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jellisdraws · 6 months

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Retrospective - Chapter 1 (Destiny 2 Fanfic)

Enkidu materialized into the still quiet of the early morning. The small ghost in his black and gold shell hovered over the curled form of his guardian as the first fingers of dawn pushed their way across the cloud strewn sky of winter. He bobbed gently in the air, turning to peer again through the narrow window of Mira’s cramped and cluttered hideout within the ruins of the old Tower. His robotic eye blinked, watching the thin strip of sky above the flowing lights and skyscrapers of the Last City. That view had long been filled by the Traveller, a small slice of enigmatic divinity. It had hung there, the being that had breathed life into him as it died, so he could breathe life into her. Now there was just the foreboding gray of the winter clouds, nearly smothering the light of dawn, but not completely.

He returned back down to Mira, gently nestling into the cradle of her body where she curled, breathing deep and evenly in sleep. She looked much the same as the first day they met; her dark hair a touch longer, some new scars peeking from beneath the heavy coat she was sleeping under, but there was the same careworn face cast in dusky blue, a slight frown that even rest could not dispel.

They had spent nine years together, nine years of adventure turned to unending warfare, of existential threats encountered, opposed, defeated. Gods fell beneath her gun, but friends had fallen along the way too, lost opposing the darkness. The Witness. For all that guardians had the capacity to defy fate, they could not deny death. Mira had been dealing death out with an efficacy that appalled even Enkidu at times. She’d been killing since nearly the moment she had been standing reborn as a guardian of the light. There had been danger of course, threats to their safety that required violence to even allow Mira to survive her first days, let alone get back to the City. Thinking back on it as she shifted around him, something clicked against his shell. He didn't have to glance down to know she was sleeping with her sword tucked between her knees. It was a practice that went back to those early days.

He wished he couldn't count the number of nights they had spent hiding from Fallen and Hive trying to escape old Russia, he could practically fill a calendar with them. Back then she would sleep only when he asked her to, and only if he was present keeping watch. He had told her he was always with her- even when she couldn't see him. It was true: he could act as her comms and see and hear through her eyes and ears. But she liked being able to hold him, or have him bump into her; those little reminders she wasn't alone. Mira was quiet, he supposed it came with what made her a good hunter, but in the beginning she had been almost hollow, machine-like. Not that she was an Exo, she just had a sort of cold flatness to her that shook him from time to time. Given her stoicism in the early days, it had taken Enkidu too long to learn that something was wrong. It had taken him too long to realize she was in pain. Enkidu knew his guardian was hurting still . She had been hurting since the day he had awoken her. It was a wound he didn't know how to fix.

Day: 5

Chapter 1: We Two Are One

The fire snapped, a shower of sparks jumping into the air and Mira tensed, pulling her rifle close, half ready to dodge roll out of the bombed out section of a parking garage she was taking shelter in and begin running again. Her gaze was sharp and haunted as she peered into the darkness through the scope of her weapon, silent and as still as possible. The moment passed into a minute, and still she was peering, watching, looking, finger on the trigger.

Enkidu piped up from his place in her hood, “You can relax- I haven’t heard any Fallen comms chatter for days now, and the hive magic readings have dwindled to nearly nothing since this morning. You can rest.”

“Yeah.” she didn’t move, eyes trained through the scope.

“Mira,” Enkidu said, as gently as he could while remaining firm, “please rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“I know…” she sat back heavily against the rust pitted metal of a broken down old van, the gun pulled across her chest tightly as she huddled down.

“Tell me about it again,” she said, her gaze lost somewhere in the dwindling flames, “Tell me about the Last City. The… Guardians, and their Tower.”

He was happy to do it, his small synthetic voice cutting away at the silence, telling her of the hope that lay ahead. He told her of the Traveler, a silent god that died in the wake of pushing back an all consuming darkness, and whom simultaneously chose to send the ghosts out to humanity with the vestiges of it's light, to kindle that hope that persisted. He told her of the vanguard. He told her of his many years searching for her. The fire burned down and she curled into the trunk space of the van, a tighter space to sleep in. It made her feel secure he supposed.

“Did you always know it would be me?” She said around a yawn.

“Yes and no,” Enkidu returned gently, “I didn’t know you would be you. But I knew that I would resonate with you. I always knew you’d be like no one else.”

“Mm.” He thought he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I searched for you for such a long time… I was worried. I thought… I thought I wouldn’t find you.”

“Mm”

“Mira?”

“Mmhm”

“I’m with you now.”

She groped blindly behind her, fishing the small angular ghost out of her hood as she leaned against the nearly weathered away seat backs, and promptly fell asleep with him tucked to her chest.

“Mira.”

“Mmph...”

She barely felt as though she’d slept before she was jolted awake by Enkidu’s voice. “Mira, wake up! Wake up right-”

An explosion rocked the garage, sending dust and rust sheeting down on her as she scrambled to wakefulness. Enkidu dematerialized, still speaking into her mind,

“Fallen raiding party,” he said, “Probably chasing you. There's not much out here for them to scavenge.” “Probably didn't appreciate the bullet I put into Karrhis’ skull.” she said as she pulled on her helmet, and drew her hood up and gathered her rifle. “I have mapped a possible exit, can you run?”

She nodded. Fallen chatter and scuttling steps were getting closer, fast.

“They're here, Go!” She exploded from her hiding place in the van to the sound of a shrapnel launcher turning the rusted heap of a vehicle into slag. She fired blindly back towards the source of the shots. Heard a gratifying howl as she pierced shields. She sprinted up the collapsed concrete to the top level of the garage, paused to gauge direction. “West, into the trees! Watch for the skiff!” Enkindu urged

She took off, arc bolts flying by her as the Dregs made the roof. She spun, squeezed the trigger twice, two bodies fell in an explosion of ether one after the other. Still others were coming, filing behind cover to take pot shots, she could feel the impacts sizzling in her shields, draining the energy cells. The edge of the rooftop loomed; beyond it, naught but the tops of the pine forest that had overtaken this town; cover, an escape. She lept, and poured solar light into her hands, focusing her fury into the hand-cannon, into bolts of pure concentrated star fire. She illuminated the early morning in a blaze of light, blasting off shot after shot as she spun to face her attackers mid air. They burst into columns of super heated ash, igniting and burning each other away. As the assault party burned into wayward dust, her solar light faded. As she began to fall, she concentrated on landing without breaking an ankle. It would take time until she could gather her light that strongly again, and she couldn't afford to be slowed by anything, least of all-

A glint through the trees. “NO!” yelled Enkidu The bolt from the wire rifle took her through the neck moments before her feet met the ground with bone shattering force. She was dead before her head impacted the ground, yards from where her body lay. But death couldn't stop a Guardian.

Enkidu materialized, and expanded, his shell emanating the restorative light of the Traveler. “I’m with you now,” he said again, “ I'm not letting you go.”

Day 3,321

“You’ve been awfully quiet this morning,”Mira said, glancing up at Enkidu over the dust mask she wore as she repainted her new set of armor. Again. “Something on your mind?” She asked, when he didn't answer right away.

She had taken the morning to tidy her living quarters, dismantling some old weapons and armor into usable components, and had reassembled some of her usual gear into new configurations, testing efficacy, chatting with him about the potential synergies of certain applications of her abilities and the modifications she was testing in her armor. “Not much,” he started, spinning his shell playfully to disguise his low mood. She cocked an eyebrow at him, watching him carefully.

“Just thinking,” he admitted, “ that you've changed.” “Mm?” She glanced at him and sat back, pulling the mask down around her neck and skewing her legs into a tight pretzel, holding her ankles as she looked up at him with faintly glowing golden eyes, “how so?”

Enkidu floated to eye level, and bobbled up and down, separating from his shell slightly- his version of a shrug, “I'm not sure I guess. I was considering it…You're warmer?” “Warmer?” The brow raised again, but her lips quirked too. The shoulders she’d drawn in around her ears relaxed. “I don't know!”

She laughed and gently poked him, “Well tell me when you figure it out, alright?”

“Of course,” He said, floating up as she started shaking paint cans again, eyeing the white and gold chest armor she’d been working on. There it was again, he noticed, as her smile fell and the mask returned to cover her nose and mouth. The tightness around her eyes, something she couldn't shake.

“That's right!” he said. “You figured it out that fast?”

“What- no. Actually, Han and Dusty are back in town,”Enkidu continued, “Ches contacted me. They want to see you.” “No way, really?” She perked up, “It's been ages! Once I finish this we should go find them.”

“You got it, I’ll let them know we’ll see them soon.” He settled into the little nest she had made him on a shelf nearby and watched as she put up her hair, a purposeful gleam in her eyes as she began to paint again.

* * *

“Yo!”

Most of the day had passed by the time Mira had finished reorganizing and crafting her new looks. Still, she chose her familiar red and black armor and cloak and grabbed the rifle that had scarcely left her hands since she’d pulled it from the Egregore aboard the Glykon.

The clouds above the wall had taken on an brilliant orange color, as the light of the setting sun painted them in fiery hue, and Mira sauntered up the stairs past the hanger and rounded the corner into the main plaza and transmat hub. Here, Guardians and ghosts hurried about on errands: interacting with frames, collecting packages from the postmaster or checking Eva’s stock. Rahool was lecturing a gaggle of New Lights on the intricacies of decryption, Banshee was fiddling with Telesto, again. Mira slid past it all like a shadow accented in crimson, head swiveling, until a familiar tinny voice pulled her gaze and she hustled through the crowd toward it. She burst from the throng and lept, laughing, into the arms of a massive Exo clad in highly worn green and orange armor. “Dusty! Holy shit man, I thought you beefed it a long time ago!” She said “I could say the same for you, bird brain,” he laughed, setting her down and tugging at the beak of her helmet’s faceplate, “Still sporting this old thing?”

“ You're the one who said ‘If it ain't broke…,’” her grin was audible through the mask.

A hand clapped her shoulder, and she turned to see the horned helm of Dullahan-12 looming over her, with Chester floating along behind the huge Titan. “Yo!” she said. “Yo,” he said before folding her into a tight hug.

“My… ribs” She gasped in jest but she wrapped her arms round him too and lifted him nearly off his feet.

“It's good to see you, Mira, Kidu,” Dullahan said as she set him down

“You too Han, and I see you back there Ches, You keeping these guys out of trouble?” Mira said, peering past Han’s pauldrons.

“Unsuccessfully, but I soldier on.” came the prim voice of Dullahan’s ghost.

“Keep at it, they may even listen one day.” She laughed, and returned to the two titans, “Well fuck guys, it's been a minute.” “It certainly has,” said Dusty, “Drinks? Rumor out in the wilds is Drifter set up a bar on the HELM?” “You aint seen it? Either of you?”

They shook their heads.

“Been a long time since we were back this way,” Dullahan said. “Then let's go, I’ll cover first round.” She said grabbing

“Aw you're not gonna treat us all night?” Dusty pouted. “I know how much you two can drink, absolutely not.” Mira said, bumping him with her shoulder, or rather bouncing off of his. “We can take my ship.” Han said

“Or mine!” said Dusty

“Dusty, If I never climb into that rust bucket you claim to be a ship again, it will still be too soon.” Han said, “we can take my ship.” “Don't insult the Interceptor like that! I've solved the fuel line problem mostly! It wont blow up again!... Probably.” he said defensively

Mira wheezed, “it’s really been too long.” Soon enough they were racing above the skyline in Dullahan's ship, taking in the view of the Last City as they ascended to orbit and shortly thereafter docked with the HELM. They soon found themselves around one end of the bar set up, chatting in the blue light of the aquarium dominating the chamber as Mira pointed out which fish she had caught to add to the collection. There was a gentle buzz of commotion here, Guardians, Awoken, Eliksni and Cabal all stationed on the HELM used this place to unwind, or access the portal to Titan — Though with Ahsa safe and in an extended recovery period, there had been little reason to dive into the methane seas other than for patrols or to study Oryx’s corpse.

“Sounds like a lot has been going on,” Dullahan said, adjusting the umbrella in his glass before sipping through the straw.

“It has been, it just doesn't stop. There's always some new fuckhead that's lived for eons beyond eons I need to put a bullet into! And they’re chipping away at us. I don't know. Things came… too close on Neomuna.” She scrubbed the back of her head and tipped her drink into her mouth. Letting the ice clink against her teeth as she drained a gin and tonic, she emancipated a small chip of ice to chew between her molars contemplatively, before sighing and returning her glass to the coaster on the bar, making sure she placed it precisely back on the ring of condensation left there already.

“ It feels like I used to have a better grasp of who our enemies were.” She continued.

“Alien. Monstrous. Not… people. Not like us. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we’ve found commonality with them, we need allies and it's important to know some enemies can become friends,” Dusty said, gaze drifting to where a small gaggle of Eliksni had dragged Crow through the door and were encouraging him to sit and relax for a moment - a nigh impossible task, “Some of them are even good friends! But I can't deny it makes the battle lines a whole lot messier.”

“Yeah. I mean, remember the days of delving into the Hellmouth? The Pit? I mean it was scary as shit then but it was exciting? And looking back at it, those days of exploring, of seeking new weapons and armor, even heading back to Europa to find where you both came from - that was the first time I really took joy in being a Guardian- and we were disobeying the Vanguard’s directives! I don't know… everything feels different now and the same all at once. And Im-” She caught herself.

“You’re…?”Han prompted

She shook her head, and turned to wave down the Frame tending the bar for a refill. Dusty raised a metallic brow at Han, who shrugged.

“It feels like we’re coming to the end…” She said quietly, more to her glass than either of her companions, “and I'm not sure if we’ll survive what the Witness has planned- but if we do… I’m not sure what I’ll be afterwards. On Neomuna I, well…” The words dried up.

The two of them hadn't talked about it; she didn't know if he knew, or if he would forgive her.

Sacrifice. Sacrifice was part of being a Guardian. Sacrifice meant accepting pain and loss so others did not have to. She had always been okay with that, until the sacrifice was no longer hers to make. She could have stopped the Witness from reaching the Veil, stopped it from breaching the Traveler, albeit temporarily. She would have slowed it down, held it back. Given the Coalition more time to mount a defense. And all she had had to do was kill Enkidu as the Witness piloted him towards the Veil.

The rifle had been in her hands before she knew it, her ghost in her sights. It would be simple to squeeze the trigger. So simple to end the life of her closest friend, her other half, her grace, her soul. The Witness dragged Enkidu higher and higher into the Veil, connected to the Traveler, and she- she couldn't shoot, couldn't speak, couldn't call him back to her.

It was Nimbus who dragged her ghost away, with the same dramatic flair they brought to life. And when he bobbed back into the air, safe and himself, Enkidu looked to her and the gun in her hands burned like sin. She’d looked away, unable to face him, and made the call to Zavala. They’d lost.

Mira didn't know what to say to her ghost. She’d felt him there, watching her quietly for weeks now. She knew he was hurting. She knew it was her fault. She had created a rift between them, and it was something she didn't know how to fix.

#destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny oc #destiny guardians #oc #my writing #fanfic #Restrospective #awhellstothejoe #joe writes #scifi #messing with canon #destiny fanfiction #destiny 2 fanfiction #d2 #d2 fanfic

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shittybundaskenyer · 8 months

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"This thing, this ain't that bad. It's old as time, believe me, I was there. Havin' a Hive pal is gonna complicate things, sure, but it'll make you so much stronger. Think about the god killing you do on a regular basis… With a bondmate you can kill twice as many without breakin' a sweat."

"So this whole thing is for… god killing?"

"I thought you were a smart girl, starshine."

