#destiny fic

[phantomwarrior12]

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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[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents... Pink in the Night

Pairing: Crow x Young Wolf Category: One-Shot Genre: Fluff, Angst? (yearning. just yearning.) Rating: 13+ Warnings: No major warnings apply Word Count: 1.9k Summary: Basking in the glow of your glorious light is enough.

she/they pronouns used for the Guardian. because this is basically faolan.

a/n: Did you know I write poetry? No? Well I do. And this is one of them. Sorry if this is a little disjointed. This is pure poetry.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Crow thinks maybe this is enough. Maybe he'll be OK with just this, even if it kills him.

Even if he is desperately in love it's almost painful. 
There's something akin to suicide that comes from seeing the person that you love and adore, someone who saved your life and will put their life on the line to save yours and everyone else's day and day out, time and time again, and knowing how selfish it would be to tell them you love them. Knowing that they can't have that distraction right now, knowing that if they knew, and you got hurt they would never forgive themself.

There's something like being killed a thousand times over to yearning so much it's almost painful, craving nothing but being in their arms, wanting so desperately to hold them, to whisper sweet nothings in their ear and remind them that they're alive, and sometimes that's enough. 

Something similar to what he thinks being burned alive is like in wanting to make a home with them, give them a place to come back to after the battle, somewhere to let their eyes close, drop their head into your lap, and simply enjoy the sweet sensation of sharing the presence of someone you love.

It's such an unselfish love, driven by a desire to simply help. Let them be saved for once instead of the one being saved. Just wanting to give them a sense of peace.
But, he faces fire and lets it scald his heart, knowing that even a love so pure, so altruistic would be a death sentence where it shared right now.



A soldier who goes into the war with a lover waiting back home is a soldier who will fight and die and claw their way home to their lover's arms. 
But a soldier who finds them during the battle? Someone still so recklessly in love? That's a fool waiting to be slaughtered.




So, for now, he'll swallow his feelings, force his heart to stay still when the Guardian walks by, forces himself not to blush when they smile and wave, even if it feels like a dagger to the heart every time.

 He'll bite back every confession. Hold every "I love you", every "I adore you", every "I don't need you to love me back. I just need you to know that I'm here for you. I just need you to know that I love you and I care and thank you for saving me thank you for believing in me thank you for letting me be more than what I was thank you thank you I love you I love you I love you. "

Even if it feels like swallowing fire every time he digs his fingers into his palm to distract himself from how pretty they look when the starlight hits their hair. How their eyes sparkle in the firelight. How the Light dances off their skin when they wield it in combat.



Just being near them is enough. 

Just getting to bask in their glory.



It's like standing in the sunlight during a warm fall day. Loving her, is like... loving the sun. She is the sun. That's it, she's simply the sun. Something beautiful and infinite and endless and breathtaking in a way only something divine can be. Something deathly, incomprehensibly strong so gentle. Something you cannot live without, you need it.

The feeling of something so devastatingly incredible and cosmically powerful, and knowing it could never hurt you, knowing you are privileged enough to love it, even if you don't know if it could ever love you back.

There is a god before you. A god of death and destruction, armed with a million guns, with a smile like a thousand knives.
 And they are flipping one in the air because they want to impress you.



Blood and Light drip from her presence like ambrosia and honey from a goddess. She basks in the sunshine and smiles as she drives the knife into an enemy's chest. She is terrifying and she is deadly and she is lovely and she is wonderful, and he wants nothing more than to hold her close and call her his, but he cannot.

So for now he'll bask in the presence of the Young Wolf, knowing she could snap his fingers and decimate armies, knowing the hands that have held his so gently and guided him through hell have rended gods to ashes.

She could kill him in seconds, it wouldn't even be a struggle. But right now, she's teaching him how to spin a gun. She's so cavalier with it, so playful with death. She dances with it. And she holds her hands out to him once she releases the reaper from her grip. Her hands are so warm.


And she insists on teaching you the box step between deployments in an infinite war. 
Crow thinks maybe this is enough. He doesn't need her to love him back.


He just needs these small stolen moments for forever.




Her hands in his, pulling him close, eyes cast down to make sure he's following their steps.Her hands in front of his face, flipping a burning knife, a trick she learned to pass the time when she was the hunting monsters in the dark.Her hands around his, steadying his grip as teach him how to handle the Ace of Spades because "it's not a normal hand canon, trust me on that". He does. He trusts her with everything. It's when they're showing him how to use the Ace of Spades he realizes he's OK with them never telling him they love him back. He doesn't need that.

He just needs to memorize the way she tilts their arm up a bit when she goes to fire. A trick she learned to make the sights tilt down a bit and stay even when she's walking. He just needs to memorize the scars and dents on their gauntlets. She could never be bothered to buff them out. He just needs to memorize the grooves of their hands. The lifelines that may hint, in some strange cosmic way, at who they were before. He just needs to memorize the way they grow silent when analyzing a target. Intensely focused on the path of the bullet, the path to one less threat to her friends. He just needs to memorize the way her hair feels against his face, leaning in so close to ensure she can correct the way he's holding himself. He just needs to memorize the way she stands on her tip toes, even in the slight heels of a guardian's boots, so she can be at level with him. He just needs to memorize the words she breathed so quietly into his ear. "Don't move so much when you're aiming. You'll miss your shots if you tremble. Keep your head steady, don't flinch at the recoil, you aren't gonna get hurt by your own gun." He wasn't flinching because of the recoil. He just needs to memorize how real her voice was in that moment. The quiet tone, the genuine compassion, the sense of such profound emotion. The low husk, the almost musical cadence, the slight rasp from years of silence.

He just needs to memorize every part of her, how she makes him feel, and that's enough.



