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sunsets-and-crows · 9 months ago

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I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 1

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 4.8K

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Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut (in later chapters). Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind maybe. Sylus being hot and a menace.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

You’d woken up too early. One of those mornings where your eyes snapped open and your brain decided to start doing laps well before the sun even bothered to show up. Anticipation thrummed under your skin, buzzing through your veins like static. There was a charged suspense hovered in the air. Everyone at the Hunter’s Association could sense it. Something big was coming.

Captain Jenna had pulled you aside before you left work the night before, quiet voice and sharp eyes. “Come and see me first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve got new mission details for you.” This was not a suggestion. It was an order, one that came wrapped in secrecy and spelled out nothing good.

So you did what you always did when nerves got the better of you: breakfast, workout, shower. All before sunrise. You’d regret it later when you were half-asleep at your desk, but at least the routine helped.

Now, sitting across from Captain Jenna, in the dim glow of the ops room, you weren’t so sure.

She didn’t speak at first,, just scrolled through her data pad, the flickering blue light casting harsh shadows across her face. Her expression was unreadable, as always, but her gaze had a new edge, sharper than usual, more assessing.

You were used to mission briefings, had gone through so many in the past, but something about this one felt different, heavier. Dangerous.

Finally, she spoke. “The N109 zone.” She didn’t look up. “What do you know about it?”

You blinked. “Uh… I've heard rumours, mostly. I’ve read reports, but I’ve never been there.”

Jenna hummed. “It’s not a place people walk into and survive. Especially not outsiders.”

You sat up a little straighter, fingers twitching in your lap. “I think I understand how it all works out there. The risks.”

“You don’t.” She tapped the pad and a projection flared to life between you. The N109 zone. Sprawling clusters of decrepit structures, flickering neon lights and seedy underground hubs all compiled together in a city whose streets more resembled veins than roads. It looked almost abandoned but everyone knew that the N109 zone was far from empty.

“This is where we’re sending you.”

Your stomach twisted. Reports and projections weren’t necessary to know what the N109 was about. Everyone in the Association knew. It was the underworld’s favourite playground. Smugglers, mercs, traffickers. The worst of the worst. And at the centre of it all-

“Sylus Qin,” Captain Jenna said, like she’d read your mind. “He runs the zone like it’s his personal empire. And we want him.”

You froze.

Sylus Qin.

You’d heard stories, of course, everyone had. He had the type of reputation that entirely preceded him. Brilliant. Brutal. Untouchable. He was the reason for countless operations that turned south and why some hunters categorically refused to even enter the N109 zone.

“We’re assigning you to bring him in,” Captain Jenna said.

Everything in your head jammed to a stop. “Me?”

She switched off the projections and fixed you with a steely gaze, one betraying the seriousness of the conversation, as if you had at all misunderstood.

"This is a high-stakes operation. The Hunter’s Association has been trying to bring Sylus in for years, but he’s too careful. He doesn’t make mistakes. He keeps his allies close and his enemies firmly in check. No one’s managed to get near him. We need you to do what others couldn’t. Get close, make him trust you enough to come willingly."

It was a death sentence.

You were sure of it.

Your hesitation must have shown on your face, understandably so.

Jenna sighed, her eyes softening a touch at your clear hesitance. “You were personally recommended. By me.”

It didn’t help, but you nodded anyway.

“He’s not careless,” she continued. “He doesn’t let people get close. Beautiful you can… earn his trust. Get him comfortable. Make him want to come in. That's the mission.”

A laugh had to be stifled at the implication. “You want me to seduce him?”

“I want you to survive,” she said flatly.”if that’s what it takes to make that happen, then… yes.”

Dread, or something worse, crept down your spine.

“He reads people like books,” she added. “So you better be a damn convincing character.”

You schooled your features into something resembling calm, even as your brain scrambled for solid ground. “Right. And once I’ve got his trust… I lead him to an extraction point? We arrest him?”

“Exactly. Quietly. Cleanly. No backup. No heroics.”

“No pressure,” you muttered.

Jenna didn’t even blink at the tone in your voice. “Sylus has outplayed every trap we've set. He’s dismantled teams mid-mission, burned entire networks to the ground and decimated his rivals in inconceivable ways. But he will never see you coming. That’s the angle here.”

You rubbed a thumb over your palmtrying to smother the nerves crawling under your skin. “And what happens if he does see me coming? If he figures it out, I mean?”

Her gaze sharpened. “Then you die. Plain and simple.”

A lovely little motivational poster, that.

She stood, shutting down the data pad and any chance at trying to convince her this was a bad idea. “You’ve been assigned an alias. Equipment’s prepped. Mission begins tomorrow.”

“Why me though?”

“You’ve got a history of slipping into tight spaces and making people trust you.” A pause. “And you’re one of the few who hasn't been on his radar. Yet You’re adaptable. You’ve been at the HA for a long time, never failed in a covert mission and that’s been noticed. By people higher-up .”

“The Association is sure this will work?" you asked.

Jenna narrowed her gaze, her lips pressed into a hard line. "No. But it’s the best chance we’ve got. The truth is, Sylus is too dangerous to let his network grow any further. The higher-ups have made it clear, they’d prefer him alive. Alive and arrested. If you succeed, this will be the biggest takedown in recent history. You’d be rewarded of course.” Her implication is clear, the promotion you'd been after for years.

You nodded, doubt creeping in. "And if I fail?"

"You won’t." The steel in her voice was unyielding. "Failure isn’t an option. Sylus doesn’t give second chances, and neither do we. You know that.”

The silence suffocated. The mission’s weight crushing the air from your lungs. For a moment, you questioned whether you were truly ready for this, whether anyone could be.

“I’ll bring him in,” you said, steady enough.

Jenna gave a short nod. “See that you do.”

You weren’t sure why you’d come out, honestly. Distraction?Denial? Probably both. The bar was buzzing. Neon lights, the low hum of music and the accompanying murmur of too many hunters half-drunk and half-broken. You’d earned a few hours to pretend.

Back in training, after gruelling missions, this was where your cohort came to breathe.

Tara slid into the booth beside you, like she owned the place, draping her arm around your shoulder, a drink in her hand. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she pulled you in tighter. "You’re going after Sylus freakin’ Qin! I still can’t believe it," she hissed into your ear.

You gave her a side-eyed stare, barely suppressing a smirk. “Could you say it a little louder, Tara? I don't think the entire bar heard.”

She snorted, an inelegant but simultaneously adorable sound that only she could pull off. “Oh, puh-lease. Like half the people in here aren’t already gossiping about it.”

You sipped your drink, hoping it’d dull the creeping anxiety.

“So much for confidential,” you said simply. “Nothing stays a secret long around here.”

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m not even sure why they picked me for this.” Despite Jenna’s recommendation, others were more experienced. So why you?

Tara gave you a playful shove, your drink sloshing around and threatening to spill as she did so. "Are you kidding? You're a total badass! If anyone can take that on and come out alive, it’s you." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Besides, I heard Sylus is ridiculously hot.”

You choked slightly. “Tara!”

“I’m just saying!” she continued, giggling loudly and brightly. “If you end up in close-quarters, you know really up close and personal, I expect details.”

Xavier, sitting across the table and pretending not to listen, let out a loud cough as he choked on his drink.

“Oh my god, don’t start. It’s really not like that.” You muttered, trying to drink your grin away.

"But it could be!" She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a teasing whisper. "Think about it. A tall, sexy man. Dangerous, brooding, probably smells like gunpowder and leather…"

“Please,” you groaned. “You’re projecting again.”

Tara wiggled her brows. “I’m manifesting.”

Before you could shut her down again, Xavier’s voice cut through the banter. Quiet , even, but with that unmistakable edge that always made you look twice.

Xavier finally looked up from his drink, eyes cool but a little too focused. “You know the N109 zone’s not like your other missions, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. His worry scratched at something in your chest.

"Just… be careful."

You looked over. He was still holding his drink, staring at it like it held answers. Eyes lowered, jaw tight.

“You won’t have backup, and Sylus… he’s a different kind of threat."

His words were thick with an unspoken heaviness, like something else was riding on them. Xavier had always been like this. Quiet concern, wrapped up in something softer, something harder to name.

"I know,” you said. “I’ll be fine. Captain Jenna wouldn’t have assigned me if she didn’t think I could handle it.”

Tara scoffed, leaned back in her chair with a dramatic eye roll. "Please, Xavier. She’s not a rookie. She’s a grown ass woman. She can handle herself. Besides, she’s not going to let some psycho in a leather coat throw her off her game, even if he does have a jawline sharp enough to perform surgery."

You chuckled under your breath, the edge in your nerves blunted just a little.

But Xavier’s frown only deepened. "I just don’t like the idea of you going in alone," he said, refocusing his attention on you properly. “I’d feel better if you had some sort of backup."

You sighed, thumb circling the rim of your glass. "It’s a solo mission, Xav. That’s part of the deal. I’m supposed to gain his trust, remember? How can I do that with you hovering around in the background or Tara creaming herself at the mere sight of him?" You tried to lighten the mood, but Xavier’s expression didn’t change.

“I would cream myself,” Tara uttered cheerfully, not even ashamed. "Actually, gaining his trust…" she added, suddenly humming under her breath. "Mama, I’m in love with a criminal…"

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Tara grinned, proud at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Someone’s gotta keep this place entertaining.”

Xavier didn’t laugh. His gaze said too much without saying anything at all. "Just… don’t do anything reckless, okay?"

You met his eyes. That thing, whatever lived behind his concern, was still there. Hovering. Waiting.

He’d always been protective. Maybe a little too much. You appreciated it.But it made you bristle. Like he was waiting for you to break. He should’ve known you better by now.

"I won’t," you said, keeping your voice level even as the air between you shifted.

Tara, clinked her glass against yours with a grin. "Cheers to you! The only person brave enough to flirt with death and hopefully get felt up in the process of bringing down the most wanted, sexy criminal!”

You laughed, letting the pressure crack for a moment. "You’re impossible."

"And proud of it," she quipped right back.

The conversation drifted after that, skimming lighter waters. You let yourself get swept up in the celebration with the music from the bar filling in the gaps between conversations, for a while, you let yourself forget about tomorrow. About the N109 zone. About the fact that you might not come back.

But then you caught Xavier watching again. Quiet and unreadable. Something still unsaid, still sitting behind his eyes.

You swallowed, the words falling out like a reflex.

"I’ll be fine," you said again, quieter this time. Almost to yourself.

Xavier didn't push. Didn’t argue. He just raised his glass, his voice soft and steady. "To your success,” he said. “And your safety."

Tara beamed, “To the girl who’s gonna take down the galaxy’s hottest criminal and live to give me every filthy detail.”

You clinked glasses. Smiled, and tried not to let the unease ruin the taste of victory.

Your first day in the N109 zone was, in a word, disastrous.

The unease started before you even crossed the city line. Slow and cloying, like humidity that stuck to your skin and refused to let go. The air was thicker here. Tighter. Charged with tension, secrets and the kind of danger that stays quiet. Street lights flickered with erratic pulses, casting shadows that writhed and pulsed across cracked pavements. The sky above was bruised and murky, tinged with the threat of a sunrise that would never happen.

You’d read the files. Done the prep. But none of that could’ve prepared you for this.

You pulled up the map on your Hunter’s watch, keeping your head low as you moved deeper into the district. The glowing display lighting-up in the half-dark, acting almost like a torch lighting your way.

Information flowed like a murky river in the N109 zone, and every face you passed felt like a mask hiding something sinister. Their eyes slid past, knowing looks, cold, dismissive. You didn’t belong.

The first few contacts led nowhere. Dead ends. One after the other that led deeper into the seedy underbelly of the district. Conversations fizzled into silence, doors slammed before a word left your mouth. No one wanted to talk, and even fewer wanted to talk about him.

You lingered outside a rundown bar, trying to recalibrate. You were drowning in it, completely out of your depth.

“Hey, you new around here?” a rough-looking man asked, eyeing you as he lingered in the doorway. His crooked smile didn’t reach his eyes.

You didn’t flinch. “Just looking for information.”

He chuckled, the sound sending spit flying in your direction. “Yeah?” he said when he finally collected himself from the hilarity of the conversation so far. “Then you’ll wanna stop wearing that.” he gestured lazily to your clothes.

You bristled at the implication. This could go bad fast. He chuckled again at your clear discomfort. “You stick out like a bright, shiny cop.”

Relief crept in as the threat passed. Your shoulders eased. You looked at yourself. HA issued boots, jacket, gear just subtle enough to pass in a normal area. But this wasn't a normal area. It was the N109 zone.

“Duly noted.”

“And what information are you looking for anyway?” he asked, his tone turning casual.

You paused, mulling over your next words carefully. “Sylus Qin.”

His expression shifted the second the name left your mouth. The amusement vanishing. His jaw tightened. “Don't say his name like that,” he muttered. “He’s not the guy you wanna be messin’ with, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, but stayed silent.

“Best advice you’re gonna get today?” he turned to leave. “Stop asking about him.”

Then he was gone, swallowed by the never ending shadows.

You stood there for a moment, frustration bleeding through your mask. This wasn’t working. You needed to be smarter. Subtler. Starting tomorrow, you’d change everything. It was time to ditch the uniform, blend in, move like the locals. All black. No insignia. Eyes open. Mouth shut.

Because what the files could never tell you about this place, was that the N109 zone wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive. It hated outsiders. And the beating heart of it was Sylus Qin

By the time night fell, your nerves were frayed and your instincts were screaming at you to get as far away as you could. So you cut your losses and made your way back to Linkon, head down, heart racing.

You leaned against the wall of your living room and stared at your watch, willing the day to make sense. It didn’t.

The mission felt less like infiltration and more like walking into quicksand.

The darkness of the N109 zone was not just a backdrop, it was an entity that clung to you, whispering of your inexperience and vulnerability.

The days that followed weren’t much easier, just quieter. A strange familiarity began to wave into your routine. You stopped trying to push and started watching instead. Listening. Adapting.

This is what you were good at.

A strange sense of routine began to weave itself into your days. Slipping into seedy businesses where no one asked names and everyone was armed, became your norm. The subtle nuances of the district's unspoken rules and underhanded dealings revealed themselves little by little. And slowly, you learned how to navigate the complexities of the very top layer of the N109 zone.

You tried to blend in, just enough to rouse a few glances, never suspicion. You honed your investigative instincts.

Eavesdropping in beat-up coffee shops, letting yourself fade into the background, until slowly, the district started to shift around you. Not welcoming exactly, but less hostile. You learned the rhythm of the place. Where not to walk. When to keep your eyes down. Who to avoid.

And the whispers started to take shape.

Shipments. Deals. Power shifts. Him.

“It’s near the old foundry,” a waitress murmured one afternoon, passing a coded envelope to a greasy looking regular. “He runs things from a compound, in one of them old manor houses. He keeps to himself mostly, but you’ll know it when you see it. Just follow the road past the southern docks.”

That was all you needed.

Your pulse spiked, a rush of determination thrumming through your veins. You wanted to run out and chase down the new lead, but you kept your composure. Keep it casual. You sipped your drink, stood up slowly and made your move.

A first move on a chessboard that you hadn’t even discovered yet.

You found the estate easier than expected.

It stood, proud and tall, just beyond the southern docks, like something from another era. A manor really, an old stately home, refurbished but not flashy. Its structure loomed tall against the decay around it, its wrought-iron gates polished, its exterior immaculate in a way that felt… deliberate. A calculated flex.

The house seemed to hum with unspoken arrogance. I don't need to hide. I own this place.

This was Onychinus’ base of operations. And the home of Sylus Qin.

You watched from across the street, half-shrouded in shadow, your breath catching in your throat as movement stirred near the gate.

Finally, you saw him.

Sylus.

No confirmation needed. You just knew.

He stepped out from a side building, blazer draped over his broad shoulders like a goddamn magazine cover. His silver hair tousled in that perfect, reckless way that made it look like he either didn’t care or had killed the last person who tried to touch it. His red eyes scanned the streets. No urgency. No paranoia. Just… command.

He walked like a man who never needed to run. There was nothing in the galaxy that could challenge him, so why would that ever be needed.

