he hitched up your dress whilst his heavy frame climbed on top of you.

Coerced, guilted, or even a last plea of naive hope on your part to have him finally let you be if you gave him what he wanted, you'd tell yourself in moments of reflection and sorrow for the part of yourself you lost that night when you dulled his predatory insistence with whatever drink you could find. Was that why you gave him so much power? Because he was your first intimate, and now tainted experience?

" Frances, one moment!" Johnathan called, jogging after your housekeeper as he watched her hurry away from your brother's long list of demands she knew she'd be dumped with if she didn't make a quick escape.

" You disappoint me Y/N" your fiance abruptly turned you to face him, now alone together, and away from observing eyes. " Was quite the surprise when I sent a car for you the other night and it returned, empty. My fiance, missing" he said as you tried to leave when his strong grip came down on your arm, bruising through your skin. "You're not going to go missing again are you, darling?" his irritation was felt through the sarcasm laced in his words.

Too many times had you avoided his invitations, had you purposely found yourself out of town when his presence increased with the death of your father and the rules of courting he had imposed to keep any premarital scandals at bay. The only rule your father had ever implemented in your life that you were thankful for.

" No" you shook your head, your strong character once again unable to stand up to the man you had unwillingly passed so much control of your words and actions over to.

" Good girl" he chided, a satisfied smirk growing on his lips closing in on yours as you flinched at his pressing hold around your reddened wrists, forcing you to endure his embrace.

" Johnathan, the car" he smiled breaking away, releasing you from his grip as he called for your brother who childishly waited on his every word.

Stood alone in the foyer, rubbing the taste of him from your swollen lips, the bruising soreness from your bluing skin, you watched as your brother entertained the man you had become to loathe, when your tearful eyes turned to see Tommy stood between the frame of the office door, having witnessed the most vulnerable part of your existence you had shamefully hidden away.

For be it poor or rich. A woman's woes in the time you lived in were always unheard, always played down to an inaudible silence. And Tommy was no fool to think otherwise, as he too stood silently watching you walk away without a word.

Sat in the bay window of your room later that morning, you smiled as you watched the stable hand pat down your mare's dusty coat, giving her the pampering she deserved.

"Your tea, Miss" Frances announced as she walked through the door with a silver platter of England's finest, freshly brewed. " Good heavens! What ever happened to your foot?" She said upon seeing your expanding toe precariously resting on a stack of cushions and books. 

" Mr Shelby" you said as your eyes narrowed in on the trespasser now approaching your thoroughbred down in the courtyard.

" Mr Shelby did this?" Frances' eyes widened upon hearing your accusations as she examined your lack of care for your swelling digit doubling in size.

" No, Mr Shelby's ghastly ornament did that" you said briefly looking at your propped-up foot before your attention returned to outside. " What on earth is he doing?" You curiously observed the squatter, his presence a welcome distraction to your impending nuptials and crippling worries. Not that you would admit it, of course.

" Oh my" Frances's hand flew to her chest as she watched the bridle being adjusted to your saddleless horse. " I should go warn him" Frances turned to leave when you hoped up with a giddy smile as you searched for the shoe you would force to fit around your ballooning foot.

" No, no" you gently rested your hand on your housekeeper's arm, stopping her from sabotaging your fun. " Let him find out himself" you grinned as you limped to the door, leaving Frances shaking her head disapprovingly at the woman she had cared for since she was a rosy-cheeked baby, toddling from one foot to the other.

Stood by the stable door, you curiously watched as Tommy whispered words of gentle reassurance to your horse, brushing his hand down her muzzle as your steps apprehensively approached closer, unsure if the topic of conversation would be your finances heavy hand he saw earlier that day, you wished not to discuss.

" How's your toe?" Tommy asked, his cigarette resting loosely between his lips as he turned to face you with an emerging smile dimpling the corners of his eyes.

" My toe? Good as new" you lied, badly, as you crossed your arms at the amusing chuckle leaving your unwanted guests' lips." You should saddle her" you warned him as you watched him lead her towards you, secretly hoping he would continue his refusal to listen to your bossy demands.

" Was born riding, love. Think I can handle her" he confidently proclaimed as he shot you a wink. " Come on, steady now" he patted her side as you followed behind them, eager to see him unceremoniously take a blow to his insufferable cockyness.

" What's her name?" He asked as he lifted himself up, adjusting the reigns in his hands to his liking.

" Nelly" you said as you leant back on the wooden fencing of the small paddock, taking the weight of your throbbing foot you had shoved into the soles of your tightly laced boots.

" Nelly, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled clearing his throat, suddenly doubting his riding skills as he looked down at the jittery creature bouncing from hoof to hoof. " Steady, girl" he managed to control her erratic movements as he pulled back the reigns with a gentle pressure. " Don't show me up, Nell. I'll never hear the end of it" he quietly whispered to your horse with a pat to her neck as you watched on with amusement.

" See, we're doing alright. Aren't we Nelly?" Tommy called out to both you and your horse as he trotted along the muddied ground. " She just needs some firm guidance, is all" he said as he passed by your rolling eyes. " With a horse like..." Tommy continued his unsolicited advice when a freckled orange and black butterfly passed in front of him, causing Nelly to rear up in fear before throwing him off and bolting away.

" Shit" Tommy huffed at the sound of your approaching hysterics as he lay in the mud, his ego having been embarrassingly taken down a few notches off it's high pedestal.

" Am I in hell?" he opened one eye to see your smirking face looming over him with your hand out for him to take, when your smile turned to a scowl and you let him drop to the ground once again. " No, still alive" he grunted as he pulled his body and throbbing head back up, resting his arms on his bent knees as he watched your horse trot towards you. " Her name wouldn't happen to stand for nervous Nelly, would it?" Tommy looked up at you both as he watched you nuzzle your head against her neck, her thumping heart slowly settling with your tender touch.

" Nervous Nelly, notorious Nelly. Even nutty Nelly at one point. My girl has earned herself quite a collection of nicknames, haven't you, darling" you said as you cupped your hand under her muzzle, letting her lick the saltiness of your palms.

" Here" you said, putting your free hand out for him to take. " Are you hurt?" You asked as you both hobbled out of the paddock back to the stables. Both a sight of giggling fits for the staff of Arrow House looking from behind the twitching curtains of your shared home.

" No more than your toe is" he smiled down at you as you walked beside each other, free of any bellowing voices or snide remarks for the first time in almost a week, having both taken a dramatic blow to your obnoxious stubbornness.

" Mr Shelby" you turned to face him as you gave the reigns to your stable hand. " How much did my father owe you?" You took the opportunity to ask the question that had been nagging you in your brief truce before the battle of words recommenced.

" £17,000" Tommy exhaled as he looked at you from the corners of his eyes, a feeling of pity for you and the burden your father had selfishly lumbered you with stopping him from making any smart remark.

With a future of little prospects, other than that of a high-society marriage, every woman such as yourself was destined for. Tommy had come to the knowledge that your father had secured your life by marrying you off into wealth rather than leaving you with his fortune to pave your own way in life.

As your eyes widened and the learnt details of your fathers debt and how big of a whole he had dug in his wake. A guttural feeling of dread weighed down your stomach at the large sum of money your father owed, nearly exceeding that of Arrow Houses' value.

" I will pay you back, Mr Shelby" you said as you looked back to your home and it's surrounding land. Suddenly feeling you had nothing else to offer other than your word.

"Look, Y/N..."

" I will find a way, Mr Shelby" you made a pledge you knew would be near impossible to uphold if the deeds to your house had indeed, no standing.

With a small nod of his head, Tommy gazed down at you as a brief moment of peace captured him in the silent breeze of summer blowing a lock of hair drifting across your cheek, glittering with the welcome rays of the midday sun. A silence you both welcomed in the neutral grounds of no man's land until the sound of your brother hurtling down the drive, car horn blaring, deafened your ears.

" Sister! I won it! I bloody won it! " Your brother laughed maniacally, high on his win with a wad of cash in his hands, having spent the entire morning in the casinos with your fiance.

" God's sake" you felt the embarrassment of your brother's presence as your eyes darted to Tommy undoubtedly judging your renowned noble name, questioning how a family such of your selves came to inherit it as you watched him ignite a cigarette behind the orangery glow of the flame.

" Sweet pea" Cal's voice approached you as you shifted away, stumbling into Tommy as you did. " Sorry" you apologised, tucking a rebel hair behind your ear with your flustered fingers as he steadied your fall with a gentle hand to your back, a touch foreign to you with the heavy strikes you had become accustomed to from the opposite sex.

"Cal, Mr Thomas Shelby. Mr Shelby, Earl Cal Astor" you introduced the two men as you stood in the middle, looking between their glaring stares as you subtly shrugged of your fiances hand on your arm in the process.

"Pleasure" Cal greeted him with a belittling tone of superiority with his hand out as Tommy's hovered momentarily in the empty space between them before lifting it to take a smoke. Only a mere nod of his head in acknowledgment of his presence.

Murder, theft, prostitution, gambling. Tommy did not only live a life in the dark shadows your fiance and brother would visit for entertainment. He was the maker of it. The master puppet to the riches seedy side of life he and his men would adorn with gold-collumed bars, and live jazz music to have them fill his pockets. He had met a dozen men like your fiance. Each a replica of the other. Each of them in the privacy of their home with wives, lovers and maids accustomed to feeling the back of their hand when money didn't get them what they felt they were owed.

There were many things Tommy's wavering moral compass didn't stand for. And have no doubt, he had seen the bruises on your wrists, the tears unspent in your eyes you hid as you hurried away earlier that morning.

"Excuse me. I have a business call" your unexpected houseguest said as he threw his cigarette to the ground, inches from the perfectly kept shoes of your fiance.

" Shelby!" he called with a mocking chuckle, angered by the blow of disrespect he'd been shown. " Perhaps you would grace us with your presence at our engagement ball next week. Then you can find the time away from your pressing business matters for us to get to know the Small Heath gypsy boy living with my soon to be wife" he tauntingly finished with his nose up, lifting the heavy gold signet ring of his family's crest to your lower back you had already felt on numerous occasions, the sharp end of.

Coming to a stop at the steps of Arrow House, you watched the notorious gangster with his hands seated in his trouser pockets as his back stayed turned to you, whilst you silently prayed he would refuse the invitation and childish game of belittling any class below him you knew your fiance was set on making a spectacle out of in sheer spite. A game you were not willing to play.

" Next week it is, Mr Astor" Tommy's low rumbling voice replied, never ceasing the opportunity to further his endeavor as his strong statue disappeared into the darkened foyer and the door shut behind him.

A potential for business, or rather a show of power to the man that had insulted his heritage so freely with one single disdained word used to rile him up and have him show his business acquaintances the true colours of the leader to the notorious cut-throat gang he had kept from their lives until any encouraging reminder was needed. For they were no better than him. Criminals with the most unsavory of dealings. And you had better believe, Tommy had no qualms being the one to show these men their own true colours, and the reminder that they were no different to any small-time thief from Small Heath with only a title of nobility slapped on the end of their name seperating them. No qualms at all.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [eight.]

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

— pairing; ot8/reader (mingi/f.reader & hongjoong/f.reader focused); 7.1k

— chapter warnings; death, death mentions, murder mentions, slightly gory

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

FIC WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping. this series is very dark, if you're uncomfortable with the subjects listed do not read. warnings will change but be listed in each chapter. there is no tag list for this series.

Chapter 8:

The heat is all consuming.

Your moist grip struggles against the metal chains digging into your skin, slipping as you attempt to get a firm grasp. The dried blood isn’t exactly helping you, chipping off each time you attempt to pull. You can feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you. He hasn’t stopped telling you that it’s nearly impossible for someone of your strength to break it, but you cannot help but try. You can’t let yourself succumb to whatever those creatures are planning to do to you.

“Solaris, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

You shake your head, hitting the metal against the floor. It does not make even the slightest dent, rattling. “We’re not going to die here, Wooyoung.”

“We will if someone catches you trying to escape,” he breathes, lids heavy. “Just sleep for a bit, I’ll throw something at you to wake you up if someone comes.” You look around the two of you, the cell completely empty. Not even a single rock decorates the floor. His chuckle is strained as he observes the confused look on your face. “Joking.”

You let go, attempt in vain. Your gaze roams over Wooyoung instead; body completely covered in tightened rope, feet outstretched but bound to metal hoops welded into the floor, arms lifted above him, fingers spread with smaller hoops keeping them from moving. Likely bound so tightly he is unable to even flick a finger. It is as if they have molded him into the wall, only his head free.

“You’ve never looked at me with such worry,” he notes. “Perhaps I should find myself on the brink of death often.”

“Did they hurt you?” You ask, though the answer is obvious.

They hit a blunt object against your temple as you entered the cell, Wooyoung already trapped when you arrived. His head was limp, hanging forward. Though now he is speaking, you can see the wounds on his body, clothing wrinkled and torn. The creatures barely touched you. Your fabric is slightly ripped, but it is meager in comparison to him.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says simply, avoiding the question entirely. You lean yourself back against the wall, desperate to push the thoughts of San from your mind. You have seen too much death since knowing them. Seeing one of them die, though, that was the last thing you ever expected. Your own chest aches with the loss. You could only fathom how Wooyoung has fared.

“It didn’t look too painful, right?”

“Hm?” You look at him.

“San. It didn’t look painful when he died, did it? Do you think it hurt badly?”

You press your lips together. He looks exhausted, but his eyes never leave yours, flicking down to the movement of your lips. Swearing soon follows, head shaking softly. “He didn’t deserve it. He cared so much, so so much. All he wanted was to belong, to care for us. But we let him down.”

He closes his eyes. “I could feel it. His soul being ripped from mine. It felt like someone dug a dagger into my chest and pulled out each rib. It was so painful, I could only imagine what it felt like for him.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I never saw San cry before.”

“I'm sorry,” you say softly. That's all you can say. Seeing someone you love so violently gone - You could barely hold back your own tears as he died below you.

He hums, a dry laugh leaving his lips. “Can't wait to kick his ass when I see him again. He promised he wouldn't die before me,” Wooyoung huffs, shutting his eyes. “They never explained how much it would hurt.”

You're unable to respond, comforting words lost. If you could at least hold his hand you would, but your restraints prevent it. All you can offer is silence.

“He did like you. Had an odd way of showing it, but he did. He talked about you while we were alone when you were gone. Sure, most of it was scolding and jabs, but he only does that with people he cares about. Did, that.”

Wooyoung’s head lifts, lips tight.

You follow his gaze, eyes widening as your head tilts up.

“Shouldn't a creature of Lilith be in the pits of hell torturing wretched souls?” Wooyoung spits, face distorting into disgust. “You decide to waste your time on the two of us instead?”

The creature's mouth opens, a foul smell scorching the air. “A burden that Lilith brought to me. Your bodies should have been disposed of long ago.” Its bulbous eyes shift to you. “Especially one of her kind.”