"I just… Why a monster? Why him?"

"The Light works in funny ways, sister. Anyways, Hive doesn't taste that bad. It's like very stringy, very black chicken."

"I won't eat him!"

"Just sayin'... There's always a way out if things go bad. Trust in Uncle Drifter, starshine. It's gonna be okay."

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bbyfacedx · 4 months

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trying to finish some destiny wips ive been working on for ages and this is genuinely one of my favorite drifteris snippets ive ever written. maybe perhaps i will Finish It

Eris Morn is not a woman who wishes for pity. Sympathy makes her ache nearly as bad as any physical ill she’d suffered; more foreign in her than her own three eyes. The tentative, placating words of others do nothing to put her at ease. Words alone cannot bring back anything she’d lost, sacrificed, or gambled away of her own free will, after all. She isn’t fond of them in the slightest.

The only balm capable of soothing her is a strange one, made from unknown ingredients and applied in a thick layer whether Eris likes it or not. It stings, seeping into her skin, penetrating her down to the marrow each time. He can’t help being obnoxious, she’s aware, it’s simply in his nature. An ointment of his own to rub over the wounds of being known. As much as she’d like to say she knows the Drifter, she doesn’t. Eris has no weapons or words capable of piercing through that thick, cold skin, but she doesn’t necessarily mind it.

Whatever truth lies buried under the Drifter is inconsequential to her. She knows his hands, each scar and callous and imperfection; his voice, the cadence and lilt of it, the way he clips the ending clean off of his words and slurs them into a drawl. She knows that he fiddles with his jade pendant when he’s nervous, upset, frustrated, thinking hard, or holding back excitement. She knows his nicknames for her; Moondust when he’s trying to be romantic, Three-Eyes when he’s trying to push her buttons. Eris knows enough about the Drifter to keep her curiosity sated, for now.

The Drifter’s Gambit is one thing Eris has never bothered to study much. Why should she invest her time learning the ropes of a simple game meant for trigger-happy Guardians to shed the blood of aliens and their own? How could Eris hope to participate while she had nothing but an Ahamkara bone in hand and Stasis replacing her Light? Why was she pacing around the Drifter’s alleyway, eyes darting impatiently from the open grate to the swirling bank of motes to the jade coin discarded on the table? More questions with answers that Eris will never know.

#destiny 2 #eris morn #d2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #drifteris #drifter #ann writing

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nyxmisfortune · 1 month

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The Dark Woods - Destiny 2 Masterlist

Fluff-🍄

Angst-🥀

Romance-💐

Platonic-🌱

Polyamorus-🌼

Headcanons-🍁

Cayde-6 The Crow Lord Shaxx Eris Morn

Failsafe

Being bestfriends with Failsafe🍄🌱

#Cayde-6 x reader #The Crow x reader #lord shaxx x reader #Destiny 2 #fanfiction #destiny 2 fanfiction #Eris morn x reader #nyx writes

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farmergilesofham · 11 months

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The Vanguard Swimsuit Fic, part 2

"Guardian! What brings you here so early?"

Saint-14's slightly tinny voice echoed across the mostly-empty hangar, causing one or two people to turn and look for a moment, before drearily getting back to their own 4 a.m. work.

"Well..."

"Something is wrong?"

"Not... exactly. I'm- hmmm..." the Guardian mumbled, so quietly that Saint leaned in a little nearer.

"Alright, enough stalling," The Guardian finally managed, stepping conspiratorially even closer, hoping the vast metal space would not pick up enough of what followed to embarrass them, "I'd like to ask if you'd... like to..."

"Anything you need for help, I can do." Saint cut in, voice just barely lowered, placing a reassuring hand on the Guardian's shoulder. The Guardian wrung their hands, staring at the ground for a few more agonising moments before finally asking:

"Would you like to be... in a calendar...?"

There was a moment's pause. The Guardian's breath caught.

They looked up. A pigeon had flown up and landed on Saint's shoulder, and the towering Titan was now stroking its head with a single finger, thinking.

"What calendar is this, Guardian?"

"Um. Well, uh. Y'see, the uh... the Eliskni Quarter rather needs some more funding, but without the handy presence of space pirates, the Vanguard's been a bit shot on how exactly they can drum up any money."

The Guardian paused, but Saint gave no comment, so they went on.

"So uh, I had the idea that perhaps if we made something as desirable as pirate... ahem, uh, 'booty', then maybe we could fleece-- I mean, convince other guardians to spend their hard-earned glimmer on it, then send all the proceeds to building up the Eliskni Quarter?"

Saint looked down at the Guardian, contemplating for just a moment before bursting into raucous laughter.

"Huh- what-"

"Guardian! Goodness, I thought you were here to suggest something dangerous! I will gladly do anything to help Misraaks and our Eliskni friends!"

"Now tell me, what exactly do you want me to do for this calendar?"

About thirty paces away, Juan José Partinax was typing up some work emails, looking studiously at his screen while straining his ears to hear what The Guardian (Crota's bane!) was saying to Saint-14, as they stood conspicuously huddled together. The enormous, smooth metal hangar was usually too loud to hear anything, but this early in the morning, the sound travelled undisturbed for long enough to just about make out what they were saying.

What he heard soon brought a reddening heat to Juan's cheeks, and it took a few seconds for him to realise he had already sent the final email, though his hands still tapped absent-mindedly at the holographic keys. A heavy clang signalled the docking of an early courier, right as the Hangar-worker took a furtive look at the two legendary figures.

Saint was laughing again, and this time was joined by the Guardian until both lightbearers' knees grew shaky, the Guardian even stumbling before calming down.

"HEY, JUAN! YOU SAID YOU HAD A PACKAGE FOR ME?"

The familiar voice cut through the near-silence of the Hangar, leaving Juan with just one more second of staring, before he turned somewhat reluctantly to shout back at Go Sangbu, the lovely - if very loud - jumpship clamp operator.

"Oh, and, Saint?"

"Yes, Guardian?" the Titan boomed, voice still on the very edge of a chuckle.

"Let's have that bet. Ten thousand Glimmer says you can't manage it."

"Ha! You will lose your money, Guardian - I do not wish to part you from your hard-earned Glimmer so easily!"

"Yeah yeah, we'll see. The day anyone manages to convince him to wear so much as a pair of shorts, I'll eat my hat."

And with that, the fellow guardians shook hands, said their farewells, and waved goodbye. Feeling a good deal better about themselves, the Slayer of Gods practically skipped back up the stairs to the main Tower courtyard, barely containing their glee at managing to get the big ole pigeon-lover's support in this silly endeavour.

Saint, meanwhile, was beginning to seriously wonder how he was going to convince Osiris to wear a bikini.

xxxxx

End of Chapter 2! The silliness continues

Next time, on The Vanguard Swimsuit Fic:

Will Lord Shaxx be as easy to convince as the bird-loving Saint? Find out next episode in: "Shaxx's Claymore"!

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 guardian #saint 14 #destiny 2 fanfiction #the vanguard swimsuit fic #part 2 #destiny the game #destiny titan #destiny exo #destiny fanfiction #very silly #lord shaxx #the drifter #and more to come #lightfall #destiny osiris #o14 #the big bad destiny calendar fic

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a-sweeter-solarsystem · 11 days

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Hi I'm feeling insane about destiny again and I'm slowly working my way through rewriting Red War (and other campaigns/seasons) for shits and giggles. There's also gonna be some creative changes here and there but if y'all wanna check it out I'm gonna keep them all on ao3 :)

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny guardian #destiny guardian oc #oc #original character #destiny au #fanfic #fanfiction #destiny 2 fanfiction

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flowers-of-io · 9 months

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the negative spaces

A register of tokens and gestures exchanged before the end of siblinghood.

Word count: 7,839

Read on Ao3

#please please give this story love i poured my whole heart and then some into it #the greatest catharsis i have had all year…#my fics #keeping up with the osmium dynasty #the navigator #aunt savathûn #little war sister #hive #destiny 2 #oryx the taken king #savathûn #xivu arath #destiny 2 fanfiction

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bandit-prince · 6 months

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In His Image - Chapter 1 - Eternal_screaming_void - Destiny (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

“Are you prepared? Or will you be..boring?” The flickering orb of Toland’s form pushes through the moon’s fog towards the Exo Titan, hovering eye to theoretical eye. “I have something to show you, knowledge for the taking, if you can take it.” During his handful of years as a guardian; Darrix had spent more time with Toland than was probably good for him. They’d been warned he wasn’t to be trusted. They knew better. Yet Toland was the second most scholar when it came to the Hive, and he wasn’t as picky about the more complicated questions as the first. Eris was keener to dance around those complications. Though, Toland wasn’t one to give Darrix the answers freely. “Where are we going?” They ask, head tilted slightly. Toland doesn’t answer, instead disappearing in a flash, as he almost always did. Darrix sighs, running a gloved hand over the top of their helmet. “Alright. Guess I’ve gotta find you again. As usual.” Dipstick, Darrix’s Ghost, is quickly at his side, scanning the area to be sure he was safe out in the open. “I’ve got a bead on his location, but it’s not one of his usual spots. It’s down in Sorrow’s Harbor, do you remember how to get there from here?” Darrix nods, giving the Ghost an affectionate pat. “Yep, I remember. Might make a pit stop and say hi to-“ they break off, static crackling in their throat. “…Forgot she won’t be there. Never mind. Come on, let’s go.”

#Darrix: tiny titan #toland the shattered #eris morn #destiny 2 fanfiction #destiny 2 #ikora rey #Echo: Hunter extraordinaire #the hive #hive destiny 2

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phantomwarrior12 · 2 months

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War Wrought Reunions (Chapter 6)

She lit up.

There is no other way to describe the straighten of her spine, the raise of her shoulders, the unclench of her fists.

All because she saw him.

Crow balances his blade on the tip of his finger, sunset flickering along her frame and then back to her helmet visor.

Over his shoulder, there is shouting and tension but she doesn't seem to pay it any mind as she stops beside him.

"Not sure I'd go in there if I were you," he quirks a smile and she tilts her head. Her visor drifts back to the commotion and then to him like a silent question.

"You caused quite the ruckus out there, Old Light."

She shrugs and he arches a brow. She doesn't care. Guess she really takes no matter the cost to heart. That shouldn't surprise him about her but still. The alliance is so fragile. Barreling in like that, killing all those Cabal - she's usually more pragmatic, usually so much more aware of circumstances.

Perhaps Savathûn has her wound up as well.

The Witch Queen escaped after the ritual. From what Crow had heard, she dumped Osiris there and vanished. Mara was pissed. Saint, relieved. But the Young Wolf? He can't get a read on her.

So much has happened since the last time he was in the City. Has she really changed all that much?

Come on.

She beckons wordlessly with a jerk of her head, moving toward what very well could be the scolding of a lifetime.

Still, Crow flips his blade once more before sliding it into its sheath, trailing after her. As they approach, his eyes flicker over the various parties; the irritation from Caiatl is palpable but his Hunter doesn't pay her any mind.

She's either brave or very, very foolish.

"Guardian, what fortuitous timing." Zavala straightens when his gaze settles on the Guardian. As she comes to a halt beside Saladin, Crow moves behind her, his eyes flitting from the Commander to the Empress as he settles with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Indeed," Caiatl agrees, a degree of anger in her voice.

Crow snorts softly behind them all, drawing Saladin’s gaze and a stern, reprimanding look at that. The Gunslinger doesn’t react as the Iron Lord turns back, gazing at the Young Wolf expectantly.

And yet, she seems completely at ease. Her hands hang at her sides, her helmet angled up toward the Empress as Caiatl speaks.

“I’m fresh from performing Cabal funeral rites. Care to explain?”

As expected, the Young Wolf defaults to her Ghost answering for her. But as Ghost begins to speak, her gaze shifts abruptly to him, as if surprised or…expectant?

“Our condolences, Empress. Your people fought and died with honor. But they didn’t have to.”

Crow watches the Guardian look back at Caiatl, apprehensive, perhaps, beneath that helmet. She’s always so thorough in veiling her true emotions, certainly more than Crow would like. She’s indecipherable most times when he wishes she were transparent with him.

Now is no different.

Especially not after Savathun’s reveal.

Caiatl’s frustrated growl draws Crow’s focus back to the present, away from gazing at the hood of his - well, of the Guardian.

“We can all prevent future losses if we choose to put the incident on Mars behind us and work together.” Zavala intercedes smoothly, taking a step forward and gestures in an almost placating manner with both hands extended palm-up at his sides. His weight shifts before he draws a holoprojector from his belt. The soft click of the device reveals a visual of - a Hive Knight? But larger, bearing a shield.

Crow’s brow furrows as he leans, shifting his weight to his right hip as he stares at the projection.

Is this what you fought aboard that ship?

“What we discovered there is a threat to both humanity and the Cabal.” Zavala says, gazing up at Caiatl intently.

The Empress angles her head, intrigue flashing across golden eyes. “You want my help.” Less a question, more a statement.

“Want is a strong word.” Saladin interjects, both Hunters’ focus shifting to him and then back to the Empress.

The Guardian has begun to grow restless, her fingers tapping lightly against her holster along her right hip. Crow’s eyes are drawn to the barely detectable disturbance. She wants to leave. To get back to the fight before things worsen.

But she needs an answer. To know whether or not she can rely on Caiatl and her forces in the coming fight. To know if she will have to kill more Cabal.

Caiatl’s chin lifts, a degree of smugness in her voice as she answers the Iron Lord’s correction. “You need my help.”

The Commander speaks up before Saladin can respond, “I don’t know how the Hive came into possession of the Light. Ikora will find out. But in the meantime…” His eyes lift to Caiatl.

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” Her hand clenches into a fist on the final word.

“Sun Tzu?” Saladin’s gaze lifts in barely contained surprise.

“I’ve read your texts.” The Empress returns cooly before her eyes moves back to the projected Lucent Knight, “You want us to hit them.”

“I need us to hit them. Hard.” Zavala corrects, deactivating the projection and clenches it in his fist. Caiatl meets his gaze steadily before she chuckles softly.

The decision is made, seemingly in a single glance between leaders.

“Then hit them, we shall.” She says, gesturing to her Psions and they turn, preparing for her departure.

The Commander and Saladin move past the Young Wolf, each giving her their own form of an expectant, chiding look before heading back toward the Courtyard.

The Guardian turns to leave as well but not before Crow steps forward, uncrossing his arms so he can catch hold of her forearm. His voice lowers as her head turns toward him curiously.

"Rooftop?" He asks and she straightens, giving a firm nod.

"See you there," he squeezes her gauntlet gently before letting her pass.

—

The sound of her boots alert Crow of his Guardian's approach. He tears his eyes away from the Traveler, pivoting to face her.

"It's good to see you again," he manages softly, taking a few steps toward her.

She almost lunges forward, he can read her well enough to note the restraint in her movements. Instead of an embrace, she gives him a nod, holding a few feet short of him.

Keeping her distance. Prepared for the worst.

He's the one who closes the distance, much to her surprise. He's the one who lifts her hood off and gently removes her helmet. Traveler, she looks exhausted. There's no spark in her eyes, but there are bags beneath them.

She looks ready to drop.

"You look like you've had a hell of a day."

"You try getting thrown out of a Throne World." Her head sags forward, resting on his shoulder as Crow chuckles softly.

The fact she’s so willing to ease into whatever form of contact Crow will allow is a good sign. It means their last parting wasn’t as…damaging as Crow believed it was.