Maybe one day, he'll memorize how her hair feels beneath his hands. How her head feels on his shoulder. How she smiles into kisses. How she blushes when she's complimented. Maybe one day he'll know everything about her.



But for now, he'll just remember how she talks about her guns like they're people. How gently she handles that auto rifle she carries everywhere.

 He'll remember her voice in his ear, how softly she speaks when she's alone with him.



One day, he's sure, they'll have a life outside of the war.
 But for now, he's happy to see her hang the Ace next to that little sidearm she loves so much. He's happy to watch her grin at the sword hanging in her ship, the one that crackles like firelight with the Iron Banner sigil stamped in. He's happy to take that auto rifle, the Khvostov, from her hands, happy to learn to see the battlefield, the whole world, how she does.



He's happy to watch her fiddle with the neck of her cloak, play with the fur along the collar. Happy to watch her toss knives and shurikens into targets, watch her sharpen knives, and throw hit after hit into punching bags.



For now, he'll love her as a warrior. Maybe forever.



For now, maybe forever, he's happy to gently rouse her from where she falls asleep on the bench beside him, so tired from another mission she fell asleep still talking to him.

 One day, he'll be able to carry her to their bed instead. But for now, he's happy to just be in her presence.



He's happy to stand in the beams she casts off, as long as it means she's nearby.



His heart skips a bit when she tells him his eyes are pretty. He thinks it stops when she tells him they're the color of honey, so amber they're almost golden, noting the embers flecking in his eyes, from Solar Light, she explains.


If he died right then and there he would've lived a life fulfilled. 
He can barely think to say something back.
 Something about how she has nice eyes, too. Gray and blue with hints of gold, like the sky during a lightning storm.
 The purple twining around the iris, the Void seeping into her sight, revealing secrets about the world.



He thinks maybe she can see his soul like that.


He hopes in equal measure she can't, can't see the depths of his longing, his desperate yearning. But if she could… if she could peer into his heart, see how much he adores her, his unselfish, nearly puppyish love for her…That wouldn't be too bad.

Maybe if she could see that he needs her like the sun. That he loves her like the moon loves the sun, enough to stand in it's shadow, enough to reflect it's light. He loves her like a ship loves an anchor, enough to be useless without it. He loves her like cold loves fire, enough to let it pierce through every part of him and banish every part of him that is wrong or deadly, melting together so beautifully and perfectly to create something new.

To him, she is both sun and moon. He is a mere star, glimpsing sublime majesty from an infinite distance away. His heart begs her to let him see but a glimpse of her, ever closer. Praying she never casts him off, but that one day she will draw him in closer so he may delight in her light now and evermore. Oh, dear sun! Oh, glorious moon! Lovely and dearest, most fair, most sublime. To see her is more than enough. To simply be in her shadow is enough to delight in. For in her is glory, in her is Light itself. In her is life and joy, his life, his joy, held in her hands, though she does not know it. Arms length, nothing closer, is enough. He needs not a step more. Simply to see her is enough to bring him joy. Simply to hear her laugh, see a smile grace her lips, that is enough for now.

Maybe one day, he'll have the courage to say something about that.

I AM UNWELL. Also this was originally a ko-fi exclusive but I like it too much.

ao3: houseofmcallister main account: houseofmcallister buy me a coffee!

Don’t repost my work or I’ll eat your shoulder blades! I do not consent to my works being used for AI training purposes.

#pspspspsp come get your juice! #please pleaSE PLEASE READ IT IT'S MY BEST WORK EVER. #crow x young wolf #crow x guardian #destiny 2 #destiny fanfic #destiny the game #destiny #fanfic #destiny fic #yearning #fluff #angst #destiny angst #destiny the game fanfic #the crow x the guardian

[zalia]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny) Characters: Osiris (Destiny), Saint-14 (Destiny) Additional Tags: Early Days, Thanatonautics, Drowning, Prophecy, Sex, Anal Sex, Love, Falling In Love, Affection, Vacation, Swimming, faction wars (Destiny), The Last City (Destiny), Developing Relationship, Teasing, Porn with Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feelings, Light Angst Summary:

He treads water, then takes a deep breath and sinks.

An experiment with Thanatonautics is, as Osiris discovers, not Saint's preferred way to spend a day away from the City. Especially when far more enjoyable entertainment is available.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #o14 #osiris #saint-14 #destiny osiris #destiny saint 14 #destiny fic #destiny fanfic #destiny fanfiction

[a-space-lizard]

By the way I am writing a new destiny fic that starts all the way back in d1. The plan is to tell my guardians' stories all the way up to the final shape, but that's a big commitment so for now I'm focused on getting through the events of d1

(this will be canon divergent in some areas and more oc-focused than canon character focused)

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fic #destiny guardians

[simping-overload]

I just read your O14 fic and thought it was adorable!

Could I please request some good old drifter X reader fluff? Especially if the reader is a hunter and taller then drifter? which isn't hard man's is tiny

Headcanons or fanfic I don't mind!

love this stinky sewer rat man🫶

characters: drifter

tags: fluff, tall! reader, hunter! reader, gn! reader

ヾthis is a multi fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem alligened, please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You're legally required to stock the shelves and grab anything too high for him to reach.

He doesn't like the fact that he has to crane his neck to look up at you, though he's used to it with all the titans he's been around, but used to it from a hunter.

If you try to use his head as an arm rest, he will bite you.

Though he's not opposed to being carried. Whether it is a bridal carry, piggy back ride, or being held like a sack of potatoes, he's chillin

You're totally the designated big spoon. He likes the feeling of your larger body curled around his.

He steals borrows your clothes, esspically any shirts or hoodies

It's a common occurrence to see him lounging around the Derelict in your clothes.