Too tall. The kind of height that shrank everyone around him, physically, psychologically, spiritually. And it wasn’t just the height. It was the way he moved. Fluid and calculated. Each step made with deliberate grace and dangerous intent. His steps were quiet, but you felt them. Measured. Controlled. Dangerous.

His presence, even from such a distance, was commanding.

Your eyes betrayed you.

Blame Tara and her thirsty little fantasies.

They trailed down. To his arms, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tension in his forearms. Veins, tendons, lines that shouldn’t be distracting. The shirt was slim-fitting, the material clinging to him like it was lucky to be there.

Your brain short-circuited at his proportions. Broad chest. Narrow waist. The ratio alone should’ve been illegal. Every line of him was sculpted like some bored deity decided to make a man too attractive for his own damn good. You blinked hard, tried to reel it in.

And then… his hands.

Strong. Elegant. The kind of hands that could probably dismantle a gun in five seconds flat, or dismantle you in half that time. Hands like those had always been your weakness. You could imagine exactly how they’d feel, tracing your- nope. You shut that thought down immediately.

He was a criminal. A warlord. A manipulative psychopath with a kill count longer than your resume. His hands, as beautiful as they were, had more blood on them than you could ever imagine. There was nothing innocent about them.

And yet… you couldn’t look away.

No one could. He walked in a room and people reacted, it wasn’t in fear or reverence. It was gravity. A directional pull of people towards him.

Your eyes snapped back up.

His face was angled slightly away, but even in profile, you saw enough. Sharp jaw, cleanly shaven and skin so smooth it would’ve made Greek statues cry at the injustice of the perfect marble. Lips full and infuriatingly kissable. You physically clenched your jaw at the sight, curing the heat that rose in your cheeks.

This was bad. You were in trouble. Not because he was dangerous, you already knew that. But because your body was betraying you. Heart racing. Mouth dry. Thoughts swirling in very unprofessional directions.

You thought of Tara, and her endless teasing. “Tell me if he’s hot.” she’d said. She had no idea.

You’d tell her the truth later. Maybe. Or maybe you’d lie. Maybe you’d say he looked normal. Plain. Not like someone who made you forget how to breathe for a full sixty seconds.

You forced yourself to focus. You had a job to do. There was no time to be mentally writing fanfiction about your target.

But then…

He smiled at someone. A soft, beautiful thing that made something in your chest twist, hard.

Shit.

Now you’d found him, you kept your surveillance as tight. As tight as you could manage.

It started small. Quick glimpses as he moved through the N109 zone. You tracked his movements, noted down his patterns and filed away every minute detail into reports. That was the plan. That was the job.

But he kept…surprising you.

One morning, early, you saw him pull up in a sleek, matte black car. Expensive. Exactly the kind of car you’d expect a power-hungry kingpin to flaunt. You figured he was off to conduct shady dealings. Intimidation, a shakedown, smacking an orphan or two. Standard Sylus behaviour.

Except, he opened the trunk and it was full of…tuna. Dozens of tins, stacked neatly like a pantry haul. You blinked. Then just stared, dumbfounded as he carried them into a narrow alleyway and crouched before a rusted pipe. A swarm of stray cats sat, waiting for him like worshippers at an altar.

And he fed them. All of them.

There was no rush to his moments, it clearly wasn’t a chore. His precision betrayed the ritual of it. And it tugged at something deep in you.

One of the cats, a scruffy tabby with half an ear, nuzzled his boot and he reached down, petting it oh so gently.

You heart fluttered and you hated it.

Get a grip. None of this erased the man’s body count, but it did make you forget it momentarily.

Still, the way he knelt, getting his trousers dirty without a second thought. The way his fingers curled and caressed the soft ear of the little animal… it didn’t match the man in the reports.

It didn’t line up. It clashed hard with every story you’d heard. The blood. The warnings from Captain Jenna, Xavier, everyone.

And it was messing with you.

A few days later, you saw him outside a rundown school on the edge of the zone. The building was a husk of its former glory. Cracked windows, crumbling paint, the playground rusting into the dirt. Still, resilient as ever, kids ran circles around each other, laughing, playing, like they didn’t know the world wanted to chew them up and spit them back out again as hollow shells.

Sylus approached the headmaster and handed over a thick envelope. It was a quiet exchange. The headmaster’s eyes misted as he opened it. Sylus just nodded and walked away.

You wrote it down anyway. Not for the Hunter’s Association. For you, because your brain wouldn’t let it go.

Why would he do that?

What was the angle?

The lines blurred a little more every day. You watched him meet with an array of men and women. Suits, shadows, finery, tattoos. Every kind of person. There was no shouting. No threats. Just…smiles. Handshakes. Laughter, sometimes. He talked with people like a leader, not a tyrant.

You knew what he could do. But watching this version of him, soft, almost kind, it rattled something loose.

You tried following him on foot once, just to see where he went after these meetings. But his stride was relentless. Long legs. Unbothered pace. You couldn’t keep up without making it obvious, and you hated how much you appreciated the sight of him.

Eventually you gave up and fell back on your surveillance equipment instead. Cameras, drones, audio links. Cold tools that didn’t care how attractive he looked in low light.

The problem wormed its way into your mind, taking root there and niggling just enough to have you thinking.

Who the hell was Sylus Qin really?

The question followed you home. Haunted you into the morning. Even as you prepped your gear and checked your optics.

Your professional mask slipped, just a touch. The feeling of being lost, chasing your own and his tail, gnawed at you.

A few days later though, for once, you were ahead of him.

You’d overheard it in passing. Just a sliver of conversation between two dealers in a grimy back alley cafe. Names dropped too casually. A location. A time. You hadn’t expected it to mean anything, but instinct told you to follow it up.

And once you were situated in the steel rafters of a warehouse, it was clear that your hunch had been right.

For once, you weren’t chasing him.

He didn't even know you were there.

The space below you was empty save for the people that Sylus would be meeting. The air was still, speckled with dust that shone in strips, lit by old industrial lighting that buzzed irritatingly overhead. Exposed brick walls stretched upwards, rusted metal beams crisscrossing like the ribs of something long-dead.

It was quiet, but not calm. There was a tension that stretched, taut. Raising the hair on the back of your neck, twisting low in your tummy. Like something was waiting to snap.

You adjusted your position quietly, setting up the mic, eyes scanning.

He wasn’t here… yet.

You pulled out your data pad, creating an entry for the meeting.

8:45 pm 51.49217141714811, -0.19296825975441936 Matthew Halbard - 43 Y/O (see file attached) Details: MH and associates present. High-grade weapon components and altered protocores visible.

Matthew Halbard was a weapons dealer in the N109 zone. The Association already had a file on him, one that was rather comprehensive.

He was a mid-level player, with a top floor ego, dressed like money but stinking of desperation. He’d clawed his way into the outer edges of power in the N109 zone by making all the right friends and screwing over all the right enemies. Until he started believing his own hype. Extortion, tech trafficking, suspected murders. None of it unusual for the line of work he did.

You folded away the data pad and stored it as you heard a set of footsteps that you recognised.

And there he was.

No fanfare. No armed guards. No announcement. Just Sylus, walking in like he owned every inch of ground his boots touched. And he probably did.

He was flanked by two men in crow masks who left after a discreet nod from Sylus himself. He dismissed them.

The light hit him differently here. Harsher. His blazer still hung off his shoulders with that effortless sort of confidence, but the softness you’d seen in daylight hours was gone. Here, under this fractured lighting, he looked sharper. More angular. And somehow older than his 28 years.

Halbard waited for him, surrounded by armed men and a few low-rank enforces, all posturing and arrogance.

None of them spoke at first. They both just stood there, seemingly sizing each other up.

You trained your scope on Sylus.

He was calm but alert. His stance was loose in the shoulders, shifting his weight from heel to heel. Each movement precise. Minimal. Tense beneath the surface, like bowstring being pulled back just right.

Eventually, they exchanged pleasantries. Discussed the trade.

Halbard must have taken Sylus’ stillness for acceptance or compliance.

He started posturing. Gesturing too wide, talking too loud, spinning some bullshit about pricing, loyalty, supply chains. You couldn’t catch every word but the smugness carried just fine.

You waited, watching for any sign of tension from Sylus. And then, something shifted.

You weren’t sure when, but suddenly, you could feel it. The moment things turned. The way the tension in the room thickened, the way Sylus’ posture changed by a millimeter.

You leaned in close, heart picking up speed.

They must have felt it. Sylus’ instincts had to have been sharpened over the years right? He had to know that something wasn’t right. That Halbard had something other than trades and deals on his mind.

The smallest twitch. A hand going for a concealed weapon.

One of Halbard’s men.

Stupid.

Sylus exhaled.

The man who reached for his weapon froze mid-motion. Strands of red and black wrapping around his limbs and jerking him unnaturally. His limbs seized. His breath came out shaky and tight, like he was being grabbed by the throat and spine all at once. His feet lifted off the ground, body hovering for half a heartbeat.

And then he crumpled.

Literally.

His body folded in on itself with a sickening crunch, bones snapping like twigs as his chest caved under the pressure of the energy.

Sylus’ evol.

It wasn’t showy or explosive.

Just precise, silent. Inescapable.

The others reached for their own weapons with barely enough time to process what they'd seen before Sylus moved.

He was armed, of course. But he didn’t draw.

He grinned, something sinister and sardonic that had fear stabbing through your body.

He dismantled their attack with brutal efficiency, each movement deliberate and lethal. A force of nature with his fists and evol working together. His knuckles glowed with the same red light that crushed Halbard’s man. Each hit resonated in the space, a thunderclap echoing through the metal beams above.

His Evol sliced through the air with deadly accuracy.

Every strike was purposeful. No movement wasted. Sylus tortured them, calmly, decisively, acting as both judge and executioner in a single breath. The executions were brutal. Calculated. Each one more grotesque than the last. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Every death was horrific, yet undeniably earned. They’d underestimated him. And maybe… so had you.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a culling.

Halbard made a break for it. Coward. He bolted toward the loading bay doors, already yelling something about betrayal.

Sylus turned.

Raised his hand.

And Halbard stopped.

Just stopped mid-stride, frozen in place.

Sylus closed his fist, the red tendrils tightening around Halbard’s body. Reminiscent of how snakes constrict around their prey.

Halbard gasped, hands flying to his throat as his feet left the floor. His body dangled a few feet off the ground. Shaking. Twitching. Held in place by those ominous red and black strands.

Sylus walked slowly towards him. His evol flickering and pulsing, thrumming with energy. Steady and controlled.

He stopped just short of Halbard’s feet and spoke in a soft hush. You couldn’t hear the words but their effect was clear. Halbard sobbed. Something deep and guttural tearing from his between his lips. A plea maybe.

Sylus tiltedhis head and without so much as a flicker of emotion, he lowered his hand.

Halbard dropped like dead weight. Alive, but broken.

Dust curled around Sylus’ boots as he stood over him. And then, he smiled.

The same smile you’d seen when he fed the cats in the alley. Warm. private. Unsettling.

He looked up.

Your blood ran cold as his gaze swept the ceiling. Not frantic. Not searching. Just… checking.

You stilled completely. Didn’t so much as breathe. Your mic off, hidden in the shadows. Thankfully, you were completely hidden.

He couldn't see you.

It was the perfect time to make your escape.

And that you did. As soon as the coast was clear you were gone. The adrenaline thundering in your chest urging you to go fast. Faster.

Sylus’ lips curled upward in a smirk as he snapped his fingers.

“Mephisto.”

The dark bird on a distant beam tilted its head towards its master. The lenses in its eyes shifting with a mechanical whirr, like it was listening.

“Keep an eye on that one,” he murmured, an amused smirk curling his lips. “Let’s see what she does next.”

In your apartment, everything felt… off.

You showered. Changed. Poured yourself something strong and tried to ignore the slight shake of your fingers that made the bottle rattle against your glass. You told yourself that the tightness in your chest was just adrenaline wearing off.

But the images wouldn’t stop replaying over and over again in your head.

You paced. Got up again. Watched the footage from the warehouse, then turned it off five seconds in.

The crunch of bones..

The way his evol moved like an extension of his will. Of him.

And his face.

His beautiful, un bothered face. Focused and so serene.

You leaned your forehead against the windowpane, the glass cool against your skin. The lights from Linkon twinkled lazily outside. The trees swayed in the summer winds. Cars on the road. Normal things.

But you didn’t feel normal.

You felt on edge. Like his eyes had followed you home, like you were an exhibition.

How could it be that this vicious predator was the same Sylus that you saw feeding stray cats and donating to schools? The same man that you had begun to almost romanticise as a misunderstood, misrepresented, soft-hearted man.

You shook the thought off. You were jumpy, understandably so. He hadn’t seen you. You were careful. You’d been careful. Everything was clean, untraceable. You’d covered your tracks.

You knew you had.

You turned away from the window, reaching for your drink to clear your head. Two piercing eyes stared back at you from the balcony’s edge, making you almost scramble backwards in fear.

It was a bird.

Large. Unnervingly still. Feathers black as oil slick, eyes sharp and glassy. It didn’t twitch. Didn’t caw. It just… stared at you.

You took a step to either side, growing more unnerved as its gaze followed you. Too smoothly. Too deliberate.

You squinted at the thing. “What a strange…bird,” you murmured.

It cocked its head, as if acknowledging the comment. And, as if realising that you were uncomfortable, the bird gave a soft, mechanical click. Its wings stretched once. Then it launched into the night and vanished.

Gone.

You stood there for a long moment, pulse thrumming, hand clutching at your chest.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of a dozen surveillance feeds reflecting in his eyes. The bird cawed and flew to land on its perch in the corner of the room. “Mephisto,” he chuckled, a spark of amusement lighting his carmine eyes as he leaned back in his chair, focussing entirely on the footage of you in your apartment.

The bird let out a soft caw, feathers ruffling in something that almost looked smug.

Sylus chuckled under his breath, reaching for the glass of whiskey on the table beside him.

“That’s her, then,” he murmured. “Curious little kitten.”

He brought the drink to his lips, eyes fixed on the screen as you reappeared. Nervous and unsettled, pacing like someone being hunted.

“Maybe you ought to be a little more subtle next time,” he drawled lazily to the bird. “We don’t want her to know we're onto her.”

Mephisto cawed in response. Its orders received.

“Let her think she’s winning,” Sylus said softly, mostly to himself. “Let her think she’s safe.”

He smiled.

“That’s when hunters are the most interesting.”

I hope you enjoyed chapter 1! Please let me know what you think ♥️ reach out. Let’s talk! 🌹 I've finally re-written this chapter! It was a labour of love but I'm so hapy with how it's turned out! Let me know what you think pleeeeaaasseeee!

#love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x you #yandere sylus #yandere reader #fanfic #sylus love and deepspace #sylus lads #sylus fanfiction #sylus fanfic #sylus fic

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The Fox's Den {Sylus x Reader}

This just kinda...spilled out of my brain... It started off as a few paragraphs and then spiraled into this, but uh, enjoy.

FAIR WARNING!!! THIS IS INCREDIBLY LONG, I MIGHT HAVE TO SPLIT IT INTO PARTS ACTUALLY IDK

|| Masterlist ||

-Seven

You’re finishing some paperwork at HQ when Jenna slides a manila folder on your desk.

“Advance tech labs has another mission for you.” She says and crosses her arms over her chest, “Hear them out first. Then go take a look.”

As if on cue, your watch beeps with a notification.

You click on it and the mission’s user interface window pops up.

Client: Unspecified - Investigative mission Status: ACTIVE Authorisation: Approved entry - No Hunt Zones: 105, 106, 107, 108

Task details: High-class Linkon residents have been seen carrying protocores to Fox’s Den, a host club, on the outskirts of Linkon. There are suspicions that the club is being used as a trading venue to sell and modify high-grade protocores into the N109 zone.

Objective: INVESTIGATE Fox’s Den FOR PROTOCORE SMUGGLERS. DO NOT ENGAGE OR ELIMINATE SUSPECTS. THIS IS AN INVESTIGATION ONLY.

As you re-read the objectives, Jenna speaks once more, “Have a look through this folder before heading to the Data Sector. ” She places her hand above the folder, “Nero and Tara are waiting there with some more information for you.”

You give her a small nod, “Yes, Captain. Will do.”