"I'm sure the scolding you got didn't help matters." He teases gently, laying his hands on her waist. It's as if all the tension drains from her frame beneath his touch. They stay there for a long moment, basking in silence and a comfort both have been denied for a long time. But she doesn’t reach for him. Her hands hang at her sides, fingers partially curled as they simply stand there. When she starts to keel forward into him, his grip tightens to steady her. Her hands snap up, curling around the front of his shirt, "Whoa, easy." He adjusts his stance, "You sure you're alright?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, pressing into the crook of his neck. She seems to have caught herself but the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

"You should probably get some sleep," he adjusts his grip, scooping the Hunter up in his arms.

"I'm fine," she protests even as he sits with her in his lap.

Stubborn. Always so damned stubborn on everything.

"Yeah, fine isn't the word I'd use. How long has it been since you've gotten any sleep?"

"...next question." Her arms loop up around his neck and she makes herself comfortable. Her breath against the side of his neck is damned distracting when he’s trying to reprimand her.

"Guardian," he scolds lowly.

She squeezes him in response, outright ignoring the tone of his voice in favor of kissing the side of his neck innocently.

To hell with it. He doesn't have the heart to argue right now anyway.

"I missed you," he manages after a few minutes of silence.

Her answer that follows isn't verbal. She presses another light kiss to the side of his neck before snuggling into him. It's confirmation that he'd been missed as well - sometimes he wishes she'd just say it.

She’s left so much unsaid between them but then again, so has he. He needs to broach Uldren's death. Her role. The memories - but she's so warm. Solid and comfortable and soothing tucked against him. He can swear he can make out a soft snore after a while.

The Guardian fell asleep.

His eyes drop to her, tucking a few strands of hair back away from her face before tilting her head up.

Traveler, he has missed her.

He's still angry, at least, to some degree. But his need to be near her outweighs that resentment churning in the pit of his stomach - at least right now.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The tension around her eyes ebbs in her sleep even as the rigidity in her shoulders falters. She almost melts against him.

His thumb traces that familiar scar over her brow, taking his time with each marred inch. How many new scars? How many sleepless nights?

How much has his Guardian changed?

—

He can’t…how could any of them be okay with this?

Lucent Hive are a threat, yes. But they don’t deserve this. To be trapped in their minds while a Psion pushes and prods and seeks the answers they require.

Perhaps it reminds him too much of Savathûn's efforts in months past. The prodding questions. The uncomfortably insightful observations. The games she played with all of their heads.

With Crow, she was fairly straightforward after her Osiris guise was dropped.

But how much had she toyed with the Queen of the Reef?

How much did she drudge from the Guardian’s past to sew discourse and stagger Earth's champion?

How much damage did she do to the Vanguard's strongest warriors?

Regardless, their efforts and essential compromise of the Vanguard's morality is not something Crow can stand for. They're better than this, why would they stoop so low?

Crow doesn't care about the answer, only that he puts an end to this.

And there's only one woman he can rely on that for. But it isn’t easy to catch the Young Wolf before she departs each time. She’s usually in and out in a matter of minutes.

Thankfully, this time she’s waiting for whatever intel the Psion pulls and Crow has a chance to talk to her.

He moves up alongside her, bumping his shoulder into hers and her head lifts.

Traveler, you look just as tired as you did the day I returned.

“Long time, no see, Guardian.” He says warmly.

She doesn’t have a direct say in any of this but…she does have the Commander’s ear. If she agrees with Crow, she can talk to him, maybe get him to put an end to this.

It’s inhumane and…the Vanguard shouldn’t stand for this.

Her head angles toward him, her arms uncross and the Guardian rests the back of her hand against Crow’s.

He's grateful she's returned to initiating points of contact. With the way things have been between them, he feared she'd keep her distance. That he would have to approach her each time and be the first to broach that invisible barrier.

He smiles over at her, turning his wrist so he can slot his fingers between hers. Her head tilts in surprise and he smiles softly.

You're always so…sweet about things like this. Like you don't expect it.

She surprises him by curling her hand around his and pressing into him. Her head rests on his shoulder and she breathes a weighted sigh though she feels as though she relaxes. As if his touch had brought her a respite from the weight on her shoulders.

Can he really add one more thing to her list of burdens?

No. It wouldn't be right. She is fighting a war on two fronts…Crow will deal with this his way.

For now, he holds her hand tightly and he waits with her. He savors these fleeting moments alone with her while she clings to his touch and no doubt, reminds herself what humanity feels like between stints of being the only weapon Earth has that can consistently slay gods.

Lord Saladin emerges from the chamber probably closer to a half hour later but it feels so much shorter. A matter of minutes.

The Young Wolf lifts her head, straightens up but she does not pull her hand from Crow’s. If anything, she holds it tighter while her mentor addresses her.

His briefing is succinct.

She has her next target. Another Light-recovery op. Another fireteam that never reported in.

The Iron Lord departs and Crow looks over at her.

She looks distracted, no doubt already going through logistics and potential strategies.

He loves watching her mind work but for now…for now he has to reason out his own strategy to handle this…delicately. But he's not about to let her leave without a proper goodbye.

Crow steps closer, drawing her gaze from the floor and she summons a dazed sort of smile. Her eyes are still distant but the moment he touches her cheek, they clear.

Emerald sparks and searches his feature. Her fingers curl tight around his and her smile is warmer as she inclines her head into his touch.

"One of these days, we'll have that chat you promised me."

The promise she'd made in a note she left for him during the Dawning. A vow to talk things through, mend whatever they have in - hopefully - its entirely.

"When the Witch Queen is dead." She squeezes his hand, "When we're safe."

There will be something else that rises from her ashes. Some other hellish nightmare they must endure while she tries to find a solution.

Crow knows this and yet, he gives her a smile and a nod.

"Gonna hold you to it, Old Light."

She leans in, resting her forehead against his and he can't breathe. She's - she's rarely that close. Close enough that a simple tilt of his head would allow him to do the one thing he's ached to do since the day they met.

And yet, he holds steady. He closes his eyes and enjoys her proximity - soft, warm breaths against his skin. Her Light dancing on the edge of his senses.

"Be careful out there," he manages at last; a breathless whisper against her lips.

"I'll see you soon, my Little Light." She lifts her hand, stroking her thumb over his cheek three fleeting times before she forces herself to withdraw. Before the only point of contact is firm grip on his fingers that all too quickly falters as she moves past.

Until he can no longer hear her footsteps and his palm feels oddly cold and heavy. Until he opens his eyes and he is alone save for the soft beeps echoing from the room before him.

Crow’s eyes drift to the door before him before he turns and moves toward the Psion chamber. He knows what he must do now. What the Vanguard needs to do.

This hell ends here and now.

—

It all went so wrong.

The Psion - he hadn’t meant to–

The Guardian had arrived in the aftermath. Saladin tearing the Gunslinger a new one over his actions with sparks dancing around them. The smell of death had begun to settle over steel paneling, fluids coating the floor.

It was awful.

And when all was said and done? When Saladin left and it was just the two of them?

Crow looked to his Guardian and there was no way to tell how she reacted. She stood there, steadily holding her weapon, taking in the carnage.

She never looked at him once.

He couldn’t stomach facing her - he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in her eyes again. So, he left. He planned to face Caiatl and make whatever amends he must to pay for what he’s done.

Crow never expected Saladin to offer himself up. To take the fall and leave with the Empress.

Zavala’s anger was tangible but here and now? With his Guardian a mere few feet away? The Guardian is silent and, to some degree, an unpredictable factor. She had been close to Saladin. He was her mentor, her friend, her confidant after Cayde’s passing.

And now Crow has taken Saladin from her, too.

“You’re angry with me too, aren’t you?” Crow keeps ample distance between himself and the Guardian.

Her eyes are locked on the axe leaning on the console, her fingers tracing along the pendant so slowly that it unsettles the Hunter.

“Say something.” He pleads, taking another step closer. Her head turns slightly in his direction with an abruptness that forces him to retreat again.

“These are for you,” she says at last, her hand falling away from the pendant as she steps away. He watches her cautiously - he can’t get a read on her. Usually there’s something; a twinge in her voice, a shift in her body that tells him exactly what she’s thinking but now? Now it’s impossible to decipher.

She’s standing off to the side, allowing him a path toward the items Saladin had left him but her head is still turned toward them. He thought she and Saladin didn’t get along - or perhaps it was the sort of friendship where she could get away with the pranks her Ghost described because Saladin allowed it. He knows her Young Wolf nickname stemmed from the Iron Lord - perhaps they were closer than he thought.

His feet carry him to the axe and he tentatively reaches out, fingertips grazing the cool metal. “I don’t deserve these.”

“He thinks you do.”

“Do you?” Sunset flickers to her visor.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She returns calmly but he can hear the resentment sparking on the edge of her voice.

“Guardian–”

She holds up a hand to silence him and his jaw clamps shut.

“Don’t do him the dishonor of refusing him this, Crow. He made a sacrifice for you. Don’t lament over it. Don’t…waste it.” Her head tilts toward the axe again, “Be the Guardian he believes you can be.”

She moves past him and his hand snaps out before he can think better of it. He grips her forearm, halting her but she does not meet his gaze.

“You used to have that kind of faith in me.”

She doesn’t answer, her head turning away a bit more so all that he can see is her hood.

“Do you really hate me that much? Have I fallen that far out of your favor?” He takes a step closer and her shoulders square.

“I need to–”

“Guardian,” he cuts in gently and her shoulders sag. Another step and his chest is inches from her pauldron. “Talk to me.”

“You won’t like what I have to say, Little Light.” She returns stiffly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

“Is it that cruel?”

“It’s not kind.” She pulls her arm free of his grasp, “We’ll discuss this later.” She takes a step away, “For now…make it count, Crow. Saladin would want it that way.”

She’s gone a moment later.

---

A week later…

She won’t look at him.

The Young Wolf is at the war table, going over god knows what but when Crow took a place just off to her right, her head didn’t lift. Her helmet remained a steadfast veil of her emotion yet Crow can sense the tension from here.

He went to take a step toward her and she turned away, starting toward the vault on the other side of the room. Crow follows but he can read the warning - her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted; don’t touch me is clear yet the Hunter follows.

She’s at the console and he stops beside her, “Guardian?”

Silence, yet her helmet angles toward him a fraction while she continues sifting through the vault contents.

“How long are you going to be angry with me?” He asks softly.

Her fingers still against the panel and his eyes dart from her visor to her hand. He has her attention, perhaps that’s a good thing. His weight shifts as he looks back to her visor, “I didn’t–”

“Think.” She interrupts, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time, “You didn’t think, Crow. You were impulsive. Careless,” she turns to face him squarely and Crow’s shoulders draw back. “Selfish. There were other ways, other options but you thought you could handle it yourself.” She steps closer and Crow’s eyes drop; they’re inches apart and it’s not like any other time she’s ever been this close.

Solar sparks against his senses, a dangerous flare of her temper manifesting far too close to him. But he doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t dare. Because if he does, she’ll withdraw and Traveler only knows when he’ll see her again.

“And Saladin paid the price,” her voice is low and holds an edge he’s never heard from her before. It sets his nerves on edge - for the first time, he feels something akin to fear of the Young Wolf. A flare of memories from the Citadel - the last time these emotions had surfaced and Crow reaches for her instinctively as he always does when the memories flare.

But this time, this time she doesn’t hold him. This time, the Young Wolf pushes him back against the wall beside the vault panel, holding him there with a forearm over his chest and panic wells in his throat.

“Guardian–” He whispers, a desperate plea as his hands hang uselessly at his side.

She must see the fear in his eyes because her arm withdraws and she retreats a step. Her head diverts immediately, “I need time, Crow. I’ll see you again when I’m ready.”

Her hand comes down hard on the button to retrieve a weapon and it transmats into her hands. She slings it up along her shoulders and turns to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Crow chokes out, stumbling half a step away from the wall, willing himself through the panic.

Her head turns toward him for a moment before she nods and vanishes in a transmat.

He can’t breathe.

Crow sinks to a crouched position against the wall, sucking in an unsteady inhalation as his head falls into his hands.

I’m sorry, please–

The Young Wolf won’t return to the H.E.L.M. for weeks and when she does, Crow wishes it were under better circumstances.

—

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Crow's Guardians: @thejediassassingirl

#crow #crow destiny #the crow #the young wolf #new light #new light fic #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #destiny 2 fanfiction #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #phantom writes

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jadevalentine-writes · 7 months

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Uldren Sov/Jolyon Till the Rachis, Crow & Jolyon Till the Rachis Characters: Jolyon Till the Rachis, Mara Sov, Uldren Sov | Crow, Crow (Destiny) Additional Tags: Angst, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

Jolyon had not been fond of Mara's order to steer clear of her resurrected brother, but he obeyed it, if only for his own sanity. Now Mara was ordering him to do what he wanted to do for years: find Uldren and bring him home.

Chapter 4 is up! :) Enjoy!

#jolyon till #destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #destiny 2 fanfic #destiny 2 fic #jolyon till the rachis #crow

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a-driftamongopenstars · 9 months

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Drifteris, “let me call you mine just for tonight”

ough this made me feel a lot of feelings <3 thank you for the prompt! also on ao3

list of random dialogue prompts // 10. “Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

"Moondust?" The Drifter's surprised voice carries through the dark and dusty interior of her ship. "You called?"

"I have," she returns, beckoning him from where she stands, the green of her eyes seeping through the cloth, illuminating the space alongside her orb and a few dangling lights. The Drifter steps over something scattered on the floor, reaching Eris where she awaits him.

"What's the urgency that I gotta go up on your ship? You know you can visit me on the Haul any time, yeah?"

"Your Haul has too many eyes."

The Drifter opens his mouth for a clever retort that springs to his tongue, but holds it back. Eris' posture, everything about her... the very air is tense and tight.

"Well, what's going on then?" he asks with concern.

"I did a great deal of thinking after talking with Sloane. And I believe I came to some conclusions that I would have you hear."

Her earnestness settles in his chest heavily, crawling at his skin. Eris always talks in such a way that leaves him uneasy, and yet, he finds her comforting. Strange that it should be this way. So he listens.

"When I went into the Moon's depth, I left all of myself there. And what I carried out of there was grief and duty and nothing to my name but this."

Her fingers tighten over the green field around the bone, casting strange dancing shadows around them.

"However..."

"You're starting to scare me, Moon-"

"Hush."

Her fingertips press against his lips, and the Drifter falls quiet, feeling the flutter going up his spine. A feeling he simply can't suppress, one that makes his heart beat in his ears, loud and clear.

"You talk too much. So much," she says quietly. "I've always wondered if with your words you are trying to drown out the same things I've wanted to bury. If you say anything but what you mean, maybe, it will go away."

The Drifter's shoulders feel awfully heavy. And her words brush against the truth, too close.

"But it is not why I called you. I don't want to make things go away any more. I wish them to stay. And I want you, to stay."

"I'm not going anywhere..."

"No. But you will, later. For now, stay. Be my one thing I don't have to bury. Let me call you mine, just for tonight."

He gathers her hand in his, finding her gaze through the bind, knowing that she sees him, damn it, she sees through him, every shield and brick and trick up his sleeve, she tears it apart. No nonsense woman after his own heart, whatever shreds are left of it, she makes them whole.

How does she always talk him into corners, how does she always leave him perplexed with honesty, how is Eris Morn the only one who has seen him for what he is?

He could kiss her.

Damn it, he does.

And her lips drown out every thought in his mind, leaving all but one that matters tonight.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #drifteris #fanfiction #the drifter #eris morn #drifter x eris #driftcreates #writing things half asleep makes for liminal fics

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lizzieraindrops · 3 months

Note

Ikora/Eris (regular or hive flavor) throne world exploration, and/or discussion of hive magic and void light - playing with the idea that void is/was considered dangerous and difficult to wield

this prompt fill got combined with some other things I had going and turned into Chapter 2 of Presence and Absence! thank you for such a thought-provoking idea. enjoy!