He's a light bringer, meaning he's pretty strong. If he really needed to, he just yank you down by whatever he can grab to get his kisses in.

He also really likes forehead kisses.

#x male reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #male reader #the drifter x reader #the drifter #destiny 2 x reader #destiny x reader #destiny 2 #destiny fic #mlm #gay #gender neutral reader

[xivu-arath]

Savathûn recalls a moment when she looked to the sky.

“Look,” says their father, the king. “The storm lifts.”

He has brought them into the orrery, its brass and platinum moons spinning around Fundament on many interlocking axes. Up the stairs to the swell of the dome where the telescopes, lenses, and listening instruments rest. They are old, older than seven generations of the Osmium Court, salvaged from another continent that had drifted close in the first year of the king’s reign.

Xi Ro, eager as always, runs to the winch, helping him open the dome’s eye for them all to look through. She does this even though the telescopes bore her, because moments when the king remembers his surviving children are rare. Rarer still for him to allow them close to his most prized treasures.

The dead worm has its own place here, set on a pedestal from where it seems to be watching.

Sathona is not bored, but neither is she sated (not like Aurash, who is already pressing forward to count how many moons can be seen). The Court is full of whispers these days, and Sathona does her best to hear most of them. Whispers of war with the Helium Drinkers, of the king’s negligence, of untrustworthy waters and worsening weather. Direr still are her dreams of brave, foolish Xi Ro crushed under rubble, Aurash swept away by a burning wave. What may come looms ahead, dark and not quite unknown, and the stars and moons are much too distant to matter when weighed against it. Whatever use to her is something that cannot be touched or swayed?

The orrery frustrates her as every discovery of her limits does. Beneath the mystery of it – just how old is it? Who thought to build it, and why? – lies the same taste of bitter air, a reminder that she is small and frail and meant to live a life she can barely count on both hands.

But when Aurash waves at her to take her turn, she still closes two eyes and peers up into dissipating clouds and an uncaring, glittering sky. Useless as these are to her, they are pretty enough. For that, and because they are all still together, remembered and alive, Sathona thinks to cherish this moment.

Savathûn does not cherish it. She forgets nothing. Every moment of her past is as it should be, a single gleaming instant that she can pin between her claws. But still, something (the warm surprise of trust from an uncertain parent, pushing Aurash’s shoulder for more space, flickering awe at a new curiosity well out of her reach) is lost.

It is a moment of synchronicity that reminds her. They are pruning away yet another civilization, and through secret and subtle means Savathûn knocks their binary stars from their seat, spilling the accretion disk out to envelop the nearest planets and moons. The swell of satisfaction that accompanies this is unexpected, and so she stops to find the cause.

Look how far she has come from that moment. Her father’s efforts seem small and futile now, while she can pluck every star from the sky. There might be some few, paltry things still beyond her grasp, but they will not remain so. She has lived longer than young Sathona could have envisioned. Of her siblings she is the wisest, the most prepared, and by far the most clear-sighted. Is this not everything she has wanted?

But –

Xivu has swooped down to drain the lesser star, and Oryx infests the heart of the greater with his blights. He is singing some awful dirge he picked up several systems ago and not yet tired of, and Xivu joins him with far greater enthusiasm than skill, until the pressure of their combined voices forces even their fleets to scatter from them. They don’t care, drunk and giddy on triumph and certainty.

Savathûn is quite sure she does not envy them their stupid, simple joy. This is not the first battle, nor even the thousandth, where she has watched them make fools of themselves amidst their slaughter.

But. She is not sated, and it gnaws at her more sharply than her worm ever has. Nothing that she would strain to reach for is here.

The lesser star gutters down to a dully flickering core, and the greater has been rendered a cyst through which the Deep can be heard. Savathûn finds this a tedious, predictable ending and turns away. Behind her, her siblings continue to laugh and kill and sing (terribly still).

If there is nothing here that she would reach for, then it is past time she look elsewhere. She remembers that glimpse of the sky once more.

Among those stars and shadows was one lying moon.

#destiny #savathun #destiny fic #written for a private gift exchange #books of sorrow #my words

[circesoracle]

Obscurum Per Obscurius

A Mara Sov/Sjur Eido fic for Season of the Wish

The Queen of the Awoken was a woman whose edges bled black against the darkness, exalted by the light. What secrets she betrayed hid only further truths to never be known. Each word was precisely chosen yet incomprehensible to most. It was not lying, she had once said, but deceiving, and those were things distinct. To lie was to obscure the truth, speaking in falsehoods and impossibilities, but to deceive was to declare the truth plainly and allow others to lie to themselves. By the very nature of her being, she was an anomaly. By choice, she was unknowable. Sjur did not very much care to give her a choice.

Read on A03

Subterfuge was the game of queens. No corsair or courtier could play it better.

“Fleet footed you are not, Sjur Eido.”

A folly, to have assumed even her Wrath might have a chance however transitory against the queen of queens.

Fingers closing against her palm, the tips of her nails dragging along the velvet of half-gloves, the Wrath turned. In the brief second she did, she felt the silver of the mask in her other hand, begging in argent tones to be laid upon her face once more. The weight of it pressed phantomlike to her cheekbones though she never lifted it from where it hung, limp between her fingers.

Her place dictated she wear it before her queen. For honour, tradition, respect, she should have bowed her head in deference and fit the mask to her face before baring it to her superior.

It remained in her hand as the Awoken Queen came quietly into the night.

The stars paled for her thoughtless grace and the moon in its waxing confidence did dim. Wind followed lightly, calmed to a breeze. Those sly planets above who through the darkness stole glances did demure. All things which in the night slithered did bow, and all which made flight above did dip to touch their wings to the water. The night stood silent and still. The very heavens in her presence did know their place.