You do as you’re told and flick through the contents of the folder.

“Huh, the address is near the N109 zone?” You whisper.

Sylus has a safe house near there, I think.

It’ll be easier to complete the mission if you could crash there every now and then.

I’ll ask him when I have the chance.

There’s a few photos of the club tucked into the folder and from what you can see, it’s quite luxurious.

Entering the club shouldn’t be a problem with the brooch Sylus gave me. Hmmm. I might need to visit Jeremiah some time soon to forge another identity.

You sift through a few more pages and a photo catches your eye. It’s of a blonde woman with a hunter’s uniform and badge but stamped across the page is the word ‘TENEBRA’ in bold red lettering.

“Hmmm,” You hum as you read the sticky note attached, “If encountered, detain immediately? Who is this?”

What had she done to be labelled a Tenebra?

With that thought in mind, you think to your own situation.

Your involvement with Sylus is more than enough grounds to label you a Tenebra, but you brush that thought aside quickly.

“MC?”

Your head perks up from the sound of your name and you quickly press the folder to your chest, “Oh! Tara… Nero. I was just leaving to see you guys, actually.”

“About the case, right? Isn’t it interesting?” Tara grins, “But, yes we came here instead because Nero thinks that the Data Sector is too noisy.”

“They’re blabbing about all the time, it’s dizzying.” He retorts.

He pulls a nearby chair and motions for the two of you to come around, “Come, we’ve got work to do.”

The three of you discuss the case for a while until you ask, “Why am I being sent alone? Aren’t mission usually done in pairs?”

“Yes, well… Technically, it’s only an investigative mission, so the higher-ups don’t think we should waste resources on a mere investigation.” Nero makes quotation marks with his fingers. “You’ve got orders not to engage where possible.”

Tara leans forward to argue, “But even still, Fox’s Den is surrounded by no hunt zones! Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Yes, that’s true, and speaking of which…” He opens some tabs up on his laptop, “As I’m sure you’ve seen, you’ve been approved access to all no hunt zones surrounding the area.”

You nod, looking back at your watch and also the map that spread across the table.

“But that’s not the problem.” Nero continues, “The problem is getting into the club.”

You furrow your brows, “What?” You tilt you head, “Can’t I just go in as a client?”

He clicks his tongue, “They’ve got a very specific clientele.” He says and then draws a rectangle with his fingers, “Invite only.” He emphasises. “Did you think you could just waltz into the place?Everyday?”

You tense for a moment. I thought… with the brooch...

But you can’t tell them about the brooch; They’ll ask you how you got it. So you settle with, “I- well,” you scratch your temple, “I haven’t really thought that far yet.”

...

Your meeting with the two ended just as the sun dipped completely below the horizon

Somehow, they’ve got you a position as one of the hostesses.

You huff. You don’t know a thing about being a hostess.

To be fair, being a hostess would give you the widest variety of intel.

Never had you thought you’d be going undercover like this, but the job must be done, you suppose.

You harshly tug your helmet on and head to Sylus’ safe house on your 270HM.

If he says no, then you can just scout the area on the way back home. That way, the ride there wouldn’t have been for nothing.

“Oh! There you are, little miss hunter.”

You turn around at the voice of one of the twins. “Luke, Kieran?”

“Mephisto told us you’d be here.” Kieran says pointing to the sky where Mephisto circles above the three of you.

“Is Sylus-”

Luke responds before you can finish your question, “The boss has a important business deal, but,”

“You’re more than welcome to stay with us in the meantime.” Kieran finishes the sentence as he opens the gate.

You can almost see the grin behind his mask.

“How long will he be gone?” You ask as you walk with the twins into the house.

“It might not even be until tomorrow that you’ll see the boss.”

“If you’re lucky--” Luke starts

“--I’ve checked your luck index today, miss, you’re not.”

“Kieran!” You smack him on the shoulder

“Anyway,” Luke starts again, “As I was saying, if you’re lucky, he might be done by midnight.”

…

Well now, it’s way past midnight and the boys have convinced you to play card games as you wait. From old maid, to kitty cards, to Big 2.

Eventually, they pull out another deck of cards with haphazardly drawn crows. - “We’ve invented our own version!”

Your brows furrow.

“Crow Cards!” They say in unison.

You’re speechless. You shake your head with a chuckle, but oblige them regardless.

It isn’t long before Kieran has passed out on the couch and you can tell that Luke isn’t too far either.

“Luke, why don’t we get you and your brother to sleep?” You suggest.

“Yeah,” He yawns and give you a nod, “but Kieran can sleep here on the floor.” He snorts, but goes to haul him up anyways.

“I can use one of the spare rooms, right?” You ask

“Of course. The boss has even gotten spare clothes specifically for you in every house. They should just be in the closet of the en suite.” He points to one of the doors, “That one is your room.”

It didn’t take very long after your head hit the pillows that you drifted off into a shallow sleep

Just as the sunlight begins peaking through the horizon, Sylus enters into the safehouse

Mephisto is cawing at him incessantly.

“What has you so worked up?” He frowns.

“CAW!”

Sylus walks through to the main area and sees cards strewn across the floor.

He examines them, seeing the poorly drawn crows, and looks to Mephisto, “What?” Sylus raises an eyebrow at Mephisto, “You led me here because Luke and Kieran made you look like roadkill on these cards?”

Mephisto shakes his head and pecks the cards out of Sylus’ hand. He pitter-patters to the door of the en suite and lightly pecks at it

Sylus’ frown deepens but he follows after him.

And there you were - laying on your stomach atop the sheets.

He lets out a small chuckle, “Tsk tsk, kitten,” he shakes his head, “You’ll catch a cold at this rate.”

He gently turns you so he can lift you up into his arms.

With his Evol, he untucks the sheets and lays down with you in his arms.

You have your head on his chest and legs entangled with his own.

With all the movement, you lift your head blink your eyes open, “Hi.” You whisper.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, kitten.”

You plop your head back down onto his chest, “Yeah, I wanted-” you yawn, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh? You’re asking me for a favour? How unusual.”

You only hum in response and close your eyes again.

For a moment, he thinks that seeing you in the sunrise makes the sunlight a little more bearable.

“What is it that you need, sweetie?” he asks, brushing his lips against the top of your head.

“The location of my mission is near this house.”

“And?” he shoots you a smug smile, “What is it exactly that you’re asking, Dove?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “I’m asking if I can stay here for a little while.”

He chuckles and gently swipes at the space between your brows, “Do you know what you look like right now?” he asks, “A kitten with a temper.”

You untangle yourself from his grasp, “Screw you.”

It quite futile since you end up in his arms once more.

“What mission is so important that the hunter’s association would send you into the N109 zone?” He asks.

“One,” You put your pointer finger up, “It's near the N109 zone. And two,” You lift another finger, “Apparently, there’s some shady trading of high-grade protocores.”

“Hah, when is there not?” He chuckles.

You quickly brush his question aside, “But you’ll let me stay, won’t you?” You pout for good measure.

“I never trade for a loss, dove.” He taps a finger on his temple. “What are you planning to give me in exchange?”

“Um…” You contemplate on the question. “I'll trade any protocores I find that I think may be of use to you?” Your intonation makes it sound more like a question than a statement.

“What makes you think that I don’t already have access to such protocores, sweetheart?” He shifts to lay on his side with his head propped up by his arm.

That’s true. What could you possibly offer to a man who already has everything in the palm of his hand?

You glance up at him, “Well, then… truthfully, there’s nothing I can give you.”

I guess he won’t let me stay after all.

One of the corners of his lips tilt upwards into a smirk, “There is…” he pauses as he procures a piece of paper with his Evol, “Something you can give me.”

You take the paper and frown as you read the contents, “Isn’t this that restaurant by the river? The one with the orchids?”

“Mmm.” He hums in agreement.

“What could I possibly give you there, Sylus?” You ask

He chuckles, “Well, it’s quite simple, really.” He leans forward to whisper in your ear, “I want you to stay with me… Until the moon is high above our heads”

His voice is so close to your ears that you have to turn away

“I want your time.”

A few days have gone by since your…encounter with Sylus.

Now you’re face-to-face with the owner of the club.

He has his hand grabbing the lower half of your face, turning it side to side.

You grit your teeth. Keep it together for the mission, MC. You say to yourself.

“She’ll fetch a hefty price from the clients, that’s for sure.” He chuckles

He almost throws you towards a woman who has a comb and spray bottle in hand.

“Another?” She asks

“Get her ready.” He says as he begins to walk towards the bar where the guests are, “I want her ready for service by the end of the week, Stella.”

The woman, Stella, as you’ve learned, rolls her eyes and grabs you by the arm.

She drags you across to one of the clothing racks and pulls various clothes up to your body. She takes some off, and others she returns.

Your eyes wander as you stay still, and for a brief moment, you see a blonde woman in a red dress, strutting towards the exit.

“Tenebra?” You mumble

“What?” Stella raises her brow.

“Huh? Oh, I was asking If I’ll need to wear a bra.” You gulp hoping she’ll believe your cover-up

She stares at you for a moment but then continues to find you a dress.

After a while, she’s finished with your make up and has given you a run-down of the rules.

“For tonight, you’ll be staying with me.” She says as she walks towards the exit

You scramble after her. You barely catch yourself from bumping into her as she abruptly turns around to address you.

“Keep close and don’t wander. Do you understand?”

You nod, “Yes.”

She wraps a red band across your wrist with ease, “This bracelet means that you’re off limits for the mean time.” She grips your wrist and squeezes, “So I suggest you keep it on your wrist even if your life depends on it. You won’t have this luxury for long.”

What have I gotten myself into?

You spend that night observing each and every one of the hostesses and clients.

Memorising faces, names, voices. Anything.

As the week ends, you’re back at the safe house trying to piece all the information you have so far.

You’re hunched over the coffee table with papers scattered about. Some of which you’ve scrunched up and have unintentionally made into Mephisto’s playthings.

You huff.

Everything looks normal, but clearly that’s not the case if HA has sent you here. They wouldn’t have sent you here if there wasn’t some concrete evidence of a covert operation.

Sylus stops cleaning his gun and smiles as you frown. The bastard.

You huff once more and rub your temples.

“You look as if you’re going into a grand battle.” He chuckles and leans back into the sofa.

“I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere!” You throw your hands into the air.

He carefully returns the gun to it’s case and settles himself on the floor next to you, “Talk to me.” He pulls the pen from your hands and spreads the papers across the table, “We can figure it out together.” He glances at you with the smallest of smiles.

A couple of weeks have gone by and you’ve gotten better at acting as a hostess.

You find that a lot of these clients have a very loose lips - ever so willing to give information with so little incentive

Today, you’re cozied up with a client, your legs in their lap, and an arm wrapped around one of theirs.

You grin internally as he continues to talk about all the protocores he could offer you.

“Oh?” You say sultrily, drawing circles on his arm.

YUCK

“Oh, I do, baby.”

EUUUGHHH

You’re trying your best to suppress a scowl.

“I could give you all -”

You glance up at him as he stops mid-sentence.

Your gaze shifts from his face to the mirror behind him where your eyes meet Sylus’s intense gaze.

What is he going here?

Sylus nonchalantly walks over to the two of you and the room has gone still.

“And who might this be, sweetie?” He glowers at the man, but his question is directed to you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the man beat you to it, “Mr Sylus, I’m-”

"I didn’t ask you.” He says sharply.

“Sylus, what are you doing here?” Your grip around the man loosens and you quickly shift your legs to plant your heels on the floor.

“Well… Sweetie.” He emphasises the endearment as he pulls you from the other man’s lap, “I’m here for you,” He pulls you to his chest

Without another word, he tugs you into one of the private rooms.

With the momentum, you fall to the loveseat in the middle of the room.

“Sylus!”

“When you said you had a mission here, I assumed you were going in as a client.” He locks the door and makes his way to you, “Not a hostess.” He narrows his eyes as he traps you between his outstretched arms on the loveseat.

“Why does it matter?” You glare back at him, “I’m still getting the information I need.”

“You realise that I could get you all that information in the blink of an eye, right?”

You know that. You do. He never lets you forget. Head of Onychinus. King of the N109 zone.

But what does that say about you?

Always relying on someone else to do things.

Always relying on Xavier on missions. Even Rafayel helped you at The Nest. Zayne’s always taking care of your health, and now Sylus, too.

When had you ever truly done anything yourself?

You grit your teeth, “Look.” You say as you muster up all your courage to glare at him, “I appreciate the help, but I’m not some dove that needs saving.” You push at his chest, “I can do this on my own.”

He yields as you push him until both of you are standing.

“I can’t just rely on you for everything,” You say.

Tenebra - the word plants itself at the forefront of your mind

His chest heaves as he looks at you, but he doesn’t speak.

“What am I supposed to say to the association?” You walk towards the door but look back at him with a soft smile, “They’ll label me a Tenebra for even breathing the same air as you, remember? We can’t have that now, can we?”

He takes a hold of your wrist. “You know I’d never let that happen.”

“Mmm.” You shake your head, “I know, but even then… I want to be able to proudly say that I was able to do a mission with my own strength.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you shrug your hand away from his hold.

“So,” You place you hand on the door knob, “Let me do this on my own, Sylus.”

As you leave, he deflates onto the loveseat with a sigh.

As much as it stings that you don’t want to rely on him, he understands what you’re trying to say.

You’ve gone many days without seeing Sylus, not even at the safe house.

At the host club, you return to your dressing room with the brightest smile, you’d think your face would split in half.

That drunk client spilled all the beans. They are smuggling protocores through this host club. He mentioned a warehouse south from here, in the no hunt zone. Luckily Jenna authorised your entry into that zone. You’ll have to check it out after you leave the club.

As you exit, your watch beeps, “Huh? Wanderers? This far from the no hunt zone?”

Your hands settle at the hilts of your hands guns strapped to either thigh.

With vigilant eyes, you scan your surroundings. Trees upon trees in every direction.

Taking soft and steady steps, you head deeper into the no hunt zone.

Eventually you see lights scattered throughout the tree line.

There’s a large building stood in the centre of the clearing.

As you walk closer, you hear voices. “The warehouse.” you whisper.

Then a truck whizzes past and you duck for fear of getting caught.

It drives far into the warehouse and you follow around to get a clearer view.

They seem like specs from this distance, but they’re unloading the protocores from the truck.

The impatient part of you screams to just sneak into the warehouse.

But that fire is quickly extinguished when you notice a few men patrolling the warehouse.

“I need to come back another time. With a plan.”

The next few days you observe the schedules and their protocol for receiving deliveries

You manage to sneak your way into one of the trucks as your shift ends at the host club.

In the truck, you’re shallowly breathing from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You close your eyes to take a deep breath as the truck slows to a stop.

“This is the last one for today, boys. Let’s do this quick!” You hear a man shout.

Your hand comes up to press at your sternum. Your heart is beating right out of your chest so much so that blood is thumping in your ears.

“You think we’ve got some aether cores to sell today?”

“Tch, I wish.”

As their footsteps grow louder, you take a slow breath-

BEEP BEEP!

You gasp as your hunter’s watch detects wanderers nearby. You grasp at your wrist to dampen the noise. Hunching over, cradling your arm as it beeps again.

STOP! Please!

“What was that?”

What do I do? I’m going to get caught.

“Check it out.”

Think. Think.

From their footsteps, you can tell one of the men has walked into the truck.

THINK!

You don’t have a choice.

With a grunt, you charge at the man, shooting him in the chest, before hauling his body to cover yours as you exit the vehicle.

“INTRUDER!” the other man yells. “INTRUDER! LOCK EVERYTHING DOWN.”

Sirens blare as shots are fired in your direction. One lodges itself into your thigh. With a scream you dump the body shield and limp as best as you can out of the crossfire.

Another shot whizzes past the side of your arm. Another into your lower abdomen as you turn to shoot at them.

Before you make it to the forest, a loud roar shakes the ground and you stumble onto all fours.

A wanderer. A Hoarfrost Wyrmlord, you recognise.

It stomps it’s way towards the warehouse, likely drawn in by all the noise.

You scramble away as best as you can, but behind you are the men from the warehouse.

Your breaths have become rapid and shallow, “Where…”

The Wyrmlord locks onto you, blowing out gusts of air from it’s nostrils.

