“I hate winter!” Wind complained. They had been trudging through the snow of Four’s era all day with little to show for it but frozen fingers and toes and what felt like a cold settling into half of them, if the sneezing and coughing told Legend anything. The monster they sought was nowhere to be seen, and a warm bed lay even farther away.
“We can huddle in here for the night,” Four offered, gesturing to a little alcove barely sheltered by the snow. “Ah… I suppose I recall it being larger than this. I’m not used to travelling with eight others instead of… oh, never mind.”
“Is there anywhere else we can set up camp?” Time asked, glancing around, one arm wrapped around his middle. He had come down with a cold first, and he swayed where he stood, looking far too close to losing consciousness than Legend liked.
“I… I don’t think so,” Four said apologetically. “But we have enough oiled tarps to make a decent shelter. If you just give me a minute to—”
“Bugger that,” Legend said. “I’ve got a better fix.” He dug through his bag, shoving aside harps and flutes and ocarinas, until he found what he was looking for. “Here we are!” he declared as he pulled out the Rod of Seasons.
“Is that a fire rod?” Wild asked. “If we’re doing fire, I think I’ve got half a dozen—”
“Nope!” Legend said. “Direct me to your nearest stump, Smithy.”
Four gave him a bewildered look, but gestured to a conveniently placed stump just by the alcove. Legend hopped atop it, stood tall, and then waved the Rod of Seasons. In a burst of warm, petal-filled air, winter vanished, taking with it the biting cold and piles of snow. Replacing it, a mild spring night, with emerald grass and flowers perfuming the air.
“What in Din’s name…?” Warriors murmured. “Ledge, what is that?”
“This old thing? The Rod of Seasons.”
“What I meant was: when would you have needed that? Why do you even have it?”
“What happened in Holodrum, stays in Holodrum.”
“You are impossible.”
“I think what you meant to say was ‘thank you for getting rid of the miserable snow, Legend, you’re the best!’”
I’ve been consumed by the Bucktommy brainrot since their very first kiss, so it seems fitting that I start to shake off some of the writing rust with a drabble about them. Shoutout to The Chat for the prompt: finding a picture of themselves in the other’s wallet
Buck sits in the passenger seat of a sleek black helicopter, looking out at the expanse of clear blue sky and high afternoon sun in front of them. Tommy's in the pilot’s seat next to him, deftly guiding them out of the city. They’re doing a loop over Angeles National Forest towards Mt San Antonio and back. It's their last day off together before a stretch of 48s and overnights keep them apart for the better part of a week. Tommy had suggested a date and offered flying lessons, and Buck had jumped at the opportunity to see his boyfriend in his element.
They turn northeast and settle out at altitude, and Tommy flicks a few switches on the instrument panel. Buck observes his actions, referencing his notes from the last time they flew, and calls out the purpose of each control Tommy touches.
The muted thwump thwump thwump of the chopper blades repeats in the background, and Tommy’s voice comes through his headphones, staticky but comforting in its familiarity. He says something about a mast moment indicator, which Buck doesn’t understand but tucks firmly away into the folder labeled “ask again later”. He can easily picture a long drawn-out dinner conversation where Tommy explains to him the inner workings of the helicopter. One where Tommy’s hands grow animated in his passion and where Buck drinks in every word. They continue on in relative quiet, Tommy speaking to quiz him or give instruction, and Buck can sink into that feeling of contentment he feels radiating off of Tommy as the mountain grows nearer.
It’s not until he shifts, leaning over Tommy to get a better view of the ground below, that he notices the photo tucked into a corner of the dashboard. The photo is on Tommy’s right, in the perfect spot to not block his view of any of the controls or readouts, but unfortunately obstructed from Buck’s view in the passenger seat by the curve of the instrument panel. It’s an image of him, a candid moment from one of their hikes in Topanga State Park. The trail and brush stretch out behind him, and Buck’s frontlit by the setting sun, skin glowing a warm gold. Tommy caught him mid-laugh, and Buck has on what Maddie has dubbed his “Tommy smile”. He can remember them going through the photos from that date later the next day, Tommy easily proclaiming it his favorite among the many selfies and candid shots of the evening.