Presence and Absence - Chapter 2 (2533 words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Endless vibrant wetlands encircled Savathûn's castle-city in her throne world. Lush vegetation coated the rises. Water filled the valleys, moving too quickly to stagnate, yet too slowly to prevent prodigious blooms of Traveler knew what kinds of algae, bacteria, or other unclassifiable microorganisms.

Few of the Lucent brood bothered Ikora and Eris as the two of them picked their way along the high ground. A distant acolyte did fire one inquisitive shot, but the Void soul Ikora flung in the direction of its patrol squad quickly drained them all of existence. Their forms folded out of this and every reality as neatly as if they had never been. After that, the two humans were well left alone.

The energy her Void had consumed flowed back to Ikora, renewing her connection to it. With some discomfort, Ikora wondered if this felt anything like the tithes Eris had—until very recently—been taking for the past several months.

If so, Eris had walked away from a power that came as naturally to her as a Lightbearer's Light, after she herself had been long bereft of it. No one could deny that she had excelled at the sword logic, once she was the hand behind the blade rather than the throat beneath its edge. Elsie had been right about one thing: the smile that danced in Eris' voice. She had enjoyed this.

It was Ikora's job to worry about such things. And she had, of course, even while defending Eris to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn't. She had never been so profoundly afraid that she would finally lose Eris to her quest for revenge. How could she not, when Eris had become Vengeance itself?

But Eris' strength of character had put Ikora and all her necessary doubts to shame. Now Eris walked by her side lighter than ever: freed from both the shackles with which Savathûn had bid her bind herself, and from the burden of the task she had claimed long ago. She would never be free of what the Hive had done to her—what she had done to herself because of them. But she had proved, to herself and the entire world, that she was far more than just that.

Conflicting emotions knotted tight in Ikora's chest in a complicated snarl. With the intent of soothing it, she dropped her mind into the clear focus required by the Void and called up another Void soul. She did not activate it. She cupped it spinning between her hands for a moment, as if caught in the eddy of a current. Then she released it to orbit about her head like a little ringed moon.

Breaking the silence that had held them since their arrival, Eris spoke. "Your mastery of the Void is...exquisite," she said. As she spoke, she easily kept pace with Ikora’s longer stride, even fully armored once more.

Mild surprise seeped through Ikora, more at her own reaction than Eris' words. She had thought herself long past the point of being affected by flattery regarding her chosen, primal element. As Vanguard, she knew precisely to what degree she was the most competent and effective channeller of the Void currently in existence, at least as a Warlock. Ikora saw no purpose in comparing herself to past Guardians, not least because there was no accurate way to measure such things. On the other hand, Chalco always said to stop being so humble and admit that even then she was quite likely the best, period.

So why did Eris' simple yet genuine praise warm Ikora's cheeks?

"You never were that fond of Void, were you?" Ikora asked. A deflection.

A rueful smile flickered across Eris' lips. She shook her head. "I was always too impatient for its gravity. Perhaps now, after everything, I would be able to hold it differently. But alas, we shall never know.

"Arc called me to run as quickly as I desired. Then it bade me go even faster." Her smile returned sharp-toothed with the memory. She grinned at Ikora. "I could once Blink faster and farther than even you."

Ikora's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh, is that so?" she returned. "You're lucky you never told me that back when we hunted Ahamkara together. Otherwise I would have insisted that you prove it."

The sound of Eris' responding laugh was quiet. Yet it pealed and rang within Ikora as if her body were a bell of finest bronze tuned to its exact frequency. Hearing that unexpected mirth on the rarest of occasions, gradually more often in these last few years...it grew hope in her like a garden. If Eris Morn could laugh again, then even the greatest challenges of their era might yet diverge from their dire straits.

Violet unraveled into indifferent indigo as Ikora's Void soul decomposed into a more typical absence. The two women paused atop a tall bluff overlooking both the Miasma and the Quagmire. The green sky was brilliant and inscrutable with clouds and unknown celestial bodies that did not truly exist. The blunt Pyramid bleeding resonant burnt orange lay in the depths of the swamp like the antithesis of the Lucent city's lofty spires.

"It's funny, isn't it," Ikora mused. "For so long, we thought of Void as the most difficult, the most dangerous element to wield: the most prone to confuse, to corrupt. But you went on to learn to wield far more dangerous powers without falling."

Eris tilted her head back and forth. "Mmm. It is difficult to compare such things now to my previous lives. The powers I have claimed have been more unfamiliar, yes. Perhaps, from such a perspective, that is the same thing."

Ikora acknowledged her point with a yielding gesture of her hand. They began descending the other side of the bluff, following its sheer edge.

"Then again," Eris continued, "I cannot deny that the Hive's preoccupation with the sword logic does indeed make missteps in their spells more likely to be...costly."

Ikora was confident that her face did not betray an echo of her concern regarding the particular immense spell Eris had been casting for the past few months. It was over; Eris was still here. Nonetheless, a twinge of residual unease echoing from the memory of such deep fear unsettled her stomach. "That makes a certain amount of sense."

The two of them stopped again on a low rise of overgrown earth near the water line. Thick-trunked trees and crumbling spires studded the marshland. It was never silent here, where a hundred unknown small creatures flew and buzzed and swam and sloshed and grumbled and fed and grew and died. Some were unlike anything Ikora had ever encountered, even in the outer reaches of Sol’s system. Ikora wondered if any of them were resurrected memories from old Fundament, dredged from the witch queen's oldest recollections.

In the distance, a Lightbearer knight summoned twin Void shields with a resounding roar and flung one after another at a Scorn ravager brandishing a lantern full of sublimating ice.

"I wonder how the Lucent brood interprets the Void. They reject Stasis, yet despite the Void's similarity to it, they don't seem to have trouble using it. Although that may be because we only meet the competent in combat. How does the Hive's distinct concept of death influence their relationship with the ultimate paracausal expression of absence?"

Eris listened to the monologue of Ikora's thoughts as attentively as ever. She was so easy to talk to in some ways, so difficult in so many others. For the moment, Ikora opted to continue in this easier vein.

"Sometimes I still have to warn new Guardians not to get drawn in too deep by that vortex. Even though there are far more dangerous tools at their fingertips these days, it's still a little easier than I'd like to become lost in it. Perhaps, as a civilization on the brink of death, it is the echo of the Collapse that lives in us."

"That may be. But I think it more likely that such risk is the nature of any power."

"Perhaps. Or maybe, as you mentioned, it is more a question of...perspective."

Gently, Ikora reached into thin air and slipped her hand into the Weave.

"Oh!" Strand immediately coiled up her wrist and forearm like an excessively friendly colubrid. "It's very close to the surface here. It tends to be more challenging to summon this far away from Neomuna and the Veil."

"Hmm." Eris stepped closer, peering at it with eyes that were a slightly yellower and more luminescent shade of green. "Savathûn's throne world rests deeper in the Ascendant Plane than our own. And it is, by her own personal design, a realm that embodies thought and consciousness. Perhaps that is why."

"I suspect you are right."

"I did not expect to see you wield Darkness."

No trace of accusation tainted Eris' tone, but inwardly, Ikora flinched anyway. The advent of Stasis had precipitated one of the longest silences between them yet. Ikora had let Eris' letter regarding it go unanswered for so many months. She still hadn't replied, in truth. But hopefully, after everything—after supporting Eris through her ascension to dark godhood, however brief—hopefully, she knew that Ikora did not judge her. She never had. But the Eris who had survived the Hellmouth had always taken judgement in stride more easily than concern.

Ikora gathered a bundle of Strand like a handful of living green fronds. "I did not expect to, either," was all she said. She did not mention anything about how different Strand seemed from Stasis, nor about the intricacies of her mixed feelings toward either element. For now, she let it go.

She took pains to keep her grip gentle and nonurgent on the green fibers, lest they snap or ensnare her. Strand ran like a segment of an otherwise unseen river over the horizontal surfaces of her palms, vanishing as smoothly as it appeared. Then she lifted it up to chest height and held it out to Eris like a peace offering. As far as she knew, Eris had not yet had an opportunity to assess this newest emanation of the Darkness. Among so, so many other things these days, they had not yet discussed it.

"Here," Ikora said. "Careful, though."

With another step closer, Eris skimmed the surface of the spun emerald with the fingertips of one hand. Even before she touched it, it reacted to her with a ripple. Of course it was affected by perception; it was the essence of consciousness itself.

Eris stood only a pace away, hands floating like leaves above the riverbed of Ikora's palms. Channeling Strand as she was, Ikora felt the closeness of another being more intensely than usual. Eris was a ponderous presence in the Weave, a remarkably powerful conflux of catalytic intention, coiling recursively upon herself in unpredictable ways. Ever the Hunter, she was adaptive in the extreme. She was near impossible to pin down, even for Ikora, who had refined prediction to a paracausal art of probabilities with her Light.

Without moving or withdrawing from the magnetic parallel of their palms, Eris looked up.

Her eyes met Ikora's in a moment that rang like a soundless bell. Different threads of verdant potential cast themselves invisibly about their forms. She was very close.

The knowledge that Eris would kiss her if Ikora leaned in dropped into her mind like a plumb line, direct and true.

A few threads of the Strand in her hands snapped like static discharge. They both jumped back. Ikora dropped the ropy bundle back into the Weave and shook out her stung fingers. With the same alacrity, she leapt forward again to ascertain that Eris was unhurt.

"Eris! Are you alright? Sometimes it throws unraveling needles when it snaps. Did any hit you?"

A distinct lack of concern kept Eris' voice smooth as she said, "Only one." She lifted her hand up to eye level to peer at the tiny green needle embedded in her glove. "How curious." She plucked it out with ease and tossed it away as if it were a mere wooden splinter. Before it could hit the ground, it had vanished whence it came.

Ikora grabbed the hand that had been struck and examined it herself. Impossibly, paracausally sharp as it was, the needle had left a pinhole in even the tough chitin of Eris' gauntlet, as clean and perfectly round as if an awl had punched through paper.

"Did it pierce the armor?"

"Only by the smallest amount. Even so, it–"

Ikora had already thrown a healing rift about the two of them.

"Ikora." The annoyance in Eris' voice was balanced with something softer, something perhaps almost fond. "I am, as I know that you know, now, not so fragile. I have had papercuts far worse."

"That isn't the point." Ikora scowled at the pinhole and rubbed at the spot with a thumb.

"Then what is?"

Ikora looked up to answer and found Eris, once again, very close. Closer than comfort would condone, if Ikora were honest with herself. But she had not lived this long, had not become Warlock Vanguard—had not become Ikora Rey—by letting her fears make her back down, back away. She held her ground, and spoke a truth.

"I don't want to hurt you, Eris. No matter how little."

Eris did not retreat, either. She held Ikora's gaze with all the intensity of the soulfire that animated her pupil-less eyes. Her reply came as the softest possible utterance. "Then what do you want?"

"I—ah..." What did she want? It was not a question she often gave thought to, other than the larger-than-life calling to see the remains of humanity preserved and protected; the need to see Eris safe. Furthermore, it was difficult to devote thought to the matter now, with Eris so close, hand still in hers. It only reminded her of the unexpected knowledge that had startled Ikora enough to make this whole scene in the first place.

Eris lifted the hand that Ikora was not holding. It hovered in the space between them, and for a moment, Ikora thought that it would touch her cheek. Her eyes widened. But then Eris lowered it to their clasped hands and gently squeezed.

The rift centered on them collapsed in a puff of humid air.

"Perhaps we might...continue this conversation elsewhere," Eris said, releasing her and stepping back on the damp grass. "Think on your answer. I am curious to know it."

Ikora shook her head to clear it. "Of course," she said, not quite knowing what she meant. But she could not imagine denying Eris an answer. Not now. Not after everything they had been through together. Not less than a week after the fear of losing Eris had shaken her to her core, more deeply than ever before. "Have you found what you were looking for?"

Eris smiled at her. An actual smile, small but unmistakable. Undeniable. "I do believe I have."

They took a last long look over the vast plane of the seething wetlands, then left that gleaming conscious world behind.

#ikora rey #eris morn #erikora #eris/ikora #ikoris #destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #season of the witch #destiny strand #lizzie's adventures in writing #lizzie taking up space #fic #long post #synnthamonsugar #write about ikora long enough and your fic will turn into a philosophy dissertation jflkdsa;skdlfd #this prompt has been living in my head and inbox for MONTHS.#delighted to finally share with you all as im quite proud of it.

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 months

Text

On The Shoulders Of Titans

Fandom: Destiny 2

Pairing: M!Titan Guardian/F!Titan Guardian

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: The light flickered. "I couldn't say. Some of us look for our Guardians for decades, sifting through the rubble and hoping to get lucky." The Exo nodded as if he understood. He didn't, of course, but he could pretend. "I'm so glad I found you. You have no idea how long I've been looking."

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to this foray! But before we begin, a small disclaimer: There was no overlap between Season Of The Splicer and The Dawning. For narrative purposes, however, I wrote this as though they were happening at the same time. Also! I have done my research on Exo anatomy, but I am by no means an expert and have had to make some assumptions. I ask only for your leniency on that front. That being said, I hope you enjoy! 💚

Tag List: @velvet-paradox @crookedmoonsaultpunk @thebrotherofmany @calwitch @stargazerofgoldenwords @differentpeanutpatrolfan

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains self-loathing, canon-typical violence, depictions of mental and physical duress and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

Raised in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, the Exo was stunned to discover that his life was not, in fact, over.

Metalloid pieces clicked and whirred in his auditory sensors, everything too much and too loud all at once as he forced himself upright, his large frame tottering forward a few steps on unwieldy legs. Something small and bright hovered around his head when he collapsed beneath some cover, too exhausted to move again for the moment.

The thing introduced itself in a chipper yet worried tone, saying that it was a 'ghost'. "Actually," it carried on after a pregnant pause, "I'm your Ghost."

"A manifestation of my supposed soul?" The Exo asked wearily, his head hanging between his knees. "That kind of ghost?"

"Oh no, no no. Not that kind. I'm just...well, it might be easier to explain once we get to the Last City. How do you feel? You've been dead for a long time."

Dead. Said so glibly, like it didn't matter. "A little lightheaded. Nauseous. What is all this?" The Exo grimaced, gesturing upwards at the ramshackle, bombed-out structure doing a poor job of shielding him from the driving rain. "Where are we?"

"The Cosmodrome of Old Russia."

Well, that left him with even more questions. The Exo popped his jaw, the motion strangely familiar. "Ghost," He queried finally, "why me?"

The light flickered. "I couldn't say. Some of us look for our Guardians for decades, sifting through the rubble and hoping to get lucky." The Exo nodded as if he understood. He didn't, of course, but he could pretend. "I'm so glad I found you. You have no idea how long I've been looking."

The heartfelt tone of the little machine caught the bulky Exo off-guard, and he extended his hand to it. The Ghost settled into his palm like it belonged there, the points of its...casing? Shell? Body? fitting snugly between his fingers. "I assume I have a directive?" The Exo hesitated, then continued, "I feel like that's what I would need...for some reason."

The lone optic of the tiny Ghost blinked up at him. "Well, you're freshly hatched. We should probably let you rest for a little while. Gather your strength, you know."

"Understood. Are we safe here?"