You begin shooting at the Wyrmlord but it looks unphased.

You duck for cover as it shoot icicles your way.

Protocores. You think. “You must have a shield somewhere.” you say as you peak over the metal pillar.

“You!” A foreign voice takes your attention.

The man has his gun pointed to you.

Swiftly, you kick your leg out in an attempt to disarm him, but he catches it and kicks at your other leg so that you land face first into the dirt.

For a few moments, you wrestle him until he’s got you in a choke hold.

You elbow him in his side and as his grip loosens you try to swing him over your shoulder.

But he uses the momentum to kick off of the pillar, and the action flings you backwards, and your back hits the ground with a thud.

You grunt and struggle to stand.

Before you can shoot him, a Harte Knave slashes through him.

Just as quickly, your bullets pierce though the Harte Knave and it disintegrates in dust.

Another roar shakes the ground as you and many others are pulled into a protofield.

“No!” You scream.

“Sylus!” You yell into the air.

Hoping, praying that he just might appear out of thin air.

...

“CAW!”

Meanwhile, Sylus is seated in another safehouse.

His leg is bouncing up and down.

You should have returned to the safe house hours ago, but there has been no notification of your arrival from the security system.

For every centimetre the moon rose into the sky, so did his worry.

“I appreciate the help, but I’m not some dove that needs saving.”

Your words echoed around in his mind for the past few hours.

“I can do this on my own.”

He knows that. You’re strong. He’s seen it.

“They’ll label me a Tenebra for even breathing the same air as you, remember?“

Tch.

“I can’t just rely on you for everything,”

But something was wrong.

His intuition never failed him.

“CAW! CAW!”

“Mephisto.” Sylus quickly stands and stretches his hand out for Mephisto to land on.

A holographic video pops up and Sylus sees you dropping the lifeless body and limping away into the tree line.

The screen flickers for a moment as you scream his name before you disappear into the protofield.

Even before the video ends, Sylus is rushing out to his motorcycle. He pulls up the coordinates from Mephisto’s previous location history and speeds away.

Why did I leave her by herself? Near the N109 zone nonetheless. I’m a fool.

In the protofield, the Wyrmlord is the last wanderer.

There are only a few other humans left and luckily, the Wyrmlord is beginning to stagger too.

You’ve managed to break it’s shields but you’re heavily wounded and the Wyrmlord has caused the temperature to drop so rapidly that it’s difficult to even pull the trigger.

Sylus… Please…

You know he can’t just appear into a protofield. But somehow his name on your lips gives you enough strength to continue the fight.

Out of desperation, you’ve managed to resonate with some of the Evolvers.

And with great effort, you and another Evolver deal the final blow to the Wyrmlord and you’re transported back to the warehouse.

Sirens are still blaring and the edges of your vision are fading.

“Sylus.” You whisper walking away from the warehouse.

You grunt as you slump against a sturdy tree.

The shards of ice that were lodged into your stomach have vanished along with the protofield and now your blood has begun to soak through your clothing.

With a few harsh tugs, you rip your sleeve off and press it against your wounds.

Everything hurts, but you try to slow your breathing.

Your watch beeps once more.

The adrenaline causes you to perk up at the thought of more wanderers.

WARNING! Critically low blood pressure - severe blood loss. Coordinates have been sent to the nearest Hunter’s Association field lab.

When you wake next, the room is too bright for your eyes to adjust.

You blink and raise a hand to your face to block the light.

Glancing around, you notice it’s like any other bedroom.

You groan as you sit up.

Looking down at yourself, you see the faint outline of multiple gauze pads from underneath your top.

You limp out of the room, using the wall to take most of your weight.

You flinch as you feel a tap on your shoulder, hands immediately going to where your guns would have been.

“Relax, Kitten.” Sylus says, with both his hands up in the air, “I’m just trying to help you.” He begins to lower his hands.

“Sylus…” You croak from the dryness of your throat.

You could do nothing but stare. Was this real?

You were hyperventilating a little, and he’s never really seen you so high-strung.

“You’re safe.” He says as he slowly cups the side of your face.

“Sylus… I…”

He lowers his forehead to yours and you visibly relax.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart.” He repeats the phrase as he gathers you into his chest.

“I won’t let you go ever again.” He whispers. “Never again.”

I told you it was long XD. I had fun though. If you guys like it, I don't mind fully fleshing this out into chapters. I really enjoyed writing this one actually.

|| Masterlist ||

-Seven

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tomorrowwithme · 2 months ago

Text

What does Pakistan's propaganda look like?

Let's take a look!

This is an interview from the Expo Pavillion Japan where the Pakistani side got an interview. The Pakistani explains that "the root cause (of the problems between India and Pakistan) is Britain"

Did Britain create Ghazni, Ghori or Aurangzeb? Pakistanis claim that their civilisation starts from those figures?

Did Britain create Shah Waliullah Dehlawi, Shariatullah, Ahl-e-Hadith / Ahl-e-Quran / Deobandi /Barelvi, Tablighi, Faraizi?

Did Britain create the "two-nation theory" that advocated for separate Islamic nation for the Muslims of the Indian subcontinent because the Muslim elite refused to share democracy with the Hindus?

It's time to stop blaming Britain for partitioning India. The seeds were sowed before the British East India Company even set a foot on Indian soil. You can, however, say that British policies favoured Islamist elements.

"There are still few Muslims in India and few Hindus in Pakistan" is the understatement of the year. Islam is the second largest religion in India and they constitute over 14% of the Indian population. this is over 200 million Muslims in India. according to census data the Hindu percentage of Pakistan is just 2%. That is less than 4 million Hindus in Pakistan. this brings me to the second part of the interview.

"If a Hindu becomes a politician in Pakistan there is a danger that he or she will engage in political activities that are in the interest of India"

-> Pakistani is directly stating that the native Hindu minority of Pakistan have absolutely no political representation, and that they do not have equal rights as citizens of Pakistan!!

"Muslims are persecuted in India by Hindus. They are falsely accused of eating beef and subjected to abuse."

-> How dare this Pakistani equate some cow herders trying to protect their cows, their only livelihood, from cattle smugglers with the Pakistani government systematically persecuting Hindus by not giving them equal legal rights ?

All this Pakistani can do is invoke the "Muslims are oppressed in India" – card, even after stating that Hindu minority in Pakistan does not have equal rights as citizens of Pakistan. The fact that this Pakistani can say this so brazenly is because this Pakistani does not believe that Hindus are equal human beings with him. Let us look more closely at the Indus water treaty (IWT). according to the treaty, India would have had received control of 20% (Beas, Ravi, Sutlej) of the water of the Indus while Pakistan would have had received 80% (Chenab, Jhelum, Sindhu). Northern India has water shortages. India feeds not only its population but also the world. A 20-80 was never fair to Indians. Yet, Pakistan still couldn't help but sponsor terrorist attacks against Indians. As the Indian PM Modi stated after the Uri attack in 2016, "blood and water cannot flow together".

Now, the second point. Pakistan is a two-faced liar. Pakistan, in fact, does not want to be friends with India. Pakistan government sends terrorists to Indian territory to murder Indian citizens, especially Hindus.

Thank gods that there were sensible Japanese people refuting Pakistani propaganda.

Indians, take a good look at these plants in the international media and think tanks, sent by the Pakistani establishment. This is how Pakistan has been shaping the narrative in the international stage which in turn has gotten them American support, world bank support, international monetary fund support, etc. On the other hand, reporters with Indian sounding names in the international media have been participating in writing hit jobs against India. How lost are you, India?

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heresmyfiddlestick · 5 months ago

Text

here i am again thinking about how different tranches of the Dr. Who fandom rate each Doctor's different stories relative to each other. last year (or so) i did a big post analysing @adventure-showdown 's poll of the Tumblr fandom as it compared to the DWM reader's poll. there i examined the overlap of those two groups of fans' top- and bottom-rated stories for each Doctor. it was enlightening!

here i'm gonna further that analysis, with data from tardis.guide. i'm taking this data as of February 1, 2025 - clearly not exactly contemporary with the earlier data sets, but i suspect there will be some interesting trends. i made Venn diagrams. let's dive in.

First Doctor's top/bottom three

All agree: The Time Meddler (top) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: The Romans (top), The Smugglers (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: The Dalek Invasion of Earth (top), The Web Planet (bottom) Just Tumblr: The Edge of Destruction (top), The Crusade, The Savages (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: Galaxy 4 (bottom) Just DWM: The Daleks' Masterplan (top), The Sensorites, The Space Museum (bottom)

In 1's top and bottom three, there's only one story that all three sources agree should be at one of these extremes: The Time Meddler is in the top three. I'm disappointed to see Galaxy 4 in Tardis Guide's bottom three, the novelisation was an early and important piece of Doctor Who for me. But it's tough with a mostly-missing serial.

Second Doctor's top/bottom three

All agree: The War Games (top), The Dominators, The Space Pirates (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: The Mind Robber, The Enemy of the World (top), The Krotons (bottom) Just DWM: The Power of the Daleks, Tomb of the Cybermen (top) The Underwater Menace (bottom)

There is a bit more broad consensus on 2 than on 1. All three sources agree that The War Games is in the top tier, and The Dominators and The Space Pirates are at the bottom. Then, the Tardis Guide user base seems to follow Tumblr's inclinations, ranking The Mind Robber and The Enemy of the World at the top and The Krotons at the bottom (another important novelisation for a younger version of this writer, but alas).

Third Doctor

All agree: The Green Death (top), The Mutants (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Death to the Daleks (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: Spearhead from Space, Inferno (top), The Monster of Peladon (bottom) Just Tumblr: The Dæmons, The Three Doctors (top), Planet of the Daleks (bottom) Just DWM: The Time Monster (bottom)

Every Doctor has at least one story that all three sources agree is either at the top or the bottom, and I think that's great! It gives me a sense of a broader view of the fandom's tastes. For 3, it's no surprise that The Green Death is unanimously top-three material and The Mutants bottom-three (though, again, I'm realising I have some anti-mainstream opinions about some of these earlier "bad" serials" - I really liked The Mutants!). Tardis Guide's userbase breaks m ore in the DWM readership's favour regarding most of the rest of the rankings, with Spearhead and Inferno at the top and The Monster of Peladon at the bottom from both of those sources.

Fourth Doctor's top/bottom four

All agree: City of Death, Genesis of the Daleks (top), Underworld, The Power of Kroll (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Revenge of the Cybermen (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: Meglos (bottom) DWM/Tumblr: Robots of Death (top) Just Tumblr: The Horror of Fang Rock (top), Nightmare of Eden (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: The Seeds of Doom, Shada (top) Just DWM: Pyramids of Mars (top), The Horns of Nimon (bottom)

It's our first full Venn diagram! There's at least one item populating each section! And it's no surprise with the number of stories this guy has. I don't know what to make of the fact that Tardis Guide lists Shada alongside all of 4's regular TV stories - different methodologies for different folks, i guess. (Psst, there's only one other full Venn in this post - can you guess which Doctor it is?)

Fifth Doctor's top/bottom three

All agree: The Caves of Androzani (top), Time-Flight (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Enlightenment (top) Tardis Guide/DWM: Earthshock (top), The King's Demons, Warriors of the Deep (bottom) DWM/Tumblr: The Five Doctors (top) Just Tumblr: Four to Doomsday, The Awakening (bottom)

There is fairly broad agreement with 5's best and worst. It seems Tumblr is the fly in the ointment here, with our particular dislike of Four to Doomsday and The Awakening. However, all can agree that The Caves of Androzani is great and Time-Flight is less great.

Sixth Doctor

All agree: Vengeance on Varos (top), Timelash, The Twin Dilemma (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: Revelation of the Daleks (top) Just Tumblr: Mark of the Rani, Trial of a Time Lord (top), The Ultimate Evil (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: The Mysterious Planet (top), Mindwarp (bottom) Just DWM: The Two Doctors (top), Attack of the Cybermen (bottom)

6 is probably the most problematic to do this sort of analysis for, because each of the three sources' methodologies differ such that each treats Trial differently: adventure-showdown's Tumblr poll listed Trial as a unit and each individual part separately, Tardis Guide just lists the individual parts, and DWM just listed the full season as one story. A mess. But a delightful mess, just like Sixie himself.

Seventh Doctor

All agree: Survival, Remembrance of the Daleks (top), Delta and the Bannermen, Time and the Rani (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Silver Nemesis (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: The Curse of Fenric (top) Just Tumblr: The Happiness Patrol (top) Just DWM: Paradise Towers (bottom)

7's run shows the most cohesion yet, with all three sources agreeing on 2/3 of each of the top and bottom stories in his run. Then it's just a matter of whether you prefer pink TARDISes or wet vampires.

Eighth Doctor

I won't attempt to make a Venn for 8, but I will sum up how his top 10 audio dramas overlap.

Both Agree: The Chimes of Midnight, Scherzo, Solitaire, To the Death, The Red Lady Just Tumblr: Caerdroia, The Natural History of Fear, Zagreus, Storm Warning, The Silver Turk Just Tardis Guide: Albie's Angels, Absent Friends, Lucie Miller, Palindrome - Part 1, Day of the Master - Part 2

A very neat 5/5/5 split here! I can see a definite bias towards 8/Charlie and the Divergent arc in Tumblr's top, whereas the Tardis Guide userbase seems to prefer 8/Liv/Helen and 8/Lucie, and I'm surprised and delighted to see a story from the Eighth Doctor's Time War series!

I may as well do the novels too, one second... Okay, here's how each source ranked their top 5 8DAs.

Both Agree: Alien Bodies, Unnatural History Just Tumblr: Interference, Mad Dogs and Englishmen, The Adventuress of Henrietta Street Just Tardis Guide: The Year of Intelligent Tigers, Vampire Science, Seeing I

Okay back to the TV show.

Ninth Doctor

All agree: Dalek, The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, Bad Wolf/The Parting of Ways (top), Aliens of London/World War Three, The Long Game (bottom) DWM/Tumblr: Boom Town (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: The Unquiet Dead (bottom)

I had to make the Venn diagram squishier, that's how much cohesion there is in these three sources' opinions on 9's run! You'll recall that DWM and the Tumblr poll completely agreed on his top and bottom three. The Tardis Guide userbase throws a bit of a wrench in, declaring their dislike of The Unquiet Dead over Boom Town, though I'll note that the latter is fourth from the bottom in the Tardis Guide rankings. I'm really interested in the broad consensus that seems to have formed around 9's stories - they practically don't move in the DWM reader rankings over the past decade plus. I'm curious to see if anything will be re-evaluated in the future.

Tenth Doctor's top/bottom four

All agree: Blink, Midnight, Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead (top), The Idiot's Lantern, The Lazarus Experiment (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: Meglos (bottom) DWM/Tumblr: Love & Monsters, Fear Her (bottom) Just Tumblr: The Fires of Pompeii (top), The Next Doctor, The Shakespeare Code (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: Turn Left (top) Just DWM: Human Nature/The Family of Blood (top)

While I find the broad agreement around 9 fascinating, I'm equally fascinated by the divergence around 10. This analysis shows that people are inclined to believe that no more than one of the following stories belongs in his top 4: The Fires of Pompeii, Turn Left, and Human Nature/The Family of Blood. Not to say that they're interchangeable, but I think which one you pick can say a lot!

Eleventh Doctor's top/bottom four:

All agree: The Eleventh Hour, Vincent and the Doctor (top), The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Victory of the Daleks (bottom) Tardis Guide/DWM: The Day of the Doctor (top), Nightmare in Silver (bottom) DWM/Tumblr: The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang (top) Just Tumblr: The Doctor's Wife (top), The Crimson Horror, Night Terrors (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: The God Complex (top) Just DWM: Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS, The Curse of the Black Spot (bottom)

*airhorns* It's our second full Venn diagram! Much like 4, 11 has a lot to choose from and a really wide range of vibe throughout his run. He also has some stupidly long story titles, which are not very highly rated across the board (perhaps there's a correlation? make another graph!). Of note: the Eleventh Doctor is the only incarnation whose first and last stories are both ranked at the top by at least one of the sources (in this case, DWM and Tardis Guide) - except for the Second Doctor, to whom DWM also grants this distinguished position. I just think it's neat! [EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE: it's been pointed out that Day is not 11's last story FML. i always forget about Name [2nd Edit: TIME OF THE DOCTOR]. perhaps there's a reason it's not included in the above diagram.]