Buck has a favorite photo of his own from that date, one that’s made its way to be his phone’s permanent home screen. It’s Tommy, stopped at the crest of a hill with the ocean visible in the distance behind him. He’s sweaty from the heat of a California summer, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, basking in the salty ocean breeze. Buck had taken the photo as he’d trailed after his partner, phone held sneakily out in front of him so his boyfriend didn’t notice and immediately grow shy at having a camera pointed at him. He’d snapped the photo and then promptly tripped over a rock, drawing Tommy’s attention and ruining any chance at another candid shot.
He’s drawn out of the memory by a soft “ah!”, Tommy having caught him looking at the photo. His boyfriend gives him a smile that is somehow both shy and sure, able to be simultaneously confident in his affection for Buck and nervous of the reception. “Gotta have my good luck charm with me,” he states, words said so casually that they’re easily presented as fact. Buck grins, smile so wide it hurts his face, and he’s sure that if Chim were present he’d be making fun of Buck for the obvious heart-eyes he must have. He doesn’t mind, though, because Tommy’s answering grin is just as fond.
Tommy’s the one to draw his eyes away first, after seconds or minutes, Buck can’t tell. His focus shifts to the airspace ahead of them, ever the attentive pilot, and he clears his throat, getting back to the lesson at hand. Buck chuckles and turns to a fresh page in his notebook, more than willing to sit back, drool over his boyfriend’s competence, and enjoy the views.
Y/n: petition to remove the 'd' from Wednesday
Dream: Wednesay
Y/n: Not what I had in mind, but I'm flexible
---------------
Y/n: Dream, stop! This isn't you, you've gone mad with power!
Dream: Well of course I have.
Dream: Have you ever tried going mad without power?
Dream: It's boring.
---------------
Y/n: Today is a day of running through hurdles.
Ranboo: Aren’t you supposed to jump OVER hurdles?
Y/n: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.
---------------
Y/n: Ranboo... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?
Ranboo: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned.
Y/n:
Y/n: I wrote sanitize, Ranboo
---------------
Y/n: Sorry it took me so long to bail you out of jail
Sapnap: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t’ve used my one phone call to prank call the police
---------------
Y/n: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming
Sapnap: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak
---------------
George: Welcome, fellow idiots
Y/n: Hello, George
George: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot
Y/n: You underestimate me
---------------
George: *Gets down on one knee*
Y/n: Oh my god, it’s finally happening.
George: *Falls over*
Y/n: The poison is kicking in.
---------------
Tommy: Change is inedible.
Y/n: Don't you mean inevitable?
Tommy, spitting out coins: No, I did not.
---------------
Tommy: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Y/n's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get them out...
---------------
Tubbo: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running?
Y/n: Oh, I’m always running
Y/n: The question is from what
---------------
Tubbo: I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are.
Y/n: It’s not a joke.
Y/n: *sniffles*
Y/n: I’m a legit snack.
---------------
Foolish: Lol heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this lmfao
Y/n: What did you do op?
Foolish: A MISTAKE
---------------
Y/n: Foolish...
Foolish: Oh no, 'Foolish' in b-flat.
Foolish: You're disappointed.
---------------
Technoblade: WHAT’S YOUR TYPE
Y/n: Anything, honestly, but nerds especially
Technoblade, desperately, as Y/n bleeds out: YOUR BLOOD TYPE
Y/n: Oh! B positive.
Technoblade: DONT TRY TO CHEER ME UP JUST TELL ME YOUR BLOOD TYPE
Y/n:
---------------
Technoblade, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something.
Y/n: I saw a squirrel in a tree today!
Technoblade, with the tone of someone who is used to Y/n: Outstanding.
Technoblade: This is what I’m talking about people.
---------------
Technoblade: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you.
Y/n: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.
Technoblade: Absolutely not.
---------------
i accidentally hit post on this too early so if you saw this b4 it was finished- no you didn't
ANYWAYS enjoy, because the last one got over 300 likes so
1.3k, Milva & Jaskier, reference to torture, flashbacks, hurt/comfort, potential (mild) book spoilers
In a quiet moment in Brokilon, Milva and Jaskier come to understand each other
AO3
“Rience is dead.”
The words came from the witcher's mouth with a wheeze. It wasn't a name she recognised, but then why would she. She waited for the bard's response. When none came, she risked a glance in at them. Jaskier sat with his back to her, leaning over Geralt. The witcher was still bed-bound. Sometimes she wondered how he was still breathing. For the first time since she met him, the bard was quiet. It was unnerving. When he eventually spoke, she had to strain her ears to hear.