"Well…" the Ghost trailed off, its shell popping apart as it rose out of his palm. It continued to expand until it was a small orb of light, plating rotating around it like moons in orbit. "There is a band of refugees not far from here. We'll be safer there."

"Understood." The Exo got to his feet, tearing down a worn piece of red canvas that might have once shielded a doorway when the structure had been intact. The armor that stretched over the natural framework of his body seemed almost too frail to withstand the punishing rain. He took a moment to drape the canvas over his head and shoulders, holding up one side of it and indicating that the Ghost should take shelter beneath the mantle.

…

Amongst the refugees, the Exo known as Bulwark-26 handled the defense. Volunteering to stand between the Fallen, Hive, Cabal, and the group he wandered with through the temperate forests on their way to the nigh-mythical Last City. It seemed like every day they faced some new threat and in an apparently-common twist, the power he had been gifted from what his Ghost called ‘the Traveler’ took on a decisive form as if making an effort to shift with his responsibilities. Lightning surging through his frame, he was always found moving into the fray.

On the day a Hive tombship dropped out of orbit to regurgitate its shrieking contents upon them, Bulwark toppled several of the tall, thin pine trees to halt the Hive's advance and buy the other refugees time. Arc Light flowed through him and he seized it with both hands, shattering the thralls and acolytes like glass with his armored fists. This was nothing new. What was new, however, was what happened when he noticed the missiles launching from the tombship, aimed at the cowering group of refugees. His barricade had failed, trunks cleaved through by a now-deceased knight, and the crowd was suddenly, incredibly vulnerable to attack.

No! Bulwark reached out again, Light pulling into him in response to his urgency. The Exo then sprinted back, skidding to a halt in front of the refugees and ordering them to retreat in a voice like thunder.

The Light this time was different. Instead of being some new offensive power, it stretched itself into a protective dome overhead. The surface swirled opalescent purple, and the Exo was enraptured by the limitless, hungering power of Void Light. The salvo struck the shield with a muffled boom!, the strain of maintaining the barrier shoving Bulwark back a step. He readied himself for the next strike, bewildered when he felt arms wrap around his midsection.

They didn't run.

The refugees actually piled up behind him, helping to brace his body against the incoming blows. Bulwark set his jaw, leaning into the assault as he heard someone priming the group's shared, barely-functional rocket launcher.

"Stepping out!" Her. He shouldn't have even been surprised. She always said she had nothing to lose, brown eyes dark with loss and brow creased with sorrow. “If they can’t shoot through your dome, I doubt I can.”

The launcher looked wrong in her hands, yet it was clear that she had used it before from the way she handled it. The woman settled the weight of it firmly on her shoulder and then braced the launcher against a rock. The tombship attempted to meander ponderously through a fresh wormhole, but she pulled the trigger and blew it out of the sky.

Bulwark had never been more grateful, dropping the Ward immediately and collapsing–

"...Guardian? Guardian."

Bulwark-26 jolted upright, only to sink back down with his head in his hands. Another dream, he thought bitterly. His Ghost, dubbed Requisition (Rex for short) was hovering overhead, an ever-watchful eye.

"Cabal troops are sweeping the area, Guardian. It won't be long…" Rex paused. "I'm sorry, I know you're exhausted."

"It doesn't matter." Bulwark replied curtly. "Better that you woke me now instead of letting that play out."

"The dream again?"

"Yes." Bulwark sighed. "I had dealt with the Hive, so at least it had only just gotten to her." He paused, and then, painfully soft, he admitted, "I miss her."

"I do too, Bull." Rex assured him gently.

…

Bulwark had been powerless, stripped of that Light which had made him so brazen and sent plummeting to his demise from that Cabal flagship. It was through sheer luck and ingenious armor design that he had managed to limp away from that fall, and even more lucky that he had located his Ghost. Poor Rex had been just as battered as he was, but still mustered up the wherewithal to mend Bulwark's broken frame.

"I can't resurrect you, not since..." The Ghost had sounded utterly beaten, several ruined points of his once-pristine shell drooping under their own weight. "Guardian, the Light is gone."

Then had come the days of panicky skirmishes, shepherding more and more refugees to the Farm and other safe zones. Bulwark-26 found himself constantly surviving by the skin of his teeth, the large Exo unused to caution after having had the Light for so long. As the days turned into weeks, Bulwark had finally received the news that his...friend had been killed. A missile barrage had utterly destroyed the building she lived in, and with so many Guardians Lightless, search and rescue missions were effectively halted in occupied territory.

It shouldn't have mattered. She had been just another refugee to him, after all, and what was one more loss when stacked against the mounting casualties of the Red Legion? The ordinary woman, alone, caring for others to fill the void of whatever she had lost. Bulwark hadn't asked, he hadn't thought it was his place to do so. Never asked her name, either, which filled him with deep regret once she passed away. Many of the refugees didn't share their names, though, suspicious and tense around one another even while they broke bread together. It was the way of things out in the wilds; you kept a hand on your gun and waited for the knife in your back. Bulwark didn't particularly like it, but he understood. Not everyone was as lucky as he was.

She had died during the opening attack of the Red War, and there was nothing he could do about it, yet the loss weighed on him heavily. Her life and countless others had been sacrificed because he hadn’t been strong enough, and the weight of that knowledge alone kept Bulwark rising again and again to fight once he sought out the fallen shard of the Traveler, once he reclaimed the waning remains of the Light housed within it.

Despite his best intentions he often visited the memories of his time spent in the wilds, the months before he came to the Last City as well as the frantic relocation during the Red War. In a way it was comforting, retreading familiar ground. One memory in particular he returned to more often than he would admit out loud, the events in it never failing to leave him a little more weary than before. He couldn't really find it in himself to be sad, not exactly. It wasn't really a memory that evoked an emotional response at all, not one that he was ready to address. So he just settled on tired. Yet still, it constantly found its way to him, playing out before his eyes when he drifted off…

She had cried herself to sleep against his side one night after the watchfire had died off to embers, the now-patched red cloth wrapped around her shoulders to keep away the damp chill in the air.

Bulwark had been paralyzed by her presence alone, the Exo remaining stiffly upright for hours after she went still.

Her brown hair smelled of sweat and smoke; the day's journey had been long and not a soul in the group had the strength to wash up that evening. Least of all Bulwark, who knew he must still reek of Fallen ether.

Certain things had come to mind, certain memories that were apparently his but not, but different, but before. Between the fragments of old battles rose soft moments; delicate fingers tracing the skin he no longer had, the heaving of breath in his lungs, the willing partners he had known. Confusing, jumbled feedback for his now-mechanical form to sort out, to rationalize. He was unsure...what could he even offer, like this?

Nothing.

And so when she came to him at his watchfire after a nightmare, her face wet with tears, Bulwark steeled his resolve and held her securely until she cried herself back to sleep. Lulled by the sound of her breathing evening out, the Exo had slipped into a lower functioning state as well.

He vaguely remembered her stirring against his body before he roused himself in the dawn, one large, metalloid arm thrown over her shoulders as he stretched. She had groaned, relaxing back into his arms, and for a moment Bulwark-26 indulged himself by tightening his hold.

Only for a moment, though.

…

It hadn't taken overly long for the Vanguard to reform and strike down Ghaul. A few months, maybe a year or two. The passage of time was…difficult for the Exo. He had seen many things during his time as a Guardian, and even more of the older memories he bore were ones that were foreign to him. A gift from being a mind uploaded into a fancy frame instead of human, he assumed. Sometimes he felt like he could recall the frigid winds of Europa, the locale many of his kind considered their birthplace. But it was hazy and fleeting, muscle memory in a phantom limb.

He tried not to think about her for years after the Red War. Or was it months? He did his best not to think about her, either way. She was dead, and things like that for someone who wasn't a Guardian tended to be pretty final. But it felt wrong to avoid a memory that for some reason, his mind had slotted into a ‘cherished’ designation, so when the crackling call for aid came down the line once more Bulwark geared up for Europa without a second thought.

Eliksni refugees. Here, he could be useful. He never thought he'd see the day that the City would open its proverbial doors to the Fallen, and indeed he nearly didn't. The public outcry alone was almost enough to render the effort useless, to say nothing of the odd behavior of the Future War Cult. But Bulwark-26, bullheaded and grim, soldiered onward ferrying the skiffloads of refugees from Europa to the Last City.

He was almost content, all things considered. Staying busy helped to keep the past at bay.

…

One fateful day (wasn’t it always!), the titan was escorting the next band of Eliksni survivors fresh from Europa. They had children in their ranks, hatchlings, too young to walk and bundled up in slings on their parents' chests. Guardian duos were usually requested for hatchling escorts, the Eliksni exceedingly protective of their young. From what little Bulwark knew of their specifications, eggcloth and things like that, he gathered that the hatchlings were incredibly fragile.

No other Guardian had responded to the summons, though. The time was odd, maybe, or maybe Lakshmi-2 had pulled something else on their comms. Bulwark eventually just set out through the outskirts of the slums solo with his little band in tow, reminding the group of wiry Eliksni to stay close and quiet. His attempts at stealth were for naught, however (as they all too often were), because they soon ran afoul of a Red Legion sniper nest. One of his charges chittering wildly and pointing upwards was the only warning he got before a bolt blasted a hole in his right shoulder.

“Rex!” The Exo barked, herding his charges behind the shelter of a nearby rubble heap. The Ghost materialized once he had the all-clear, working quickly to knit the neural mail back together. There hadn’t even been the chance for the wound to hurt, so clean was the shot. Bulwark gave the mended joint an experimental rotation, nodded his thanks to Requisition, set his jaw and alerted Mithrax over the comms. He then chose his targets, scout rifle easily picking off the three psion snipers in their lofty perch. With them gone, he could breathe a little easier. However, the phalanxes were the problem, a duo of them setting their shields together to create more optimal cover for the legionaries. The Cabal were steadily advancing and Mithrax and the rest of the Botza Eliksni ‘welcoming party’ wouldn't be within range for nearly five more minutes, maneuvering through the wrecked slums they called home. That was five minutes Bulwark knew they didn't have. If he was alone, of course, it wouldn't have mattered. But he had to keep his little group safe.

Rage boiled in his mechanical lungs; hadn't they dealt with enough? Between his heavy-handed correction of the hunter and titan he had encountered earlier in his patrol rounds and this new incursion, it seemed like everything in the universe was pitting itself against his charges.

“Stay here!” The titan ordered the refugees, casting his Ward Of Dawn for a bit of added security. The shimmering dome enveloped the group and Bulwark grimaced beneath his helmet when he saw the terror etched on their faces. “Please. I promise you'll be safe.” He assured as firmly as he could. Unfortunately the nightmare of The Saint’s den still clung to the Eliksni, leading the refugees to stare upwards at the purple dome and hold tightly to one another.

The Exo sighed, unable to offer anything more comforting and almost wishing that he had honed his Light in a different way. Cabal slugs thundered against the shield wall as the titan reloaded his scout rifle, making the Eliksni chitter amongst themselves and cringe back behind him.

“Don't worry.” Bulwark-26 said quietly. He then strode forward, taking with him the blessing of an overshield from his Ward. It was not overly advantageous for him to engage the Cabal head-on, but he had little choice in the matter. He could either hold the line here or fail.

And he refused to fail again.

Bulwark had barely planted his scout rifle against a cement barricade and sank his first shot into a legionary’s skull when he heard a strange crackling noise. Fearing some sort of ambush, Bulwark jerked his weapon to the sky and got the shock of a lifetime. A titan was plummeting downwards from some unseen location, and in their hands was an enormous, flaming maul.

A Sunbreaker.

"Eyes up!" They shouted, landing on top of the platoon a moment later. The crater they made was sizable, as was the devastation the maul wreaked upon the remaining Cabal. Hot whirlwinds of embers and debris spiraled upwards, carrying with them the ashen remains of the phalanxes and legionaries.

Bulwark just tried to keep the terrified Eliksni from fleeing this new threat as his Ward dissipated, cursing the unknown titan under his breath for their overly-showy entrance. He prayed he wouldn't have to knock some sense into this Guardian as well after already having encountered previous resistance.

"Well!" The Sunbreaker said cheerily, hauling herself out of the divot she had created. "I suppose these are the refugees I've heard so much about?" She called to Bulwark. The Exo nodded warily. "Perfect! Sorry I'm late, got hung up a ways back. Few hunters and a warlock wanted to mix it up when they caught wind of my assignment." She dusted off her greaves and then removed her helmet, extending a hand to Bulwark in greeting.

The Exo felt like someone had just pulled the plug on him. "You." He breathed, the scout rifle falling from his grip to land in the dirt. It was her.

It was her.

She offered him a blithe smile. "Yeah! Mithrax told you I was coming?"

Bulwark floundered momentarily, jerkily tilting forward to shake her hand. Guardians aren't supposed to investigate their past. "I'm B-Bul-Bulwark. Twenty-six. Bulwark-26." He stammered, crouching to pick up his weapon.

Her gaze grew distant, brown eyes focusing on a point far beyond the Exo. "Bulwark-26...huh. I feel like…" Her words drifted off and she shook her head, running a hand through shaggy brown hair. "Heh, sorry. I'm Delta! Just Delta."

"You don't remember me?" He didn't know why the hell he asked, of course she didn't remember! Most Guardians didn't recall who they had been before they became Guardians. They all came to the Light as equals no matter their status in their first life. Stupid! He scolded himself. He could feel Rex giving him the proverbial hairy eyeball, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the Ghost.

Delta's eyebrows knit together and for one disorienting moment, she looked exactly like the woman he had once known. Care-worn, face smudged with dirt, some deep worry furrowing her brow… "Now that you mention it, were you on that fireteam a few weeks back?” She asked, tapping her chin in thought. “Y'know, in the Cruci-”

"No." Bulwark cut her off brusquely. "Never mind. It's not important." The Crucible stirred up too many of those phantom memories for Bulwark-26 to venture into it casually. He could only assume he had been very good at what he did before his death. Though...clearly not that good. He had died, after all. "You're here to help me get these people to safety?"

"'Course!" Delta replied, seeming none the worse for the wear in spite of his rude interruption. She fastened her helmet to her hip right above her tattered titan mark and then beckoned his nervously-chittering charges. "C'mon guys, your paradise awaits."

…

He volunteered for a patrol detail in the Botza slums after the refugee skiff escorts had slowed. Several, in fact. So many that they eventually became routine. The Eliksni of House Light weren't a threat, but then again, they weren't the ones he had been concerned about to begin with.

Bulwark broke up multiple scuffles between the Eliksni and the Guardians or civilians that seemed to think they were doing the right thing by harassing and bullying his charges. Many refugees began to recognize the booming roar of Bulwark's voice even from a distance and they would come scampering to help remove their brethren from whatever conflict had arisen. The number of Guardians that Bulwark escorted out of the district by the scruff of their hoods, the hem of their robes or the seat of their marks bordered on obscene. That self-righteous glow of the Light would be the death of them all, and Bulwark's patience didn't last long past the beginning of his patrols. It was with a grim familiarity that he accepted the responsibility of keeping the refugees safe.

It was how his time had always been spent.

Delta, the ghost of the past herself, would often sign on for patrols as well. Bulwark had to admit (if only to himself) that she was an excellent partner. Her Sunbreaker skills came in handy more than once against the solar shields of the Cabal that still wandered the far reaches of the City, she never made much in terms of unnecessary conversation, and she even offered to buy him a drink after their shifts.

Bulwark wasn't quite sure why he continued to decline her invitations.

He had never dared to try and get closer to her in her…first life, painfully aware of his mechanical form and the blessing-curse of being infinitely recycled. She isn't for you, he had told himself sternly time and again. She had deserved the chance at safety, at some form of normalcy with her own kind. There was also the added benefit of her not seeming to have any interest in him as well, her indifference lessening the depth of his emotions.