Only Sjur Eido stood defiant.

Such defiance was tested when her queen came under the arbour, arm lifted to brush aside trailing, luminescent vines. The hand fell from where it parted the plants in a single elegant motion. That those, too, did not move at merely her presence seemed unreasonable, yet to see that even she was beholden to nature's whims was a rare reminder her queen was but a woman as she.

Heretical, and as quickly as the thought had come to her, it was banished with silent apology from her mind.

With that thought went the very notion, and Mara Sov stood before her, divine once more.

Beneath the mask of golden wings and crystal finery, the queen’s eyes burnt with unmistakable fury. Not for the disobedience of her bare-faced Wrath, but for all that had transpired but breathless moments before.

“You can not dissuade my hand. Only evade it by temporary measure.”

Sjur dared not close her eye against her, finding her voice came easier than her words as she replied, “I have done a poor job evading it.”

“You have.” A certainty, spoken with an unyielding truth. It brought shame high and violet to Sjur’s cheeks. It did not stop her queen from adding, sharply, “To be expected, when one does not know from what they run.”

“From your fury, my Queen.”

“And what, Sjur, could inspire in me such anger?”

Rhetorical, perhaps, and yet never was the queen one for redundancy. If it were a question with no answer, she would not have wasted her breath to speak it. Stepping forward, blossoming bough catching the fur of her cloak, Sjur answered with what conviction was left in her, “She did not know better.”

“You know better.” What anguish was belied in words was silenced by tone.

The Queen of the Awoken was by choice an entity beyond knowing. A woman whose edges bled black against the darkness, exalted by the light. What secrets she betrayed hid only further truths to never be known. Each word was precisely chosen yet incomprehensible to most. It was not lying, she had once said, but deceiving, and those were things distinct. To lie was to obscure the truth, speaking in falsehoods and impossibilities, but to deceive was to declare the truth plainly and allow others to lie to themselves. 

By the very nature of her being, she was an anomaly. By choice, she was unknowable.

Sjur did not very much care to give her a choice.

“Are you jealous?”

The unspoken demanded from her queen more. It demanded she admit to feelings reserved for those beings of lesser importance and with little to lose.

“Jealous,” the queen sneered, but, were one to know her tones and moods as Sjur did, it was clear that it was no rejection of the thought. Disgust, for her own emotions, and an admission of them the same.

Jealous, and of a girl scarcely belonging in her court. The Awoken Queen, jealous over a brushed hand and whispered word. Marble moved to emotion by the simple act of speech, gilded cracks showing in the twitching of her lip and slow exhale. Jealous in a way that only one who knew her as well any could would see.

Jealous, furiously jealous, over a girl asking one of a dozen paladins to dance, and what that revealed beneath the cover of the arbour was more than most would know of Mara Sov in a thousand years in her court.

The queen’s eyes narrowed, before she whispered, “You know better.”

Silver rang sharp against crystal, mask falling from Sjur’s fingers. The queen’s hand beneath her chin kept her still. A foot between her own held her stance. The lips which parted her own, gilded and prying, spoke more truth in silent begging against her than they could in any sharply practiced words. Sjur’s mouth remained shut, eye open, pliable to her queen’s desires, yet refusing such easy compliance.

If her queen would demand from her fidelity and loyalty unwavering, she would see her own demand met in return.

The smooth brush of velvet against the queen’s high cheek was but temptation, soothing Mara into the familiar rhythm of their love. Slow, indelicate, their own, and Sjur indulged in it with the wicked greed she could feel in her queen as teeth came to teeth.

Having her alone was not enough. To know it kept her from a ravenous court who longed to worship her could not satisfy her selfish desire.

Fingers brushed along the perfectly carved edges of golden feathers, methodical in their tracing, finding every facet of the crystal pressed to the corner of the masked eye, until they caught. Caught, just behind the curve of a wing. Purposeful, and with a pull and a release of air that pressed between gold and fair lilac skin, she made it apparent to her queen, who did pull back in silent wonder.

The gold mask fell heavy to the crystal floor.

The hand under her chin gripped tighter, Sjur kept nose to nose with her. In that voice low as twilight, Mara whispered, “Remember who you belong to.”

It was not a command of rage, to be exposed beneath the envious gaze of the stars.

An invitation to look at her - no, to revel in her and lose all good sense but that which kept her standing. One extended to none but her in that moment, and for that moment alone Sjur would give in to her. A thousand moments more she would do the same, but as she had every moment prior, she would tell herself that in no moment before had she been so overcome by her queen as that moment she was.

Every moment hence would be the same, but she did believe that moment singular in its profundity, as to all the world but her was Mara Sov obscured, and to her alone did she beg to be seen.

#Mara Sov #Sjur Eidor #Destiny 2 #Destiny fic #Season of the Wish #MaraSjur #Mara Sov x Sjur Eido #my attempt at a sort of in-game style lore entry for them #I am unwell about them I need Sjur back

[kirakuudere1]

How crow interacts with all characters of destiny 1/2. Pt 2

Eris morn: I think crow would be very comfortable with Eris, they have the same energy and eris would listen to him and prob have tea with him and ikora. SUPER CUTEE

Eva levante: she made his new outfit so I think she would be the sweet grandma who would give him a hug and a cookie and yell at people she finds bullying him then give him a pat on the head.