Twelfth Doctor's top/bottom four

All agree: Heaven Sent, World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls, Mummy on the Orient Express (top), Sleep No More, Kill the Moon, In the Forest of the Night (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: The Husbands of River Song (top) Tardis Guide/DWM: The Woman Who Lived (bottom) Just Tumblr: The Lie of the Land (bottom) Just DWM: Flatline (top)

More agreement than 10, less than 9. I like that the three unanimously agreed top stories of the top four are each from different series: Mummy, Heaven Sent, and WEAT/TDF. Also I really need to rewatch Sleep No More - could it be as bad as I remember?

Thirteenth Doctor's top/bottom three

All agree: The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, Orphan 55 (bottom) Tumblr/Tardis Guide: Demons of the Punjab (top) Tardis Guide/DWM: The Haunting of Villa Diodati (top), Legend of the Sea Devils (bottom) Just Tumblr: Eve of the Daleks, Spyfall (top), The Vanquishers (bottom) Just Tardis Guide: Village of the Angels (top) Just DWM: Fugitive of the Judoon, The Power of the Doctor (top)

And last but not least, 13. It's tough for everyone to come together and say which episodes of hers we all liked, but it's very easy to point at and judge Ranskoor Av Kolos and Orphan 55. I think when the dust has settled a bit more, Demons and Haunting will be more universally praised as the highlights of her run, but opinions are still quite spread out at the moment.

I hope you enjoyed this meta-analysis as much as i enjoyed making a bunch of silly Venn diagrams.

#doctor who #venn diagrams #tardis guide #edited a copy-paste typo in 12's section #and another in 11's as well as a factual error fml #can you tell how much i pay attention to Matt Smith's era?

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thatonegirlonhere · 9 days ago

Text

Wanted

Chapter 1: The Hunt

10 chapters

Bounty Hunter Bang Chan x F!Reader

Enemies to lovers with Eventual smut in a near-future, post-border-collapse world in the neon-drenched city of New Carth.

SLOWWWWW burn

Word count: ~2200

CW: none

next chapter >>

Rain always made the city smell like burnt wires and regret.

Chan adjusted the collar of his worn leather jacket as he descended into the undermarket bunker. Half-lit signs flickered above: WEAPONS, STIMS, FLESH, FILES. His boots splashed through puddles of god-knows-what as the steel doors slid shut behind him.

The broker was waiting.

“S’been a while, Chan,” said the man behind the desk, his voice wrapped in static. Metal implants lined his neck like a second spine. “Thought you retired.”

Chan dropped a thumb drive onto the counter. “What’s the mark?”

The broker smirked. A file projected mid-air. Your face.

Eyes defiant. Lips curled in something between a smirk and a dare.

[Y/N] – Class Four Threat. Wanted Alive. Last seen Sector Twelve. Caution: Armed, Disruptive, Elusive. Suspected info smuggler. High-level target.

Chan stared.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said flatly. “Ghost, right? In and out of city grids without a trace. Few caught glimpses.”

“Until now,” the broker purred. “Cred says they’re wounded. Should be weak. Take the job and you’ll retire richer than kings.”

“What’s the rush?”

“They know too much.”

Chan didn’t like that answer. But he didn’t say no.

He never did.

⸻

Hours later, back in his truck, he reviewed the file again.

Photos. Glimpses of you ducking out of security cams. Holo footage of you stealing encrypted drives. And one grainy clip—where you turned toward the lens for just a second.

He zoomed in. You looked tired. Haunted.

Not dangerous. Not evil.

Just… hunted.

He hated that it made him hesitate.

⸻

The streets of Sector Twelve pulsed like an open wound—neon flickers, oily rain, the hum of broken tech buried in the gutters.

Chan walked with his head down, coat pulled tight, gear disguised under layers of civilian clothing. His rifle was split in parts and hidden in the bottom of his duffel. His eyes never stopped moving.

Tracking you was like chasing smoke.

You didn’t leave footprints. You didn’t ping comm towers. You didn’t even steal in a predictable pattern. Every encrypted item you pulled was tied to different clients, different corners of the underworld—government, gangs, rogue systems.

If Chan didn’t know better, he’d say you weren’t stealing for yourself.

You were exposing someone.

He found the first clue in a pawn shop turned data vault. The clerk was half-mechanical, twitching from stims, but coherent enough to show Chan the footage.

You, ducking in, hood soaked from rain, limping.

You’d traded an encrypted drive for medical gauze and something in a metal tin Chan didn’t recognize.

He rewound the footage. Zoomed in. Watched again.

You winced when you shifted your weight.

Injured left side. Probably ribs.

You didn’t talk much. Kept your eyes low. But there was one moment—a flicker of eye contact with the camera, a twitch in your lips.

You knew you were being watched.

Chan cursed under his breath and left the shop.

⸻

By midnight, the trail had gone cold. Again.

He sat on the roof of a tenement building, city buzzing low beneath him, rain misting off his shoulders. He checked your file for the fourth time that night.

WANTED ALIVE.

That part itched at him.

Not just “Wanted.” Not “Neutralize.” Alive. Like you were a package. A possession.

Or a secret.

His comm buzzed in his ear. The broker again.

“Got a ping. South docks. They jacked a bike with a civilian tag. Won’t last long before the ID flags.”

Chan stood. “I’m on it.”

⸻

It took twelve minutes to reach the southern docks.

By then, the bike was long gone. But he found something else: a smear of blood on the railing. Not fresh, but not dried either.

You’d stopped here.

And not because you wanted to.

He followed the trail—a few drops, faint prints leading through the maze of stacked shipping crates. He moved silently, pulse steady, gun holstered but ready.

And then he saw it.

A small campfire. Faint glow in the distance.

A crouched figure. Hooded. Breathing ragged.

You.

⸻

You didn’t notice him at first.

Chan stayed in shadow, observing.

You were patching your side with stolen med foam, hands shaking. The tin from earlier was open beside you—painkillers, low-grade. Your bag was half-open, a small terminal clutched tightly in your lap.

You didn’t look like a terrorist.

You looked like someone who’d been running too long.

He stepped forward.

“Don’t.”

Your voice was sharp. Low. You didn’t turn.

“I said don’t move. I know that sound—steel-toed boots. Too slow for corporate. Too quiet for street gang. That makes you a hunter.”

Chan exhaled through his nose. “Smart.”

You did turn then, slowly. Face shadowed under your hood. Blood on your temple. A gun in your shaking hand.

“You here to drag me in?”

Chan didn’t answer. Not yet.

He stepped into the firelight.

You stared.

And for a moment—just a second—your expression shifted. Not fear. Not anger.

Recognition.

You knew his name.

⸻

“You’re Chan.”

He didn’t blink. “You’ve heard of me.”

You scoffed. “You hunt the worst of us. Cartel heads, black-market kings. Why are you after someone like me?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“I’m starting to wonder the same thing.”

Your lips parted slightly. Surprise flickered across your bruised features.

Then you lowered the gun. Just an inch.

But that was all he needed.

He crossed the space between you in two steps, grabbed your wrist, twisted, disarmed.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t fight much.

You just whispered, “I’m already dead if you take me in.”

⸻

He bound your hands—soft cloth, not cuffs. He wasn’t sure why.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Let me patch it properly.”

You flinched as he knelt beside you.

“You think this is mercy?” you asked bitterly.

“No,” he murmured, reaching into his kit. “I think you’ve been alone too long.”

The silence that followed was sharp and unbearable.

Then you said, “They’re going to kill me. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know anything,” he said quietly, pressing gauze to your side. “Not yet.”

⸻

That night, he didn’t turn you in.

He didn’t even call it in.

He just sat beside you, both of you staring at the dying fire, your breathing slow and uneven.

You fell asleep before him.

He stayed awake.

Watching. Thinking.

Wondering what the hell he was getting into.

#skz #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan slow burn #bangchan smut #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #bangchan stray kids #bangchan skz #hyunjin #han jisung #seungmin #lee know #changbin #i.n #felix skz

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splinter-skin · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I possibly request a Han Solo recusing the reader? Maybe they’re being used as bait to get Han, and they’ve been trying to somehow reach him and say it’s a trap, but he’s not listening?

𝓝𝓸 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽

You’d known Han for a long time ; a pilot, a smuggler, rough around the edges, just like you.Something changed within him when Luke Skywalker entered the picture and the Rebellion truly began to take shape. Han joined the cause and changed-from a man that only cared about his material wellbeing to someone invested in the cause of saving the galaxy-and naturally, so did you. You were the brain-small missions, quiet jobs, the kind where you planned from behind the scenes while the heroes ran into danger.But every time Han left with Luke and Leia to save the galaxy, something in you twisted. It wasn’t jealousy, not really, you knew they needed you elsewhere. And most days, you preferred being the brains of the operation.

But lately? You would’ve gladly traded all of that just to be next to him. Even if it meant standing face-to-face with Darth Vader himself.

Although now, you really were starting to wonder if maybe you’d been better off sticking with holograms and backroom planning, slicing intel, coordinating strikes, figuring out how to make the Empire bleed without ever drawing your own. It was easier, safer, and still did as much damage as a blaster in your hand.But here you were, boots in the mud, heart in your throat, leading a small cell of rebels into a supposedly “abandoned” outpost deep in the Outer Rim.

You moved through the dark corridor, hand on the grip of your blaster, your team behind you, tight and quiet. Every step brought you closer to the mainframe room, where you were supposed to plant a data virus that would sever this outpost from what was left of the Imperial fleet.

Simple. In and out. No unnecessary risks.

The virus was planted, and you were ready to make your escape. Everything seemed perfect.

You’d barely taken two steps toward the exit when the heavy mechanical doors groaned open. You turned on instinct, hand flying to your blaster, just in time to see an entire battalion of clone troopers flooding the hallway.

“Kriff,” you muttered, ducking into a defensive stance.

Blaster fire erupted. Red bolts scorched the walls. Your squad returned fire, chaos breaking out in seconds. But something was off.

They weren’t targeting you, not directly.

That’s when it hit you: they didn’t want you dead.

They wanted you alive, maybe hurt, bleeding, but alive.

A stun blast slammed into your ribs. Pain flared. You hit the floor hard as the world tilted sideways.

The last thing you saw before everything went dark was a black boot stepping into view, and a voice slick with victory:

“Don’t worry. He’ll come for you. They always do.”

Han was pacing around the briefing room at one of your hidden bases, constantly checking for a message from you, or any update from your battalion.

Nothing. Silence.

“We haven’t heard from her in too long, Leia,” he said, his voice tight.

“Maybe they got delayed,” Leia replied calmly. “You know how it gets in the Outer Rim.”

“Yes, I know,” Han snapped. “That’s why I’m worried.”

“She can take care of herself. She’s not stupid.”

“I never said she was. I just want her safe.”

“I want that too, Han. But when you’re off on missions, she doesn’t freak out when you don’t check in every two seconds.”Leia calmly argued

“Well, it’s way past the time we were supposed to hear something. And no one from her battalion has sent anything.”

Leia sighed. “If we don’t get a sign by tomorrow morning, we’ll go after them. I promise.”

“No. I’m going now.”

“Han, I swear-” She screamed, but he was already gone.

The Falcon shuddered as it pierced the atmosphere. Han’s eyes were locked on the viewport, tension simmering in his chest.

Then, a burst of static crackled from the comm.“Han… it’s a trap… don’t come…”your voice broken and weak.

He snapped toward the console, fingers flying over the controls. The coordinates blinked on the screen, a cellblock in the outpost.

“No time to waste then,” he muttered, already prepping to land.

His boots hit the rocky surface with a thud. He hadn’t exactly planned this part.Remain unnoticed? Not a chance. He’d landed the Falcon right in front of the outpost.But there was no turning back, not that he wanted to.

Before he could figure out his next move, a stormtrooper rounded the corner.Han fired first. The trooper dropped.Without hesitation, Han pulled the man’s armor off and slipped into it. Disguise on, he slipped inside the outpost. It was too quiet.

Then, a hand grabbed him, yanking him into a side corridor.

“Has he landed yet?” asked the officer.

“Who?”

“Han Solo. We saw a ship board nearby. You were supposed to check it out.”

“I did. Nobody was there,” Han replied, voice lowered to mimic the trooper.

The officer sneered. “Idiot. You really think we’d let him stroll in unnoticed? Go check on the prisoners. Make sure the bait’s still alive. And keep your head on this time.”

Han didn’t respond. He just moved, heart pounding as he was slowly starting to realize that the she was the bait, and he had fallen right into the trap.

He reached the holding area, unlocking doors and checking each cell, hope fading.

Until the last one.

There she was; unconscious, ribs bandaged, pale, barely breathing.

“Hey, hey,” he said, rushing to her side. “No, no, no…”He shook her gently slowly starting to realize that he needed to get her to some sort od medical bay as soon as possible, or she wouldn’t have any chance to make it.

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m getting you out of here. No matter what.”

Blaster fire met him in the hallway. “Hold it right there!” a trooper barked.

Han ducked behind a crate, tossed a thermal detonator, and sent the corridor shaking.

“Move!” he muttered, sprinting through the smoke, your weight heavy but manageable.

Doors opened with the card he’d stolen. Sirens wailed. Shouts echoed. He didn’t stop.

He didn’t think.

You woke up in the medbay. The familiar sterile light, the soft hum of machines.

And then you saw him.Your eyesight was weak and the lights were blinding you but it was unmistakably Han-Solo.He looked like hell. Unshaved. Sleepless. Eyes rimmed red.

But when your eyes opened, he cracked.

“You’re alive,” he breathed, and crushed you in a hug.

You winced. “Ow-Han, my rib.”

“Sorry,” he said, pulling back but not letting go entirely.

“Well, you didn’t. And I’m not letting you go anywhere alone again.”He said, his voice stubborn, hugging you tighter.

“I wasn’t alone. I had a whole team.”

“Then I’m not letting you leave anywhere without me.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him despite the pain.He was warm. Solid. Alive.

And maybe now wasn’t the time to say it out loud, not after everything. Not here, in a medbay with your ribs bruised and the memory of blaster fire still ringing in your ears.But looking at him when he was holding you like you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered, you knew, you knew you loved him, but you weren’t sure how to say it.

But you would.

Someday.

#han solo x reader #han solo #star wars angst #star wars fluff #fluff #han solo x you #han solo fanfiction #han solo one shot #a new hope #the empire strikes back #return of the jedi #original trilogy #princess leia #leia organa #luke skywalker

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goldenlionprince · 4 months ago

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If you like it you should put a tag on it

You thought I would be ready to let them out of their little bubble in @sorenphelps The Bodyguard AU yet? Nope. But also, hear me out: dog tags 👀

if you want to check out previous parts of mine, I have a collection on AO3 for all of them. tags for @neverenoughmarauders @lovelymasks

“You really won't look at this?” Sirius asks, tapping his fingers against the flash drive still lying on the nightstand.

James sighs and rolls onto his back. “No, even if you ask me another fifteen times. I won't riffle through your past like you're just a piece of data to analyse. It won't change how I see you anyway.”

Sirius looks at him and there is a flicker of uncertainty in those grey eyes that James just can't have there. “Look, if you want to tell me about your time at the military or about your family or anything at all, you absolutely can. But I want it to come from you, not a military report.”

“What if what I tell you makes you run for the hills?”

“Won't happen.” James turns onto his side so he can better look at Sirius. “How many times do I have to say it for you to believe it? I saw you yesterday. I saw you stab that one Death Eater multiple times and that wasn't even the first time I've seen you get rid of someone.”

Sirius very nearly flinches and James does feel a little bad about it but he has to get it into that stubborn brain of his that James won't be turned away by this.

“There was this guy with the Death Eaters. Severus.” Sirius almost growls at the mention of that name but James pushes on. “Said he was an old military buddy of yours. He couldn't shut up about how many people you've killed. Sounded a little jealous about the numbers, not gonna lie.”

“Buddy,” Sirius grumbles. “Sure we're buddies. He only tried to blow me up and I had to get away through secret tunnels and with the help of a smuggler. Interesting way to declare someone is your buddy.”