“Fuck you,” he hisses between breaths. A violent crack echoes through the air as you try twisting around the creature to see. Your heartbeat rattles against your eardrums, panic settling in. He can’t die, he can’t.

The creature stares down at you, his hand wrapping around your neck. It’s large enough to cover your mouth as well, strained breaths through the wrinkled skin that holds you captive. If you could tell Wooyoung to stop talking you would, but the hand seems to melt your lips shut as it snarls down at you, the tugging of your hands doing nothing to help. The touch her you die moment isn’t really one you’d prefer being in - the creature could easily snap your neck.

“Shit,” Wooyoung curses. There’s a bit of space between the creature's shoulder and head for you to follow the noise. Wooyoung struggles to pull against the metal, blood dripping down his restraints as he grunts. “You’re messing with a kumiho, you worthless cun-”

The metal prison door flies across the room, bending against the concrete walls. The creature turns around, but it is not quick enough. Its hand is violently pulled off of you, thrown against the same wall. You squint through the action, trying to catch who exactly has entered.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung says loudly.

Mingi shifts in and out of existence, wings tendons strained as he attacks the creature. The sounds are disgusting, flesh torn, bones cracking. Mingi’s thrown to the ground near you, covered in a blackened substance. His eyes shine, iridescent. His fingers sink into your flesh, and you gasp. He glances back at you briefly, an apologetic look in his eyes as he shields you from the onslaught. He grunts as his back is beaten. The sound of tearing skin is not unfamiliar to you. You cannot do anything but stare, this time completely defenseless with your hands tied. A brief reprieve in the attack allows him to move swiftly, his grasp on you gone. You see his hand sink into the creature before anything else. Darkened crimson coats his fingers as he pulls it back. He grunts, his free hand twisting into paws, sharp tendons cracking in the air. He grips the creature by its neck, tossing it through the open doorway. He glances between Wooyoung and yourself, running over to Wooyoung first. Mingi hisses when his hand touches the metal.

“Foxglove.”

“Why’d you think I've been stuck in here so long,” Wooyoung murmurs.

Mingi rolls his eyes, closing his eyes as he whispers a cantation. The strange glow to the metal seemingly dissipates. He pulls on the welded metal against the wall, ripping out chunks of the surface before doing the other.

“I didn’t need saving,” Wooyoung tugs on the bolts, relief spreading across his face once they drop from the wall. His bones crack as his once shapeshifted arm goes back to normal, fingers outstretched as he sighs. He takes a slow breath, before looking at the two of you. “Oh sh-t, your wings, Mingi.”

You can hear the dripping of blood as Wooyoung points it out.

“It’s nothing. Looks to me like you did need me,” Mingi crouches next to you, glancing over your restraints. He pauses as he touches it, a distressed look passing over his face. You expected him to flinch back as he did with Wooyoung’s, but his fingers wrap around it easily.

No foxglove.

“Mingi-”

“It’s fine, Wooyoung,” his tone seems final. Wooyoung stares at him before sighing.

“Hongjoong didn’t come?” Wooyoung’s voice is soft as Mingi grips the metal and rips it from confining you. He shakes his head slowly, hand brushes against the metal burns on your wrist. You wince at his touch, his eyes meeting yours briefly before looking back at Wooyoung.

“He’s been preoccupied as of late,” Mingi holds out a hand and you grasp it, steadying yourself on two feet. “But he informed us of your location. You can further discuss it with him when we arrive back. Can you create a path? The energy in here should suffice.”

“But…”

“They’ll find us if you delay any longer, Wooyoung.”

A grumble leaves Wooyoung’s lips but he nods anyway, quick whispers spilling from his tight expression. The air tightens then expands, a gust of wind nearly unbalancing your already unstable stance. Mingi grips your forearm, eyes flicking down to your lips before moving back to your gaze. The last time you were pulled through, San kissed you. It’s likely not too different now. Mingi opens his mouth to speak but Wooyoung interrupts, pushing himself between the two of you. Mingi’s grip on you is gone, gaze wandering for a moment before he enters the pathway, leaving the two of you alone. You only catch the gruesome look of his backside briefly before he’s gone.

“Ready?” Wooyoung asks, and you nod. His lips press against yours, and you’re pulled into the portal.

—

He’s pulled from you right when you leave the portal. A groan and laugh echoing around the house as he’s pulled into someone’s arms. Yunho’s grip is tight as he holds him, his body trembling. Teasing leaves his face as he sighs, pulling him closer. It is intimate enough that you look away, watching as the others greet him coming back. You feel odd, their attachment to one another something you yearn for. You spot Jongho amongst the spark, a relieved look on his face as he studies you. A pitiful part of you expects for him to walk over and embrace you but he does the opposite, leaving the room entirely. Everyone is occupied enough that you decide to walk around the others, making your way to your room.

You feel his gaze before you see it, eyes flicking down the long hallway. Seonghwa stands there, arms crossed against his chest. He barely glances at you but you can see how his gaze lingers on your wounds, lips tight and jaw strained. Once you blink he is gone. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth, your hand wrapping around the brass knob before pushing your door open.

Exhaustion swarms your body once you enter your room, slumping against the wooden floors, narrowly missing a wide crack. The chaos that was once in your room is now gone, the blood coating the floors nowhere to be found, wooden boards put back in their place. The only evidence of there being any sort of fight lies in the hole in the wall, wood piled beneath it. Likely to board it up temporarily. It looks like no one has gotten the chance to do much - nails and bolts piled along with it. It was likely Yunho or Jongho who cleaned up your room enough for it to be livable - you remind yourself to thank them at some point in the future. Once things have settled a bit.

The stench of sweat and blood still simmers in the area, nose wrinkling. Your eyes move over to your doorway, the final moments of San with you spreading across your mind. His death is not forgotten. A few painful swallows of spit later, you shakingly crawl to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The weight of the past few events almost cripples you, your eyes shut as you struggle to hold back your tears.

You’re not sure how much more you can handle. The isolation is getting to you - you used to have Soobin to grieve with. And if it weren’t him, it was your mother, your family. They kept you from spiraling, from sinking further and further into yourself. But you have no one. You look at the reflection of yourself. The bruises on your neck are darkening, deepening the longer you stare at yourself. The urge to call your mother vanishes the longer you stare at the mirror. Subjecting her to the possibility of this happening - you gag at the mere thought. You don’t want to involve anyone else. No one you care about.

It is a strange feeling, the amount of people in this home should be suffocating. And yet, you just feel so lonely.

—

The bowl beneath you distorts. Your vision blurs as you stare, fading in and out of focus. You can hear the birds chirp as they glide through the thickened forest in front of you. You look up, a chill brushing against the raised bumps of your arms.

No one has told you why Wooyoung and yourself were taken. The others have been busy. Hongjoong has not left his room, preoccupied. The horrid look in Mingi's eyes when he pulled you from your cell still haunts you. It was almost soul crushing as his nails dug into your flesh, the wounds are wrapped in gauze still.

Chopsticks slide through your lips, grains of rice mush. You haven’t the energy in you to protest as Seonghwa slid it to you, disappearing before you could thank him. The fear of hatred in his eyes stops you from ever meeting his gaze. He warned them all of what you being here would do. Of what was to come. The two of you haven’t discussed it amongst yourselves but you can feel the blame being spat at you whenever you are in the same room. Enough so that you promptly leave before a word gets out.

No one has really spoken to you since you came back. Even Jongho could barely muster a greeting, words murmured as he left you alone. All you’ve felt is alienation. Leaving was at some point an option, but now, after everything that has happened, it’s the last thing on your mind. San’s sacrifice would have been for nothing if you waltzed out of this home and into death a town away.

It makes sense why you’ve been left alone. It just doesn’t make the feeling go away knowing that.

You force the last scoop of rice into your mouth, swallowing dryly as you stand. The eerie sound of the hallways greets you as you enter, your steps swift and sure.

You walk past Yeosang’s room. The others’ words ring true – it is shut, not a breath of sound escaping through the thin cracks around the door. You'd never attempt to open it. You grieved on your own even though San only began caring for you at the very end. Yeosang and San though, they were attached. Every room you walked in they were always in deep conversation, lightened with laughter. Yeosang's annoyed expression was often softened by the warm look in his eyes when they spent time together. They are all mates but there was just something special between the two. Something you noticed with Yunho and Mingi, Wooyoung and Hongjoong. A bond unlike any other. Your gaze lingers only for another second before you leave, hands wrapped around the rim of the bowl. Wooyoung hasn't left his room either, not even to mess with you, which was fine.

You just can't get used to the silent hallways.

The kitchen is thankfully empty. You waste no time scrubbing the bowl, praying that no one enters while you are alone.

A low groan as you place the bowl in the cabinet fills the silence. You turn, almost stumbling back at the sight.

A blue tint coats his fingertips as he grips the counter. You're unmoving, staring at the carcass of what he once was. A groan escapes blackened lips as he stumbles forward, falling to his knees. His fingers let go of the counter, instead gripping his grayed hair. You can see himself in him if you ignore the obvious signs of decay. His clothing is what he wore that night, stained with his blood and yours. You dare not squint to see if the hole is still in his body, stomach twisting.

“He is still not alive, not fully.”

It's no surprise that Hongjoong follows, his eyes trained on San's crumbled body. There's a strange gleam in his eyes as he watches him. As if he's proud of what he turned his dead mate into. You cannot see anything in San but horror. He oddly does not smell like death, but you dare not get closer to see if he… it… does.

“Do the others know?”

His gaze meets yours. “I wouldn't give their hopes up for something like this. He may turn up dead again.”

“Hongjoong…”

“He is quite marvelous, isn’t he?” Hongjoong’s hands brush his hair tenderly, warmth in his gaze. “He is not himself, but he will be soon. If it all works, this would help the others see reason. They won’t be as upset anymore. We all can be happy again.”

“This, that isn't San. San is dead–”

Fingers wrap around your neck before you can utter another word. His eyes are solid white as he tightens his grip, jaw clenched. You gasp for air, fingers clawing at his hand, desperate for him to let go. Your bruises throb against his fingers. He only tightens before loosening. You suck in a long breath, cupping your neck as you try to regain your sense of self. He seems to catch himself as he rests his eyes on yours.

“San is alive. Not fully but he will be. He must be,” Hongjoong looks back at him. “I'm taking him to your town. He is still a Seelie, unfortunately. He will need their positivity to gain enough strength to live again. I would have forfeited your life, but you reek of pessimism. Delicious for me, but repulsive for him.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“You aren't going to kill them, are you? The townspeople?”

Hongjoong laughs. You see his arm raise but your momentum isn't enough to stop his touch. He holds your chin between his fingers. “What do you want from me, girl? You hope for reassurance, for something other than this, than us?” his grip only tightens as his harsh words drip from his lips. His eyes seem to darken the longer he looks at you, steady on yours. “I will kill them all for San to live if I must.”

“Let me go.”

“I am not letting you go. You are not leaving. You will never leave.”

“Hongjoong–”

His eyes flutter close, a slow breath entering his throat. He opens them again, grin slowly growing on his face. “We will be your final hope, kumiho. You are ours. Not those soon-to-be-dead humans. Grow to care less for them, it will be better for you in the end once you see their graves.”

He leans forward, eyes steady on yours. “You are mine. Even if you yourself do not believe it. Come, San.” He reaches out his hand. San's hand touches his as Hongioong entwines their fingers. “Time to feed.”

He is gone with a blink.

—

Mingi's strikes are harder. He does not stop in his attacks, immediately swiping his opposing sword when you block one. Your breaths are rapid as you desperately try to keep up with his moves. They soon grow faster, your vision blurring trying to keep up.

“Mingi–” you grunt, dunking with another wide swing of his sword. It slices through the air, the sound audible. Fear grows as he continues, eyes seemingly glazed over. This is no longer a practice for you. “Mingi!”

He does not flinch at your shouting, sword raising again. This time you grab the pole he gave you, immediately throwing it against his chest. A loud boom surrounds you, your hands flying to your ears. Mingi's sword drops from his hands and to the mats. He’s thrown back several yards, body hitting a large tree behind him. Your eyes widen, stumbling to your feet. You leap over scraps of wood to get to him, panicked. His breaths are struggling as you crouch next to him, holding your hand against his chest.

“Mingi? Mingi, are you okay?”

He begins to laugh, head lifting. A bruised lip and swollen eye greet you, the pit in your stomach tightening at the sight. You cup his face, turning his head to the right. Cuts cover his skin from the splintered wood. All he does is chuckle as he watches your worried gaze.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” you say.

“You did what you needed to do, nymph,” his hand encloses yours, lifting it from his face. He lets it go, touching his skin. He winces, sighing. “It wasn't your full strength, but it was enough. We might not be at a dead end with you after all.”

“You did that on purpose?” You stand, speaking slowly. “I thought you were losing yourself.”

His expression is aghast as he examines you. “Never. I have too much to protect to let my mind wander in a match.”

Frustration cannot help but rise in your body as you look down at him. The longer you stare, the longer your own mind wanders. The way San's eyes looked at you, slowly glossing over. The resigned look on his face. The blood. The Seelie dead beneath your fingertips. All of the blood.

You shut your eyes, taking a breath. You turn, leaving Mingi on the ground as you go back to gather your things. You hear him standing from his spot but you ignore him entirely, the horrible thoughts growing. The same face that has haunted you each time you've closed your eyes. Your own mind begins to mold it into the faerie just behind you.

“Are you truly this upset?” Mingi stops you from zipping your bag, hand covering the opening. Your hand wraps around his wrist to tug him away, removing it when a small grunt leaves his lips as you grip too harshly on a new wound.

“I hurt you, Mingi,” you say. “And you laughed.”

“You were supposed to hurt me. That's how you get better at fighting. It's what we do.”

“You should have told me.”

“You wouldn't have fought as hard if I did.”

You turn around, meeting his eyes. His wounds are slowly healing, but the ill feeling has yet to leave your body. “You should have told me.”

His eyes rest on yours. “I won't coddle you. Weakness will not help you, nymph. You saw the way San fell. I’m doing this to help you protect yourself, and to stop one of us from intervening when we see you being targeted. A few cuts and bruises shouldn’t stop you from practicing. We aren’t done.”

He will never understand it. It is his nature - violence, chaos, blood. For a time you thought there to be something more there. And maybe there is. But right now, as your eyes follow his movements, the empty look in his eyes, all you see is nothing. Eerily, the longer you stare, the longer you feel that same odd feeling as the last time you spoke to Soobin.

Like he is not entirely himself.

“I’ll practice with someone else.”

“Who?”

“Why are you so insistent with this, Mingi? We’re done for tonight,” You tug on your bag again, but he does not let go. “Mingi.”

“Do you think we do not think of San every waking moment? Do you believe us faeries to be so heartless that we do not grieve his absence?”