fail safe: two personality’s.. I think her sympathetic personality would be nice to him and relate to him, then her sarcastic/rude personality would totally joke about shit and be annoyed (but would also totally roast people who hate him) I think she would be like that one aunt who’s nice but also not at the same time and also always somehow has a bottle of wine. 😭

fynch: THEY WOULD BE BUDDIES, ESPECIALLY THEIR GHOSTS, plus they act the same, it’s cute, fynch would relate to crow and would listen to him and joke with him like elementary boys. AWEE

ikora: very motherlike and would give advise like master wu 😭 but honestly would listen with tea and when someone hurt him would just give this them stare (she could beat them, I mean the defeated shaxx sooo-) 10/10

immaru: he’s rude, very rude, honestly prob dislikes crow and jokes about his past a cayde a lot and also references that “all gaurdian are monsters, take crow as an example.” NOT CEWL

#crow is amazing #crow #destiny #crow destiny #crow destiny 2 #destiny crow #destiny the crow #guardian crow #destiny art #destiny writing #destiny fic

[kanawolf]

Alright so I am working on the top result from the last fic idea poll (hive ocs making their fireteam), but I have so many feelings on Lightfall so another poll for the next fic idea!

#boo polls #destiny fic #destiny fic ideas

[phantomwarrior12]

Back In Time

That's…not metal under her hip.

The Guardian slowly lifts her head even as it begins to throb.

Ghost?

The heel of her hand digs into the stone beneath her as she pushes to an upright position.

"Guardian! Are you alright?" Ghost transmats beside her, his shell separating and mending a gash in her leg she hadn't even felt yet. The headache ebbs beneath Light and she pats his shell affectionately.

"Where are we?" He asks cautiously as she stands, beginning to investigate.

She doesn't recognize the room until she stops beside a large carving in the wall.

Wolves–

"The Iron Temple," she manages, "but…it looks different."

"That portal could have sent us anywhere in time. We should get out of here before we're discovered."

"We need to get back–"

"The spear's power is depleted. We can't re-open the portal yet."

The Guardian starts to protest until she hears footsteps approaching. She secures the spear along her back and darts to the wall for cover.

An Iron Lord she doesn't recognize steps inside the room, making their way to the center. While their back is turned, the Guardian darts for the door. The Iron Lord turns at the sound of her footsteps but luckily, only catches a glimpse before she's out of sight.

They call for aid and she runs, managing to evade any other contact until she's nearly to the exit.

The doors begin to close, her eyes dart over her shoulder and she catches a bullet to her shoulder. She hurls herself through the opening just before the doors slam shut.

"Get up! Get up! Get up!" Ghost urges as she stumbles onto her feet and takes off toward the mountainside. Getting down is harder than she'd like, but she can't afford to stop and let Ghost heal her.

They're in danger until they're off this mountain.

And when they finally do make it into the forest below, there is the sound of gunfire and screaming.

The Hunter manages to find enough cover for Ghost to work and the instant he transmats, she's on her feet and charging through brush. They need somewhere safe, somewhere–

The shot sounds somewhere to her left and she trips, tucking and rolling down a small slope until she hits flattened ground. She shakes her head, sitting up only to realize she's just beyond a clearing.

Through the brush, there's a Titan fighting for his life and–

“Look! There’s Shaxx! Maybe he can–” Ghost jerks back as the Guardian reels. “He’s…disemboweling someone.”

The Young Wolf shakes her head, willing away the panic mounting in her chest. She leans forward a fraction, watching her Warlord drop the body before straightening up. His helmet turns toward her and she stifles a gasp.

“He knows we’re here!” Ghost starts to tremble a little and she snatches him out of the air, tucking him close against her chest.

She doesn’t dare take her eyes off Shaxx. She can’t even breathe. Her heart is pounding in her ears and there is a nagging sense of terror in the back of her mind that is only kept at bay by the firm hold she has on her Little Light.

Shaxx takes a step toward the foliage but a Warlock comes tearing into the clearing, rambling off an alert about another Warlord in the area and Shaxx takes off with her.

The Young Wolf releases her Ghost and sits back on her heels, taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart.

“...if he’s…then, we’re–” Ghost’s shell rotates rapidly, his eyes darting.

“In the Dark Ages,” she finishes for him, laying back with a soft huff.

“What do we do?”

She doesn’t even know where to begin. Her head is spinning. She’s never seen Shaxx so…crude and violent. She’s never bore witness to his brutality - the very same he’d told her of in the nights they spent in the Tower.

“We…can’t let him find us.” She slowly sits up, “Osiris has mentioned time travel…paradoxes, the like.” She strains to remember the relevant information that went right over her head during that six hour lecture. “We’ll have to find our way home on our own.”

“Well, Saladin is alive…maybe even Zavala? We could ask them?”

“And risk the future?”

“There won’t be a future if we don’t get back, Guardian! They’re counting on us to finish off that Vex!” He floats closer, “It…might be safest for us to ask for help instead of barging into the Iron Temple after we find a power source.”

That’s where this began. Saladin was away with the Cabal. The Vex - Traveler only knows why they chose the stronghold for this but Ghost is right. They need to get inside, the portal will activate when the relic - the relic!

She casts about, frantically searching for the spear.

“There!” Ghost darts forward and she follows his gaze.

It’s lying in the clearing in front of them. How Shaxx missed it, she doesn’t know but she is grateful for one small mercy today.

The Guardian pushes herself up to her feet, scanning the clearing before she steps out and darts to the relic. No more than a moment after she’s picked it up, she’s sent flying against the large tree behind her and it drops from her hand. The collision knocks the air from her lungs and she is barely able to lift her head to see her Warlord striding toward her.

“He’s back!” Ghost transmats away quickly.

The Guardian narrowly makes it to her knees, her eyes dropping to the spear and she lunges for it. Shaxx counters her advance and drives her a few steps back.

She doesn't have time for this.