Now though, she was in the same boat as him. Gloriously expendable, eager to help, her eyes bright with the energy of a New Light. Yet Bulwark declined all the same, leaving her to drink alone with the sensation of something akin to self-loathing hanging heavy in his chest.

Bulwark reasoned privately that it felt a bit like cheating the system, to just assume to be close to someone because you had known them once before. People changed, and Guardians certainly changed. The Risen were clean slates, and from what he knew they only occasionally bore fleeting glimpses of their first lives. It was an unspoken rule that one didn't go looking for their past, as it only seemed to bring more questions.

She continued to hang around, though. Not pressing, just offering. Friendly. Normal, a smile on her face that warmed her once-sad eyes.

And he continued to be civil, and continued to turn down her offers.

…

"What happened?"

The Kell of House Light, Mithrax (known to his people as Misraakskel), sighed heavily enough to make his rebreather rattle before greeting the Exo. "Velask, Bulwark." Two of his hands continued to sift reverently through the wreckage of what had once been a Servitor. Overhead, the first few flakes of snow began to drift gently down, beginning to cover the ground in a thin blanket of white.

The titan jerked his head to the side, indicating his impatience. "Mithrax." The Sacred Splicer Kell had a tendency to sit on ceremony a little too much around Guardians, often waffling unless prompted.

Mithrax hesitated, the hiss of ether the only sound for a moment. "The people of your City...they have destroyed much of our ether processors." The large Eliksni raised a third hand to halt Bulwark's impending tirade. "They are still...uncertain of the Eliksni of House Light. They blame us for the Endless Night.” His hand gestured upwards to the darkened sky. It had been devoid of light over the Last City for many weeks while Mithrax and a few brave Guardians waged war on a different plane of reality. “It is a coincidence, but the timing of it is suspicious. I do not fault your people for being wary of us.”

"Uncertainty is one thing, but I'm not about to let your hatchlings starve because someone listened to the wrong Exo!" Bulwark retorted sharply. That may have been the wrong way to approach the subject; Mithrax audibly huffed at his words. The Exo attempted to soldier on, "Are there reserves somewhere? Can I...I don't know, secure a spot for a new Servitor? Something. I’ve seen too many refugees waste away to just sit on my hands and watch.”

Mithrax went silent and still; Bulwark could feel the Kell studying him intently. "If I do this," the Eliksni began after some time, "I will know immediately if you decide to betray us, Bulwark."

"I won't." The titan promised firmly.

"Many strong words have been said easily. Do not offer us empty assurances." Mithrax warned. "I will know." He sighed again, and then continued, "Variks knows of our servitor stores on Europa. He can guide you to them. We have reserves, of course, and that will sustain us for the time being. I had hoped to build the stores a bit more before proceeding to transfer them, but it seems that our time has been shortened."

Variks, the Loyal. House Judgement's last holdout, once a denizen of the Reef. Bulwark nodded, going to depart. However, Mithrax stopped him before he could, three large digits gripping the titan's shoulder.

The Kell growled, "come out," his words infused with an unfamiliar gravity. It sent a chill down Bulwark's spine. That must be the commanding tone of the Eliksni authority, the Kelsvoice, the one that made The Spider quake in his proverbial boots.

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, just didn't want to interrupt." It was Delta, the woman emerging from behind a half-destroyed wall with her hands up. "I heard some weird transmissions earlier as I was signing on for my patrol and I saw some civilians skulking by the edge of the district, probably because of frickin’ Lakshmi, so I wanted to…" She trailed off, obviously noticing the destroyed Servitors. "Oh no, Mithrax."

The Kell sagged visibly, releasing Bulwark. "It will be alright, Delta. Bulwark has offered to assist us."

Bulwark hesitated, glancing at Delta. The other titan raised her eyebrow in query, immediately offering, "You want a partner?" Instead of deciding for himself, the Exo looked to Mithrax. It was only fair for the Kell to have the last word; his people were on the line.

Mithrax seemed to ponder, then nodded slowly. "This is acceptable. House Light trusts the two of you. Can you recommend any replacements for patrols while you will be absent?"

Delta snapped her fingers. "Don't you fret, big M! I've got just the gang for you."

The Eliksni tilted his head. "Big...M."

...

"No place like home for the Dawning, eh Bull?" Delta yelled over the howling winds.

"Technically, yes." Bulwark grunted, continuing to trudge forward to the Charon's Crossing outpost that Variks had claimed as his own upon his arrival to Europa. "I do not recall it, however."

Up a slight rise the two trekked, the driving wind threatening to rip them off their feet and fling them into the yawning chasm alongside the path. Bulwark-26 grimaced, squinting on reflex even though his helmet was keeping the snow out of his face. The outpost seemed to materialize from the blizzard, invisible one moment and then reappearing the next like some frigid mirage.

“Hey Bull! You ever read any Lovecraft?” Delta called from behind him, her voice a little strained. When the Exo turned, though, she wasn't facing him. Instead, she was looking backwards, towards the black form of the Ziggurat. The horizon was clear in that direction and he could plainly see the sharp edge of the esoteric structure's highest tip scraping the sky.

“I don't believe so, no.” Bulwark answered slowly, confused at this turn of conversation.

“Don't. Save your sanity.” With that frankly baffling tangent obviously over, Delta turned to face him once more. “Let's get a move on!”

The large Exo clicked his mouthplates together, annoyed, but moved doggedly onward to the outpost. It was incredible just how much the building did to deflect the wind and snow, the overhang by the front entrance alone reducing the howling to a dull whistle.

"Hell of a way to spend the holidays." Delta griped, stomping her plasteel sabatons on the ground to keep warm while Bulwark fought with the outpost bulkhead. "The wind cuts right through my armor! You feel it too, right?"

"Yes." He continued to push and pull at the door, finally managing to turn the lock and unlatch the heavy thermal plating. His mind turned to Titan at the familiar sensation, the constant hiss of air from the pressurized bays, bulkheads opening and closing over and over, Hive build-up thick on every surface–not now. "Variks?" He called, rapping on the outside of the door with the back of his gauntlet. He noted wryly that Delta had cupped a fusion grenade in her hands, cradling it close in an effort to stay warm. “Put that away, you'll give the old man a heart attack.” He muttered, making the woman snicker and chuck the cooking explosive over her shoulder, sending it sailing into the rift below the station.

Out of the dim interior of the building there was an insectoid clicking, and it was with great caution that the scribe of House Judgement emerged from the shadows to greet the two. "Velask, friends. Misraakskel has sent you, yes?" He questioned narrowly, one of his remaining hands resting on the butt of his pistol.

"Velask, Variks! Who else but us?" Delta said with a smile, opening her arms wide to indicate she was unarmed as she bowed. Granted, with the Light there were very few ways to truly unarm a Guardian, but Variks seemed to appreciate the gesture. Bulwark observed the shift in his posture to something a little less…ready, and did the old scribe the favor of mimicking said posture. "You staying warm, Variks?" The female titan continued, the concern in her tone surprising.

The Eliksni shook his head, murmuring, "Variks regrets to inform the Guardian that he is, in fact, not very warm at all. With all the House Salvation Eliksni on Europa, food and warmth are scarce."

"Good news, then." Delta tugged a small package out of her hip pouch and extended it. "Dawning greetings to you!"

"Dawning...Variks remembers Dawning, yes. Many Guardians bringing treats to their allies. It is good to be the friend of a Guardian, yes?" Variks accepted the box after looking at it for several moments, and he quickly opened it up. "Coldsnaps, yes? Very good, very good. Variks sees that House Light has been sharing with the Guardians."

"Eido's work keeps us educated."

After spending so much time around the Eliksni, Bulwark realized that he had picked up on a few of the nuances in regards to their expressions. Variks clicked meditatively at Delta's reply, his eyes slanting downwards. “But not enough to keep ills from happening, yes?” The scribe hummed, his tone brimming with polite hostility.

“Don't worry about that. Bull and I will deal with the clowns that keep creeping back into Botza.” Delta asserted confidently. “They're young and dumb, probably just scared. Lakshmi talks a great game.”

Variks’ eyes shrank to irritated slits in his weathered face, that insectoid chittering filling the silence for a moment. Clearly there was no love lost between the Future War Cult and Variks of House Judgement. “Variks hopes so, for the sake of your people and his own, yes. Variks believes we need not repeat the past.” He leaned heavily on his scribe staff, the wind seeming to have gone out of his sails. “It will take time to secure the Servitors. They are hidden, yes, very safe. Many hours,” he warned, “Misraakskel knows. Very safe, but very far.”

“Where? We can-” Delta was cut off by a sharp gesture from one of Variks’ arms.

“No!” The former scribe barked, and Bulwark got another fleeting glimpse of the deep fear that so obviously plagued the Eliksni. Even after all of their help, after everything they had done to strengthen the bonds of this particular fellowship, some wounds just couldn't be mended so simply. “Eliksni will bring them here, yes. Five Servitors.” Variks continued calmly, as if to smooth things over.

To her credit Delta just stepped aside so Variks could use his comms system to hail whatever clandestine parties he had available. The woman fiddled with her gauntlets momentarily, then tipped her head to aim the curved viewport of her helmet at Bulwark. “We should go and pick up some patrols. Thin the herd a little and stir things up so our friends can get their job done easier.” She suggested.

Bulwark nodded in agreement, offering Variks a belated and stiff bow. “May the Light provide.”

“For you as well, friends.” Variks waved half of a coldsnap in their general direction, the chain veil covering his mouth jangling softly with the movement.

The duo of titans departed, Delta leading the way with steps that were not-quite stomps. Bulwark simply waited patiently, taking the brief moment of silence to check over his gear. Predictably, it wasn't long at all before Delta spoke again. “Man, no matter how many times I talk to Eido I always put my foot in my mouth when it comes to Variks.” She said unhappily. “I don't think he likes me.”

“We are titans.” Bulwark-26 pointed out bluntly. “It's an uphill battle for us in regards to the Eliksni. Saint-14 is doing his best, but we can't expect miracles. I don't blame them for thinking what they do about us. A lot of hatchlings were raised hearing stories about the Saint, after all.”

“Yeah, and definitely not good stories either.” Delta agreed, her tone glum. “I wish there was some way to make things easier for…I dunno’, everyone involved.” She kicked a snowdrift, clearly frustrated.

“Mithrax trusted us to bring the Servitors to safety. That's a pretty big step.” The Exo gave her a pat on the shoulder which she comically staggered from. His laugh was, as ever, a strange approximation of synthetic sound. “Have patience. We have all the time we need, New Light.”

Delta scoffed at the nickname. “I'm not even new anymore! It's been years, when are people gonna’ stop-”

“Never.”

…

The Eventide Ruins were much less ‘welcoming’ than Charon's Crossing, but at least there was more cover. Without saying a word to one another, the two titans immediately set into the work of being a distraction. Patrol beacon after patrol beacon was pinged and subsequently completed, objectives accomplished and targets annihilated. They worked together in near silence, both used to how the other operated after their rounds in Botza. Bulwark told himself he was just staying close to Delta because she radiated heat, the woman absently tossing her smaller solar hammer back and forth from hand to hand when they weren't actively engaging the opposition. It had nothing to do with the creeping sensation of familiarity that he desperately attempted to ignore every single time he came to Europa, and it definitely had nothing to do with his rapidly-blooming feelings for the woman.

Who she had been before and who she was now…it felt like a betrayal to even think it, but Bulwark-26 preferred her now. She just seemed more confident and sure of herself, which he supposed came with the Light. It was easy to be confident when you felt untouchable.

Like Cayde.

Bulwark shook his head, draping the belt of ammunition over his arm while he reloaded his heavy machine gun. “You fired six bullets.” Delta snarked at him, making the Exo smile beneath his horned helmet.

“That's six less I would have in the chamber the next time these House Salvation punks want to come at us.”

Delta hummed noncommittally and Bulwark heard her stifle a yawn a moment later. The sound reminded him of how worn he was as well; they had been running and gunning for hours without stopping. He had been so eager to help that he hadn't registered the faint weariness tugging at his limbs. And if he was tired…

“Bull, I gotta’ rest soon. I'm dead on my feet.” Delta's admission was all Bulwark needed to justify his own desire for a halt, the Exo quickly agreeing with her.

“As soon as we find a defensible position.” Bulwark noted with concern that Delta's armored boots were now melting the snow around her feet with every step she took. She was obviously having more difficulty regulating the Light in her body, another unfortunate side effect of her ignoring her limits. “Delta,” he began.

“I'm fine.” She cut him off. “I've dealt with worse than this. I did have to make it to the Last City alone, y'know.”

You were on the outskirts of the City when your building collapsed, it wasn't exactly a long walk! Bulwark bit his proverbial tongue, setting his jaw against the words that wanted to erupt out of him. It would be needlessly cruel to tell her how she had expired. She must have been terrified, pinned beneath thousands of pounds of rubble before she eventually succumbed.

To think of her trapped in the pitch-black, wounded, waiting for help that would never come while the Cabal gunned down survivors…

Bulwark's throat ached.

“Understood.” He said instead, defaulting to a mechanical response. It was less messy that way, less…emotional.

Delta turned her helm far enough to the side that he knew she must be able to see him, but she offered no further conversation. The chill in the air between them had nothing to do with the temperature.

They were making their way across a broad open expanse of snowfield when something suddenly struck the side of Bulwark's helmet with enough force to topple him, his auditory sensors ringing from the deafening noise of air bursting out of the cracks in his helm. The Exo clawed frantically at the snow in an effort to regain his footing, feeling more than hearing the shrapnel launcher blow apart the ice inches from his head. The radiation of Europa rushed into his broken gear, sour wind tearing through the framework of his jaw and writhing down into his lungs.

His fist met the ice and a barricade half-formed, shimmering glassily into being. Bulwark couldn’t maintain his focus long enough to entirely solidify the structure, but it was something-

A familiar sabaton crashed to the ground next to his forehead, the plasteel now red-hot and glowing. He was abruptly warm, so warm, bathed in a radiant light like Sol's sun. He dared to look up, finding Delta standing over his body, her stance broadened to account for the width of his shoulders. In her hands resided her enormous Devastator Maul, the heat of the thing making the air around it bend and sway.

Far enough that they hadn't noticed in the poor visibility conditions, but near enough that it could easily take potshots at the duo, the enormous Fallen raised its shrapnel launcher once again, its roar echoing across the ice.

Delta batted the largest projectile away with her maul, the woman taking a labored step forward. Ice at her feet immediately liquefied, causing her to sink slightly into the ground. She grunted in annoyance, then tilted forward and broke into a loping sprint. The maul sang a hissing dirge as she ran, the woman using her momentum to smash through the support struts on the small deck the Fallen stood upon. After that, she quickly adjusted her grip on the maul and swung violently upwards to unmoor the platform from the cliffside, sending a fiery shower of sparks whirling as she did.

The deck began to slide down the side of the glacial abyss, leaving the large Fallen to scrabble desperately at the glassy edge of the cliff before the entire platform tumbled into the unknown.

Rex darted around Bulwark's head, the Ghost working quickly to reconstruct the shattered metal and plasteel that graced the Exo's face before he suffocated in the radioactive atmosphere. Bulwark just watched Delta's back, stunned silent. The woman's shoulders were hunched, fists clenched tightly at her sides after the maul fizzled out. She looked half-ready to jump into the fissure after the Archon-sized Fallen.