James blinks at him multiple times. “Okay, we will come back to that eventually. My focus right now is on the mention of multiple killings.”

“As it should be,” Sirius says, sounding almost defeated now. “He didn't lie to you, James. It might be a first in his miserable life but he didn't lie.”

“Oh, really?” James huffs. “So your body count fills multiple graveyards?”

“It might. I've lost count.” Sirius looks at the fabric of the blanket, plucking at a loose thread. “The things you've seen yesterday, that's not the first time I did that. Nor was it the worst I ever did. The nickname they gave me... the Grim, the omen of death... it was well deserved. Do you know how much death you have to bring for people to see you like that? To see you and know they will die? And you know what's the worst about all of it? I enjoyed it. I wore that name with pride. I loved doing my job so well.”

“I still don't -”

“James,” Sirius interrupts him, looking at him desperate to understand. “I was addicted to that life. And I might still be because all of those people yesterday? I enjoyed killing every single one of them. I might never be able to shake the Grim completely.”

Sirius sighs and closes his eyes, unable to look at James any longer. James reaches out for him, cupping his cheek in his hand. “I saw all the bodies there when we walked out of the warehouse. All the blood,” James says, using his other hand as well when Sirius tries to pull away, cradling his face gently but firmly in both of his hands. “My point is, I know you're capable of violence. I'm not blind. I do realize you have a bloody past and it's a part of you. But I also know that you've never turned that violence against me, and that, when I needed you, you were there and ready to rip the whole world apart for me. Why is it so hard for you to hear that this is incredibly hot and won't make me run away?”

With another sigh Sirius leans into the touch, his lips brushing against the palm of James' left hand in a barely there kiss. “Because it won't be the first time something like that ruined a relationship for me.”

“Remus?” James asks. Sirius only nods.

“Well, I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not Remus.”

A little chuckle leaves Sirius' lips. “Yeah, I've noticed.”

“Good. So listen to me. I really need you to listen,” James continues, his voice almost a whisper. “I'm in love with you, Sirius. With the person you are right now. I need you to believe that I chose you and I won't change my mind on that or run away.”

“You can't promise that,” Sirius says as he opens his eyes again but he looks very much like he wants to believe it.

“I just did,” James says with a shrug like it's the most normal thing in the world because for him it is. It's easy to promise something like that because he knows he's stubborn enough to hold on to Sirius, no matter what. Stubborn enough to hold on until Sirius finally sees he's worth it.

Sirius looks at him like he can't believe someone like James can even exist, then pulls him closer and kisses him again, deep and long and all consuming.

They don't talk for a while after that.

****

Sunset lights the whole evening sky on fire. It's all flaming reds and oranges, tinged with a little bit of purple at the edges. It reminds James of the phoenix on Sirius' chest, brilliant and bright with a taste of new beginnings.

Sirius leans over to the nightstand and pulls the drawer open, but instead of searching something inside he reaches underneath the drawer to where he had hidden the flash drive. “Is there another one?” James asks with a lazy smile from where he sits, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “Is this where I find out you're really the prince of a small European country somewhere hidden in the alps?”

Sirius' laugh echoes through the small room. “Sorry to disappoint. As much as my parents would have liked it, we're not royalty.”

“And here I thought I could be king someday,” James says with a grin as Sirius turns back to him, a small envelope in his hands. “How will I live now with my dreams shattered?”

“I hope you'll survive somehow,” Sirius says and rips the envelope open. The silver chain he pours out of it into his palm reflects the red light of the setting sun.

Before James can ask him what he's doing, Sirius drops the chain around James' neck, cool metal hitting the centre of his chest. James picks up the small pendants attached to the chain and looks at them in the fading light.

BLACK SIRIUS O. ᛈᛉ390 AB POS GRYFFINDOR

Dog tags. They are Sirius' dog tags.

“I probably should have gotten rid of them ages ago,” Sirius says, watching James as he lets them fall back against his chest.

“Why didn't you?” James asks. The metal warms up against his skin. He likes the feeling of it. It's barely there weight but James likes the reassurance it brings.

Sirius shrugs. “Couldn't get myself to do it. Now I'm glad I kept them.”

A grin spreads on James' lips. “Do you like the idea of your name on me?”

“You have no idea,” Sirius says, a matching grin tugging at his lips as he hooks his fingers into the chain around James' neck and pulls him closer. “I would like it even more if you'd wear them all the time.”

James' heartbeat speeds up at the thought alone. “I think I can do that,” he says, sounding almost a little breathless to his own ears, before he crashes their lips back together in a heated kiss.

Outside the window the first stars can be seen in the slowly darkening sky.

#hp #prongsfoot #the bodyguard au #james potter #sirius black #my writing

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pixeldistractions · 5 months ago

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As the night fell, Jordan lit a blazing fire. It wasn’t always easy to do, but the kindling was dry and the wind was cooperative. The boys were impressed. “But no jumping over this one,” Jordan told them. “We don’t need another fire butt incident.”

And so the boys sat nicely in their chairs.

The darkness of night consumed the forest. Then they saw a flashlight coming up the trail, and a park ranger, and a voice boomed out of the darkness, “Toasty fire you got there!”

Oh, God, did Colette file a missing person’s report? Would she really do that? Because they hadn’t spoken to her in ten hours??? She would, wouldn’t she? She’d call the authorities in a whole different country and send the park rangers scouring the park for them.

Jordan wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Lovely evening,” the ranger said. “Just here to check your backcountry permits.”

Oh.

“Sure, no problem,” Jordan said and pulled the papers out of his pack. “Is that it?”

“Should there be anything else?” The ranger raised his eyebrows into a curious smirk. “You boys smuggling mushrooms back to the states, eh?”

“Uh, no! Definitely not. No plans to smuggle, mushrooms or anything else.”

“Ha ha, just kidding,” the ranger said, laughing. “You can bring back mushrooms if you want, but you need a different permit for that. And you should be mindful of the pound limits, the customs form, a soil inspection, and a filing fee of $89 CAD for the permit. We have native truffles that only grow in this forest. Quite the delicacy if you can find them. Gotta be careful, though. Some of them are toxic.”

“Oh. Wow. I had no idea,” Jordan said. He was truly surprised and enlightened. “But nope. No mushrooms here.”

Then Jordan’s hands grew sweaty at his little white lie. Actually, yes, he did pick some mushrooms. They were stowed away in his pack. He planned to grill them for breakfast in the morning and absolutely not bring back across the border. Honest, he had no plans of becoming a renegade mushroom smuggler.

But the ranger was uninterested. He had more trail to hike and more permits to check. “Have a nice night, boys.”

Whew. Okay. That could have been worse. At least Colette hadn’t called Interpol on him for abducting her children.

— “why are you here? #3: a cage left open” part 5.5/9

Next -> // WAYH #3 start // index

notes: inspired by a comment @changingplumbob left on a previous piece about Colette calling the police. 😂 This little drabble was meant to be very little, but then it kind of ran away from me and turned into all this. So, bonus! There will be one more story update tonight, coming right up!

Mushroom importing data is all made up, so don’t go quoting me to the border guards if you try to bring exotic mushrooms across the border. 🤪

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #jordan #felix #milo

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p2sh2 · 7 months ago

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NAME: Achie

PERSONALITY TYPE: ENFP-t

ORIGIN: Kept by an alien smuggler in ██████ together with low-intelligent beings until he was eight. Didn't realize that others like him existed, which is why he still has trouble recognizing himself as a human and is unable to [data hidden].

Ransomed by the current Segyein - Si-pal - out of pity. Sent to Anakt Garden after he was repeatedly caught humming unknown melodies at night.

"Flowers growing in the darkness,

Only in it can they live their whole lives.

In the end, touching the beam of light,

Throwing everything they have there,

Burning completely to ashes..."

#alien stage #alnst #alnst oc #oc

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boneapplet · 4 days ago

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A Love Born in Blood pt.19

Relationship: Angron x oc/afab!reader

Warnings: minor allusions to a difficult child birth, blood mentioned

Word Count: 1134

Requested Tags for All Works: @beckyninja @runin64 @ilovewolvezz

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt 10 | pt 11 | pt 12 | pt 13 | pt 14 | pt 15 | pt 16 | pt 17 | pt 18 | pt 19

The walls still hum with the aftershock of Angron’s pain. Even his own legionnaires tread cautiously now, their usual bloodthirst muted beneath the weight of what lingers. They move like ghosts through the burned-out husk of the medicae wing, careful not to provoke the storm that still walks its halls.

The Red Angel paces alone, footsteps cracking fractured ferrocrete and leaving dents in scorched plating. The screams of the Nails are quieter now but not gone. Replaced, perhaps, by something worse: silence.

Khrivan follows at a distance, holding a battered dataslate patched with corrupted echoes—recordings, sensor distortions, overheated med-logs, all garbled by void scrubbing and data sabotage. There’s no full record. Only a shape of absence. A wound where someone should have been.

None of it matters to Angron. He stops before what remains of the birthing chamber. Its sterile surfaces are blackened. The air still reeks of blood, scorched antiseptic, and plasma discharge. The med-bed is overturned; dried blood soaked deep into its seams. Her blood. Her pain. He stares down at the place where she must have screamed. Where she must have fought.

“She wouldn’t leave the child,” he mutters, low and hoarse. “Not willingly. Not even if they tore her apart.”

Khrivan dares to step closer. “My lord… what fragments we recovered suggest she was stabilized. It likely means someone, Word Bearer or not, got her off-world.”

Angron doesn’t respond. His hands curling slowly at his side. “They took her,” he says at last. The words fall like iron.No need to say who. He knows. He saw it in Lorgar’s face the moment he arrived too late. In the careful way his brother walked through the wreckage. In the lies, honeyed and gentle. There is none. There is no child to be found. Angron’s jaw clenches until blood wells beneath his teeth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lorgar stands in his war-sanctum, ringed by a circle of floating, whispering servo-skulls. At the center, a hololithic feed flickers, stolen from an old orbital relay the Word Bearers embedded in the underhive long before Angron’s arrival. The projection shows Angron pacing the ruined medicae chamber. Alone. Silent. Unraveling.

“He will break,” Erebus whispers from the alcove behind him.

“No,” Lorgar replies. “Not yet. Not until I will it.”

“But if he finds the child—”

“He won’t,” Lorgar says coldly. “The boy’s trail was burned from ten separate systems. No transponder. No warp echo. The smugglers who helped her are dead or vanished. No one saw the handoff.”

His voice drops to a hiss. “Except one.” His golden eyes narrow.

“Find the smuggler."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within the collapsed nave of what once passed for a temple, Angron stands in the moonlight. The banners have burned, the pews shattered, the altar split in two. Rusted chains dangle from high columns, coated in soot and dried blood, remnants of the hive’s slave rites. He tears one free with a single motion. The clang echoes, metal screaming in protest.

“This world reeks of it,” he snarls. “Chains. Always chains.”

Khrivan says nothing, by now he knows not to speak. Angron throws the length of chain aside. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches within his warplate and draws out a folded, bloodstained scrap of cloth. Red. Gold. Torn at the edges. Evara’s shawl. Staring at it, eyes burning with a heat that has nothing to do with fury. His grip tightens, knuckles white, breath ragged.

“She lived.”

Khrivan speaks quietly. “Signs suggest she did, yes, my lord. But we can’t confirm the child.”

A silence falls between them. Angron lowers his head.

“Then find out. Trace every ship that left this world in the last seventy-two hours. Smuggler manifests. Pilgrims. Merchant voiders. I want every rat-hole scoured.”

He turns, eyes like molten brass. “If there’s a child… he won’t be raised in a cage.”

The Butcher’s Nails scream again, but this time, they don’t drive him to madness. They fall quiet before something stronger. Resolve.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the viewport, the stars are distant and cruel. No warp wake, no transponder. Just the hum of old systems and patched hullwork, wrapped in a web of stealth sigils and misaligned identification beacons. A ghost among ghosts. Larn pilots with one hand, the other resting protectively on the bundled shawl beside him in the co-pilot’s seat.

The child stirs, a faint, hiccupping breath beneath the woven fabric. Evara’s shawl. Torn in the escape. Blood still on it. But whole enough to swaddle a newborn. Larn exhales slowly, glancing back over his shoulder. The ship’s aft is dark. Supplies are minimal. Rations, water, enough stim-packs to keep him upright, but not enough to last if someone finds them. No astropath. No vox-signal. Just him and the boy.

“You picked one hell of a time to be born, kid,” Larn mutters.

He shifts in his seat, adjusting a heat-rag to keep the child warm against the flickering temperature regulators. The child doesn’t cry, barely makes a sound. Larn can feel the weight of him, impossibly heavy for something so small. Like something is stitched into his very bones, like a blood-born gravity.

The console crackles. An old auspex spike trying to reacquire calibration. Larn slaps it once, sharply. The readout stabilizes: no tail, no signal echo. They’re still clean. For now. Glancing down again, the baby blinks once, eyes unfocused, expression unreadable. A fist clenches in the shawl and unclenches again. Larn sighs.

“Your mother made me promise,” he says softly, almost a confession. “Said not him. Not them. Not even your father. She didn’t mean it like that… but she was scared. She was dying, and she made me swear.”

He pauses. Rubbing a hand through his hair, blood crusted beneath his nails.

“I don’t know where to take you. Not yet. Maybe some ash-world out on the edge, or a dome-station too broken to scan. But I’ll get you safe. I don’t care what it costs me.”

The child makes a sound, a soft coo, barely audible. Larn looks down at him, something rough twisting in his throat.

“You don’t even know what they’ll do to you, do you?” he murmurs. “You’re not just some babe. You’re his. And hers. That makes you worth more than a hundred planets.”

He shifts the ship’s course manually, rerouting toward the shadowed edge of a gas giant’s debris ring.

“Which means we disappear,” he says aloud. “No warp lanes. No ports. No favors.”

The ship slips into the shadow of the gas giant, lights dimming as the systems fold into low-power stealth. Larn leans back, one hand on the throttle, the other resting on the child’s shawl-covered chest. Outside, the stars shift. The galaxy hunts. But for now, for just a few breaths more, the child sleeps. Wrapped in blood, in memory, in the last promise of a dying woman.

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k oc #warhammer oc #wh40k oc #primarch x oc #warhammer x oc #angron x oc #angron #wh40k fic #warhammer fic #space marines #lorgar aurelian #word bearers #world eaters

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 9 days ago

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Rise: The Clone Rebellion - Chapter 25

Summer of Bad Batch 2025 | Weeks 2 and 3 | Prompts: "I am seldom wrong," "Brothers"

Again, in the interest of avoiding spoilers since this is part of a multi-chapter fic, I will not be including a summary here. Rating: PG (Word Count: 5557)

Read full work on Ao3 | Read single chapter on Ao3

***Chapter below the cut***

Tech settled back on the bench in the back yard of his new home, lifting his gaze momentarily to the view of the ocean beyond before returning his attention to the datapad he had taken from the medical center. The Imperial files he had downloaded onto the datapad had become unreadable ever since leaving the hospital, given that the pad was now off the Imperial network. Of course, this made the data of very little use to anyone; and so, Tech had been working on decrypting the files in his spare time. The work was fairly simple – for him – but it was tedious and time-consuming. Still, he should be able to finish tonight.

He had been here on Pabu for almost two weeks, spending the first few days settling in, growing accustomed to the modest but roomy cabin that had become his family’s home, slowly being filled in on events he had missed and sharing the few experiences he had had after waking. Rex had needed to leave for another mission the day after the rescue, but Echo had decided to stay for a while. Many things were different, but his family was still his family; and adjusting to the new dynamic, far from being overwhelming, had been pleasant, because he was home.

He hadn’t seen Phee until three days after his return to Pabu, when Shep and the other residents had hosted a feast to welcome him home. She had found him when the feast was already well underway, and, sitting down in the recently vacated chair next to him, had said without preamble, “You know, Tech, when you last left Pabu, I warned you against running off with pirates or smugglers. I didn’t think I’d need to warn you against running off with mad scientists.”

Tech’s heart had skipped a few beats when he had seen her approaching, informing him that he did indeed still have feelings for her that might run deeper than he had ever admitted aloud; but since she had started the conversation, he had quickly regained his composure. “I didn’t run off with anyone. It would be more accurate to say I fell into Hemlock’s hands,” he had offhandedly pointed out.