Her hands ball into fists and she moves in to attack, anything to get around him and get the spear. Shaxx has little difficulty blocking and the instant he finds an opening, his fist collides with her chest plate, sending her hurtling back.

Somehow she gets her footing and avoids tumbling. That's when the pain registers. A quick glance down reveals a sizeable dent in her chestplate from his fist. Her ribs ache and she chokes out a cough as she struggles up to her feet.

He’s on her in an instant, slamming her back against the tree by her throat and she lets out a strangled cry. Her vision is already blurred by the concussion he’s no doubt given her, but she watches in horror as he stoops, snatching up the spear.

She reaches out, he holds the relic out of her reach and adds pressure to her throat. Her fingers tear at his gloves, the sharp prick of his talon drawing blood around her neck. She can’t breathe, she can't–

“Warlord Shaxx!”

His focus is broken and his hold eases. The Guardian gasps for breath, lungs burning in protest from the lack of air. Her boot slams against his knee, throwing him off balance enough for her to break his hold but she lacks the strength to do more than scramble a few feet away before her strength gives. She hits the ground, chest heaving as she barely braces herself on her elbows.

Through it all, her eyes lock on his visor from beneath her helmet. Shaxx has risen once more, grasping the spear firmly in one hand before he pivots to look toward the source of the voice.

It’s…Saladin.

Thank the Traveler. This will save her the trouble of tracking him down but her most pressing issue is avoiding Shaxx’s wrath now.

She can’t make out what’s being said, her head is spinning and she doesn’t dare call upon her Ghost. Her head drops for an instant, she shakes it, trying to chase away the fog over her mind and then she feels a hand on her shoulder. She bolts back out of instinct, her blade in her hand and it’s only after her wrist is seized that she realizes it’s Lord Saladin.

“Easy, Hunter.” His voice cuts through the haze.

She blinks rapidly, willing her vision to clear.

“Careful, Saladin,” Shaxx warns over his shoulder.

“She doesn’t bear his sigil. It’s closer to yours actually,” the Iron Lord retorts evenly, taking the blade from her hand but she offers no protests.

In fact, she drops back down onto the soft grass beneath her, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You’re safe. Your Ghost can–”

Ghost wastes no time in transmatting in, mending her body and when she opens her eyes, she can see clearly again. She’s slow to get her elbows beneath her, a faint twinge lingering in the nerves along her neck from Shaxx’s claws.

She gives an appreciative nod to Saladin as she sits back on her heels. Over his shoulder, Shaxx brandishes the spear before inspecting it. She starts to push up to her feet but Saladin grips her arm, keeping her there.

“Not so fast. We need an explanation from you."

She looks between them quickly and then to her Ghost. He tilts forward in a show of encouragement. The Guardian nods finally, sitting back on her heels and forces herself to relax a fraction.

“There was a surge of energy on Felwinter’s Peak. You know anything about that?”

She nods.

“Your armor matches the description we were given. You were spotted stumbling out of there, is that right?”

She nods again.

“Use your words, Hunter.” Shaxx orders sharply and it takes all she has not to flinch.

He’s never used that tone with her. She’s heard it before but never-never been on the receiving end of it.

“She doesn’t–” Her Ghost starts but Saladin holds up a hand to silence him.

“Tell us.” He urges and the Guardian’s hands clench into fists in her lap.

“I can’t reveal much.” She begins, squaring her shoulders as her head lifts. “The power surge in the Temple was…a time portal opening.”

Shaxx steps closer, “A portal? From where?”

“A few hundred years from now.” She looks up at him. His domineering presence has faltered, replaced with that curiosity she loves so much. “The weapon you hold is from an enemy you have yet to encounter.”

He looks down at the spear.

“And what brought you here?”

“I was fighting it. It was losing.” She repositions, tucking one leg beneath the other, her arm planted on her knee. “It opened a portal, threw me through it. I woke up here.”

Saladin exchanges a look with Shaxx before speaking. “This enemy…what are they called?”

“I can’t answer that. Doing so would offset the timeline and–” her voice falters as her gaze shifts to Shaxx, “Irreparable damage could occur.”

“Why did you flee the Temple?” Saladin stands.

She slowly gets to her feet, aware of Shaxx’s stance change - he’s on the defense now.

“I needed to get my bearings. Find out where and when I was sent to. We were going to seek you out when–” She doesn’t dare look over at Shaxx.

“When you encountered Warlord Shaxx.” Saladin snorts softly, shaking his head.

She nods in confirmation.

Shaxx takes a step closer, she jerks back a step, prepared for a fight but his head tilts and she knows it better than anyone - not a threat, just curious.

“I should apologize for…” he nods to the tree and then back to her, “I mistook you for an enemy.”

She tries a shrug, tries to ignore the subtle pang in her chest. “Honest mistake,” she manages softly, holding her hand out for the spear.

“We’ll hold onto this,” Saladin cuts in.

Her eyes dart to him and she’s sure they both can read the flash of indignance in her stance. Her shoulders drew back, her chin lifted and her spine straightened. Saladin does hand over her knife though, as it were an acceptable substitute for the spear.

“We just need to get home,” Ghost tries to argue but the Iron Lord shakes his head.

“You understand why we can’t just hand you something like this. Not without checking out your story.”

“With all due respect, Lord Saladin,” the Guardian’s tone is sharp, irritated even, “There is no way for you to corroborate this. You can escort us back to the Iron Temple and see for yourself but I can’t afford to wait here long.”

Shaxx steps closer. This time it’s menacing, meant to intimidate but she has been on the receiving end of that in every sparring match. She usually diffuses it with a hug but she doesn’t dare touch him now.

“You’re in no position to make demands, Hunter.”

She squares herself to him, “And I don’t have the time to beg, Lord Shaxx.”