“I never said that.”

“But you stare at me as if it’s true. I am doing this for you, for us, kumiho. And if you were the least bit less selfish you would see what my intentions are. He died protecting you. Do you expect me to just stand back and watch each of us continue to die because we are shielding you? Do you think it fair that our lives are lost because of you?”

Your thoughts move back to Wooyoung, his hands cupping your face, head pressing against yours. It’s not your fault, solaris. Sometimes things just happen, and we cannot do anything to stop it. Don’t put this on yourself, please.

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“And yet here we are,” he lets go of your zipper, pushing the bag against your chest. You stumble slightly, and he grips the bag, steadying you. Mild disgust coats his face, “Take a reprieve. We start again after I feed.”

—

Sweat drips down your body, soaking your clothing as you heave against the mats. Mingi is not too far away, humming to himself as he packs the training gear away. He has not asked you once if you were alright and you do not blame him. You cough, blood splattering against the mats.

“Shit,” you mumble, hands roaming for your water bottle. You grab it with shaky hands, swirling fresh water in your mouth before spitting it in the grass near you. It’s fine, just a bit of dry mouth. Nothing alarming. Your chest tightens as you shut your eyes, trying to calm your own heartbeat down.

A hand appears in front of you, a small bottle. The liquid inside almost glows, thickened as you take it from him. “It’s revivify. It will only take a few minutes to help. One sip is enough for now.”

“Thanks,” you open the bottle, glancing inside. The stench is a bit sweet, though your nose does not quite agree with it. Swallowing it is a struggle in itself, your throat pulsing, threatening to regurgitate it back to the mats. But you force it down, a rumble echoing.

“Keep the rest.”

“Are you sure?” You struggle to your feet.

“We have no use for it since it cannot work on Unseelie. It wouldn’t work on us even if we desired it. It is supposed to work on humans, and although you are not one, it doesn’t hurt to try,” He glances at your bag sitting on the bench, grabbing it. “I will leave this outside your room.”

“Thank you.”

He looks at you. “I am doing this for your own good, you see it, no? It is destiny, just as it was for us to meet you, for San to die. It all was supposed to happen.”

“You believe in destiny?” You raise your brow. “You seem like the last person in your whole house to believe in it.”

“All faeries do,” Mingi shrugs. “It is fate for us to meet, just as it is for you to come to your city, to leave your partner, to be out here with me now. Even as we speak it is words that were already ingrained within us.”

“Makes it feel like we don’t have freedom of choice.”

His brows furrow. “How so?”

“If it is all predestined, how could we decide how things go? How this all ends? Why even try when we are forced along a linear path?”

“Ah…” he nods slowly. “You still have the simple mind of a human.”

“Doesn’t answer the question,” you frown.

“I said it is all fate, but I didn’t say that fate is linear. Each path we take is what we choose, but it is fate that brings us together, just as it is fate if we are brought apart. But that is too difficult for you to comprehend now.” He looks at you strangely. “How are your wrists?”

You look down, finger brushing against the forgotten wounds. It isn’t welted like before, but it’s scarring over, a deeper color contrasted against your skin. You’ve all but pushed that experience from your mind, too tortuous to dwell on amongst everything else. “I haven’t thought of it.” You admit, glancing at him. “Too many things going on right now for me to cry about something like this.”

His eyes rest on your wrists, before glancing away. “I pushed you farther than need be today. I overestimated how much strength you have in this human form.”

“I understand.” There’s an apology between his words, somewhere. You glance at his back. The pure horror that crossed Wooyoung’s face when he saw it in the imprisonment. Your quick glance was enough to see that it was painful. Horribly so.

“Are you okay?”

He furrows his brows, “I told you I was fine before.”

“No, I mean,” you hesitate. He closed off when Wooyoung questioned it, there’s no doubt he’d do the same to you. But you cannot help but try. “Your wings, your back. Are you okay?”

His eyes widen only minimally before resting. “Fine.” His steps are fast, not waiting for even a moment to hear what you have to respond. You stare at the potion in your hand, thoughts scattered. Perhaps he does care, in his own strange way.

Later that night, you find a small bag containing a potion hanging on the doorknob to your room with a scrawled note. The loneliness feeling shifts as you read it.

For your wrists. -M

—

Your gaze is unable to shift from your hands. Numb, cold from the breeze escaping through the gaping hole in your room. It's partially boarded up, a box of nails and wood slacks resting beneath it. Humorous given the situation – you don’t doubt the faeries you reside with have some sort of fix it spell on their roster. But you've insisted on doing it yourself. Splinters dig into the tender skin, your thumb rubbing against the risen surface. It is not enough to make you feel half of what the others felt, but it helps. You press your thumb into the small wooden splinters, pain ringing your nerves as you bleed.

Your new door flings open, nearly breaking off its hinges. You flinch, moving away from the sound. Hongjoong stands there, gaze scanning the room swiftly before resting on you. The once cocky Unseelie looks oddly haggardly, skin oily, hair no longer neatly styled. As if he just awoke from a slumber, clothing barely thrown on his figure. He sighs, fingers pinching his nose.

“You are not hurt.” He murmurs.

You raise your palm to him, before dropping it, picking up the tweezers near you. “Nothing a few hours of picking at my skin wouldn't fix. You almost broke my door, by the way.”

“I smelled blood.”

There's a light film of blood on your palm, but it's barely a teaspoon. “The wood pricked me.”

“Could you be even a bit more careful, kumiho?”

You laugh dryly, “No demonic creatures breaking through the walls again, if you were worried about that.”

His oddly concerned expression soon disappears. He grips your doorknob, ready to swing it back into its place. Just before he closes it, his eyes flick to you. “Caring for yourself shouldn't be such a feat.”

“It was a mistake, that’s all,” you murmur.

“Why lie? Remember where you are and what has happened. Unseelie may not care as Seelie do, but an ounce of sympathy would work wonders.”

The door shuts. You watch as the knob drops from its place, rolling against the wooden floor.

—

Your existence is not forgotten in the room. Body cemented into the loveseat as the discussion, fingers brushing against the potted plant San once cared for. Their words are heated, speaking in a language you cannot understand aside from names. Yeosang is not in the room as you predicted. Seonghwa paces back and forth, arms gesturing wildly, pointing at you every so often. Wooyoung’s tempered voice responded with a bit of annoyance, his presence far away from you not unnoticed. In fact, it seems that Jongho is the only one who could even stand your presence, passing you a novel before sitting on the armrest of your chair.

“Death is something we cannot overcome by merely forgetting it,” Hongjoong’s words ring, speaking in a language you can understand, looking at you briefly. Seonghwa does not attempt to hide the annoyance in his expression. “We must do something, or others may think we are weak.”

“They can try,” Yunho says, leaning against the archway. “Their attempts will be in vain.”

“Them trying is what I am actively avoiding.”

“We are Unseelie, Hongjoong. Someone attempting to take over happens every few centuries. They have likely found out about San’s death already, and Wooyoung being taken. It is only a matter of time before a group enters the meeting place. And they have questioned her presence already,” Seonghwa looks at you. “She should be removed.”

“And taken by Seelie? Is that the wisest thing to do?” Hongjoong scowls. “Once she is able to use her abilities without forgetting and they have control of her, we will all die.”

“She has already caught the attention of Lilith. We must kill her then.”

Your hand stills on the leave your brushing against, turning to Seonghwa. His back is facing you as he says it, waiting for Hongjoong to reply. He’s greeted with silence instead, a loud sigh escaping his lips. “What use does she have to live? We remove any chance of her growing to learn her skills and killing us, or leaving and finding herself in the hands of another group of fae. It is the best solution.”

“You would allow San’s death to be in vain, Seonghwa?”

All of you turn to the voice. Yeosang’s hands grip the doorway, eyes narrowing as he stares at him. Though the Unseelie is far, you can see the glimpse of a knowing smile on Yunho’s lips. Seonghwa looks pained as he meets his gaze, a slight step forward. “Yeosang.”

“Answer me.”

“It is the best solution.”

“You have not answered.”

“San would see reason in my choice if he were in my shoes.”

“You have endlessly criticized Hongjoong for his choices and yet make a selfish one of your own.”

“I am thinking of us. I have always thought of us. How can you not see that? Why don’t any of you see it? All because of this… thing?” He points at you. “It’s my fault for not killing her in the beginning. I allowed all of this to happen. We would have already moved on from this town, far away enough that even the thought of her would never be. But I have accepted that I made a bad decision. I wish that you all accept my words when I say keeping her around is a bad decision.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “San’s death is not yours to take blame. It is not that simple-”

“I don’t want to see any of you die again.” The angst in his voice is palpable, strained. He grips the table near him, eyes glued to the floor. “I want you all to live. Please, please consider this. I won’t ask for a vote because I know where it would lead. Just, please.”

Hongjoong’s hand reaches out to touch his arm, but Seonghwa pulls it away from him harshly. “I’m tired of having these pointless fucking meetings when everyone dismisses my words. I am tired of it all. Do what you want, I don’t care anymore.” He leaves, shoulder harshly pushing through Yunho’s body as he exits.

Yunho reaches out a hand as Yeosang stumbles, murmuring words you cannot understand in his ear. He nods slowly, reaching an arm around his neck. The height difference is steep, but close enough for Yunho to help him out of the room. The others seem to leave not too long after, Hongjoong standing in the same spot once it's just the two of you left. The idea of being alone with him is uncomfortable enough that you begin to follow the others out. Until he speaks.

He never quite shuts up.

“We’re not killing you,” Hongjoong says. “We’ve decided on that already.”

“I feel so much better now that you say it,” you mumble. “I don’t fault Seonghwa for wanting to get rid of me. You’ve all been through so much since we’ve known each other.”

You exit the room, the soft steps of Hongjoong not too far behind. You expect him to stay behind when you walk outside, but he follows well. You stop walking, turning to look at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t be able to kill you,” Hongjoong explains. “Many of them may hate me if I arrived without you with me. But if you made the decision on your own, it would be no fault of mine.”

“You want me to kill myself?”

“No,” he says after a moment. “I still cannot find the reason for their fascination with you. But I do not want that. Do you want to die tonight?”

You’ve been brave. Leaving them behind once before, dealing with that Seelie before San came to save you. Before, you thought you’d be able to survive without them by your side. But now? Even with the weapon that Mingi gave you, doubt settles within you. Your eyes flick up to the house. To the barely boarded up hole on your porch.

“No.”

“Then why are you not trying hard enough in your training? You have overcome danger before – we all saw the aftermath ourselves. Or, maybe…” he pauses, a strange look crossing his face. “Maybe your body knows that it is not a life threatening emergency, enough so that you would show your true form. Perhaps you just need a push.”

Hongjoong’s hand grips your arm, dragging you deeper into the forest. “I can test it now.”

“What the hell are you doing?” You grip his hand, but it is in vain. His nails dig into your skin as he pulls you, your pace struggling to keep up to the quickness of his. His gaze is lost as he paces through. “Hongjoong this isn’t funny.”

“Unfortunately I’m not trying to be humorous,” he glances down at you. “I will need to attempt to kill you in order to see if it works.”

The forest begins to dwindle, and soon you hear the sound of waves. You’ve been out in this area with Soobin before, know that your town rests near large cliffs. You visited it more often than not, standing at the treeline as you looked out into the ocean. He drags you to the edge, ignoring your pleas. Your hand digs into his sleeve, begging him to not do this. To realize what he's doing is wrong.

“Hongjoong please,” you say desperately, voice hoarse. He grabs your hand, ripping your grip off.

“I don't want you to die,” he says softly. “But this… this could help. This could show us your true potential, y/n. Don't you see it?”

Your name rolls off his tongue like a curse. The word is strong enough to stun you for a brief moment. But just the pause in time for him to dangle you over the ledge. His gaze is far gone, his free hand brushing against your cheek. Black pupils stare back at you, his brown hair a sheer white. His touch grows colder and colder as he touches your cheek, hums echoing around the forest. You grew unafraid of them all since you've been with them for months – thinking that your life was safe enough. But the blank gaze of his, the eerie tune that falls from his lips, it is not caring. It is not human.

“The others will know.”

“They will forgive me once you come back alive.”

“This isn't humane–”

“Neither of us are humans, kumiho. We do not need to follow the morality of human law. Can't you see it? I'm saving you. This is me saving you.” His lips brush across your cheeks, indecipherable Latin whispered into your ear.

He lets go.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Could I ask for some yandere alucard post season 3 with a s/o that isn't human or only part human? Like being half fae, nymph or siren. I just think the dynamics of that relationship would be quite different then say if the object of his obsession was human given his lack of faith in humanity in season 3s aftermath

A/N: I LOVE this question! It was so interesting to think about all the different ways the MC could be half-human and have that connection with Alucard. I did end up going with a mermaid/siren sort of creature as the original asker did send in an additional ask clarifying how they could picture this abused mermaid girl feeling kinship with Alucard because of his current distrust of humans, and I liked that element. I also chose a siren / mer create as they have abilities to manipulate/hypnotize their prey, an ability Alucard probably has as well with him being half-vampire. I ended up writing a very long outline in bullet points but felt that it didn't quite flow for HC, so I instead broke it up into smaller scenes below. I hope that’s ok. Sorry, it took so long. I was sick with some weird virus for weeks (lowkey feel like it’s mono or something), and could only handle work and family crap, like I barely had any motivation to live. And then when I started writing this, it sort of took on a life of its own lol. (What can I say? I love me some Alucard.) 

Anon also suggested I check out this manga- it’s called Becoming the Villain's Family and it’s about a siren who goes back in time and makes a marriage pact with a devil to prevent their untimely fates. I’m not a huge manga reader, but my sister is, so I’m going to recommend it to her and maybe we can read it together. 

Yandere! Alucard (Post-S3) w/ A Half-Siren S/O 

The fair creature did not see quite how it happened, for it had all transpired too fast. A deep guttural growl echoed from past the tree line, well beyond the corners of her vision as the very ground beneath the wagon’s feet began to shake violently. As swiftly and silently as a flash of lightning, the wagon she resided in was sliced in half, the metal cage that kept her prisoner acting as her only guard against an elongated talon from some sort of monster. The cage was tossed sideways, skittering along the dirt ground as the poor mer creature inside flipped over violently, her dehydrated human form and lack of clothing sending her soft, nearly translucent skin into the square welds hard enough to form bruises. 

“Retrieve the asset!” 

“Don’t let her escape!” 

“Are you crazy?! Fuck the asset!” 

Around her, a flurry of mixed male voices shouted out contradictory directions. With only the setting sun for light, it was difficult to make out who had yelled what. 

Then came more growls in addition to all the shouting. Then the shouting turned into screaming. And a handful of those screams turned into cut-off cries followed by loud squelching. A flurry of slices and swings from blades and swords interrupted what must have been the creature's onslaught, but it would certainly not last long. There would be more torn flesh, and more final yells- a final symphony of bloodshed to follow. 