“Are you sure?” There was a wobble to his voice. An uncertainty that she only ever heard from him in moments like this, when she really shouldn't be listening. But she couldn't help it. These people were strangers in her home. Her safe place. The witcher, she understood. Eithne vouched for him. They had a history, an understanding. The bard was a different story. Every inch the human. Swanning in here like he owned the place. His incessant chatter and naivety grated on her. He didn't belong here. He belonged in the comfort of cities. In moments like this she wasn't so sure. And that was what irritated her the most.
“Killed him myself,” the witcher replied. The tension eased from the bard's shoulders ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and dropped his head.
“Good,” he said at last, almost at a whisper, “that's- that's good.”
Jaskier turned away and Milva slipped away from the entrance.
“You should rest,” he mumbled, “I'll come back to check on you in a bit.”
The witcher hummed and Milva heard shuffling as Jaskier rose from the ground. He breezed straight past her as he left, either unaware or uncaring of her presence. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed close behind.
“Who's Rience?” she asked as she matched pace beside him. He didn't answer at first, heading away from the settlement. She followed in silence.
“He's a mage.” She almost jumped, she was starting to suspect he wouldn't answer at all. “With a penchant for fire.”
He stopped then and turned to face her. She studied him carefully. He refused to look her in the eye, he looked at almost anything but her. He worried at his fingers, a habit that she had noticed since he got here. He seemed to curl in on himself slightly. There was more to this than that.
“He hurt you?” she guessed.
Jaskier pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. And then he sighed and sat down on a log.
“He wanted information,” he began slowly, “information that I didn't have. But he wouldn't take no for an answer.”
Milva frowned, considering his words.
“He tortured you,” she said as she sat down opposite him. The bard gave a short nod towards the ground. They both descended into silence. She didn't know what to say to that. Something soft. Reassuring. Something like, 'it wasn't your fault' or 'it's going to be okay. They were not words that she could say because she knew that they were not true.
A small child with a bow in her hand who only ever wanted to please her father.
“Life's unfair like that,” she settled on instead, “the world is harsh.”
The bard chewed his lip, thinking over what she had said.
“You're right,” he replied softly, “but forgive me for wanting to believe otherwise.”
She hated him for that. She envied him. To still feel like there was good in this world, that things would work out for you in the end. She wanted to dismiss the thought outright. Call him foolish for entertaining the idea even after what he had been through. What his friend had been through. It was unfair. Unjust. Cruel. And that's the way it has always been. Will always be. The only thing to do was to harden yourself to it. If you saw it coming, it wouldn't hurt so much when it arrived. Yet he, who could worm his way even into Brokilon, who talks and sings incessantly, who has little regard for anyone but himself. He is allowed to think different. That, she decided, was what was truly unfair.
As they sat together, away from everyone else, she allowed herself a moment to feel the weight of it, just as he felt the weight of his own burdens. There was something different about him here. Like she was able to glimpse behind the mask, see the man that was underneath. If it was a facade he had, it was a solid one. But then, was she any different. He looked as though he had more to say, a crease forming on his brow, lips parted slightly.
“I thought-” Jaskier cut himself off and frowned. She waited silently for him to continue. “I thought it would be better when he was dead. I thought I would feel...happier. But I just feel the same.”
Her stepfather on the ground, spitting blood. The rage that had built up inside of her cooling in an instant. She gave him a few kicks and ran.
“If only it were that simple,” she uttered, almost under her breath, but the bard heard it anyway. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. It was like he could really see her. She had his full undivided attention, his sympathy, his understanding. She didn't like it. It was too personal. A part of her wished he would go back to being the idiot she had let into the forest so that she had an excuse to yell at him again. Eventually his eyes slipped away from her and she let out a breath. He seemed lost in thought. The air around them, though heavy, was peaceful and so she dared not disturb it by asking what was on his mind. It wouldn't have took much to guess anyway.
She followed his line of sight down to his hands, where he was rubbing his thumb across his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. It was then that she finally noticed what he was doing. It was faint, but from this close, she could see the scarring. He worried at it rhythmically, soothingly. She couldn't help but lean forward to get a better look. Milva had been around long enough to recognise the tightness of the skin, the change in tone. They were burns. He pulled his hand back suddenly. She looked up to find him staring back at her. He looked as though he'd been caught, though she couldn't understand why. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then stood abruptly.