A resident named Yani who was sitting nearby had let out a strangled snort, almost choking on her drink right after his pronouncement. He had wondered why Yani had then looked at him guiltily before Wrecker drew her attention, but hadn’t pondered over the matter for long: Phee had chuckled slightly while rolling her eyes, and had said, “Good to see you kept your unique sense of humor.”

“I was merely stating a fact,” Tech had corrected.

“Of course you were,” Phee had agreed with a smile.

“Thank you for your assistance with my rescue,” Tech had ventured after a short pause. “I had thought I would see you to express my gratitude as soon as we reached Pabu.”

“I figured you should have a few days just to settle in with your family, get adjusted, without dealing with a bunch of other visitors,” she had shrugged casually. “Now that I see you’re coping well with all of this” – gesturing to the crowd of happy, celebrating residents – “I’ll stop by more often. In fact,” she winked with a cocky smile, “you’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”

“Why would I want to get rid of you?” Tech had asked with a puzzled frown. “I was under the impression we are friends.” She had said as much before, after all. Then again, he had been presumed dead for well over a year, and perhaps things had changed…

Phee’s eyes had softened, an expression he remembered well from some of their previous discussions together, and his heart had picked up speed again as she had leaned forward to rest her hand on his arm. “Yes, we are. And with that still being the case, guess I’ll be visiting you every day now.” A hint of amusement had lit her face. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

Tech had tilted his head in bemusement, caught between observing that he had not, in fact, asked for it, and admitting he would be looking forward to her visits; and in the silent pause as he debated what to say, she had chuckled lightly as she had patted his shoulder and stood, stepping away to make room for Omega, who had just come dashing up to Tech to bring him a plate of food.

Phee had been true to her word, visiting him every day since then; and Tech had been pleasantly surprised to note that falling back into their old friendship was quite as natural as reestablishing his relationships with his siblings.

If only adjusting to himself could be as natural.

According to the tidbits of information he had been able to piece together from the records he had discovered from Tantiss, after Dr. Hemlock had insisted on accompanying Tarkin's team and recovered Tech's body on Eriadu, the scientist had ordered extensive bacta baths for him, completed skin grafts and other necessary surgeries to heal fractured bones and injuries to multiple internal organs - injuries far too numerous to name, and ultimately inserted the spinal implants when the emergency treatments didn't fully heal his spinal cord. Somehow, Tech hadn't sustained any permanent brain damage: his helmet had done a decent enough job protecting his brain, though the helmet and his goggles crumpling on impact had left quite a few scars on his face. But even after all these procedures had been complete, Tech still had to be kept on life support and had been kept in storage until Hemlock could prioritize... well, whatever experiments he intended to use Tech for.

Tech remembered none of this, of course. If Hemlock hadn't been saving him for some diabolical scheme, Tech might even be grateful to the scientist for going to such lengths to restore him. But, while Tech was happy to be alive especially now that he was reunited with his family, he felt nothing but disdain for Hemlock and the Imperials who, like the Kaminoans, had considered him to be nothing more than a science project. Hemlock had wanted to preserve Tech only to enslave him, and Tech would never, ever forget this fact.

And, alive though he may be, he still had to come to terms with the reality that he would very likely never again live and function normally �� at least, what he had always considered to be normal.

He hadn’t found any need to ponder this fact very much while he was in captivity – he had been far too invested in the higher priority of finding his family and somehow, someway, escaping. Now that he had achieved both of those objectives, however, he was left with too much time to recognize the extent of his physical limitations.

He had always been self-confident, not only in his intellectual capabilities but also his physical abilities as a highly-trained soldier. He and his squad had always been at high risk for decommissioning, and his brain power alone wouldn't have saved him if he had had any other physical deficiencies beyond the need for visual correction - that defect alone had very nearly been enough to warrant immediate decommissioning. Of course, he wasn't at the Kaminoans' mercy anymore. Nor was he at the mercy of the Empire - and even the Imperials had apparently considered his genius alone enough to warrant preserving him. His mind was still fully intact; he didn’t need to reach his prior level of physical capabilities as well.

But… he wanted to. At the very least, he wanted to be able to walk again – perhaps not for as long or as quickly as he used to be able to, but at least be able to walk somewhere.

He couldn't complain. At any rate, his residual injuries weren't nearly as extensive as Echo's. He didn't have cybernetic implants burrowed through his skull, or electronic pulses permanently wired throughout his entire body, or clunky metal prosthetics replacing limbs.

Of course, since his injuries were nothing like Echo's, it also meant he wasn't quite sure how to fix himself. He had extensively studied prosthetics and cybernetic theory as it applied to cyborgs in order to best help Echo as needed once the ARC trooper had joined the squad, and his efforts had seemed to pay off with his brother eventually reporting far less pain and displaying ever improving mobility skills. But the treatments that should have helped him with his spinal cord injury had only made things worse, and he – well, after what Dr. Leman had put him through, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to trialing anything else.

He shuddered at the recollection of Dr. Leman repeatedly testing the spinal implants over several days, the hardware sending what felt like fire coursing through not only every single peripheral nerve but also straight up his spinal column to his brain. He hadn't been able to formulate a coherent thought, hadn’t even been able to breathe while in such agony; he certainly wouldn't have been able to walk. Thank the Force or any other universal power that may exist that he had eventually succeeded in convincing Dr. Leman to discontinue testing the implants, even though she wouldn't be convinced to remove them altogether. If she had, perhaps he could have studied the implants further and figured out a way to improve them; though ultimately this may have been pointless. Dr. Leman wasn’t interested in surgeries, she never would trust him around any medical droid, and he could hardly perform spinal surgery on himself.

The pain treatments hadn't been much better - all they had done was barely mute the pain while leaving his mind addled, and it hadn't taken long before he refused them too. On balance, he could handle the pain from the spasms and neuropathy better than he could handle the dampening of his mental faculties – if he couldn’t have his body, he insisted on at least having his own mind intact.

He had been rather perplexed at first that Dr. Leman hadn’t protested this decision, until he had realized the doctor likely hadn’t cared much to investigate, beyond the most basic of treatments, how to help Tech regain his physical function. After all, keeping him physically limited only aided the goal of holding him captive; and the Empire had little use for his body anyway. What they had needed him for was his mind.

Recently, some pain treatments suggested by AZI and the medically-trained female clone by the name of Emerie, whom Crosshair had introduced him to, had actually been helping – not by much yet, but it was a relief to not be in such constant discomfort. But neither Emerie nor AZI had specialized knowledge of implants such as those Hemlock had had inserted into Tech’s spine; and Tech knew he would need to tackle the problem himself.

Now, sitting in the backyard of his new home on Pabu, Tech switched the datapad he was holding to his left hand, idly stretching his right arm over his head before squeezing his hand into a fist a few times to get rid of the growing tingling sensation. The lingering effects of what he suspected to be a brachial plexus injury were minor, barely worth mentioning, especially compared to the spinal cord injury. At least the stretch injury hadn't been severe; his right arm was now very slightly weaker than his left, but casual observation would reveal no difference. The important thing was, he had enough upper body strength and dexterity that he could propel his own wheelchair most places on his own now.

He could have constructed himself a repulsorlift chair, of course, especially now that he had free access to components that Dr. Leman had denied him; but he wanted – no, he needed the exercise of propelling his own chair. Still, it hadn’t quite registered before just how steep the hills were here on Pabu until he now found himself chairbound. And with how many times his siblings had needed to help him up some of the hills, he was starting to wonder if he should give in and use a higher-tech chair. It might be more practical; it was rather ridiculous that he was so loath to make the switch. And yet, he knew wouldn’t be able to do everything he wanted to do in a repulsorlift chair either.

He glanced at his wheelchair now, sitting mere inches away where he had left it when he had transferred himself to the bench, and frowned at it stubbornly. He might be confined to a chair, but he wasn’t going to be confined to the same chair all the time.

He wanted to get better, wanted to believe he could get better. He was now with his family, people who would stop at nothing to acquire any equipment he might need to function more normally. And he was nearly certain that if he could figure out how to fix the spinal implants, not only would the spasms subside, he might even be able to walk a little bit. While in captivity he had set the problem aside to be addressed if he was ever able to escape, but now he had ample time to consider the problem and two medical staff who, while not having extensive experience with spinal implants in particular, would still be more than willing to help.

And so, for the past two weeks, he had been considering the problem. But for the first time in his life, he thought he might fail. He had been so confident, so sure he could help Echo when the ARC trooper had first joined them - and he had succeeded. But it was… different… to try to fix someone else's long-term health problems compared to tackling his own.

What if he couldn’t fix this?

Moreover, he was afraid of failing, not because of how disappointed he would be if he didn’t succeed, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing his family. Again.

All that time they had thought he was dead; and when they finally found him, he was broken.

The back door opened, and Batcher bounded out just ahead of Crosshair, who was carrying a bowl of fruit. The lurca hound barked happily at the sight of Tech and ran over to him, plopping down heavily on the ground in front of him and resting her heavy head on his knees until he gave in and, with a small smile, offered her a few dutiful pats.

Crosshair slid onto the bench next to him and held out the bowl of fruit. “Want some?”

Tech glanced between the datapad in his left hand and the hound demanding constant attention from his right hand, and quickly made up his mind. Carefully laying the datapad down on the chair, he kept patting Batcher’s head while accepting a piece of fruit from Crosshair. “Thank you,” he told his brother.

Crosshair nodded and silently took a piece himself.

After a few moments, Batcher decided Tech had done his due diligence, and, with a yawn, slid her head off his lap and rearranged herself to curl up at his feet. Tech hid another smile as he took another bite of his fruit. He had always been fascinated by animals of all sorts – he had shared this fascination with Wrecker, though Wrecker tended to prefer domesticated types – and had entertained a curiosity since childhood of what it would be like to own a pet. Now he knew, and it was even more comforting and entertaining than he had imag…

Batcher looked up at him with a small whine when the spasms kicked in, spasms that painfully bent his legs further under the bench. Tech braced himself on the bench, gritting his teeth with his mouth still full of fruit, refusing to make a noise, refusing to show any other sign of his discomfort.

The spasms passed, and Tech slowly exhaled through his nose before swallowing his bite of fruit. Only then did he notice Crosshair staring openly at him, eyebrows raised but with worry evident in his eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’re in pain, you know,” Crosshair observed.

Tech shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who was tortured for months and relieved of my hand.”

Crosshair glanced down at his right arm stump before fixing Tech with an unimpressed scowl. “You were tortured for months. You’re also the one who fell to your death and was held prisoner for almost two years. And now you’re paralyzed, and it’s painful.”

“I still have my mind,” Tech argued back mildly. “That’s enough…”

Another wave of spasms interrupted him, and he quickly bit his lip, but not quickly enough to contain a muted yelp of agony. He closed his eyes – he didn’t want to witness Crosshair’s reaction – and when the worst of the pain subsided he opened his eyes to see Crosshair stepping through the doorway again, donning his right prosthetic hand with a small frown of concentration on his face.

Before Tech could say anything, Crosshair had gently pushed Batcher out of the way and sat down on the ground in front of Tech, positioning himself so he could stretch and massage Tech’s left leg. It wasn’t until Crosshair proceeded to do the same with the right leg that Tech managed to speak.

“I’ve intended to inspect your prosthetic hand.”

Crosshair glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“I’m sure there are ways to improve its comfort and functionality so you can wear it more often.”

Crosshair slowly shook his head as he continued massaging the lingering cramps out of Tech’s lower leg. “It’s not that it doesn’t work. I don’t wear it because I need the reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That I’m more than what used to be my sniping hand.”

Unsure how to respond to this, Tech elected to say nothing; and both of them remained silent while Crosshair finished one more stretch, then rose to sit next to Tech again on the bench. Batcher, who had been dozing, opened one eye and gazed lazily at them for a moment before closing it again, electing to remain where she was.

“Thank you,” Tech said sincerely. Both the stretching and the massage were helpful in reducing the pain that lingered after the spasms hit; unfortunately, Tech was currently limited in how effectively he could perform the stretches himself, and he didn’t like to ask his siblings to do it when they were doing so much for him already.

Crosshair shrugged. “Phee asked Emerie if we should help you with the stretches.”

“It does seem more effective when another person assists with them,” Tech found himself admitting, even as Crosshair’s remark adjusted Tech’s line of thought. “Where is Phee?” he asked now. She hadn’t visited yet today, and it was already late afternoon.

“Somewhere plotting with Echo,” Crosshair said drily. “I think she’s decided to join Echo’s rebellion full time. I’ve never seen her so riled before you came back. If Hemlock wasn’t already dead, she’d hunt him down and kill him twice over. Pretty sure she’s just as upset that she didn’t know about Dr. Leman before leaving Coruscant, she would have hunted her down too.”

Tech’s own disgust toward Dr. Hemlock and Dr. Leman aside, Crosshair’s comments didn’t track with what Tech remembered of Phee: she would defend herself, of course, but she never really sought out a fight. He frowned slightly. “Phee never struck me as the particularly violent type before.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes at Tech. “Exactly. She still isn’t. That’s the point.” A pause, then he added softly, “She cares about you, you know.”

“Yes,” Tech replied somewhat stiffly due to the awkward nature of this topic, “I am… aware.” He was silent for a moment before continuing matter-of-factly, “I am also aware that you all care about me, which is fortuitous given that I now require more physical assistance and care than I ever thought I’d need.”

Crosshair was staring intently at him now, eyebrows drawn close together. “Is that why you won’t talk about the pain? Because you think you’re a burden?”

Crosshair could be surprisingly perceptive when he wanted to be, Tech mused. A candid observation like that called for a candid answer. “I don’t think I am. I know I am,” he said, nonchalant as he always was when stating the obvious.

Crosshair fell silent, turning away and staring out across the yard. Tech was grateful that the subject was closed. He knew his family wanted him to talk about it, knew Echo in particular wanted him to talk about it; but Tech wouldn’t, not about this. In most cases, sharing all known information was crucial to achieving a desired outcome. This, however, was one topic where talking would change nothing.

He now heard the front door open, heard Wrecker entering the house and Hunter now exiting his bedroom, heard the two brothers talking to each other, their conversation not quite loud enough to be intelligible. And still Crosshair and Tech sat silently next to each other on the bench, staring out at the ocean beyond the low backyard wall.

“Crosshair?” Wrecker’s voice called out. “You here? I’m about to make dinner, I could use a hand.”

Tech’s lips quirked up – Wrecker frequently asked for Crosshair’s help in the kitchen, insisting the sniper was the best at food prep despite Crosshair predictably grumbling about it every time. Now, Crosshair idly checked that his prosthetic hand was still attached properly as he stood with a weary sigh. Before he went inside, however, he paused, turning halfway toward Tech and then fixing his gaze on the ground.

“You’re more than a number, Tech,” Crosshair said in a low voice. “You’re worth more than what you can or can’t do.” And he quickly entered the house, leaving Tech staring after him, wondering what could have elicited this remark.

He was still staring at the doorway when Hunter appeared a few moments later, selecting the slightly narrower bench positioned opposite of Tech’s and nodding toward the house. Tech, guessing that Hunter had heard at least part of the conversation, waited for him to speak first.

“Before Crosshair defected from the Empire,” Hunter said now, “a reg named Mayday befriended him, saved his life a few times. Mayday was a good soldier and a great brother, but when he got injured, the commanding officer just let him die.”

Tech turned to look at the door through which Crosshair had recently disappeared. “He didn’t tell me about that,” he said slowly as understanding dawned.

“He didn’t tell any of us about it for a long, long time,” Hunter replied.

So that was why Crosshair was so bothered by the idea that Tech realized how much of a burden his physical limitations were placing on the family: Crosshair knew how easily clones were discarded by the Empire when they were no longer considered useful. But Tech wasn’t overly concerned about his uselessness meaning he would be discarded by his family or left behind; he was concerned about how much he was holding them back, how much they would give up to stay behind with him. And if the knowing look Hunter was now giving him was anything to go by, Hunter had overhead Tech’s remarks about being a burden and had misinterpreted them as Crosshair had.