Kneeling into an upright position, the fair mer creature pushed and pulled frantically against the metal door of her cage. The hinges had warped in the fall, bending just so, that if enough force was applied…

With a metallic screech, the young water maiden could kick her cage door from its battered hinges. Fortunately enough for her, none of her captors seemed to notice her imminent freedom, the lot of them busy battling hideous creatures beyond any comprehensible amalgam or imagination. 

Unfortunately for her, her sudden movement did not go unnoticed by one such creature. 

A smaller, fiendish-looking thing, with the body of a lizard, but the head of a vulture, and the tail of a scorpion mawed loudly at her, its stinger striking warningly at the ground. 

Not needing to be told twice, the young maiden leaped up and made a mad dash for the treeline on the other side of the clearing, opposite the line of creatures. 

As she made it past the treeline she watched as one of her imprisoners struck successfully at the rear of the small fiendish creature with the sharp end of a spear. It cut roughly into the monster’s backside, turning the horrid thing’s attention away from her back onto her captors. 

Pausing for a mere second, she took one last look at the few men still alive, fighting for their lives against the horrible creatures. Even if they were to win the fight, she swore it would be the last time she saw them. Beasts or no beasts, she was never losing her freedom again. 

✧ ✧ ✧

The bottoms of her feet stung with every step, and her calves burned worse every time she jumped over branches, landing on uneven ground. Her thighs were practically numb from the midseason cold, and her time forced to rest on the cold metal bars of her prison certainly did not help. But she refused to stop running. Even if she was unfamiliar with the practice of traveling upright on two extremities, she perished the thought that her inexperience might slow her down. She could not fail. She could not yet rest. Whoever won the fight between her captors and the creatures was certain to follow after her once the battle was done. She could not waste precious time. So despite pain and exhaustion, she pushed onward. 

After what felt like an eternity, although, if she were to judge by the moon, it must have only been a few hours, she found her legs could no longer support her weight, as her knees buckled beneath her, slipping on the soft embankment ground. 

‘Embankment?’ The maiden, feeling a final surge of hope, strained her neck to get a better look. It did appear that she had made it to a river bank, although it was a rather small one at that. Still, the sight felt like a miracle. It had been too long since her body was submerged, snug, within her element’s embrace. And given the choice between breathing her last breaths on the cold dry forest ground, or under a river’s soft current, she’d choose the river, any day. 

Using her arms to pull herself into the cold water, she breathed one final breath of chilled night air before slinking into the river water. Closing her eyes, the young maiden had but one thought: 

‘If this is to be my final resting place, then so be it.’ 

✧ ✧ ✧

The next morning started the same way all mornings do: the sun rose in the sky, the birds and bugs began their daily chirps, and a very forlorn-looking Adrian Tepes, known currently as Alucard, son of Dracula exited his castle in search for food, his usual basket in hand. Unusual however were the two corpses that greeted him as he passed the castle steps. 

Alucard paid the bodies no mind, he didn’t once glance in either of their directions. He kept his eyes forward, locked onto the foliage and wildlife hidden within the forest line choosing to pretend the bodies were no longer there. Yes, he knew they were there. Of course, he knew. He was the one to string them up after all. But if he were to acknowledge the corpses' presence, then he would also be required to acknowledge the circumstances that led them to be staked there, and that was something not even the great slayer of Dracula could do. So instead Alucard did what he could: he adjusted the basket in his arms and began mentally preparing the meal he would make. 

Coming to the river bank, Alucard felt something was off. He sensed another presence nearby. Kneeling down to the water, he kept his ears open for any movement within the trees but did not hear any. 

‘Odd.’ The dhampir waited for a spell before resuming his usual activities. He methodically removed his boots, before rolling up the ends of his pants, as he prepared to wade into the river. He had found a comfortable position, balanced on the river rocks below his feet when he noticed another oddity. 

“Where have all the fish gone?” 

The river, once teeming with fish, ones even brave enough to stick around as he waded into the water, were nowhere to be seen. Besides the rushing of water over the river bank, Alucard could not hear them swimming around within the water below. 

Turning his head, he found a single glint of scales reflecting the morning’s rays a few meters from where he had been standing. But just one fish? Or perhaps, a damn of some kind was preventing them from moving freely. Alucard made a move to investigate closer. But then, just as he turned to do so, what appeared to be an incredibly large fish leaped out of the river, and flopped onto the bank. It writhed around, flopping this way and that before rolling over to face him. It was at that moment Alucard realized why all the other fish had disappeared. There was no damn, no net. It was because of this… this creature. 

✧ ✧ ✧

The young mermaid awoke with a start, the deep echo of footsteps underwater had vibrated her awake. From where she lay, her vision was obscured, but she could make it out that the being was human in nature, standing on two legs, with only two arms to boot. It did not possess any claws or animal characteristics like any of the night creatures from the night before, nor did it appear to resemble any of the men who had taken her. 

The maiden stayed as still as stone, hoping this new strange human would grow bored of waiting for a meal to catch, turn around, and go home. But luck, as it had proven time and time again as of late, was not on her side. 

The man made a move towards her position, and she found she could not help the fear that bubbled up from inside her chest. The river was too small for her to swim through. More so, moving within the water would only create splashes to further catch this stranger’s attention. If she wanted to get away, she’d need to shift back to her human form and make yet another run for it on foot. 

Using the strength her long waterlogged rest had given her, she propelled her body out of the water, onto the river bank. As soon as her full body was on land, she writhed and wriggled, doing all she could to shake the excess water from her body. 

Her earlier set of legs had once again merged into a fishtail, strong and thick, with grooved fins to match. Her abdomen and chest were plated with scales all up the sides. And as she shook herself dry, several of those scales slid off her body into the dirt. Her ears, previously flesh and pointed more like an elf’s, had pulled back, with loose tentacle-like fins spouting out around their outer shell. In the daylight, she knew there was no mistaking what she was. But if she was to change her form quickly, it was a risk she needed to take. 

Despite the morning's warm sun, her body did not dry as fast as she had hoped. The maiden used her arms, and her now-clawed fingers to pull herself up further, finally gaining purchase on one bark of a tree, as she did her best to twist around and face this stranger head-on. 

Letting out a hiss, she bore her fangs at the strange blonde man standing before her. Only the man did not seem intimidated, nor shocked to see a creature such as herself. If anything, he appeared, at ease. Was this perhaps a trap? She hissed again but found herself on the side of surprise when the seemingly human man bared his own set of fangs and hissed back. 

✧ ✧ ✧

‘A mermaid?’ Alucard watched, amused, as the young creature did her best to appear menacing to him. If only she knew, how instead of fear, Alucard felt a rush of reassurance at the sight of her inhuman features. 

‘Humans,’ he thought bitterly. It was two humans who had hurt him most of all. Not even his own father’s war on humanity had harmed him the way those two did. His father left him for dead paled in comparison to the shame and torment he carried with him from that one night.  

Had a human shown their face on his property, he’d… Well, Alucard was not certain what he would do should they refuse his order to leave. But whatever he decided, it would not be a fate any would enjoy, that’s for certain. 

Thankfully, with the very distinct mer-features of this individual, that point was moot. He did not need to threaten disembowelment or an eternity of torture as a spawn, Alucard felt no such need to. 

He took a step closer, taking in her unique features. Her eyes were large and dark, almost pure pools of black. He could feel the pull luring him in closer the longer he looked into them. Her skin was almost opaque, despite its color. At certain angles, rays of the morning sun seemed to shine through her body, as opposed to around it. And her tail, no doubt the most impressive of her peculiarities, glinted impressively, making her an almost otherworldly mirage against the browns and greens of the surrounding greenery. 

Of course, no sooner than Alucard could admire such an ethereal sight, her tail began to lose some of its luminescence, growing duller by the second. The previously shiny scales that overlapped each other began to flake off, one by one. Down the middle of her tail, from where her belly button would have been on her abdomen had she been a human, what scaled skin remained began to crack, viscously, like a deep fissure that would not heal. The fissure continued to grow in depth and width as Alucard came within feet of her. 

She hissed for a second time at his forward movement, but Alucurd was undeterred. Smiling a sort of melancholy smile, he paused before opening up his maw, revealing his impressive fangs with a hiss of his own.

At his revelation, the creature’s demeanor changed abruptly. Gone was the fear and hatred in her eyes, instead replaced by a much more benevolent wonder. 

She opened her mouth, the tentacles around her ears shriveling into themselves, her ears changing to a more elven point as they came to rest flatter against her head. Alucard watched as her fangs dissipated too, the sharp canine points rounding themselves down into very simple humanoid-looking teeth. The back of her throat opened and closed, but very little sound came out. If she was trying to communicate, it seemed a verbal conversation was currently off the table. 

“I am Alucard Tepes, son of Dracula and Lisa Tepes.” Alucard spoke, taking the lead for her. “And I am not human.” 

The mermaid closed her eyes as she leaned back against the tree bark, wincing once or twice as a very slime-covered, human-looking bottom half cracked free from the dried shell of her former tail. She used her hands to pull the husks away from her body, leaving every bit of her person on display. 

Alucard cleared his throat before deciding to remove his shirt and give it to her. He tossed the white shirt to the maiden who caught it in one hand. Bringing it in to smell, she sniffed it before looking back at him curiously. 

“If you wish to spend the walk back to my castle naked, I won’t stop you. But as I’m sure you’ve learned, people up here spend most of their life clothed.” 

She turned her head in the opposite direction as if to say, ‘So?’ before ultimately relenting, pulling the white top over her head. 

Making a move to stand, her legs wobbled, giving out underneath her. But before she could fall, by the grace of his vampiric speed, Alucard managed to catch her, one of his arms looping under hers around her shoulder. Upon noticing the sudden conflict, the mermaiden hissed again but made no move to shove him off. Making another choked-off sound, from the back of her throat, she tried speaking again. 

“Ghhank hou.” Frowning, she cleared her throat before trying again. “Thgank cou,” her voice was quiet, and yet deep and guttural at the same time as if she was holding back. 

“So you can speak,” Alucard commented as he helped her walk a distance, finding her balance. 

The young maiden nodded, before shaking her head. “Youg may naught want mee too.” She blinked her large, dark eyes at him, pointing to them, them down to her throat as she did so. “Sssighh-rhen.” 

Alucard paused his walking, staring his golden orbs back at her. In the light, the mermaid watched as they glittered and shined, an almost metallic color, reminiscent of pirates’ gold, lulling her into a sense of security. She gave off a warning growl, having caught on to the fact that she was not the only one with influential abilities. Alucard blinked twice, breaking off the trance. 

“As I said before,” he reiterated, leading the way back to his castle, “I am not human.” 

The mermaiden watched him, as an almost smirk graced her inhumanely beautiful face. “Gooodd,” she hissed out. 

✧ ✧ ✧

“That is how the castle came to be in my possession.” 

Alucard led the young mermaiden down the many hallways and corridors of the castle, telling her the story of how he, along with Belmont and Sypha, were tasked with defeating Dracula. He stopped to point out various rooms along the way, the ones he was the most familiar with, anyway. There was still much of the castle that felt foreign to him. It was as if he walked the rows of a graveyard, rarely stopping to notice yet another name on a tombstone. How many hands had helped build this place? How much of their blood was shed to gather all the infinite knowledge and wealth that was kept here? Alucard did not know. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. 

Walking past the various debris and carnage still left from their battle with Dracula, Alucard ushered her into his father’s former study, now his study. In the middle of the room sat one large rather ornate chair, placed before a cracked fireplace. In the chair was a crumbled blanket and pillow. On the small table next to it, a cold long-forgotten cup of tea. The items together suggested this chair was used in recent days for sleeping, not for sitting and reading or studying of any sort. 

The mermaiden narrowed her eyes at that. Surely, even with this battle, Alucard claimed had taken place within his home, there were bedrooms and living quarters left unbothered. Why would someone in possession of such a grand and luxurious home sleep sitting up in a chair? Or perhaps, was it a question of biology, not psychology? Did a being like Alucard require sleep at all? 

As the mermaiden contemplated, Alucard kneeled down to start a fire, but not before vaguely gesturing at the crack that ran up the front brick of the fireplace. “As you can see, the fight was not limited to one area or room.” 

“Bprokeghn,” the mermaid nodded before gesturing herself to the chair and blanket set-up. “Behd?” 

Alucard cleared his throat, as he stoked the beginning flames of the fire. “My room was… damaged, yes.” 

Seemingly content with that answer, the mermaiden turned her attention to other parts of the room. 

Off to the right there were various bookshelves and texts. And on the left? A modest oak desk sat under a large painting of a beautiful woman. Her hair was golden, almost appearing to glow under the warm hue of the fire’s dancing light. Her eyes were large and hopeful, and her size petite but strong. In her hand, she held a white flower, although its beauty paled in comparison to hers, it was a lovely touch against the dark maroon dress she was wearing. 

“Prehty,” she said, stopping to admire the woman in the painting. 

Upon hearing her words, Alucard looked up, a soft smile having formed on his face. “Yes,” he said. “She was beautiful.” 

Glancing back at the man, the mer creature noticed his hair was blonde and rather lovely as well. Not as gorgeous as her own siren’s locks of course, but that was understandable. She pointed to the hair of the woman in the painting before pointing to her own, and then finally, to his. “Prehty too.” 

✧ ✧ ✧

From where he stood in the kitchen, Alucard watched amusedly as the young woman tried taking a bite of her grossly undercooked fish using a knife and fork, stifling a laugh every time she would manage to grip one utensil only to drop the other. Her less-than-human approach to everyday things made Alucard feel at ease. She was not a lying, conniving human he had to watch out for, she was not biding her time waiting to stab him in the back. Quite the contrary: she was blunt and rather oblivious to human social conventions. 

She had very little reservations when it came to nudity, Alucard had come to discover. If it wasn’t for his polite, insistence, she would have continued to roam the castle naked. Dwelling deep underwater made her rather immune to things like catching a chill. Alucard was similar, he did not feel the cold the way humans did, although he was not entirely immune to it. He would surely suffer frostbite should he choose to venture outside in the dead of winter without any clothes on his back. However, unlike a human, and more like a vampire, it would take more than freezing exposure to do him in. 

It was almost comforting in a way, to share the castle with someone who’s biology was surprisingly close to his. She was more unhuman than human most days, her residual scales and sharp claw-like nails coming back once her body had returned to full-health. Her teeth had also increased in length, although Alucard suspected she could control their sharpness at will to some degree, her opting to keep her incisors short and squared, more human-like, whenever the two would talk walks around outside the castle. 

