#disaster malphur

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Shin, after Dwindler's Ridge: Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit has a body count.

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Wip: Aunor tells shin about renegades (wrong answers only)

So the starting idea for this was the fact I haven't played Renegades, and I thought it would be very funny to write a fic where Aunor explains to Shin the events of Renegades only based on my own very limited knowledge of the plot. On second thought Aunor is really not the best character for a story like this, someone who wasn't actually there would work much better as a sort of "I heard this rumour that that happened", but I guess she could sell him the least-informed and misinformation-driven version of events out of spite just as well.

The only snippet of it I have written though is the first scene where Aunor partakes in the Dawning tradition of leaving milk and cookies for Santa (wrong results only).

Something rattled against the window, and then there was the sound of porcelain scrapping against metal. On an instinct, Aunor pulled back the curtain and froze with her hand on the handle.

There was no cat on her windowsill. Squatting over the plate of crackers, there was, however, a man. A Guardian. A Hunter, even, if the cloak was any indication.

Aunor stared.

A pair of golden eyes stared back at her.

Quickly getting one’s bearings in the face of incredible sights was, however, a mark of quality among the Hidden, and Aunor was nothing if not good at her job. She stepped back, opening the window wider.

“Well, are you getting in?”

His mouth full of crackers, Shin Malphur blinked a few times. He swallowed. “Through the window?”

“You're already on the sill.”

“Ah.” He looked around, as if he couldn’t quite believe the situation he’d found himself in and needed extra reassurance, and then sighed. “Might as well.”

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For the ship game, Shin Malphur x Drifter??

Why don’t you ship it?

It's hard to say because most of the time I vibe with love/hate or enemies to lovers trope and this ship should be the epitome of it? But I think what turns me off is how 99% of the time it's portrayed as either hate sex or "yeah I'm paranoid you'll shoot me dead in my sleep and I keep a gun under my pillow but you're also kinda?? hot???", and doesn't go deeper than that. I guess I miss the tenderness here, and it doesn't feel like a ship where there's much place for it. I really like how they work in a platonic/loose-cooperation light, however.

What would have made you like it?

*shrugs unhelpfully*

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

Shindrift fanfics are one of the most amusing stories because the dialogues are often so good, and the canon ground gives the opportunity for so many fun scenarios involving these two (bar fights included). And oh they're often just so. dumb (affectionate). Also one of my favourite things about putting them side by side is how they're a narrative foil to each other, in a way; how Shin is the walking embodiment of Drifter's paranoia and doubts and deepest fears, and Drifter's attitude in turn brings out the questionable part of Shin's entire dredgen-eliminating business.

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#7 Beyond Stasis

Read it on AO3 here.

There had never been a worse time to be a Praxic Warlock.

Aunor seethed. Seethed when she read the reports, seethed observing Guardians hurling icy walls around the Crucible like kids playing snowball fight, seethed when she overheard people throwing stones at Zavala for his so-called cowardice and close-mindedness. She had to take a break from work to go to the gym and punch some stuff after spotting the Drifter in the Tower for the first time since his return from Europa; he had flashed her the most shameless grin and she was within an inch of knocking all his teeth out.

She used to revere Eris Morn. Both for her knowledge and bravery, as well as out of compassion for what she had been through. But the further she pushed the line between Light and Darkness, the more doubts popped up in Aunor’s head. She knew Eris was strong; balancing on the edge of the sword, tapping her fingers in Hive magic to rip them right into the Hive’s heart, she had touched the evil and tamed it long before Aunor even came to be. But not everyone was Eris Morn. Each day brought another Guardian who had dared too close, coming back dark-eyed and wild, their Ghost shuddering or weeping or, worse, corrupted as they were. Apocalyptic thoughts plagued Aunor as she sat by hospital beds, watching them bleed out the corruption through eyes and mouth, some screaming in horror as nightmares were twisting their brain. Each day was another record in the notebook, another Guardian gone dark or missing, another team sent out to keep an eye on Crucible matches or track the spoor of corruption leading out into the wild.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun hanging low over the horizon and shining through the skeletal branches of trees shedding their last leaves. The woods were within half an hour’s walk from the City walls, and Aunor enjoyed the autumn breeze on her face chasing away the frown she had been unknowingly wearing. She made her way to a clearing, now almost indistinguishable amongst the barren trees hadn’t it been for the hunched figure of Shin Malphur. Sunlight reflected off his helmet, making him seem strangely radiant even without the flames of his Golden Gun. She stopped a few meters away, and acknowledged him with a nod.