The Exo swallowed even though his frame had no need to do so, raising his voice after a moment. “Delta?” He called, still a little dazed. When his eyes finally refocused Delta was standing over him again, that impassive helm unreadable as she offered him a hand.

“I need to rest.” She stated flatly once he was upright. No longer was there any sort of levity in her tone; she sounded utterly defeated.

Bulwark clasped her arm instead of replying, his nod all the answer he could give. For some unknown, immensely frustrating reason, his voice refused to cooperate. Delta slumped forward against his shoulder momentarily, her helmet clattering into his pauldron. His arms raised in a stilted attempt to embrace her, but then he hesitated. What if she-

Delta's fingers rasped against the armor on the small of his back, the woman taking the initiative to hug him tightly. Bulwark felt like his sigh was crushed out of him, his own gauntlets finding purchase on her back. “I'm alright,” he soothed, the modulation of his voice burring oddly. Radiation must have fried my voiceprint. “Didn't mean to worry you.”

“I wasn't.” She insisted stiffly, still clinging to him.

“Right, of course.” Bulwark raised his head, squinting off into the distance. “Let's make our way to that building. We can sweep it and then get a few hours of shut-eye.”

She released him, and Bulwark wondered at her seeming reluctant to do so.

…

A few hours of rest, he told himself. Their Ghosts could alert them to any activity. Just a few hours.

Bulwark sat down heavily once Delta melted through the ice coating the floor, unrolling his bedroll with a quick snap of ultralight nylon. He then draped the orange and navy fabric around his shoulders, attempting to warm it up a bit before he climbed in. With a flash of humor he noted that Delta's sleeping bag had a few singed holes in it. “Hot sleeper, eh?” The Exo teased, smiling when Delta huffed and flapped a hand at him.

“You wanna’ be warm or not?” She retorted, her trusty grenade crackling between her fingertips while she forced the large bulkhead door closed. The air scrubber rattled to life after the environment was sealed, vents creaking as they warmed from use.

Bulwark-26 laughed, bowing his head as he conceded to her point. “Fair enough, fair enough.” In the gloom of the room via the glow of his own orange optics he could barely see her groping forward, the woman finally crouching to rifle through the pouches on her discarded utility belt. A small folding lantern flickered on, momentarily blinding the Exo.

“You hungry?” She asked, not waiting for a reply before tossing him a ration bar which landed in his lap. It threatened to taste like meat and cheese, ‘made with five percent beef and real dairy!’ Bulwark snorted, but thanked Delta all the same and cautiously removed his helmet. Food was food, after all.

“I've got some freeze-dried fruit.” He offered once the two of them had verified the air was safe and started gnawing at the ration bars. “If you want dessert and your jaw isn't worn out, of course.”

Delta's eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, thanks Bull.” Her Ghost (a paranoid little cube named Sinclair) actually made a rare appearance, hovering beside her head for a second or two while she instructed him to keep watch with Rex.

The two Ghosts departed, reluctantly leaving their Guardians alone. Oddly, once the Ghosts had made their exit, Delta seemed to grow tense.

Bulwark watched as her shoulders tightened into a rigid line while she slowly worked her way through a crunchy, freeze-dried strawberry, the woman sitting in the least-relaxed position he’d ever seen. Even her empty left hand hanging over her knee was balled into a nervous fist.

When Bulwark glanced at her face, the woman was studying him. “Hey, Bull, I…can I ask a question?” Her voice squeaked a little, devoid of its usual confidence. The Exo inclined his head, struck with an immediate sense of dread at the way her expression twisted. “Do you–er, that is, do Exo…c-can you guys have–” Delta paused, her face reddening while her hands fluttered helplessly.

Bulwark blinked. The momentary shuttering of his optics wasn't required for survival, but it was something Exos did anyway. Like eating, and sleeping, and…

Oh.

“Intercourse?” He supplied bluntly.

Delta reacted like he'd just uttered some sort of unspeakable word, the woman making an odd noise in her throat and frantically gesturing at him. “W-Well, yeah, I guess!” She finally exclaimed, her cheeks still flaming red.

“We can.” Bulwark didn't understand why she was behaving so strangely. Reproduction was normal for humans, and Exo were human previously. “Many Exo partake in the act, even if it doesn't bear fruit.”

Delta was coughing now, the female titan rushing to slosh some water into her mouth to quell the spasm. A weak, “ah,” was all she eventually managed to wheeze out, however.

“Why?” Bulwark pressed, curious.

“W-Well I–I was just wondering, I guess, I uh, I hope that's not offensive to…shit, I should have thought of that beforehand.” Delta half-hissed, as if to herself, then said, “I'm sorry, I promise I'm not trying to be rude!”

“You're alright.” Mildly amused, Bulwark decided to push a little more. “I take it this has been on your mind?”

Delta huffed out a breath, looking away. “Lima mentioned some things to me about how her…about how she works.”

Bulwark-26 barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Lima-4 the warlock was strong, funny and reliable, but she was also an incorrigible flirt and tended to overshare. “So you wanted to ask about different models?”

“Y-Yeah.” The woman's gaze was locked on her knees. Bulwark wished for a fleeting instant that she would look at him again. “I'm really sorry, Bull.”

“I said it's alright,” he chuckled, “don't worry about it. I'm happy to answer any questions you've got.” It's not as if you were concerned about it the first time around. The thought caught him off guard, but Delta was now leaning forward, her brown eyes intent on his face. A tremor ran through his frame and Bulwark forced himself not to clear his throat in order to break the silence. Another unnecessary tic left over from who he had once been. “So ask.” He grunted after several seconds of her examining him.

“How does it…how does everything work, exactly? Like is it a pump system, do you have multiple attachments…?”

Bulwark couldn't help the little snort he let out. An involuntary response to humor; the habit was a bad one. “Some frames use attachments, yes. We all have the potential for change, if we are unhappy with our original settings and concerned about possibly triggering DER.” He then shrugged. “I'm not an expert on how it all actually functions, of course. You'd have to ask the Head.” He didn't like saying ‘Clovis Bray’ aloud. The name filled him with an anxiety that bordered on superstition, which he knew was foolish.

Delta rubbed her upper arms, warding off the chill. “That's wild. I guess you wouldn't know though, would you? That'd be like expecting me to be a neurosurgeon or something just because I'm human.”

Relieved, the Exo nodded in agreement.

“Have you ever slept with a human, then? Or an Awoken? Are they–l-like…” She was visibly struggling now, her brow furrowed. “Compatible with you?”

Bulwark was a little stunned at this abrupt and personal turn of conversation, but he answered as best as he could. “T-They are compatible, yes.” Internally, he cursed his stutter. It wasn't due to nerves, of course. Rex must not have fixed his voiceprint properly, that's all.

Delta's thumb landed on her lower lip, the woman's teeth worrying the skin momentarily. Bulwark prided himself on his restraint, impassively watching her thumb indent the soft surface of her lower lip and absolutely not wondering about how his metallic jaw might raise goosebumps on her skin. Definitely not.

He didn't think about things like that.

“Have you?” Delta's query was soft. He almost hoped he had imagined it.

“Yes.” Bulwark kept it short. To the point. An answer without any added fat, enough to satisfy but only just. He should have known she would be hungry for more.

“Did you…did you like it?” It was unfair really, that she could sound so shy while prying so deeply.

“Yes.” Bulwark paused, setting his jaw. “Have you?”

Delta bit her lip, shaking her head. “You think I'd be asking all this if I had?” She laughed, seeming a little sheepish. “Nah, never had the chance to try with an Exo. Being a New Light keeps you busy!”

Bulwark-26 had to agree with that, remembering all too well his months of defending the wandering refugee band.

And her.

“That's why I like you, Bull. You'll at least let me take a damn break every once in a while.” Delta ticked a finger downwards at her sleeping bag. “You don't treat me like I'm some sort of unstoppable freak of nature.”

“I don't expect humans or Awoken to be able to ignore their limitations like I can.” Bulwark leaned his head back against the wall, staring dully upwards at the frozen ceiling. “I am, after all, designed to overcome the frailty of a flesh and blood body.”

“But even you get tired, don't you?”

“It takes…” The Exo hummed low in his throat, an unnecessary processing delay. “...it takes much more strain to exhaust me.”

“Interesting.” She sounded a little faint. “Well, I'd uh, I'd better get to bed. After all, we don't know when we'll be called, right?” With that, Delta quickly shuffled down further in her sleeping bag, the woman hooking the top of it over her head and effectively ending the conversation.

Bulwark couldn't help a brief smile at the sight of her wriggling worm-like in the bedroll, the Exo soon following suit. The floor was cold even through his sleeping bag, making the male titan grunt in annoyance and then shift his weight onto his back. He could see the faint reflection of his optics on the ceiling, the light dimming while his mind wandered aimlessly.

She didn't care, back then…

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was blinking sleepily up at the ceiling once more. A repetitive noise had roused him, a quiet and continuous rustling of nylon fabric. Punctuating that, however, was a sharper clattering sound. Bulwark wracked his mind, trying to recall what the noise was.

“Delta?” He finally spoke up. The clattering paused.

“W-W-W-What, Bull?” The woman mumbled drowsily.

She was shivering, her teeth chattering. That was what he had been hearing; she must have been doing it in her sleep.

She's going to freeze. As ludicrous as the concern was (she was a Guardian), once it grabbed hold of him he couldn't seem to shake it. Torn between offering to share body heat and just rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, his sense of empathy naturally won out. "Bring your sleeping bag over here." Bulwark grumbled, making a curt gesture. Delta obliged slowly, shuffling across the floor in her bag on her knees and then dropping down alongside him.

"I'm fuckin' freezing." She admitted with a shuddering yawn.

Bulwark jerked open his sleeping bag, entirely forgoing his painstaking stoicism in favor of wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "Why didn't you say anything?" Damn it, woman.

"Didn't want you thinking I was helpless, one of Shaw's little blueberries. I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, just more used to the temperate climates." Delta yawned again, snuggling down into his grip. “An’ I'm too tired to use the Light…t'warm up…”

She still continued to tremble uncontrollably, making the Exo frown. He carefully tucked the other end of his bedroll beneath her and then pressed himself even closer in an effort to warm her. Being an Exo, he could adjust his body's temperature independently to some extent. After all, what use was a killing machine that might freeze or overheat?

Delta's tremors finally eased a few moments later, and the woman groaned and stretched. “Ugh, I hate how tight shivering makes my shoulders.” She complained, turning over and burying her face in Bulwark's chest. “Remind me to pack my warm pajamas next time.” Bulwark froze at the sensation of her breath on his neck, the Exo's fingers momentarily digging into her sleeping bag before he could force them to relax. Delta wriggled in his hold, the woman arching her back against the pressure and then sighing, “mmm, that's nice. Thanks Bull.”

Bulwark didn't trust his voice, certain that it would make some sort of odd, squeaky sound if he attempted to respond, so he just nodded, his chin tapping against her forehead.

“Hey, Bull?” The female titan murmured. He could feel her lips moving against his neck when she spoke, and it was as if every faux nerve in his body focused down on that one spot. The Exo made some noncommittal noise in reply, barely a grunt. “I don't know how much more forward I can be here.”

It took a moment for her wry tone and verbiage to penetrate the haze of sensation he was battling with, but Bulwark's orange eyes eventually rolled downwards, the Exo studying the crown of her head.

“Like really, I don't know.” Delta mumbled, her fingers digging into his thermal shirt. “Do you not like me? Should I back off?”

Bulwark closed his eyes, praying to the Traveler or whatever else might be listening for patience. “I like you.” He admitted.

“Okay, so…?” Delta trailed off, the woman obviously waiting for him to elaborate.

Bulwark crushed the heel of his hand against the corner of his right optic socket, the dull pressure grounding him somewhat and urging him to stop running. “I…knew you. Before.” The confession was painfully soft, but at least now it was started. He heard her gasp. “You were a refugee. We never even exchanged names, but we traveled in the same group for…a very long time.”

“I remembered the pine trees.” Delta said, her voice shaking. “Pine trees and then there was this…purple dome. It was you.”

“Yes.”

She asked, “why didn't you say anything?!”, her fists resting on his chest while she pushed herself back so she could see his face.

The truth. “Guardians aren't supposed to go looking for their past, and,” he hesitated, avoiding her inquisitive eyes, “and…I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

Without thinking he replied, “Of you.” Then, frantically, “Of you being different! O-Or you not feeling anything for me, or-”

“Bull.” Delta cut him off, her forehead pressed against his own. “Are you kidding me?”

“I assure you, I've said nothing close to a damn joke while I've been talking.” The Exo half-snarled, his hackles raised from a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. “I didn't want to ask. Ever. As an Exo, I…can't give people certain things. I couldn't promise you anything,” Bulwark's voice faltered into a mutter, “and it didn't even seem like you wanted anything from me the first time around. I figured I should just let it be instead of muddying the waters-”

Delta kissed him, so hard that Bulwark could feel her lips crumple slightly when she pressed them to his mouth. “I want you.” The woman gasped once she pulled away. “I want you. Please.”

His heart was trying to erupt out of his chest, the synthetic organ hammering at his metalloid ribs. Bulwark's hands clenched into fists without his input. “Please, Delta, I-” Don't do this to me. Don't let me hope. “If you want me like you say you do, I'm never letting you go again.” The titan said fiercely. “Please understand that I take this very, very seriously.”

“As opposed to how lightly you take everything else.” Delta retorted dryly, her expression slowly softening while she looked at him. “I understand, Bull. Not like–everything. But I do understand. It's okay.”

Bulwark's fingers were trembling when he carded them through her shaggy brown locks. The woman tipped her head, leaning into his touch with a quiet sigh. “I can't do this halfway.” Bulwark warned, feeling like he was begging. Tell me to stop. Don't let me do this to you. “If I…”

“I want you to fuck me.” Delta interrupted him bluntly. “I've wanted you to fuck me since I first met you in Botza.”

“That long?!” Bulwark asked, flabbergasted when she nodded. A bashful chuckle accompanied the motion, the woman still seeming a bit embarrassed despite her straightforward words. “You could have said something!”

“You didn't seem like you were interested! I didn't want to be pushy. I figured you probably got a lot of unwanted attention from New Lights anyway.” Delta reasoned, raising an eyebrow. “You did patrol the city limits most of the time. You were basically like the welcoming committee.”

Bulwark thought about it, bewildered to realize that it was, in fact, true. He had led so many Eliksni through the rubble of Botza, he had nearly forgotten about the fresh Guardians that kept popping up as he went. “I was more like the unwelcoming committee,” he mused ruefully. “At least all it would take is one kick to the teeth and they would come back a little more contrite. I don't recall any of them viewing me overly fondly.”

“Well, that's not what I heard.” Delta insisted, “I heard you were very popular with the blueberries. The Pronghorn Titan who roams the borders, rescuing stragglers as he goes.”

“And who told you that? Lima-4?”

“Alright, alright, point taken.” Her mouth was suddenly on his neck, teeth clicking against the plating there. Bulwark shuddered, uncertain of how to respond. It had been…

Well, it had been a very long time since he had indulged like this. “What do you like?” He breathed. Delta nudged him onto his back, the woman straddling his hips after a moment. She shifted her weight, staring up at the ceiling as she did. Bulwark blinked, confused when she swore under her breath.

“Well this won't be comfortable. Your hips are too broad.” Delta finally complained, stretching her left leg out. “I'll cramp in two minutes flat! Give me a second Bull, I can come up with something else.”

“My everything is broad, I don't know if-”

“Got it!” Delta got up off of him, hauling at his arm until he rolled over. “Like this, yeah?” She instructed, propping him up onto his forearms so she could pantomime getting beneath him. “And then I'll be on the ground!”