“I know none of you would ever do that to me. As I told Crosshair, I know you all care. I’m not trying to garner sympathy,” he said tersely, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the bench as he considered how best to get his point across.

Hunter chuckled lightly as he shook his head. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

This was not the direction Tech had anticipated this discussion would go. “Explain,” he demanded.

“You’re so determined to not be a burden, you won’t ask anyone for help.”

His brothers really did like stating the obvious – while still not answering the question. “I fail to see how that is a problem.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe we want to help? Why would accepting it be such a bad thing?”

Tech fell silent as he turned this response over in his mind, trying again to organize his thoughts in a way he could accurately explain them…

For some reason, the recollection of that fateful day on Eriadu sprang to mind. He vividly remembered dangling beneath the rail car, staring up at Wrecker and Omega, acutely aware of the impossible situation they had landed themselves in with blaster fire flying in all directions and more Imperial vessels incoming and the broken rail car that was their only viable escape option sliding ever further off the track. He vividly remembered considering all the variables, concluding what must be done, pulling his blaster as he realized not a single one of his siblings would ever do what he was asking them to do, aiming his blaster as he knew he had to shoot the connecting strut himself. He remembered the momentary panic that had risen against his will, bile in his throat – he couldn’t do it, his survival instincts were roaring at him, he couldn’t bring himself to sever his last frail connection to life… And he remembered the resigned resolve that overwhelmed his panic, as he accepted that either everyone else could live, or no one would live – and his need for them to live drowned out his own illogical need to stay connected to a falling rail car.

He remembered that he had accepted his death as he had pulled the trigger on the blaster. And he also remembered what his last flicker of conscious thought had been before waking up months later in the medical wing: the thought that while he accepted his inevitable death, there was still a slim chance he might survive.

He had been prepared to die. He had even been prepared to survive. He had NOT been prepared to survive like this.

He was grateful to be alive, to know that his sacrifice had paid off and his family and friends were also alive and well. But his sacrifice for them shouldn’t mean they had to make sacrifices for him.

He wanted to help Omega fix the dilapidated second-hand ship they had recently acquired and fine tune her flying skills. He wanted to help Wrecker and Crosshair with the cooking and fishing – without needing to remodel the entire kitchen so his chair would fit. He wanted to join Hunter and the others with the missions they took on to help Rex and the clone underground network. He wanted to help Shep improve the emergency ladder system and the roads leading down to the docks. He wanted to help Phee with her artifact acquisition travels, to be able to stand and talk to her on her level rather than her needing to stoop down to his. Most of all, he wanted to help Echo save the rest of the clones, just as Echo had helped save him and everyone else on the squad.

Some of these things he could find a way to do in a wheelchair if he had to; but many things he could not. The worst part of all, though, was that his family was already limiting the activities they did because they were worried about him.

He would try to fix this, but he couldn’t go on assuming he would inevitably improve. The chances of failure were too high. And if he did remain chairbound, he wouldn’t allow his family to get used to giving up what they wanted to do just to accommodate him.

“I want to be useful, Hunter,” he said, still trying to put all these thoughts into words.

Hunter outright snorted. “Tech, you are useful. You managed to work up a plan for planetary shields and revamp the entire power grid with its limited resources in two days to make the shields work. Prima and Jaxon had been working on that problem for months.”

Tech shook his head stubbornly. “I was only able to do that because Wrecker carried me around everywhere, and Omega and Deke tagged along to reach all the places I couldn’t.” He sighed. “I can’t help with any of your missions while I’m like this. I’ll only be a liability. And I know that as long as I am physically incapable of traveling with you, you’ll give up your plans and stay behind with me.”

Hunter tilted his head thoughtfully before he replied. “You know, as a squad, we always relied on each other’s strengths to cover our weaknesses. I don’t see why that has to change.”

Tech, surprised, sat up straight as he absorbed Hunter’s meaning. “I… I never thought of it like that,” he confessed.

Perhaps Crosshair had correctly assessed the situation. Tech knew he wouldn’t be cast aside, but he had let his view of his own self-worth be influenced by his physical abilities, he had become overly concerned about what he couldn’t do now compared to before his injuries, and he had somehow come to the conclusion that the only way he could start to fix things and decrease the load on his family was if he did it all himself.

But… he had never done it all himself. All the squad’s best plans were carried out when they were all working together. He had always relied on his brothers to cover his six or create distractions while he was reprogramming droids or slicing through locked doors or commandeering equipment. Moreover, when Omega had joined the squad and was learning how to defend herself, had it ever crossed his mind that she might be considered a burden? Of course not, because she wasn’t.

Why, then, did he persist in the illogical belief that he was a burden if he couldn’t do everything on his own?

Hunter smiled now, and Tech knew his brother had somehow realized Tech’s perspective had shifted.

Perhaps… no, certainly he would succeed in finding ways to heal, and he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Echo appeared in the doorway at this juncture, nodding to Hunter and Tech as he crossed the yard and leaned against the wall overlooking the broad swath of land leading to the steep cliff trails and ocean beyond.

“Are you staying for dinner before you head out?” Hunter asked him by way of greeting just as Omega came outside as well, grinning broadly at everyone and patting an excited Batcher before settling on the ground at Tech’s feet, continuing to pet the lurca hound. Omega was making a habit of sitting close to Tech whenever she could, and Tech certainly didn’t mind.

Echo nodded. “Might as well. Rex and the others have got the next op covered, and there aren’t any other pressing matters at the moment with the underground since we still can’t get our hands on any new intel.” He sighed. “At any rate, Wrecker’s skills with making sushi have been getting even better. Oh,” he addressed Tech directly, “Phee will be here soon. She had to finish up a repair on her droid.”

Tech nodded, reaching for the datapad and making one final modification before looking up and proffering the device to Echo. “Since you will be leaving tonight, I should give this to you now.”

“What is it?” Echo asked as he took the datapad.

“Imperial military information I gathered during my imprisonment.”

Hunter, Omega, and Echo all stared at him with looks of surprise on their faces, before Echo commented in a dry tone bordering on familiar exasperation, “You sliced into an Imperial military database and got away with some of their intel, and you’re just now telling us this?”

“I’m so glad I didn’t accidentally drop the datapad,” Omega whispered to herself.

“I had to convert the information to a readable format first,” Tech replied. “Otherwise I would have given it to you earlier. I didn’t have time to organize it since you’ll be leaving tonight, but you still might be able to get some use from it.”

The corners of Echo’s lips quirked up briefly before he started perusing the datapad, and Omega turned to look up at Tech.

“How did you manage to slice into the military records?” she asked in awe.

Tech shrugged. “Once I was granted access to the computer system, it was relatively simple. I suspect the military and hospital databases are connected since the medical facility is affiliated with the Imperial military base on Coruscant. Otherwise I likely would have been much more limited in the records I could gather. I cannot access military data from here or with any other device, for instance…”

“Echo, what’s wrong?” Hunter suddenly asked. Tech looked at the ARC trooper and wondered what could have caused the wide-eyed, frozen expression of shock on his face. Had he, Tech, inadvertently locked or deleted the data or something…? No, he knew he was too skilled to do something like that…

Echo looked up, almost in a daze, and blinked before locking eyes with Tech. “Tech,” he said slowly, “I don’t know how you managed it, but this is exactly the information the underground has been looking for to help the clones.”

@summer-of-bad-batch

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #summerofbadbatch2025 #week 2 #i am seldom wrong #week 3 #brothers #tbb fanfiction #fanfiction

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dawn-in-waiting · 2 months ago

Text

Fem Rogue Trader x Kibellah

Ok, so I haven't written anything seriously in a decade, and English is not my first language, but this came to me in a vision and I'm forced to puts this on writing. This is merely the introduction, I'll write the scene and post scene at the bath in the future. If anyone reads this, I'd appreciate feedback. I struggle with repetition, I don't like the same words and expressions coming up over and over, so if YOU read this and have constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it.

Kibellah paced up and down the hall before the Rogue Trader's chambers.

For the last 7 hours, the head of the von Valancius dynasty had held audience with her subjects and she had guarded the door to her chambers zealously.

It was a routine to which she was used to by now.

First came the personalities of the ship. The Master-at-arms, vox master, enginseers and representatives of the bigger clans in the upper decks of the ship. She knew most of them by sight. They were voidborn, like her. Born and raised in the ship, tall, lanky and devout to the Dynasty to a fault.

Then came the ambassadors and liaisons with the different planets of the protectorate. An eclectic procession of nobles, officers and void rascals, all draped in finery and united by their mastery of the art of begging and blame shifting.

After them came Janris Danrok, the high factotum. The man in charge of most of the trade and supply chains inside the Rogue Trader's domain. The man was almost as wide as he was tall and would give Kibellah a look of disdain every time he saw her.

Even behind the closed doors, she could hear his booming voice, talking about logistics, which colony was in need of rations and repairs and which one could be rationally pushed to do without them.

And finally, the Rogue Trader's inner circle. The seneschal came first, a data-slate in his hand. For the first time in hours, Kibellah relaxed. She knew while that man was in the room, the Rogue Trader might as well be behind a thick wall of ferrocrete.

After him came van Calox, the inquisitor to be. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head, fidgeted with his rosette and straightened his cape before opening the door to the office.

Shortly after his departure, the sister of battle arrived, her armored boots resonating all over the vault. Kibellah found her amusing. The sister stood tall and proud, but whenever she visited this chamber, the mortified look in her face and her darting eyes indicated that she wanted to be there as much as she wanted to turn back and run away.

And now, closing the parade of supplicants came Jae Heydari, as usual. The cold trader, Kibellah noted, had been the last visitor of the day more times that she could count. She would arrive with a wide smile and a bottle of amasec in her hands, and leave some time later, with an even wider smile and one bottle lighter.

It wasn't her place to judge, but she could tell what was going on. The smuggler would time her visit to arrive at the moment the Rogue Trader's mental defenses had been eroded. She would present some ludicrous venture, an expedition to a dead planet rumoured to house the last cache of a long dead void pirate, perhaps. Or ask for a loan, to be repaid at some nebulous point in the future by one of her associates or descendants.

'God Emperor have mercy', she said under her breath, while sitting on the couch in front of the office's massive door. She was her mistress' weapon, hers was the privilege to bring a swift death to those that would threaten her life, but there was little she could do to those that would simply waste her time and fortune. That was someone else's job. At least until the Tarot demanded it.

As she sank into the couch, she produced a blade from one of her holsters. The knife was almost as long as her hand. She let the familiar cold of the steel comfort her as she reflected on what had happened in the last months.

As a death cultist, she was sworn to the von Valancius dynasty. She had shadowed the previous holder of the Warrant of Trade, Theodora von Valancius, from a distance. And after her demise, she had presented herself with the rest of her cult to the new trader. Unlike her predecessor, the new Lord Captain had seemed to take a liking to her and promptly promoted her to her inner circle. She had taken her to Footfall, the space station infested with void scum. To Janus, the almost pleasure planet, where they had dismantled a budding chaos cult with the help of local xenos. They had even walked together among the spire palaces of Dargonus, the seat of power of the von Valancius dynasty. And she had protected her tirelessly every single time, for that was her purpose. She was a blade, and she cared little about how her wielder used her. If she was to be paraded around as an intimidation tactic instead of being hidden for a surprise stab, so be it. Besides, she was enjoying the company. She found herself craving the Rogue Trader's attention more and more. Merely watching from the sidelines may be enough for the rest of the cult, but nor for her. Not anymore.

The rattle of the door's handle took her out of her reverie.

She pressed her thumb along the edge of the blade until she drew blood before storing it. Whatever scheme Heydari had proposed this time, it must have been a short one. Or perhaps the Rogue Trader had finally grown bored of her.

From the small opening at the door, Jae Heydari's upper half appeared.

A smirk on her face and lacking her gaudy purple coat. 'She would like to talk to you', she said. 'The Rogue Trader'.

Maintaining eye contact, she held the door open and invited her in.

An unusual request, Kibellah thought while walking in. She couldn't remember a time in which she had been asked to join an ongoing conversation. She had been present during debriefs before a landing. She had also been personally summoned to talk about the cult and the inner workings of the ship's lower bridges. But that was nothing when compared to walking into the Rogue Trader's office while in the middle of a private conversation. Albeit, Kibellah thought, one of the participants here was Jae Heydari. And with that thought, she moved her hand closer to one of her hidden blades.

Jae Heydari, on the other hand, appeared relaxed.

Hands on her hips, she had lost her coat, which laid abandoned atop one of the massive armchairs near the Rogue Trader. She was instead sporting a silk blouse under a bodice.

As she walked in, the smuggler stopped to look back at her. Her mane of black hair reflecting the lumens in the rooms when she turned her head to address her.

'I serve the Rogue Trader, you know?', she asked with her usual smile back in her lips. 'Just as you do'.

Kibellah decided to answer the statement simply by tilting her head to the side.

'But there's more to this life than running and shooting and talking and talking, don't you agree?' Heydari continued. 'And sometimes the Rogue Trader...', she motioned with her arms towards the table at the end of the room, where von Valancius was sitting. She too was missing her usual coat and fatigues and was instead down to her boots, pants and the red shirt she used to wear under her carapace armour. 'She needs us to help her see things from a new perspective. And unwind. Relax.', she continued, as they finally arrived at the table. 'And you too could use some of that, I suspect'.

At their arrival, the Rogue Trader set aside the data-slate she had in her hands and stood up from the couch.

On the table, Kibellah could see a pile of dormant slates, a handful of very official looking books, so massive she could imagine an administratum clerk's spine bending over the years just by carrying them around, and an opened green bottle of amasec, accompanied by two empty glasses and a half empty one.

The Rogue trader gave Kibellah a good look, her serene eyes taking her in. Despite her heeled boots, she was still a head shorter than the death cultist. It wasn't uncommon. Those born and raised in space grew tall and developed long arms and legs.

She addressed her with a conciliatory tone, 'I've been meaning to have this conversation for a while now, but I could never find the right moment. What with the life we have, one adventure after another, and our retinue always having their eyes on us. Although I've discovered Miss Heydari to be quite the pleasurable companion.'

Jae Heydari, who was now resting on the arm of one of the armchairs, raised a glass of amasec at the compliment.

von Valancius walked behind the table. The piece of furniture and her crossed arms becoming a barrier between the two of them.

'Lose your blades, Kibellah. You have no need for them in this room.' She paused for a moment, as if considering what to say next. 'And get on your knees.'

'Domin?' Her question not an objection to the order, but merely a way to voice her confusion.

Her hands were already unfastening her holsters by the time she had finished voicing it.

After setting her accoutrements aside and taking her position, she gave the Rogue Trader a puzzled look.

She seemed disappointed.

'Do you know why I enjoy Lady Heydari's company the most?' von Valancius and the cold trader shared a glance that quickly turned into a smile on both of their faces. 'Because she could leave at any moment. Disappear forever. But she keeps coming back.' The Rogue Trader changed positions again, she was now in front of Kibellah, her back resting on the table.

'You were raised to blindly follow my dynasty, were you not?

'Yes, Domin'

'Yes. You would kill for me. You would die for me, I know. I've met other members of the cult. I am aware that they've thrown themselves into harm's way for me, for my dynasty.'

'Always, Domin'

'But that is not what I want, that is not what I need!', von Valancius' voice rose before she managed to regain control of herself and continue her speech. 'I don't want blind obedience, I don't want a shadow, I don't want a blade. I only want... you.'

She was looking directly into her eyes now. In her face she could read pain and compassion.

'Deny me, Kibellah. Deny me. Now!'

Kibellah froze in her place.

This was a test, like the ones at the temple, when she was growing up.

There was never a real choice, it was an illusion. Stay and you'd be punished, leave and you'd be punished. The punishment was the lesson, the only truth was...

'Refuse me! Grab your things and leave, Kibella.'

She could still hear the Rogue trader talking when she gave her response.

'No!'

'No? Why not?' Her posture had changed. Her arms no longer crossed, now resting at her side. Her expression anxious and pleading.

'Because I would like to... Because I want to stay here, with you.'

She had barely finished her sentence when she felt von Valancius gold tipped fingers on her face.

'That will do for now,' she heard her say before feeling her kiss.

#rogue trader #kibellah #warhammer 40k #warhammer #fanfic #writing

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