“I should check on geralt.”
He made to leave. She reached her arm out to stop him.
“The waters,” she explained, nodding towards the scars, “they can heal you too.”
“Oh,” he smiled, the mask was firmly back in place, “don't waste it on an old fool like me.”
Milva wanted to argue, but something in his face told her not to. Instead she stepped aside to allow him past. He offered a small nod as he left, nothing more. She watched him as he walked towards where Geralt lay. The way he stood straighter as he left the safety of their hideaway. As he walked away, she was sure that what was shared between them would never be spoken about again. He was a fool. Fivolous and naïve of what lay ahead. But for a moment, she glimpsed something more, something deeper than that. And, she feared, he had seen the same in her. Well, if the idiot was going to walk straight into a war without thinking to protect himself, she was just going to have to do it for him. She went in search of her bow. It was time to go hunting.
More about James Darby and his siblings from Moments
Moments masterpost
No one asked for this, I’m just getting out of my head and onto this blog haha.
James and what he calls his parents
In Moments, James called John ‘Papa’ and calls his mother ‘Mama’ up until during their stay at Aubrey Hall when he changed it to ‘Mummy’. (Not sure if anyone noticed that switch, I tried to keep it subtle)
Why? Because Benedict keeps referring to her as “your mummy” and James looks up to him so much, he starts calling her Mummy instead 🥹 It’s also why he chooses Daddy for Benedict when they ask, because Daddy goes with Mummy, and James hoped Benedict would love it, and of course he did. (Tbh I think the greatest love story I’ll ever tell is Benedict and James lol.)
As James gets older he changes what he calls his parents. When he is 11 he starts calling them Mother and Father on occasion, mostly in formal settings, to seem more grown up, or when he’s annoyed at them about something (see Moments Epilogue 2). When he’s happy and excited he still calls them Mummy and Daddy until he is about 18.
About James’ parentage
James’ mother never tells him who his true father is until he asks outright. As he grows up his memory of John Darby fades. When he is fourteen he finally confronts his mother about it and she comes clean, saying yes Benedict is in fact his father, telling him she wanted so much for him to know the truth, but also wants him to believe he is the rightful Viscount. She says John was incapable of having children (not exactly a lie) but loved James as his own and always wanted him to be Viscount. James is upset at first but grows to understand why his mother kept it from him. He and the Bridgertons never tell a soul the truth, but rumours swirl his whole life due to his overwhelming resemblance to Benedict.
Relationship with his siblings
There is a 6 year age gap between him and Isobel, 8 years to Amelia and 10 years to Thomas. He is very protective over them all, particularly Amelia whom he is closest to. He knows that Isobel can more than hold her own, but will leap to her defence if needed. Thomas is his baby brother but realises once he grows taller than James that he would turn to him in a fight, not the other way around.
Personalities of his siblings
James is so much like Benedict in looks and temperament, artistic, soulful and empathetic but with a sense of fun. Isobel is a force of nature, intelligent and forthright in her opinions on everything (she idolises her aunt Eloise). Amelia is the sweet, cheeky one who inherited her dads love for pulling a funny face, has everyone laughing with her antics and loves an audience. Thomas is the most easy going and nothing seems to rile him, he is also naturally very athletic and grows up to be the tallest, towering 4 inches over his dad and older brother. I won’t say any more about them, as I have some story ideas for them all 😊
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 59/?
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine & Gwaine's Sister (Merlin), Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Agravaine (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Elyan (Merlin), Percival (Merlin), Aithusa (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Caerleon (Merlin), Queen Annis (Merlin), Morgause (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Gwaine's Sister (Merlin), Freya (Merlin), Sefa (Merlin)
Additional Tags: Grief, Canon Divergence - Episode: s04e01-02 The Darkest Hour, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Merlin's magic revealed to the knights of the round table, I hated the stew scene in Aithusa so I FIXED IT, The knights being great, Aithusa is an adorable baby, What is a dragon if not a scaly cat that can breathe fire?, Gwen is great we love Gwen, Merlin's magic is revealed to Gwen, Uther lives past The Wicked Day, Oh we're getting to the intrigue now, Arthur's incredibly complicated relationship with his father is explored, Arthur actually has a few braincells rattling around in there, Mysteries, Gwaine's nobility is explored, Very minor Arwen (There's some focus on it but it's not the main thing), Uther's never ending suckiness, Morgana Redemption (Merlin), Possibly inaccurate horses for the time but dragons exist so it's fine, Not beta read we die like Lancelot shouldn't have, What happens when an Arthurian nerd watches Merlin? This does
Summary:
“I was born with magic, Arthur. So please, stop saying it’s evil.”