“On your stomach or back?” Bulwark grimaced uncertainly. “That's where all your vital organs are, though. What if you get too cold, pressed against the floor?”

“I will live with the consequences of my actions.” With that grand statement, Delta began to tug down her thermal pants. “I'll be on my stomach then, that way I can basically leave these on!”

Bulwark exhaled, a bit thrown off by how excited she seemed. Surely she couldn't be that interested in him? “Alright, but we need to make sure you're warmed up at least.” He insisted.

“Sinclair can just repair whatever happens.” Delta's reply was so blasé the Exo had to catch the wall for stability.

“What the hell do you think I'm going to do to you?!” He snapped, but then felt his fingers dent the metal framework he had latched onto. Shit. “I'm going to do my best to not…hurt you.”

“Oh, likewise! But accidents happen, I know.” Delta shrugged with a little grin. “Sometimes things get away from us, and I can be pretty impatient.” As if to prove that point, the woman spread her legs as best as she could with her thermal layer still bunched up at her knees. Strands of wet arousal laced back and forth at the apex of her thighs, a few of them snapping under the burden of their own weight. “I want you, Bull. And I don't want to wait anymore.”

I want you.

The Exo dropped to his knees in front of her, hesitating for a split second before shoving his right arm and shoulder in between her legs to open her up even wider. The thermal pants flopped down around her ankles, then stretched taut across Bulwark's back.

Delta yelped, doing her best to balance on one foot with her other one hooked over Bulwark's shoulder. “Bull!” She exclaimed, clinging to his shoulders. Bulwark's hands came up, gripping the backs of her thighs and steadying her. The Exo, already half-feral from the length of time he had spent trying not to think about this, burred loudly in his throat and then struggled to shove his mouth clumsily against her cunt. He had no nose, so the task was a bit more difficult than it should have been, but after he shifted his posture and nearly took her other leg off the ground in the process, he managed to open her up wide enough for him to press his mouth against her.

Delta whined out, her fingers slipping helplessly across the smooth metal of his head. Bulwark gently began to work on her clit, worrying and teasing the bud by capturing it between the warm plates of his lipless mouth. Overhead, he heard Delta make some odd noise and then she was quivering with every touch, her noises intensifying when the Exo sought out her entrance with one of his fingers. She was wet enough that his digit slid in without resistance, so he swiftly followed it with a second. Unyielding metal thrust upwards and then curled, causing Delta to whimper and jerk her hips forwards.

“You're shaking,” Bulwark mumbled through half a mouthful, tilting his head so he could glance upwards at her.

“Of–Of course I am!” She panted, her face flushed. “Bull, you're-”

Bulwark hummed against her clit, startling another, much louder cry out of the woman. He then fastened his mouth down, tugging and rubbing as best as he could. All the while his fingers worked inside her, spreading her wide to make what came next a bit more manageable. “Do you want me, Delta?” He asked softly, his free hand shifting down to his groin in order to slide the plating on his pelvis to the side. Bulwark didn't often take himself in hand, so the feeling of his fingers wrapping around his cock was more than enough to have him groaning.

Delta didn't give him much time to think about it, the woman abruptly grabbing the back of his head and crushing his mouth against her cunt. Bulwark, thoroughly dazed, obediently did as he was instructed, the Exo relishing the sensation of her fingernails digging into the back of his head even as her thighs attempted to close down on him. She had devolved into chanting his name, her back arching helplessly against the wall while she rocked herself down onto his waiting mouth and fingers.

When she came, it was preceded by a burst of heat and light. Bulwark flinched, originally startled, but he then felt her throbbing around his fingers and he realized what had happened. “Easy,” he soothed, stroking her trembling thigh. “Easy, it's alright, turn it down. You're safe with me.” Delta sobbed out overhead, the sound gut-wrenching, and Bulwark felt a few tears hit his cheek. “It's alright, shhh, you're safe.” He continued to murmur quietly, easing her down so she could collapse on their sleeping bags. She was shaking wildly, her eyes wide and full of tears as she stared up at him. Bulwark hushed her again, smoothing her tears away with his thumb.

“Wh-What happened?” She finally hiccupped, her eyes closing when the Exo ran his hand over her forehead to push her sweaty hair out of her eyes. “I…that's never happened before, holy shit.”

“There's always work to do. Sometimes you just-” Bulwark shrugged, “-build up a backlog, I guess. How do you feel? Do you want some water?”

“Y-Yeah.” The woman gratefully accepted the canteen he passed her, and Bulwark heard the condensator begin to rev as she drained the remaining contents. “You're incredible, Bull.” Delta panted, wiping her mouth. “Let's keep going.”

“I…” Bulwark frowned, skeptical. “Are you sure? We can stop.”

“No way!” Delta protested, grabbing his arm. “Please, I swear I'm fine. Please.”

The urgency in her tone struck the Exo crosswise, sending a shiver down his spine to curl hotly in his groin. “If you're sure.” He was mildly entertained by the way her eyes kept darting to his cock, like she wanted to look fully but was too embarrassed to do so. “See?” The Exo rested his dick in his palm, effectively giving her permission to stare. Which she did.

Intently.

“How does it feel?” Delta asked, sounding a little nervous.

“Touch it and find out.”

“Is that…okay?” She was reaching out even as she spoke, so Bulwark just nodded in reply. “How should I…I mean, just like normal or-?”

“Yes.”

Delta ran a finger down the length of his cock after he had tugged his pants down to his thighs, making the Exo bite back a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, it's warm! I don't know why I thought it would be cold.” She grazed the side of his groin plating, examining his pelvis with obvious curiosity. Bulwark grunted, every touch making him want to buck and writhe against her hands, but the large Exo managed to keep himself under control. “You're pretty big, so I guess it makes sense that your…er, that your hardware is big too.” The woman seemed like she was thinking out loud, wrapping her fingers around his cock to give him a firm stroke.

Bulwark couldn't stop the sound he made then, his hips jolting forward. Delta huffed out a breath, her eyes widening slightly. “Delta, I…I would like to continue.” The Exo tried to keep his tone level, the task made extremely difficult by the way Delta was moving her hand. “Soon, if possible.”

As if waking from sleep the woman blinked up at him, nodding so rapidly he was worried her neck would give way. “Yeah, absolutely!” The female titan then rushed to roll onto her stomach, wriggling her hips upwards as if to entice him. Bulwark shifted his weight, straddling her body and then craning his neck to kiss her. Delta crooned into his mouth, her rear pressed firmly to his pelvis. “Please Bull, please.” She begged softly.

Bulwark slid his pants down further, fumbling with them for a moment before resigning himself to stripping them off entirely. The Exo titan tugged the sleeping bag up and over the two of them, his cock slotting in between Delta's thighs as he moved. Delta's breath hitched, the woman slipping a hand down to palm him and give him a few lazy strokes. Bulwark grunted, feeling his dick prod her cunt with every motion. “Ready?” He asked, his jaw set to keep him from making any excessive noise.

“Mmhm,” Delta murmured dreamily, her fingers tangling in the bedroll beneath her as Bulwark tugged her hips up slightly and pressed the head of his cock in. “Oh,” the woman moaned, the sound stretching until it broke as Bulwark fully buried himself in her body. “Bull, ah-”

The Exo wasn't doing much better than her, all things considered. Locking his jaw had helped somewhat, but he could hear the roar of his breath through the framework of his face and that didn't exactly cut down on the noise. He forced himself to remain still, giving the woman time to actually adjust to his size. Delta wasn't making it easy however, gasping into the sleeping bag and bucking herself backwards in an effort to get him to move. Bulwark finally latched onto her hip with one hand, preventing her from moving. “I will fuck you once I think you're ready.” The Exo seethed in her ear, “take a damn second and breathe.”

Delta slumped down fully prone on the bedroll, the woman whimpering but obediently going still in anticipation. Bulwark could feel her walls throbbing around him, the Exo broadening his stance and then rocking his hips forward until his pelvis met her rear with a dull slap of skin and metal. Delta's knees slid across the sleeping bag for a moment before she managed to slightly raise her hips, giving Bulwark a better angle. Grateful, the Exo tucked an arm beneath her hips to prop her up. Delta cried out at the sudden adjustment and Bulwark hooked his hand down over her pubic mound, bracing his forearm on the floor while his fingers found her clit once more.

“Bull!”

“Shh,” Bulwark grunted, “you're going to make our Ghosts think something is wrong.” Delta's cries became low, stifled groans, the woman burying her face in the bedroll as Bulwark rolled his hips. “Delta, you feel so damn good.” The Exo growled in her ear, chuckling when she writhed against him. His index finger grazed her clit and he relished the way her body jumped in reply, tremors racing down her thighs. “Love how you respond to me,” he continued, his voice burring in his throat. “I'm glad you're enjoying this.”

“Bull…” Delta gasped, her hand wrapping around his wrist so she could move his fingers the way she needed them. “Fuck, Bull, I'm going to-”

“I know, Delta.” Bulwark soothed, “let go, I've got you.” He sheathed his cock in her welcoming pussy, feeling a rush of heat and liquid that began to slowly drip down his inner thigh plating. “Good girl,” he praised her breathlessly, stroking her hair as she quaked and spasmed beneath him. “Come for me, Delta.”

The woman collapsed on the sleeping bag, moaning out his name when Bulwark propped himself up and rutted down into her. All the guilt, all the shame at what he had considered misplaced feelings, all the worry over what she thought of him, thought of his weakness…he couldn't even think about it for once, his mind wholly, gloriously blank except for her name. He realized in a daze that he was repeating it over and over under his breath as he fucked her, the sound forcing itself out through his locked jaw.

Gods she was so wet, so warm, like she was made for his sensation-starved body. She raised her hips up in an effort to give him that better angle once more, but Bulwark pressed a hand to the small of her back, silently telling her to relax. This was more than enough for him. Getting to experience this closeness, this vulnerability…it was more than enough.

“I-” Bulwark hesitated, his words failing. He covered her with his body, threading his arms beneath her stomach to secure her in the apex of his thighs so he could slowly, leisurely rock down into her. The Exo fucked her open with methodical strokes, knocking the breath out of her with every motion. He knew he must be making a mess but he couldn't bring himself to care, too enraptured by the noises she was making and the way she clung to him to be overly concerned about later problems. Her voice broke, reducing her to making pitiful little sobs and gasps that had Bulwark's cock the hardest it had ever been.

The Exo moved more frantically now, hands sliding up her torso and finding their way beneath her shirt. Delta arched her back, filling his palms with her breasts as she did, so Bulwark kneaded the flesh and teased her nipples much to her obvious delight.

Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pinning his jaw to her shoulder, and Delta whispered, “come for me,” in a tone that brooked no argument. Bulwark grunted, shuddering. His voiceprint glitched momentarily, dropping by several octaves and issuing this strange rumbling growl that made Delta purr and fuck back against him in response.

“Damn it.” Bulwark snarled, grabbing onto her hips and holding her still as he came. It was an odd sensation to find himself nearly winded, the Exo having to brace his weight on the floor momentarily.

Delta went pliant beneath him, the woman moaning out a tremulous ‘holy shit’ when he asked if she was alright. Uncertain as to what that meant, Bulwark took it upon himself to tug her thermal shirt back down, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric.

“Delta?” He queried again, wanting to be courteous but fumbling a bit on his phrasing. “I'm going to…uh…pull out, alright?”

Delta waved a limp hand back at him, which he took as a go-ahead to withdraw. The Exo cautiously pulled away, warning her not to move as he rushed to dig through his supplies for something to clean up the mess he had made. Finally settling on an unused undershirt, the titan made quick work of wiping her down. The woman remained slumped on the bedroll so after another moment of silence, Bulwark gingerly wriggled her pants up her thighs, situating the waistband properly and then settling back onto his haunches to study her nervously.

Was she upset? Had he done something wrong? Why was she so quiet?

A snore abruptly interrupted the tense stillness and Bulwark had to muffle his laughter with his sleeve, the titan relieved beyond reckoning. Asleep. She had just passed back out, obviously still weary. He doubted his ‘tender attentions’ had done much to dispel her exhaustion. Thank the Light.

…

When the call came through a few hours later, it found the two titans wrapped around each other, both sleeping soundly. Requisition hovered uncertainly, letting Sinclair take the initiative to rouse the Guardians. Bulwark woke at the first chiming hum from Sinclair, but chose to remain where he was for one last peaceful moment.

“Variks is ready.” Sinclair repeated to the sleepy Delta, tone soft but firm. “He says to be wary, House Salvation is rallying after your efforts earlier.”

Delta groaned, stretching her arms overhead and then shaking Bulwark's shoulder. The Exo growled something unintelligible, a fist meeting the floor and scoring another dent in the plating when he propped himself up. “Un'nerstood.” He mumbled through a broad yawn, metalloid jaw issuing a loud clunk with the motion. “Three minutes to put the kit back on.”

“Three and a half?” Delta bargained, already strapping on her greaves. She had always been quick with her armor, but the rest of their camp could take longer. “Some of these clasps are fiddly.”

“Variks is waiting.” Bulwark reminded her while shrugging on his underlayer of plasteel weave, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “And House Light. Just think about how happy this will make Misraakskel.”

Delta puffed out her cheeks, seeming to turn the idea over in her mind. “Alright, yeah, I get it. Let's bring those Servitors back home.”

“That's the plan.” Bulwark helped her settle her helm down onto her gorget, wiggling it back and forth until he felt it slot properly into the weave. His own helmet followed, and Delta took it upon herself to straighten the crooked latches securing his right pauldron as he donned his gauntlets.

“There.” She said finally, having fiddled with it for much longer than Bulwark would have deemed necessary. The woman then cupped the side of his helmet, tapping her forehead against his jaw. “Let's go.”

“Understood.”

The two of them stepped out into the snow once more, joined hands held for a brief moment before being dropped in favor of slinging weaponry forward into a usable position. Back to work. Bulwark glanced down, watching Delta deftly slot shells into her shotgun.

“Hey, I…” the Exo paused, fiddling with his scout rifle while he tried to force out the words. He could feel Delta looking at him, the woman waiting patiently. In a way, it was like she always had. “You want to go for a drink sometime?” Bulwark-26 finally mumbled gruffly. “My treat.”

A gauntlet landed on his shoulder with the clatter of articulated digits, Delta's laughter crackling through the speakers on her helm. “Really, Bull?”

The Exo shifted his weight awkwardly, nodding. “I'm…I'm sorry I took so long.” He apologized, the words a little stilted.

“Hey, I'm just glad you finally came around.” Delta gave him a gentle jab in the ribs with the butt of her shotgun. “And now I can show you where my favorite spot is! It's going to be great.”

Bulwark wanted to scold himself for smiling over something so mundane as a favorable response, but at the same time… “I look forward to it, then.”

“Me too.” Delta heaved a heavy sigh, “but first, the job. One more thing to shoulder, eh?”

“We're titans.” Bulwark reminded her, knocking a prong into the side of her helmet. “We carry the world's burdens. We are the wall against which Darkness breaks.” He could feel her rolling her eyes. “We will keep them safe.”

“I know.” She leaned into his prong for a fleeting moment, then straightened back up. “We've got this, yeah?”

“There is no alternative.”

“Traveler, you sound so fucking old.”

Bulwark cuffed her good-naturedly around the back of the helmet, his laughter no longer feeling quite so unfamiliar. Delta's own laugh rang out and the woman bolted off, sabatons punching through the icy crust on the snow as she went.

“Don't get left behind, big guy!” She called.

“Not a chance, New Light!”

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