Ghost’s panicked whir sounds in the back of her mind but she doesn’t back away.

Shaxx’s helmet tilts, his frame leaning down a fraction - he’s going to strike if there’s another provocation.

“That’s enough.” Saladin steps between them, his back to Shaxx as he meets her gaze. “We’ll take you back to Shaxx’s fortress for now and decide what to do from there.”

Her jaw clenches, gaze flickering to her Ghost who bobs forward.

“I think that’s the best we’re going to get for now,” he says softly.

Finally, she nods and her Ghost transmats away.

She slides her blade back into its sheath and Saladin nods approvingly. Shaxx hands the spear off before stepping beside her and gripping her arm to escort her.

His touch was always so gentle but this? It’s harsh, forceful. She doesn’t like it but she can’t exactly protest at the moment. Instead, she tries to focus on his presence. It’s still…aggressive, menacing, and overwhelmingly dark but she is pleased to know some part of him - the part she knows in the future - is in there even now.

The three of them walk in silence for a time. Saladin up ahead and Shaxx at her side. At some point, he releases her arm and lets her walk on her own. But the silence between them? Suffocating. Intolerable. Not at all like it would be in the future.

She needs to stop thinking like that - like this is her Shaxx. This is the monster he told her of, the part of him he regrets the most.

“You’re staring…again.” Shaxx bites out lowly.

She stiffens, diverting her gaze.

“Why?” He presses abruptly.

She could tell him she knows him…quite intimately in the future. She could explain how much they mean to one another. But would it change things? When she beats the Gatekeeper, when she returns to the Tower, would things between them be the same as she left them? Could telling him, reminding him of what is in essence, their present, would that change future Shaxx? The armor she bears will be the same he’ll see her in when they next meet, so he'll know.

His grip is back on her arm and he jerks her to a halt, turning her to face him.

“Answer me.” He orders sharply.

“I know you…in my time.” She manages softly.

“Do you?” His head tilts, some of the irritation ebbing from his voice. His head tilts down as if he were taking in her form, “It would explain the armor’s likeness to my sigil…and it is a relief to hear I live that long.”

She smiles slightly, fighting the urge to step closer. “You, Saladin…Zavala. All of you.”

His head lifts a fraction before he looks toward the Iron Lord up ahead, “Come on.” His grip is a touch gentler than it had been as they continue up the path. “What’s the future like?”

She hesitates, angling her head away slightly to note the scenery. When she doesn’t answer, Shaxx seems to understand the reason behind her reluctance and falls silent. Hours tick by before they reach the fortress and it doesn’t reassure her that they’ll make it back to the Iron Temple quickly.

When they step through the gates, Shaxx reclaims his hold on her arm, keeping her at his side. She tries not to think too much about it, taking in the fortress in its…functional grandeur?

It doesn’t compare to the City but that doesn’t come to fruition for some time yet. Still, she catches herself almost leaning into the Warlord as they walk. His presence and temperament may not be the same, but his Light? Well, that’s not the same either but she has to hold on to something.

She’s led to a larger cottage in the center of the fortress - presumably Shaxx’s home. At least they’re not tossing her in a cell or something similar…unless Shaxx has one of those? He never mentioned a prison cell in his home, but he very well could have been keeping it to himself.

She’s so lost in thought, she’s startled by a loud clatter of swords to her right. The Guardian jerks, pressing close to Shaxx out of instinct, her free hand firmly grasping the fabric of his sleeve.

He stops. The weight of his gaze is locked on her but she doesn’t dare look up now. She should let go of his arm, but again, uncertainty grips her and she just stands there, clinging to him as her head lowers.

“Are you so easily frightened you’d cling to your captor?” Shaxx sounds…almost amused, actually. But there’s also a twinge of disapproval. How very like him.

And there goes her dignity.

She lifts her head, looking up at him. She doesn’t exactly have a defense that doesn’t involve a “I’m in love with you in the future and therefore, feel safest in your arms so shut up”. So, she just releases his arm and tries to start walking forward again without offering anything but he tugs her back.

“You’re very selective with your words.”

She tilts her head, silently prodding him to continue.

“Either all or nothing, I see.” His head lowers and she almost shies away, heat rising in her cheeks. “I wonder how I haven’t broken you of it in the future.”

Fuck.

“You’ve tried. I’m very persistent.” She clears her throat, looking toward the Iron Lord stepping inside the cottage, “Saladin is–”

“Not going to save you this time. You’re going to answer my questions or–”

She snorts, leaning her helmet against his chest and closes her eyes. She prepares herself for a blow, something but the Warlord is…stunned.

“Are you so easily flustered you’d hold your captive, Lord Shaxx?” She asks with a degree of smugness and Shaxx shoves her away in the direction of the cottage.

He’s mad now. Good. He’s off-balance when angry.

They step inside, he pushes her toward the back room and there is a wall of chains there. So, he did have a torture room. Intriguing but unfortunate for her.

She could fight him but there isn’t a chance in hell she would escape unscathed with him and Saladin already on high alert. So, she cooperates. She allows the Warlord to bind her but it’s no more than her wrists. It’s a small mercy, but she’ll take it.

It’s been a day, after all.

Saladin lingers by the door, still inspecting the spear, “Are those necessary?”

“Unless you’d care to keep watch?” Shaxx’s tone betrays his irritation and Saladin looks less than pleased.

The Iron Lord steps closer to her as she leans back against the wall, her bound wrists resting in her lap. “I will speak with the others and discuss this…development. In the meantime, you’ll remain here under Shaxx’s watchful eye. I’ll return in the morning with our answer. I wouldn’t advise any escape attempts.”