“Someone’s coming home.”

“The City has never been my home.” He took the helmet off and ran a hand through the auburn mess that was his hair, not smoothing them down in the slightest. Aunor had not seen him for only a few months, but it seemed during this time he’d grown even frailer. Sunken cheeks and circles under the eyes, cape tattered at the edges and stitched clumsily around the shoulder blades, lips dry and chapped; he was shaved clean, though, a detail clashing with his haggard appearance like diamonds with a tracksuit.

“Sightseeing, then?” She put her arms on her hips.

“Lately the Crucible is a sight to behold.” Malphur was examining one of his gloves; eventually he squinted, took out a knife and snipped a loose thread. “I heard you’re running out of bed space.”

Aunor scoffed, “Are you here to free some of it?”

“If it’s necessary.”

Malphur was still looking at his gloves with feigned interest, and she stretched the silence long enough for him to finally turn his eyes to her.

“I’m not gonna pretend I could outrun you. But if your final goal has not changed, then it aligns with ours.” She nodded slightly as if to stress the words. “I propose… cooperation.”

Malphur shoot an eyebrow up but held her gaze.

“Meaning?”

“No one can chase the Dark so well without falling themself. And we need eyes in the wild. You’ll be free to hunt the corrupted as long as you spare the Ghosts, and we will make sure these Guardians can’t endanger anyone. Including themselves.”

“You’re sticking to ineffective methods.”

Aunor clenched her fists, lighting fizzling on the tips of her fingers.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re simply killing for the fun of it.”

He glared at her, weary eyes behind the unruly mass of hair.

“What makes you think you can save them?”

“We already are.” She stared into these weary eyes boldly, her voice sharp. “We both know the situation is getting out of control. The enemy is infecting our ranks and soon will tear us apart from the inside. You’ll never hunt them all down alone, and we’re not gonna make it any easier for you. If you’re true to your cause… we need each other’s help.”

Malphur’s lips quirked ever so slightly, “Is the Praxic Order compromising?”

Aunor crossed her arms, shooing away the sudden thought of compromising his face. “The rules haven’t changed.”

“The rules mean nothing in a lawless world.”

“Oddly, you sound like the Drifter.”

She revelled in the grimace that twisted Malphur’s features at the words. “Hire him to hunt down problematic cases if you’re so keen on extending your contact list,” he sneered, sheathing the knife still in his hand. Sunlight flickered on the blade. “Come to think of it, when he was herding them into a neat little paddock, I recall you tried to take him out.”

“If all you’ve got are condescending remarks, I’m going back to the City. I’ve wasted enough time.”

“Not that much in need of eyes in the wild now?” He called after her when she started to turn away.

“What a jerk,” Bahaghari murmured in the comms, and Aunor held back a smirk. Oh, he was. But try as he might, in his stupid, douchy core he was still a Hunter; and by the rules of Darwinian evolution, the one trait all Hunters shared was their wild hatred of being ignored.

She walked away, leaving Malphur alone in the clearing just as a stray leaf landed atop the bulk of his stupid hair, then plopped to the ground.

*

Ten hours later a letter was already sitting on her desk, neatly folded in four and unsigned. Aunor supposed physical messages were much harder to track, but she would gladly appreciate them typed rather than scrawled in inscrutable handwriting.

“Fine, have it your way. Disastrous effects are bound to surface after a month, but have it your way. 7000 Glimmer a head.”

Well, can’t have everything, she thought, blessing the eternal vulnerability of a Hunter’s pride, and folded the note.