The mermaiden also had an interesting diet. She preferred her food cold, if not raw. Even things like fish and other meats, she refused to eat properly cooked. Alucard briefly recalled the first time he had tried to offer her dinner. He steamed her fish the same way he steamed his, and presented it to her, expecting gratitude. It was humourous now, but back then he recalled being rather dissatisfied with her indignant reaction. She hissed, and berated him for serving her something ‘burnt’, or ‘burrrnt’ as she had called it. 

Alucard discovered it was less of a preference and more of a requirement when he found her eagerly licking the blood from a freshly killed and skinned hare he had fetched for dinner. It seemed that she, like him, and like the many other supernatural creatures, had a penchant for blood that was born out of a necessity, and not mere cruelty. With her diet of raw and bloody food, her skin appeared healthier- still as shiny and translucent, but less gray. Her human form’s skin was less cakey and dry, and when she did change back into her tailed form, which was rather often given how much she enjoyed lounging in one of the castle’s large communal baths, her scales shed much less than they had when they first met. Upon her initial arrival at the castle, Alucard found she’d leave scales behind her wherever she walked, the same way a lover might lay out a trail of rose petals. Of course in this case, there was no intimate surprise waiting for him behind closed doors (not that he’d want one given his past circumstances, anyway), but a very brash and temperamental half-siren, usually impatiently awaiting yet another “useless” lesson in human conventions. 

“Naught fun-ie,” she hissed, under her breath, well aware of Alucard’s amusement. “No need for toools underwater.” She dropped both her knife and fork unceremoniously onto her plate before crossing her arms, looking like a wilful toddler. 

“There’s no one to impress here,” Alucard assured her. “Besides, even without a fork and knife I’m sure you eat like a magistrate compared to Belmont. The rodents outside have more manners.” 

“Belmonnt,” the fair maiden repeated, picking up her fish with her bare hands. “Frrend.” 

“Yes. Although, I haven’t seen him or Sypha for quite some time.” Alucard answered, just a hint of loneliness creeping into his voice. 

“Hadd frend wonss.” Biting into her fish, she tore a chunk of flesh off with her teeth, a satisfied groan leaving her body as some of the excess moisture dribbled down her chin. “Huumann too.” She swallowed her bite of fish down, not bothering to chew much at all. “Dyed.” She licked her lips in satisfaction. “Beectraaid.” 

“Wherever humans are concerned, such possibilities are never in short supply.” Alucard agreed, handing her a cloth napkin to wipe her chin. “It is their nature.” 

Choking down the rest of her fish, the mermaiden swallowed harshly again before asking, “Owtsighed?” Of course, the two giant stakes housing decayed corpses had not escaped her notice on their way inside. 

Alucard retrieved her empty plate, moving to place it in the sink. Closing his eyes, he desperately tried not to remember the feel of the silver cords burning his skin, the way he suffocating under Taka and Sumi’s gaze, how if it were not for his sword and the magical component of it, it’d be his body flayed and strung up outside instead of theirs. Despite not having had anything to chew or eat, Alucard swallowed hard as well. 

“Yes,” he finally said.  

✧ ✧ ✧

“Where are wee going?” The mermaiden asked, her vocabulary and annunciation having improved much over the last couple of weeks. 

Dressed in a relatively sheer nightgown and robe, the young woman begrudgingly followed Alucard, already dressed for the day, as he led her over to the remains of the Belmont hold. Upon reaching the cleverly designed pulley system, Alucard lifted the safety bar of the lift and gestured for her to get in. 

The young mer woman bared her teeth but did not hiss, a vast improvement of manners and trust on her part. 

“You may recall in the past, I’ve mentioned a man named Belmont, Trevor Belmont.” Alucard set the bar back down, clicking it into place, before pulling one of the levers to begin their descent. 

She nodded. “Friend. Miss him.” 

Alucard furrowed his brow. “I do not believe I’ve once said I missed his company.” 

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, a form of nonverbal human communication she had recently picked up on. “Still,” she wagged a finger, disapprovingly. “Can tell. No want to be alone.” 

Having reached the bottom of the lift, Alucard secured the platform before exiting, seemingly eager to remove himself from their current conversation. “I speak his name frequently because he has gifted me a rather large piece of his family’s inheritance for safekeeping. Without my permission, I might add.” 

Flicking a large switch on the wall, the mermaiden watched in awe as hundreds of blue flames suddenly sparked alight, illuminating an expansive cavern of towered rows and rows of books and other meticulously organized collections. 

“This,” Alucard extended his arm out, showcasing the vastness of the space before them, “Is the Belmont Hold. It possesses all the knowledge the Belmonts learned on creatures of the night, the collection starting generations ago. Everything any Belmont learned has been recorded onto paper, and stored somewhere within these tomes.” 

Temporarily blindsided by excitement, the mermaiden found herself quickly making her way down several sets of stairs, her balance thankfully having improved tenfold, as she ignored the darker implications of Alucard’s words. 

“So much boooks!” She cried out, settling on entering a random upper row of tomes, pulling one out of the shelf. “So much papper!” 

Alucard nodded, coming to join her. “I take it your people do not have much use for such records underwater?” 

The young mer woman nodded, running her clawed fingers delicately over the inked pages. “Runes. Maghik. No paper.” 

Carefully, Alucard took the book from her hands and placed it back onto the shelf where it belonged. Before the mermaiden could bare her teeth or hiss at him in irritation he had already begun climbing down a nearby ladder, calling for her to follow. “Come. The books are impressive, but they are not what I wish to show you.” 

Reaching the lowest level before her, Alucard smiled softly as his eyes were met with the familiar scene of a magic mirror, and open chest. How strange to think he and his friends stood on this very ground when Sypha successfully managed to summon the castle. How strange to think right there, under his feet, was where Adrian Tepes died and Alucard of Wallachia truly began. 

There was a time when Alucard believed he and he alone would be the one to ever stand upon this, practically hallowed ground. Belmont was not yet sure if he wished to resume the responsibilities of his namesake. And Sypha, well, Sypha had chosen to follow Belmont in whatever trouble he managed to get himself into. Who knows if they would be back, if they ever intended on coming back? At the end of their journey, there was Alucard, left alone to shoulder the burden of both their families’ legacies. 

Trevor had told him not to make the castle his grave, but to use it and the hold to… help people. Such a task seemed near impossible when you were one dhampir, isolated far away from the rest of the world. But then, Alucard reflected, along came Taka and Sumi, and perhaps, he had once thought, he would no longer have to be alone. 

They were so eager to learn, but they were also so eager to leave. They did not come intending to stay, Alucard knew this, and yet, he could not help the way he drew their lessons out, making sure to be as detailed as possible. If they must go, he supposed, he could make it so they did not leave for a while. It was foolish to think his desires would go unnoticed by the two humans. More foolish perhaps, to expect them to understand. Alucard had been wrong. 

They sensed he was less than forthcoming, Alucard could not deny that was true. But he never lied, not once to them. But in their humanity, in their hurt and in their pain and guilt and anger they felt they were deceived. Perhaps deception was so readily on their mind because they had arrived with a plan to play him for a fool all along. 

Either way, it was fatal on their part. Alucard may have wanted them to stay, but he did not need them. They alleviated his loneliness, but they were not necessary companions, not like Trevor or Sypha. They were far too different, far too divested from the line of existence Alucard walked to ever truly understand him. Being human, they ignorantly believed themselves to possess so many options of their own, but as fate had proven: they too were wrong. 

But this young woman, this siren, this mermaid, she was different. She did not come seeking him, rather their meeting was entirely accidental. And this time, the playing field was even: she needed him just as much, if not more, than Alucard wanted her. It was different this time. Here, within the Belmont hold and his castle, she was the outsider. And no matter how long she stayed with him, no matter how hard she tried, she would remain less human than Alucard. Next to her, he was not a monster or a beast, no. 

At her side, he appeared solely as Wallachia’s savior, Alucard, and he was neither human nor monster. 

Coming back to the present moment, Alucard watched silently as the mermaiden approached the glass display case of vampire skulls. He watched as her eyes widened, and her fists clenched, before she spun around, her fangs bared. “Exsplain, now!” 

“The Belmonts hunted creatures of the night for centuries. They came to Wallachia hunting Dracula and his army of vampires.” 

“You said Belmont friend!” 

“He is- was. As I have said to you before, he aided me in my journey to defeat my Father Dracula, to prevent him from securing the extinction of the human race.” 

The mermaiden tilted her head to the side. “Buut why? You vampire.” 

“Not entirely,” Alucard countered. 

The mermaiden’s eyes squinted. “What?”

“The woman in portraits you’ve so admired within the castle, she was my mother, Lisa Tepes, and she was human.” 

Enraged, the mermaiden’s face contorted into an expression of anger, her nostrils flaring with every huff of air she took. “Liar!” She accused him, making her way around the side of the cabinet, trying to move past the dhampir without encountering him directly. “You said humans betrayed! You said not like them! You lie!” 

“I did not lie. I never told you I was wholly vampire, nor did I once say I was not part human.” Alucard mirrored her movement, cutting her off before she could reach the stairs. “I aided humanity only to be betrayed by humans. I do not belong in their world, nor do they belong in mine.” 

“Nor in minesss!” She snarled. “You human. Not friend. Not anymoresss.” Shoving past Alucard she began up the stairs before she felt a hand on her wrist yank her back. Whipping around, she found herself face to face with Alucard, his expression angry, his fangs elongated and on clear display. 

“And where will you go? Your human charade may not disturb me but it is bound to alert others. There is no city, no town where you could travel that they would believe you to be one of their own.” His voice was deep, dark, and full of disdain. 

“Then I go home,” she retorted. “With othersss like mee.” 

“Do you think they will accept you now you’ve lived with a human, lain with a human?” 

“Half,” she spit into his face before sneering: “Half huumannn.” 

Alucard did not even flinch, entirely unphased by her vulgar action. “Human nonetheless,” he said, the ice in his veins offset only by the golden fire in his eyes. “Not even they would welcome you back now. There is nowhere you can go, no one who would welcome you. I,” he spoke, baring his fangs, “am all you have left. I am the only one who understands.” 

The mermaiden opened her mouth to speak, but could not find the words. She closed her mouth before opening it again, still hesitant on how to respond. If it was not as serious of a moment, Alucard would have laughed: she truly looked like a fish out of water. 

Careful as not to spook her, he slowly raised one hand, using it to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from her eyes. How strange a sight to see a siren crying, awful yet beautiful at the same time. Like him, Alucard thought. 

“You are the only one who could possibly understand me. You need not ever leave.” Alucard used his other hand to take one of her own, and guide it, resting it atop his chest. “I do not wish to be alone anymore.” 

The maiden choked back more tears, shocked she was shedding them in the first place in Alucard’s presence. 

Prior to those horrible humans taking her, tears were not something the mermaiden had ever experienced. Living underwater, she was surrounded by saltwater. Even on the occasions she was consumed by great emotion, her eyes behaved no different, felt no different than they did being in their usual full-contact with water as they were everyday. But after she was taken, she found the ability to cry, something she despised. It burned the skin of her cheeks with hot shame, her throat felt too tight for air: the process of crying was foreign, and undeniably painful. She prayed it would not become a normal occurrence for her. She swore the moment she was free of her captors, she would never shed a tear again. And then she met Alucard. And he was…

Sweet. He was kind. He was not an ignorant, vengeful human. Surely, he would not give her reason to cry. They were of the same kind, she and him. He would harbor no hate for her in his heart. 

How foolish of the girl to think hatred was the only feeling capable of creating pain, of making remorse. Afterall, ‘love’ was just as powerful. ‘Love’ was just as dangerous. 

Deep down, the young siren knew the dhampir’s words were true: there was nowhere else she could go, there was no one else who would understand her, and care for her the way he did. 

In fairness, he was not fully human, he was half vampire, and his father was the great Lord Dracula to boot. He was not simple in the way other humans were. He was not stupid in the way people were. He was educated and well-aware of the fragility of egos, the slow passing of time… He did not look at the world through a mortal lens. The mermaiden knew she could do worse, in choosing someone to trust, in picking someone to rely on. 

Then again, he was half-human. She was wise to fear him, to doubt him. He may have meant what he said, when he told her she need not leave, but that did not mean she needn’t want to. But she was so far from home, so far from more of her own kind. Who else left in this region ravaged by night creatures and monsters would open their home to her the way he had? Perhaps it was wiser to stay. 

Did she even possess a choice in the matter?

Even withIn the arms of that former stranger, she felt more forsaken than she had when those evil traders first captured her. She felt so alone… Gods… 

She, too, wished not to be alone anymore. 

“Ssstay.” 

“What?” Alucard’s head snapped up at the sound of her words. “Truly?” He could not help the hope that seeped into his voice. “You wish to stay with me?” 

Before him, the mermaiden nodded, yet another human expression she had come to love over the past few weeks. “Yessss,” she hissed out, her voice still nasally from her earlier tears. “I ssstay.” 

A/N: Holy shit! Almost 8,000 words here. And to think I did it all while fighting the worst virus of my life! (See, THAT just goes to show you how strong my love for Alucard is. 

Don’t forget to Like & REBLOG!!!

And if you enjoyed it, feel free to Tip Me on Kofi! 

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted . ☽

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoor sex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.4k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

Chapter III: Something about you

The moon had been shining in the sky for hours when Qimir decided to return inside the cave with light steps. His discreet gaze fell on you, still seated in the same spot where he had left you, your head bowed while your eyes were fixed on an indefinite point. He pretended not to notice the traces of tears still visible on your face, the redness of your eyes, and your slightly irregular breathing. He could silently read every tiny expression of yours. After all, they were the same as Mae’s when he first met her, and having learned to understand her, he could now understand you. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with seeing his precious apprentice in another body, unfamiliar to him. In this way, he could still feel her close, still see a piece of her in you.

Qimir’s eyes lit up with subtle satisfaction when he saw the empty soup bowl next to the stove. He didn’t show it openly, but inside, he felt a sense of relief: at least you had eaten. That small gesture was a sign that, despite everything, you weren’t allowing yourself to be completely overwhelmed by grief. Qimir bent over his workbench, the torchlight reflecting off the cold metal of the helmet he was welding. Sparks flew under the precise blows of his hands, while his breathing remained steady, calm. He ignored you, or at least tried to, knowing that any word of comfort at that moment would only fuel your anger. He wasn’t a man easily fooled by emotions. He manipulated them, dominated them. But he also knew when someone, like you, needed space to breathe, to grieve in solitude.

Your gaze followed his every movement, watching how his skilled hands worked the metal, his fingers tracing precise lines. He seemed focused, detached, yet there was something in the way he worked that intrigued you. You wiped away the last of your tears with the back of your hand, but the pain inside was still alive. The image of your sister hovered heavily in your mind, and the only connection you now had with her was the man in front of you. Your eyes first followed his silhouette, then his hands, moving up to his shoulders and hesitating there for a few seconds, while the question you wanted to ask kept forming in your mind, heavy as a stone. The fresh tears were drying on your cheeks, and no matter how much you tried to avoid that lump in your throat, you knew you had to know more.