“Merlin…”
“It’s just a tool, Arthur, like your sword. It’s only as evil or as good as the one who wields it.”
it's been a while since we've posted any real writing, but we finished smth a few days ago. it's for Hunter, not Scintillam, sorry, but we had to write something and Hunter was what we could get ourself to type out, so Hunter is what you get
"well why did it take you a few days to post it" well, for one, we had to get it proofread rq(thanks to @artnerd1123 for that <3), and secondly we just... kind of ended up overthinking ourself into a downward death spiral over it. we're not getting into why.
fun fact, actually- this third chapter of Hunter had over FIVE complete rewrites! some of those earlier versions are going to be reworked into later chapters, but the long and short of it is just "it feels too early to jump into the main meat of the story, and we have character building to do" so we're doing a bit more character building
anywhere, here u go
A small, desert planet. Relatively close to Terran Standard Hours, but not quite. Mostly empty, save for an early settlement or two, and a few camps. Temperate for most of the year, despite its ecology. Might not even need terraforming to grow plants. The main issue was the wildlife. But those were all facts for planetary settlers to worry about.
The planet’s gravity was what one was focused on today. It was slightly heavier than something like earth. Not enough to affect day to day life, for the most part.
But it was enough to affect the trajectory of a bullet.
Bang.
“Shit-!”
Nothing new to an interplanetary bounty hunter, however. Just some slight calibrations, that was all that was needed.
Raise the scope by a few micrometers.
Bang.
Increase power to the chamber.
Bang.
A few more micrometers, accounting for the heavier rounds.
Bang.
Steep walls around the camp, nestled in a ravine. Account for tailwind.
Bang.
A stomach flat on the ground. Low. Shields charged, just in case. Comfortable, laying next to a neat stack of fresh mags. The boxy magazines were heavy enough you could kill someone just by hitting them with it. The bullets were large, and each mag held two dozen. Quick kills, long distance, armor piercing. Perhaps a bit expensive to be shooting at common pirates, but everyone would get one.
She made sure she brought enough to share with the whole class.
Two pirates stood nestled behind a rock, cowering from the shooting range their camp had turned into, rifles at the ready. Others were ducked tightly, hugging the ground around the camp as they found cover, while the unlucky ones littered the killbox. The armored ones had holes blown in their chest pieces. The more fragile ones had limb scattered about, a few heads that simply vanished.
“The fuck are you lot waitin’ for?!” The big one yelled from across the way, voice gravely and slightly distorted by a low quality speaker in his helmet. He was bulky, armored, with two sets of arms- clearly the leader, or the closest thing the pirates had to one left. “Get out there or-!”
“All due respect, hoss,” another called, human, frontier accent, “that ain’t happenin’.”
“It’s one hunter!” He bellowed in return towards his uppity accomplice. “One human-! They can’t kill us all!”
“True enough, everyone willin’ to gamble their heads in that open sightline, say aye!” He gave a snarky, shiteating grin as he glanced around at the sheer reluctance that permeated the camp. “... sounds like the crowd has spoken. God bless democracy.”
“Shut up, scragfuck-!”
Bang.
Everyone flinched, and one fell to the ground in a panic, nearly dropping his weapon as the bullet pierced his cover and impacted the dirt next to him.
“It was your idea to set up camp here, ‘hoss’.” The big one growled, hunkering down as much as his frame and joints would allow.
“... that it were, that it were indeed.” He admitted, sucking in a reluctant breath of air. “I said it would be defensible, and… well, it is, but…”
“But, our gods damned camp is getting slaughtered by one sniper because there’s no scragfucking cover!”
“I am acutely aware, hoss-”
“Well then come up with a solution, ‘deputy’-!”
“I am working on it, scragshit-!”