"She…" you began in a whisper, breaking the silence that had become almost suffocating. The word seemed to vanish between the rocky walls of the cave, while the thought of your sister still ached in your memory. Qimir didn’t turn, but you could feel that he was listening. "Did she choose to become a Sith?"

For a moment, the sparks stopped, as if that question had interrupted even the work of his hands. Qimir hesitated, then resumed welding, swallowing hard. His tone revealed a slight hesitation. "Yes," he responded with the calm of someone who knows full well what that answer means. "I only offered her a way out of her pain… I made her understand that her darkness had to be embraced, not rejected."

The silence grew thicker, filled only by the sound of metal fusing onto the helmet. Your heart weighed heavy as you tried to absorb those words. Your sister had made a choice. She wasn’t forced, she wasn’t manipulated as you had believed. She had embraced the darkness, willingly. And you felt broken, torn between hatred for what she had become and compassion for the pain that had led her to that decision. If only you had found her earlier… maybe? You suppressed the thought of "what if?", knowing that changing the past was no longer in your power.

"Was she happy?" you asked, your voice broken, barely a whisper. You needed to know if, at least in the dark side, she had found some form of peace or if her fate had been just another spiral of suffering. Again.

Qimir stopped working, the welding flame went out with a hiss, and the cave suddenly seemed more silent, more empty. He placed the helmet on the bench with a faint metallic sound, keeping his gaze on it as if it were too difficult for him to look you in the eyes while he answered. His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes betrayed a slight melancholy, something he perhaps didn’t even want to admit to himself.

"Happiness was not a feeling that belonged to her," he said slowly, with a sincerity that he rarely let show. "But she was relieved. Relieved of the weight of her past, of the chains that kept her bound to suffering. She found a new purpose."

That answer hit you harder than you wanted. Relieved. Not happy, not peaceful, but simply relieved from her pain. Your heart clenched as you tried to imagine your sister trapped in an existence so painful that she found solace only by embracing darkness. You had hoped, even for a moment, that there had been a bit of light in her life, a fragment of joy, but reality was much harsher. She had suffered just like you, but unfortunately, she no longer had the chance to redeem that pain. "A purpose…" you whispered softly, almost ironically.

Qimir took the welder back in his hands, ignoring what you had said as he reignited the tool. His fingers moved skillfully over the instruments, his gaze remaining fixed on the helmet, as if it helped him remember the first time he had met Mae. "She was young when I first met her," he began slowly, his tone low and delicate, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "She wasn’t yet fully aware of who she was or what she truly wanted. But there was something in her… a constant anger, a pain that drove her to seek something greater, she was searching for vengeance. She wanted to avenge your death."

His words hit you like a punch to the heart. Your death? The thought that your sister had spent years believing you were dead made you shudder, especially since you had thought the same thing before the Order came to find you.

Qimir paused, the sparks stopped again as he observed the metallic line forming on the helmet. "I saw her for the first time on Olega. She was fighting with some kids, she must have been around eight or nine years old, I can’t say for sure…" He took a brief pause, a faint smile crossing his face, as if the memory of young Mae gave him a kind of happiness. "She was using the Force against them. Grief, fear, and anger consumed her so much that her power seemed almost… uncontrollable. In fact, shopkeepers had been complaining for days about disturbances caused by what they thought was a rebellious Padawan. I found her before the Jedi could." Your eyes softened as you listened, imagining your sister alone, abandoned in a world that couldn’t understand her.

Qimir turned slightly toward you, and for a moment, his eyes seemed lost in a distant memory. Perhaps he saw Mae in you, or maybe it was a fragment of something you couldn't comprehend. You stared at him, unable to look away. Every word that left his mouth brought you closer to her past you had never been able to know. “Was she scared?” you finally asked, with another lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “She didn’t show fear… not at first, at least. Her anger was too strong. But yes, behind that strength, there was a frightened child. She didn’t trust anyone.” His words seemed like a distant memory, and you recognized your Mae in those words, believing him. His eyes, after all, spoke more than his mouth ever could. “But I didn’t need to tempt her. It was enough to promise her vengeance if she followed me. That was all she wanted.”

Your eyes filled with hostility and disgust, pain and anguish. “You corrupted her.” you said, your voice full of disdain and anger. “No,” Qimir replied calmly, meeting your gaze directly, showing complete sincerity. “As I said, I offered her an escape from her pain. I showed her that she wasn’t weak because of her pain, but that she could find strength in it. I didn’t corrupt her. I simply offered an alternative to her suffering.” His words were measured, but there was a subtle sincerity in his tone, as if he were trying to explain a deep and personal truth. “I can’t change the past, y/n,” he said, his voice softer and gentler. “But I can help you understand. That’s all I ask of you: to understand. Mae was a complex person, and her path wasn’t easy. But she found meaning in it all, and that, in a way, gave her peace.” His words hung in the air, his tone no longer monotone and cold. Qimir’s gaze seemed pained, you could see it now, but not the same pain reflected in your eyes; his emotions were a whirlwind of feelings and memories. There was sweetness and sadness in those eyes.

“You loved her…” you whispered, realizing what that continuous, unexplainable feeling in his behavior was. That look had to be of a man in love, it was clear now.

Qimir swallowed, his jaw tightening as he tried to maintain his composure. His face was now devoid of any mask of indifference. The gaze of Qimir, which had been almost impassive until then, softened. There was a sweetness in his eyes that spoke of a deep affection. He lowered his gaze, his face now partially hidden by the shadow cast by the dim light of the cave. His expression was a mix of nostalgia and pain, as the words you had spoken seemed to strike him deeply.

“No,” he replied, his voice cold and detached. “She was my pupil… I loved her as a master loves his pupil.” The statement, though devoid of warmth, concealed a truth that spoke of a deep and sincere feeling. The pain that came through his voice seemed genuine, and the way he spoke of Mae revealed a connection that went beyond appearances. The special bond between a master and his pupil… you remembered.

You remained silent as Qimir turned back to his workbench, trying to regain control of his emotions. “I saw something special in Mae,” he continued, his voice now calmer and more reflective. “And I hoped that as she grew, she would want something more than revenge. Something that I also wanted… but it didn’t turn out that way.” “And what do you want?” you asked, closing the chapter on Mae, which seemed to be hurting both of you equally. “The power of two.” he said with a renewed calmness in his tone, as he took the edges of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, revealing the large scar on his back that you had already seen that morning by the shore.

“Did Mae do that to you?” you asked, your voice low and uneasy, as you examined the scar with a mix of concern and curiosity. “What do you think?” Qimir responded, turning to you with a tired, curious look, as if challenging your intuition. There was a hint of stoicism in his expression, a defensive barrier against your question. “No…” you replied, a slight doubt creeping into your voice, part of you could imagine Mae as the cause of such a deep wound. “It was someone who throw me away" Qimir answered, his tone dry and his expression showing how painful that memory was. “Was it your Sith master?” you asked with a curious look, continuing to dig into his past. “No, my first master,” His face twisted with a mix of pain and stoicism, as if the memories of that night had suddenly resurfaced after a long time.

“A master… Jedi?” you replied, noticing his subtle hint that confirmed your suspicion. “You were a Jedi…?” you continued, your growing confusion as you tried to piece together a puzzle of his past. Qimir’s gaze turned sharp, like a blade ready to defend itself from a wound reopened after too long. His dark eyes reflected a gentle hardness, as if the question had touched a nerve still somehow alive. “A long time ago,” he answered tersely, cutting off the possibility of further questions.

You looked at him and nodded, understanding that it was best not to press him further. Shifting your gaze back to the strange helmet that seemed so important to him. “Why do you use that?” The man’s gaze shifted back to you once again, this time with something new in his eyes, that made you look away. “It’s made of cortosis,” he began. “Useful against lightsabers. Or as an isolation helmet.” Qimir stood up from the bench to retrieve the toolbox he had used. “Like those of the padawans.” He began to walk toward you with a light and relaxed step. “It blocks all the senses?” your tone was curious again as you observed the helmet he had left on the bench. “It's just you and the Force,” he stopped in front of you, then nodded towards the spot where the object was. “Try it.” “I don’t trust you.” you hissed with a tone too much acid. “Trusting me is fair,” Qimir said in a calmer and warmer tone, looking at you. “But you should trust yourself, y/n. Good night.” He concluded, then moved past you and disappeared into an undefined point in the cave behind you.

You spent the night staring at the cortosis helmet on the workbench, its shiny and cold surface reflecting the dim light of the cave. Qimir had been gone for hours, probably gone to sleep, leaving you alone with your thoughts, but his presence still lingered in the air like a shadow you couldn’t shake off. His words kept echoing in your mind. “It’s just you and the Force.” Each time your gaze returned to the helmet, your curiosity grew. There was something tempting about that object. Your mind wandered through conflicting thoughts: the pain of loss, the anger towards the Jedi, the confusion about your sister’s past. You wanted answers, but you feared what you might discover. “Would Mae have tried it?” you wondered. Probably. The thought that your sister might have already walked the same path now offered to you burned inside you.

You crouched on the makeshift bed, your knees drawn to your chest, and the cold of the cave seemed to seep under your skin, but it wasn’t the physical chill that made you shiver. It was the possibility that, by putting on that helmet, you might see something greater, a truth that eluded you. “I don’t trust him,” you repeated to yourself, but another part of you whispered that maybe Qimir wasn’t the problem. Perhaps, you were afraid of what you might discover about yourself. Hours passed slowly, but the helmet continued to call to you silently. Perhaps your connection to the Force was still there, buried under layers of pain and distrust. Maybe that object could offer you a way to rediscover it.

With a deep breath, you rose and approached the wooden table, reaching for the helmet, your fingers brushing the metal surface. Your eyes studied the object with curiosity and interest, silently debating whether to wear it or not. You withdrew your fingers from the metal lump and quickly moved away to return to bed, ignoring the strange allure that drew you to it. The night dragged on, each moment seeming to stretch into infinity, and the shadow of the decision you were avoiding continued to haunt you. “Maybe tomorrow,” you thought, trying to convince yourself. But deep down, you knew it was just an excuse to procrastinate. The cave was immersed in a profound silence, broken only by the faint, constant song of the distant ocean. The waves crashed against the shore with a slow, hypnotic rhythm, as if trying to lull you to sleep. But your heart still beat strongly, unable to calm down, filled with the myriad emotions experienced throughout the day.

Lying on the bed, you tried to let go of your thoughts, but it was impossible. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the helmet, felt its call, an invisible force that seemed to pull you toward it. It wasn’t Qimir, it wasn’t even your sister; it was something within you that demanded attention. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to adjust the worn blanket over yourself, but the cold seemed to come from within. Outside, the sound of the sea continued, a tranquil and rhythmic murmur, occasionally interrupted by distant gurgles of marine creatures moving in the depths. You heard the occasional chirping of something on the shore, perhaps Skura singing with the moonlight, or just the wind stirring some debris. Despite your restlessness, the sound of the sea had a calming effect. Slowly, your body began to relax. Each breath grew slower, deeper. You closed your eyes; the thoughts still wandered in your mind, but less insistently. “Yeah…Maybe tomorrow…” you thought again, but this time with a bit more conviction. Sleep began to take hold, and the sound of the waves blended with your dreams, taking you far from the cave, the cold, and the questions you were not yet ready to face.

The night passed silently, as your thoughts, one by one, slipped into the oblivion of sleep. When the sun began to filter into the cave, bathing the space in a soft light, Qimir was already awake. He moved with a light step, running a hand through his slightly tousled hair. However, something made him slow down as he passed by where you had fallen asleep.

He paused for a moment, his eyes settling on you, watching with an attention that lingered a few seconds too long. Your face, relaxed in sleep, appeared more serene, almost angelic, free from the weight of the pain and anger that had burdened you. His gaze wandered discreetly, lingering first on your delicate features, then on your lips, as a subtle but growing emotion began to stir within him. It wasn’t carnal desire, no, it was something deeper, more intimate. There was a sweetness in the moment, a sweetness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for a long time. He clenched his jaw, feeling a weight pressing on his chest, a realization that made him uncomfortable. With slow and silent movements, he bent slightly toward you, reaching for the blanket that had slipped a bit away during the night. Gently, as if fearing to wake you, he pulled the blanket up, covering you better and noticing the goosebumps on your arms. The gesture was simple, but within him, he knew that something different was beginning to grow, something that shouldn’t have been there.

Your face was partially hidden by some strands of hair that had fallen across your face while you slept. His gaze fixed on those fine threads covering your skin, and without thinking much, his hand moved on its own, as if guided by an impulse he couldn't control. He brought his fingers close to your face with an almost exasperating slowness, as if every second was stretched. His breath caught in his throat as he brushed against the strands, feeling them lightly under his fingertips. Each movement was cautious, almost fearful of disturbing your tranquility. His fingers followed the line of your hair, gently pushing it aside to reveal the soft contour of your face.

The silence in the cave seemed to grow thicker, the moment suspended in an invisible tension. When he finally withdrew his hand, Qimir felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. He had maintained control, but at a cost. For a moment, he had forgotten everything: his mission, his discipline, his resistance. There was only that simple gesture, that touch which had unveiled a part of himself he hadn’t intended to confront. Qimir paused again, his inscrutable gaze fixed on you for a few seconds too long. When your eyes slightly opened, you glimpsed his blurred figure in the shadow, as if he had just stepped away from you. Your body was still wrapped in the fatigue of sleep, but his presence seemed closer than he wanted to admit. He clenched his jaw, aware that you might have felt his touch, but when your voice broke the silence, his gaze returned to you, masking any emotion.

"I want to go home," you said, your voice low but firm, still slightly thick with sleep. Your eyes had barely opened, capturing his increasingly clear figure once more. "You don't have a home to go back to, y/n," he replied, his tone calm but still cold, carrying a sense of stark realization. He hadn't said it to hurt you, but to make you understand a reality you might have been trying to avoid.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to let his words affect you more than they already had. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much they hurt.

"How long will it take to fix the ship?" you pressed, unwilling to linger on his statement. He looked at you sideways, taking a half-breath as if about to respond brusquely, but then something in his gaze softened. "Still quite a while," he finally said, his tone practical and direct. Then, as if trying to break through the wall of hostility you were desperately maintaining, he added, "Are you hungry?"

The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you felt almost disarmed by his unexpected kindness. There was no trace of manipulation in his words, only a simple concern that seemed almost out of place.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, wrapping your arms around yourself. But your stomach betrayed you with a soft growl, and Qimir looked up at you with a shadow of an amused smile. "Doesn’t seem" he said with a side glance, maintaining that smirk that made you roll your eyes. Qimir picked up a basket with some fresh fruit inside and offered it to you. Noticing that you refused to take the bowl from his hands, he set it down on your lap, still covered by the blanket.