Bang.
“Fuck-!”
The deep, bassy explosion of the bullet exiting the barrel once again shook the nerves of everyone in camp, this time managing to pierce the steel wall one was hiding behind, going limp from their prior crouched position.
He took a breath.
He looked around at everyone at camp, all the crouched figures, the one standing next to him, and all the bodies.
He raised his gun around the rocky corner, slowly deliberately, and tossed it to the ground.
A moment of silence later, and he stepped out from his cover, hands up.
“What are you doing-?!” The boss whispered, gripping his weapon.
“Shh-!”
He stepped forward, towards the mouth of the ravine.
Bang.
Everyone flinched, but no-one flinched quite as hard as the deputy, tripping over his own two feet and landing on his ass as the bullet landed mere inches from his foot.
“Fuck-!”
“Not one step closer, ‘hoss’.” The voice on the other end of the scope called, voice modulated slightly and boosted moderately by the high quality speaker in her suit.
“I ain’t armed! See?” He gestured to the rifle on the ground, slowly accumulating desert dust as he slowly made his way to his feet, hands still in the air. “They pay more for alive than dead, don’t they? Like in the movies?” He forced a lighthearted chuckle, halfway between a smile and a wince.
“We may be in a desert, and you might be dressed like a cowboy, but this isn’t a western.” Ariis retorted, unmoving.
“Look- we… we got a lot of money back here!” He loosened his posture slightly, shrugging. “I’m just saying! We could pay ya a lot more than whatever those hick colonists are payin’ ya!”
“And you’ll shoot me in the back when I come to collect. Or you’ll try to, anyway. Cute.”
“No- ma’am, you have my word, on my gentlemanly honor,” he placed a hand on his chest, and one in the air, “no harm shall come to you, if you deliver no more harm unto us. You can take the money and go.”
“Is that even your real accent?”
His voice hitched a bit, stammering quietly and briefly. “I… y-yeah? ‘Course it is-”
“Oh, so you’re just leaning into the bit, then?”
“Well, I… I-I-I have a reputation to uphold, y’see.”
“I am aware.” She shot, coldly, finger menacingly depressing the trigger slightly, despite no living thing being close enough to witness the threat. “People pay a lot for reputations, ‘y’see’.”
He swallowed a ball of fear, glancing towards the sweet embrace of the rock he was previously hunkered behind.
“Unfortunately for you and your gang, your reputation is the sort that gets me paid just as good dead as alive, because they’re gonna kill you anyway.”
“... w-why uh… haven’t ya shot me, then?”
She shrugged invisibly, not disturbing her firing stance. “Curiosity, mostly.”
“... w-well… if it makes a lick a’ difference, uh… i-it ain’t my gang-”
“Semantics.” She sucked in air, holding it in her lungs.
“... and semantics isn’t my line of work.”
Bang.
A shot through the heart, left arm ripped violently from its socket and flying halfway across the ravine. Dead, instantly.
Exhale.
“This is an odd job, boys.” She called from her perch, smiling under her helmet. “You know what that means? That means I don’t have anywhere better to be. Go ahead. If anyone else wants to be a hero or a smartass, then step forward.”
The stand off continued well into the night. It wasn’t until the sun broke the horizon that the last of them were dead. A few more bullets spent than she’d like, but such is life. Nobody’s perfect.
She took a few souvenirs, just things to show to the client to prove the job was done, and collect her reward. A shootout with some hick gang on a backwater planet… a far cry from the diplomatic assassination from months ago. But there always had to be smaller jobs like this when things got slow, to break up the monotony.
“And they’re all dead?” The representative questioned, looking the hunter up and down.
“Yes, I wouldn’t be back if they weren’t.” Ariis snapped, arms crossed as her attitude was growing increasingly cross. “I did all the paperwork. You can either give me my money, or I can file a complaint with my handler.”
“That- that won’t be necessary, miss Sol-” They coughed awkwardly, and started to fidget with a tablet. “The money will be in your account before you go offworld. Thank you for your service.”
She just wordlessly stepped out. Funny how she always felt more at home staring down a kill zone through a scope in a dusty ravine than in a clean office filing paperwork. Bureaucracy scared her more than any mark.
She was about to hop in her ship after that, at least until she saw a familiar ‘face’ lumbering his way up to her at the shipyard.