"I just want the ship fixed and to leave," you finally said, your tone softer, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself. But Qimir didn’t respond immediately, holding a piece of fruit that looked like an apple, taking a bite while watching you with almost sarcastic indifference. "If that’s what you want," he said finally, raising an eyebrow slightly, letting his words hang in the air. "I have no rush to leave." His indifference was palpable, almost irritating.

You gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath to avoid jumping at him and smashing the woven basket over his head. His calculated and detached attitude made you seethe, but you understood that reacting impulsively would only play into his hands. You needed to be more cunning. Thus, you decided to change your approach. "I don’t understand," you began, breaking the silence with a soft, almost sweet voice. "Why are you helping me? After everything you’ve done, after what you are…" Your tone sounded too sweet to Qimir’s ears, which made him suspicious right away.

Qimir’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips as if he was reading your intentions as easily as flipping through a book. He decided to play dumb, entering your game. "Maybe… because not everything is as you think, y/n," he replied slowly and measuredly, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized you carefully. "Or maybe, because I’ve lost something too." His words seemed to float in the air, vague. There was something in his expression, in his dark eyes that seemed to dig into you, making your defenses waver. There was no hurry, no defensiveness in his voice, just a strange weariness that made you think for a moment that perhaps he wasn't so different from you.

Every move you made, every word you said, seemed to resonate with him in the same calculated manner, as if you were studying each other, careful not to reveal too much but also curious to see where the other would take the conversation. You moved slightly closer, your eyes meeting his for an instance too long. "And what have you lost?" you asked in a barely perceptible whisper, your voice low, as if that question was as much for him as it was for yourself. Qimir didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at you with those dark, penetrating eyes, the smile gone from his lips. His fingers played absently with the apple he still held, as if pondering his next move carefully. "Maybe more than you can imagine," he finally replied. There was a hint of vulnerability, a glimpse of something deeper, but it closed quickly, as if he didn’t want to reveal too much. "more than you can think." he continued, as his gaze once again hesitated on your lips

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TAGLIST: @neteyamtanhi

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Notes :

I know I’ve disappeared, but I’ve been busy and not a little.

The next chapter I plan to do even better. I’m starting to write now, so I’m a little rusty. Forgive me.

I was also thinking of doing a small taglist for the series, maybe for those who want to follow it and stay updated without forgetting it, in case you tell me in the comments. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, Have a good day. <3

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[virune]

If you trap Shadow in room full of light like this..would he just be there until someone comes? Or would be manipulate the object and move out?

assuming the object is not attached to the ground in any way (i.e. bolted, fastened, tied, welded) then shadow can manipulate it in order to move on his own! but if the object is attached to the ground, then he would be trapped there until someone finds him.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter one

well it's love, make it hurt series

one: sharpen your teeth, sink into me

series masterlist | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You touch yourself when the Mandalorian is away, and he punishes you for the first time.

Warnings: BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom!Din Djarin and sub!reader, soft dom!Din, masturbation (f), anal sex, pussy spanking, crying, dacryphilia, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 10: Anal/Crying. Inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on aO3

3 ABY, Summer

You were a little feral. Alone for a very long time, gnawing and clawing for survival. An effective hunter, lethal and quiet, but wound so tight. Always coiled and waiting to run. Not bound or beholden to anything.

He, however, had been beholden to the Creed for as long as he could remember. All the choices he made were in service of his people. He wouldn’t change that, didn’t harbor negative feelings—but it made a particular flavor of power intoxicating. Hunting was an essential part of his life, but also, when he flexed an upper hand and manipulated the situation to his favor? Well, that was everything.

So the way you just… fell together? It made sense.

One day, when he had you pinned against the wall of the Crest, three fingers deep in your pussy, he tilted his head to the side to study you and said, “I’d like to try something.” You were up for almost anything, and so, he had cuffed you and teased you, used you, watched you realize you had nothing, that you had to beg and plead, and—

Well. It was hard to explain. Something had come undone inside you that day, like he had cracked open your ribcage and taken out the rabid mynock that beat against your chest all the time.

It had only escalated from there.

Needless to say, your sex life was leagues better than it had been on Cantonica, you made about 20% more with the bounties you could take now, and best of all—you finally got to see some of the galaxy. Even if most of the planets were seedy at best.

The one thing you missed, though, was some fucking alone time. Mando was always there. And the Crest was not private. You got about five minutes to yourself in the fresher, but otherwise, he could just pop up any time.

And he did.

Silently.

It was unsettling, actually.

So when you landed on Sullust, a planet you had very little interest in exploring after the first five minutes, you skipped the market trip. You didn’t need anything, and Mando was looking for some part for one of the many systems in the Crest held up by hope and frantic welding during an emergency. With more money coming in, he could afford to fix things before they broke (again).

With Mando gone, you sprawl out on your bed and pull out your datapad. You had started a book, months ago, but hadn’t had a chance to continue. Not because you didn’t get time to read, but because Mando had a terrible habit of appearing over your shoulder, and you didn’t want him to see you reading a romance. It would hurt your reputation.

And also, it was mostly sex.

It wasn’t like you meant to break a rule. It was so new and the habit so old that slipping your hand into your leggings and leisurely stroking your clit was automatic. A muscle memory. It had been, for a time, one of your only physical comforts after long days and nights on the hunt.

Far sooner than you expected, the ramp opens with a hiss. You rip your hand out of your pants, breathing ragged and face flushed. You shove the datapad into the crack between your bed-crates and the wall.

How the hell was he done that fast? Oh, kriff, did it smell like pussy in here? Why were you worrying that the man who was fucking you on a near-daily basis would know you had touched yourself?

That’s when you remember the rules.

Fuck.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks as he enters, noting your messy hair and rumpled blanket.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say.

He sets down the hunk of metal and a handful of wires—oh, you should really learn more about ship maintenance if you’re ever going to own one, you think, trying to puzzle out their purpose.

You may have been distracted by the parts, but he was distracted by you. The flush spreading down your neck. The faint sheen of sweat on your brow and between your breasts, the soft, utilitarian tanktop doing nothing to conceal them.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.

Oh fuck, he knows. He absolutely knows. You look down, away, anywhere but his intense stare.

“Cyar’ika, I expect an answer when I speak to you.”

“I—nothing?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “You want to try that again?”

Getting trampled by a Bantha would be preferable to admitting you were afraid. Maybe nervous was a better word. You're sure he wouldn’t really hurt you. But when you had agreed to this—enthusiastically—you hadn’t asked what happened if you didn’t follow the rules.

There weren’t many, and they were purposefully vague. Not in a way that would trap you into misbehavior but allowed for flexibility. Be respectful. Follow orders. And no pleasure without permission. That was his to enjoy, he explained.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“I forgot, you know. Um. I forgot I couldn’t…” Maker, was he really going to make you say it?

He sighs. You were so, so new to this, and while so eager to please, he could see you looking for an exit. An escape.

Should he soothe you? Gift you platitudes and reassurances? Grant you a one-time pass? No, it was too soon. You wouldn't be able to trust him to take care of you if he didn't enforce the rules.

Or should he prey on you, taunt you, and make you beg his forgiveness?

No. As much as he wanted to, no. That would have to be for later, when you had let go of your pride and defensiveness, when you stopped suspecting his attentions were a cruel prank.

“Stand up and bend over the bed,” he says, crossing the room to approach you.

For a second, you hesitate.

He holds a breath, letting you choose what happens next.

You work your jaw from side to side and then grit your teeth, something sharp taking over your eyes. You hop off the bed and bend over it, balling your fists in the sheet.

Relief spreads, tickling goosebumps down his arms. “Good girl,” he murmurs, setting a hand on the small of your back. “You were about to tell me what you did?”

“I touched myself. I forgot about the rules.” You were talking into the mattress.

“Where’d you touch yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, stroking your hair.

You squirm. You don’t want to say it. You aren’t a prude, but the weight of his focus makes you feel raw.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume it was everywhere.”

“No! No, I promise. It was just my pussy, I promise.”

He hums, continuing to pet you while he thinks. “I’m going to give you a few choices. First, obviously, is that you can use your safeword, and nothing happens other than a discussion of what you do and don’t want. Second: it’s late and you’re tired. We can pause this and handle it after we get the bounty. But I won’t fuck you until then, either.”

You whine a little, and he shakes his head.

“Or the third option: I punish you now and fuck you after.”

“That one,” you say after a minute of real consideration. You are a little scared, but the idea of waiting, possibly days, to find out what would happen made you feel a little sick.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles. “Spread your legs more, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan into the sheet, sliding your feet apart so he had full access.

One hand still resting above your ass, he brings the other up to cup your mound through your thin, damp leggings. “Why do you need to be punished?”

A whimper. “Because I was bad.”

“Need you to be a little more specific than that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath.

He fights the instinct to demand an answer, a sudden jolt of excitement as your brow furrows. It's been a long time since he met someone who really wanted to do this, truly wanted to submit and not just have rough sex, who wouldn’t just say what they thought he wanted to hear so they could get to the “fun” part.

“I took what was yours,” you say softly after a minute. “I disrespected you by only thinking of myself.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” swept from him on an exhale.

Later, he would recognize the way it hurt for a minute, the way the rush of affection seemed to tighten around his lungs rather than his cock.

For now, he rubs his hand on your back. “I think,” he say slowly, “that since you gave yourself pleasure, I have to take it away.”

“Okay.” You feel like you're shrinking, like your body is folding in. His hands, despite the gloves, burn through your clothes where they molded to your curves. Every contact point between you is alight.

“Ever had your pussy spanked?” he says.

You had suspected that was his intention, but the blunt question has you sucking in a sharp breath. “No, sir.”

“Okay. Then you don’t need to count this time. Just take it.”

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand back from your cunt and brings it down.

“Fuck,” you bite out, momentum lurching you forward, the edge of the crate biting into your stomach.

He gives you a moment, watching as your face contorts. It certainly wasn’t a hard hit, but he hadn’t gone easy on you, either. Couldn’t. Your first punishment had to be memorable.

“Do you need to use your word, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you huff through gritted teeth.

So he hits you again.

You had tried to brace yourself, but it stings, and you yelp.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He smacks you hard, back-to-back, with no reprieve.

You squirm and writhe to get away, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned. It's only ten, but you're shaking when he finishes.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, guiding you to standing with a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into him. You cling onto him, fingers clutching the top of his chest plate, arms pinned between your bodies, and face buried in his cowl.

“Are you crying?” It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because what were quiet tears turn into full sobs. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. You did so well, cyar’ika.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He holds you tight and lets you cry it out until you quiet, sniffling a little. “Feel better?”

You nod. And then you shake your head, and his stomach drops.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t even get punished without—without—”

He doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

You reel back as far as his arms let you.

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I just should have realized sooner. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know. It hurt a lot.” You don’t look at him, shame twisting your lips into a scowl. Your streaked, raw cheeks and watery eyes make his dick throb. “It just—I had to try so hard not to cum.”

The Mandalorian’s self control is as strained as his cock. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good to know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that was only half your punishment?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and tears threatening to spill. “Oh.”

“I said I’d fuck you. But I don’t think your greedy little cunt deserves any more pleasure today, do you?”

“No, sir.”

He wonders if you’d hate him if you saw the way he smirked behind the helmet. The way he wanted to grin, wild and teeth bared, and pick you apart just so he could put you back together.

He thinks you’d probably like it.

“You took that so well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you what. You can choose. You want me here…” he brushes a finger across your lips, which part sweetly for him. The tip of your tongue peeks out to greet his glove, and he does grin, then.

“... or do you want me here?” he slides his hand down your back and over the crest of your butt.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

“What’ll it be?”

You take a shuddering breath, another tear falling as you squeeze your eyes tight. “I want whatever will please you most.”

He shakes his head, something fond and soft clawing at his ribcage. “That’s sweet, but if that’s what I wanted from you, I wouldn't have asked. I want you to choose.”

“Okay. Then the second one.”

“Then what? Ask nicely.”

A whimpered moan escapes you. You mumble something.

“Gotta speak up, cyar’ika, or I’ll think you don’t want to be fucked at all.”

“No!” you squeak. “No, please. Um. Please—” Your right leg jitters a little as you chew on the words before spitting them out. “Please fuck my ass, sir.”

“Of course,” he strokes your cheek. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head and let him turn you back around, pushing down between your shoulder blades until you’re bent flat across the bed.

“Anyone had you here before?” he says as he rolls your leggings down to discover you aren’t wearing any fucking underwear. He helps you step out of them.

“No,” you say, arching a little as he rubs a gloved hand up and down your leg, stopping just below your cheeks.

“You sure you want me to?” He pauses his caresses, weighing his restraint. He’ll have to go slow. Maybe he should just fuck your mouth, where he can take as much as he needs from you.

But then you speak. “Yes, please, sir. I want it to be you.”

He has to ball his hands into fists and release a few times, trying to stay rational and not just give you what you’re so sweetly begging for.

“It doesn’t have to be now. We can wait, and I can make it better for you, when you’re not being punished.”

You turne your head to the side against the mattress, and he can see your bottom lip trembling.

He sighs. “Just tell me first: are you trying to punish yourself more?”

“No, I want it. Please. I’ve wanted it for months. I—please.”

“Okay, cyar’ika. You tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hold very still as he peels off his gloves. You won’t be able to see, and there's no way he was doing this with the gloves. Not this time, not with the gift you’re giving him.

When his warm hand rubs over your ass, you gasp. He draws away reluctantly to pour a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it carefully before coating his fingers.

He sinks to his knees. With your legs spread, he brushes a finger over your hole, watching the way it twitches and basking in your quiet moan. He rubs soft circles, working the lube around before gently pressing in. The first finger goes in so slowly, and you keen low, muffled by the sheet. Your thighs shake with the effort of holding still.

“Good girl,” he croons, withdrawing his finger to add a second. He repeats the slow, cautious process, pressing in and out. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Relax.”

Relax? How did he expect you to relax? The sensations were so intense you thought you might shatter.

When he finally adds a third, you cry out. His fingers are so thick, and you are so, so full. You startto doubt you’ll be able to take him.

But Mando is a patient man, even with his cock angry and leaking. He doesn’t stop until he's sure you're ready. When he withdraws his fingers from you and stands up, you whimper.

“Scared?”

“A little,” you tell the sheet.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well for me. Still want to make me feel good?”

He waits until the first “please” before notching himself at your entrance and pushing the very tip in. Anything else you had been trying to say is choked off.

He had prepared you well, but you were still hot and tight enough that he almost loses his composure. Almost shoves hard into you until his hips slam against yours. But instead, he grips them, sure to leave bruises behind.

You hold your breath. The burn is agonizing, but the wait is worse. When he's settled fully in you, he holds himself in place while you squirm.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. It was the only thought left in your brain other than “Mando” and “full.”

Despite his iron grip, his hips jerk a little. When he speaks, it's around a clenched jaw. “Can I—fuck—can I move?”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulls back, a loud groan in time with the tug of his cock. His hips jerk forward immediately, seeking your soft warmth.

“More,” you grunt through a thrust. “Please, sir.”

That was the end of him. Or at least of the calm, collected Mando. Your sweet voice begging snaps something cerebral, and he snarls, pulling out just to slam back in. He sets a rough, rushed pace.

With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down on your lower back, he takes. He takes and takes until you don’t have anything to give, your hands desperately clutching the edge of the crate just to stay where he had placed you.

Each thrust leaves you raw somewhere behind your sternum. You're crying again, hot tears running sideways across your face to the sheet, scrunched and already soaked with spit.

“You can cum if you can do it like this,” he says between pants. “Don’t touch your clit.”

You couldn’t reach even if you dared to, only able to hold on and accept him. To be used and cared for.

You know you won't be able to. It feels good, but the pain is just on the wrong side of sharp. You don’t want him to stop, you might die if he did, but it wasn’t going to happen like this. It was kind of him, anyway.

And there was something pleasant about just existing there for him to fill. It made you dizzy to think about.

“Want it inside, sweetheart?”

You nod desperately, the rough linen scratching at your raw cheeks.

It only takes a few more thrusts until he grinds his hips against you, pushing as deep as he can, crooning praise.

“So good, cyar’ika, perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, letting me have this. Fuck,” he whimpers as he begins twitching inside you, wet ropes of cum flooding you and leaking out around his cock.

He eases out carefully, scooping you up before sliding to the ground against the crates.

“Hey,” he murmurs, helmet resting gently on top of your head. “Are you okay?”

You tremble but nod against his chestplate. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“All is forgiven, sweet girl. I promise. You took your punishment so well.” He holds you tight and refuses to acknowledge the ferocity gnashing its teeth in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like devotion.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

[slippingkim]

Omorashi with dom-won?

can I be 🪽 anon? 🫂

unfortunately I already have a 🪽 anon just make an ask with a new emoji an I’ll change it, but welcome 🫶🫶

nsfw | mdni !! ~ cw: smut-ish, omorashi/pee, forced pissing, humiliation kink

domwon x subreader

🗯️ While you and wonnie were at the mall today he noticed you were walking a little slower than earlier and also were looking around frantically, he already caught on to your dilemma and played it off like nothing. Taking your arm and pulling you into another store watching you waddle around aimlessly, acting like you didn’t have to piss severally. He smirked watching you waddle over to a panel of jewelry to take a look, you hear footsteps from behind as you feel his hands wrap around you lower stomach next a low pain shoots through your body when you feel his hand push gently right on your bladder. He watched as you hunched over with a soft moan leaving your mouth as you look back at him with a confused blush you thought you were hiding your urge pretty well but obviously not well enough. He smirks and walks off waiting for you to finish looking at the panel until you come over and tug on his sweatshirt,

“wonnie? ..I have to pee” you say looking up at him innocently hoping he’d let you since he has a history of making you piss yourself.. but never in public.

“hmm~ okay.” He says walking out of the store with your hand on his arm but leading you in the opposite direction of the bathroom

“It’s over there” you point happily as the urge starts to weld in your bladder more thinking he’d just turn around and go the correct way

“I know~” he says still walking in the wrong direction, tightening his grip on your hand as he leads you to and empty area

Your smile drops while you lightly start to pull away from his grasp. Your thighs start to squeeze together as the urge grows and your fear worsens, he continues to pull you over to an empty area and harshly pins you against the wall.

“here you go~” he says smiling manipulatively gesturing towards your now trembling legs.

“I.. I-“ you stutter when you realize what he’s about to make you do. Your eyes start to shut as you feel your dam break while your hot piss starts gushing down your legs given that this is the first time you’ve gone today.. you were wearing the perfect skirt for the occasion so won could see every drop trickle down you legs. The puddle on the ground was so cute to him compared with your small feet and leg warmers he couldn’t help but smile.

“so messy~” he says proudly, patting your head good thing there was an exit right next to you two because if he made to walk around like this.. you’d never live it down.

[rockwoodautomation]

Optimizing Welding Efficiency with Welding Manipulators in the UAE

Welding manipulators have achieved an indispensable position in industrial fabrication world of UAE by enhancing welding efficiency and precision. These machines have application in various sectors like oil and gas, construction, manufacturing, and marine industries.

Benefits of Welding Manipulators

Welding manipulators are crafted to automate welding processes, offering several key advantages:

Increased Productivity: Manipulators can reduce manual labor and improve productivity by automating repetitive welding tasks. Operators can focus on quality control and supervision while the manipulator handles the welding process.

Improved Weld Quality: Welding manipulators provides precise and consistent welds, offering in higher quality and stronger weld joints. This consistency reduces the defects and ensures uniformity across welded components.

Enhanced Safety: Welding manipulators reduces risk factor by minimizing direct exposure. Remote control helps operators to oversee welding operations from a safe distance.

Versatility: These machines can be equipped with various welding heads and accessories, making them adaptable to different welding applications and environments.

Applications of Welding Manipulators

In the UAE, welding manipulators find extensive applications across multiple industries:

Oil and Gas: Used for pipeline welding, storage tank fabrication, and offshore structure assembly.

Construction: Employed in the construction of steel structures, bridges, and infrastructure projects.

Manufacturing: Utilized in the fabrication of metal components for machinery and equipment.

Marine: Applied in shipbuilding and repair operations for welding hulls, decks, and other marine structures.

Choosing the Right Welding Manipulator

When selecting a welding manipulator in the UAE, consider key factors such as reach, payload capacity, speed, and control system compatibility. The manipulator should be tailored to specific welding requirements to optimize performance and efficiency.

Conclusion

Welding manipulators play an important role in advancing welding technology and efficiency across different industries in the UAE. By leveraging these automated systems, businesses can improve productivity, ensure weld quality, and promote workplace safety. As the demand for precision welding solutions grows, welding manipulators continue to be integral to the success of modern fabrication operations in the UAE.

[yanderes-galore]

scenario for 33.) "You ever think of our future children like I do?" For yandere Redson with his captive wife please 

I never thought he'd be a demon who wanted children... but... perhaps that changes with you? Most likely OOC, my bad.

Yandere! Red Son Prompt 33

"You ever think of our future children like I do?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Forced marriage, Possessive behavior, Mentions of wanting children, Manipulation, Isolation, Kidnapping, Forced relationship.

He never thought he even wanted such a thing. Children... him being a father... it was nearly laughable to him. He always felt he had better things to do in his youth.

Then he met you... the girl of his dreams...

His wife.

Red Son was an older demon now, yet still wanted to prove he was good enough to his parents. What better way than to show he could find love like them? Showing he can produce progeny that would make them proud?

Red Son couldn't believe it when he began having such thoughts. He didn't start with them, of course. They occurred gradually over time.

First, in his youth, Red Son fell for you. You were the closest person in his life. His dream girl that he wished would always tend to him and his every wish.

Then, when he got older, he felt you two should date. You were reluctant at first (still are....), but eventually he managed to convince you to be his girl! He's a demon with ambition, after all.

He wouldn't stop pestering you and you cared just enough to give him a try.

Your relationship was rocky. Red Son was always overbearing, adoring you not only for his own feelings... but to impress his parents. After a year or two you quickly got fed up with him.

You broke things off... Only for Red Son to pursue you weeks later to drag you back to his home.

It was then Red Son decided you needed to be a permanent member of the family. By that, he meant chaining your leg in your soon-to-be shared bedroom. He needed to marry you.

Red Son never thought he'd want marriage, let alone a growing desire for progeny. However, now an adult demon, there was just something about you. He couldn't help but think about having children with you.

It made him a bit prideful, actually.

Red Son knows he's demanding on his own. Yet... when he imagines having at least one kid with you? He can't help but want a legacy.

He wouldn't want to do it with anyone but you.

Said marriage was awfully dull. You never wanted to look at him. Even when he held your hand, kissed you, complimented your dress. You... just didn't love him like he wanted you to.

He thought maybe, just maybe, he could convince you to love him with a child.

You want to please him... don't you? You used to. Now you desperately try to ignore him, to huddle away in your shared room. You don't even want to cuddle.

He yearns for you...

Why don't you yearn for him?

"... You ever think of our future children like I do?" Red Son admits one night, sitting on the bed as he gazes at you.

You pause your pulling at the chain clamped around your ankle. You feel a nervousness grow in your gut at the thought. You've... waited too long to escape... haven't you?

Red Son notices your silence, clearing his throat. He feels awkward. To the point he nearly misses the way he fidgets at your silence.

"I mean... think about it, love..." Red Son encourages, eyes looking at you fondly. "You and me... having a kid... raising them...."

Red Son's tone is eager, the complete opposite of your disinterested silence. You merely continue to tug on the thick metal chain. The clasp is welded shut... no doubt due to Red Son's flames.

"Do... Do you want that?" Red Son whispers, looking at you with a hopeful gaze. "You're my wife after all... It's quite the responsibility—"

"No."

Your words are crisp and clear. So much so it actually makes Red Son flinch about. He feels... disappointed but not deterred.

"Do you at least think of it?" Red Son tries again, seeing your grasp tighten on the chain.

"No."

A deafening silence washes over both of you. Red Son's frowning, irritation flickering in his gaze as he watches you. You... You don't want his kids....

"But you're my wife, love. You have to give me children at some point, right?" Red Son scoffs, crossing his arms. "It's what your husband wants...."

"No."

Red Son's eye twitches. He really thought he could play nice. He was hoping he wouldn't have to force anything else.

Yet... He'll be patient... Because he loves you.

"It's inevitable, love...." Red Son sighs, looking at your back. You wouldn't even look at him. "You're mine. I'm your husband. I've done everything to make you mine... except this one thing."

Red son spins you to face him by your shoulder. You reluctantly look at him, exhaustion on your face. Red Son wants to feel bad...

But he also wants your obedience.

"I'll wait..." Red Son sighs, yet a certain determination flickers in his eyes. "Yet you aren't getting out of this..."

Red Son cups your face, ignoring how you shy away from his touch.

"You're mine... Nothing's going to change that..." Red Son growls, slowly leaning closer.

"We'll have a powerful family... Even if I have to wait for it to happen."

[suzukiblu]

continued from here, the one where Clark is trans and Kon isn't, but no one actually knows this

Kon stops thinking about stupid shit she knows better than to be thinking about and feels out with her TTK again. There's still no real vulnerabilities to exploit, but there's got to be something. Some way out. Some weakened crack or compromised seam or shitty welding job or just a lock–

Just . . . something.

She doesn't want to die as Superboy.

She doesn't want . . .

Maybe she can do something to manipulate the water or the pipes it's coming in through, if she just–like, erosion is a thing, water cannons are a thing, and she knows high-pressure water jets can cut metal, Serling was talking about it a couple weeks ago for some new little machine she was getting customized. Maybe something sharper than a fist would at least score the walls, weaken them enough for Kara's repeated punches to actually work, if they did it right. She usually hits harder than Kon does, on account of having the real and consistent Kryptonian powers and not the fluctuating imitation of them that TTK tends to provide.

It's so annoying having to think so hard just to punch somebody, but Kon is fucking sick of trying to explain that she can't always be concentrating on the plan when she has to focus on using her mental-based powers to the fullest, so she's mostly given up on it. Explaining TTK is just a lost cause, apparently.

Every time Kon says something someone doesn't understand, they just assume she's stupid or wrong or under-educated or . . .

Everybody always assumes, when it's "Superboy" talking.

Like how they all assume she's even a Superboy at all.

"Shit," she mutters, still telekinetically prodding for vulnerabilities to test the waterjet idea against, and almost thinks–if they might actually die here, does she really want to die as "Superboy"?

She could . . . she could just tell Kara. No one else would ever have to know, that way. No one could ever tell Kal. No one would . . .

"Could you quit just standing there and at least try to help?!" Kara demands in frustration, slamming her fist into the wall again. Kon bites her tongue, but does Kara actually think she's not doing anything right now?

This is why she's gotten in the habit of bragging about her TTK so much. Otherwise people just think she's not doing anything at all. That she's just a stupid meathead who can't strategize or analyze or even think herself.

They usually think that anyway, she's pretty sure.

It's stupid. She's explained it to everyone so many times, but–

Never mind.

Shut up, she doesn't say, because it's still not Kara's fault she hates her.

But it still makes her angry.

It makes her so, so angry.

It makes her–

"Come on, Superboy, don't just give up on me!" Kara says, and Kon feels a flash of white-hot fury.

[crustacean-menace]

I am very intrigued by how the "Toa Tool" thing works.

Like, yeah, some are made by Arthaka or other famous universe toolsmiths, but for many matoran-turned-toa, their tools are often related to their professions or straight up are tools they had in hand that are transformed alongside them during the metamorphosis.

Vakama was a mask carver, carving masks from kanoka disks, and his tool turned out to be a launcher that could use the raw materials of his profession as projectiles (well, not a hard thing considering they already are used as projectiles by many, but still...).

Takua's Chronicler staff became Takanuva's Staff of light, a powerful weapon that, coincidentally, could also function as a rather deadly version of a Kohili Stick.

These items also seem to be strongly tied with their own wielder physical being, as the toa Hagah weapons were transformed along their users, but despite this, they can also be left behind for the sake of better equipment (Mahri Kongu) which, although understandable in some cases (Two hands), still feels weird. That's not just a weapon, that's a part of you.

Its such an interesting concept that seems so often discarded in favour of elemental powers and mask, but like... Its YOUR weapon. It is related to a matoran entire being, their life, their experiences and things they enjoy. It's a way to use one's passion in a way that lets them protect others, and often also have additional functions based on what they may need. How cool is that? Think about it.

There could be a toa of ice whose job as a matoran was janitor and their weapon is a mop that can freeze its tendrils and become a morningstar, or generate a frozen layer over what its passed over, painting ice paths in an instant.

There could be a toa of air who had a passion for botany and took care of the MU version of bonsai trees, their precision shears turned into a huge, bulky pair of scissors that can be used as a broadsword that can also manipulate air currents to cut things from distance.

There could be a toa of iron whose main job was welding, and lo and behold, the clunky, cumbersome equipment he struggled to drag around became a big flamethrower that it wears like a backpack, complete with a welding mask integrated on top of their own kanohi as a visor.

There could be a Toa of stone who enjoyed the life of a performer, juggling, somersaulting, doing precision throws and whose tool is now a set of spiky or bladed clubs that can bounce on surfaces and enemies alike and then return to them.

A toa of Psionics whose dream to write stories manifested into a strange staff, originally their writing stylus, able to manifest masterful illusions by writing words inside the enemy minds and trap them in stories through the mere strength of their narration.