“Wait… is that-?”
[There she is.] The voice was deep, heavily modulated and very low quality, using an old speaker to broadcast an ancient translator in a patchwork junker of an environment suit. A juggernaut of a sentient, various multicolored tubes sticking out of and snaking into various ports.
“Uncle Guz!” She called, stepping back down from her ship’s side and towards him, meeting him halfway up the landing pad. “It’s been too long, what are you doing in this backwater?”
[Looking for you, actually.] He muttered, face hidden behind the emotionless, multi eyed faceplate of his env suit.
“For me?” She parroted skeptically. “... I’m guessing it’s not just to say hi.”
[Smart girl.] He handed a tablet off to her, staying silent for a moment as she browsed its contents. [Wanted to take you along for a jank. Gib. J-] Guz smacked the side of his helmet, a reverberating clang startling the technicians, but not Ariis. [Job.]
She just let out a sigh.
“... this isn’t a salvage job.”
[Salvaging isn’t my only culling. Calling.] A very muffled, bubbly groan that wasn’t picked up by the translator barely managed to make its way out of the suit. He was going to need to replace that translator eventually.
“I know.” She handed the tablet back off, the giant shuffling it back into a pack at his side. “But still, was hoping we were going to get drinks or something.”
[Maybe after, toddler.] Another barely audible groan.
“Yeah, that nickname never translates well, even with the new ones.” She chuckled lightly. “Still, I just got done clearing pirates, and now I’m getting dragged along to kill more…”
[No-one is dragging you along.]
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not coming.” She tilted her head slightly. “You wanna take my ship? It’s faster.
[No. Too quiet. If a ship’s too quiet-]
“-then something’s broken, I know.” She sighed. “You’re attached to your junker.”
[Gertrude just has character.]
“A spaceship has as much character as you give it.” She turned on her heel, heading back towards her own spaceship. “See you there, then. Don’t break down on the way.”
[No promises.]
Despite the monotone of the translator, she could feel the sarcasm as he turned and started to board his own characteristically boxy, patchwork ship. Compared to hers, it looked like a brick. That was part of its charm, though. Always was.
TW: mentions of war and implications of death,nightmares.
CW: OC x Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy ending.
Ship: Dimaria ( Dimitri/ Maria( f!oc) )
Summary: a horrible nightmare wakes Maria up, but luckily, she has her loving husband to comfort her.
A/N: please forgive me if my characterization for Dimitri is a little off! I’m still very much a baby in terms of writing fanfic (Ｔ＿Ｔ),also this fic takes place in the Azure Moon route after the war.
Dimitri woke to an empty bed, which led him to the conclusion that something had happened to Maria.
Dimitri got up, looking around, eyes adjusting to the darkness before they locked onto someone.
It was his wife ,Maria, standing by the window, illuminated by the moonlight, sobbing.
It didn’t take Dimitri long to get out of bed and approach his wife, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
“My beloved..what has you up this late? Why are you crying?”
Maria looked up, eyes red from the amount of tears she had shed.
“Dimitri?...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You..you weren’t in bed..a-and as I tried to sleep..I had a horrible dream.”
The woman wiped her eyes before continuing on.
“It..it was..I had dreamt that I was amidst a raging conflict, and I could not find you, it..it felt so real, ‘Mitri, like the war that has just ended, and I wondered what had happened to you, and in that moment, I…I found you..you..you were..”
Maria was brought to tears once again, and Dimitri’s embrace got tighter as she continued to sob.
“It’s alright my love, it was only a bad dream..”
He let go of Maria, turning to face her, and pressed his forehead against hers.
“I’m here. I’m alright, Maria. Now come back to bed, you need rest, my love.”
Dimitri takes her by the hand, leading her back to their shared bed.
“Thank you, dear..” Maria said as she sat down on the side of the bed.
“ There’s no need to thank me, it is simply in my job as your husband to care for you in times like this.”
Maria eventually laid down on the bed, shuffling closer to Dimitri.
Dimitri smiled, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle, but firm embrace.
“Goodnight, my beloved.” He said as he gently kissed the top of her head.
In that moment, Maria realized that she wouldn’t have to handle things alone anymore. She had someone who would be there for her, someone who loved her.
And for the first time since she was woken up by that horrible dream, she shut her eyes.