She snorts, holding up her wrists half-heartedly and gestures for him to leave. Shaxx nudges her leg with his boot in a silent reprimanding but she doesn’t particularly care.

He frightened her in the clearing but now? Now he’s just Shaxx. Her Titan, albeit darker but it’s still him. He can still be flustered so he can be diffused. She’s not worried now but judging by Saladin’s wary look between the two of them, perhaps she should be.

The Titans step out a minute later, the door slams shut and she’s left in both darkness and silence. Ghost remains hidden, it’s the wisest course of action - in case Shaxx does somehow go off the deep end and try to kill him.

She sits and listens for a time. It’s clear Saladin has already departed but it’s unclear whether Shaxx is or is not in the house. So, she settles in, tries to make herself at least somewhat comfortable.

Eventually, her eyes droop shut and she drifts off into a light sleep for a while.

The next time she opens her eyes, the door is being dragged open and there’s this horrible shrill groan of the hinges.

She can make out Shaxx’s horns just before he’s kneeling in front of her.

“Drink,” he lifts her hands, pressing a cold metal cup into them.

It takes a moment for the sleepy daze to ebb but when it does, Shaxx has grown impatient and tugs her hood back. His hands move to the base of her helmet and out of instinct, she grips his wrist to stop him.

It’s too dark in the cell to see much but from the light cast from the door, she watches his shoulders draw back indignantly.

“You intend to drink that without removing your helmet?” His tone is sharp, irritated even.

She shakes her head.

“Then,” he nods to where she’s holding onto his wrist.

A moment’s hesitation before her hand releases his wrist and he unseals her helmet, setting it aside.

“Hm, Awoken. Seems the Light found its way to even your kind.” He remarks, straightening to his full height as she cautiously eyes him. “Drink. I haven’t the time for you to sit idle.” She snorts but does as he orders, downing the cup almost too quickly. Her throat is dry and yet, she holds the cup back out for him to take. He snatches the cup from her hands and turns to leave.

“Shaxx–”

He stills, his head angling toward her but makes no move to turn back.

“...any word from Saladin?” She asks hesitantly.

“No. He’ll have only just made it back to Felwinter’s Peak. Have patience.”

She hasn’t the time for patience. Time is one thing she can’t afford to waste.

The Young Wolf manages a nod yet the Warlord lingers. She has a sense he has a question - one she won't relish answering.

"You've made it clear you cannot reveal our future," Shaxx pivots, the dim light of the hall casting along his helmet.

He stands tall; proud, a culmination of confidence and strength.

She has always loved that about him.

"Your eyes," he takes a half step closer, her focus on his helmet visor. "There's no resentment there. No anger. In fact," another step and he's crouching before her. He reaches out, gripping her chin gently. "Your eyes are filled with warmth. Why?"

She was dreading this question.

"...we're close, in my time." She whispers, his grip harshens as he leans in.

"Try again. The truth, this time."

She swallows, hands balling into fists around her pant legs before she can find her voice.

"We're…partners. We live together. Sleep beside one another - in my time, Shaxx? You are all I have." She manages, a knot forming in her throat as her Warlord studies her intently.

His fingers ease, his thumb brushing over her chin before he withdraws. He doesn't utter a word as he rises, heading for the door.

"Shaxx–"

He stills at the threshold.

She isn't sure what to say, just that she wanted him to stay a moment longer. He looks over his shoulder at her and she wonders if he can see the mild panic in her eyes.

She wonders how this Warlord could ever become the one she loves.

Then Shaxx departs, that shrill groan of the hinges stirring something truly unpleasant in her chest. The instant his steps are indiscernible, the Guardian pushes aside the storm of emotion and shifts up to her knees, scanning through the darkened room.

Ghost materializes beside her, “He realizes you could transmat out of here, right?”

“I imagine he has precautions against that, Ghost.” She tests the restraints; they’re irritatingly tight and well-secured to the wall. Her gaze flits toward the door.

There is no window. What kind of cell has no window?

Well…Shaxx’s evidently.

She has half a mind to chastise him if they return home. Dark Age Shaxx is an insufferable prick and she’d like nothing more than to lay into him.

But again, she doesn’t have the time.

She works a small band of metal from her belt and sets about picking the locks on her cuffs. It’s slow going and incredibly uncomfortable given the angle she has to wrench her wrist to make it work but in the end, she’s met with that satisfying click and she carefully lowers them against the wall to avoid any loud clatter.

She stoops to snatch up her helmet, securing it back in place with a relieved huff.

Next, to get out of this room.

The Young Wolf steps up to the door, testing the knob cautiously. She gestures Ghost closer to the knob and she can make out the other side of the lock.

Something else she can pick.

She crouches down, easing the band of metal inside the lock and carefully sets about her task. Through it all, she strains to listen for the Warlord’s return but when it’s clear he won’t venture near his would-be dungeon, she’s confident enough to click the last mechanism. She remembers the shrill hinges and hesitates, eyeing them thoughtfully for a moment before gathering a cool whisper of Stasis in her hand. If this doesn't work, Shaxx will be on her in an instant but she has to try something. She presses her palm near the hinges, ice beginning to gather along the metal and hopefully, lubricate them enough to prevent any noise. Stasis is, afterall, not just ice.

She does the same to the other two hinges before bracing herself and carefully opening the door. Inch by inch she holds her breath, focus fixated on the hinges until the door is open just far enough to allow her to slip out while Ghost transmats away.

It’s nightfall.

Shaxx waited hours to rouse her with water.

Bastard.

The Guardian scans the hall cautiously before chancing a step forward to get a better glimpse of the front portion of the house.

The front door is far too risky. She’d noticed his study on the way in - if she leaves through the front door, she’ll be spotted in an instant.

She carefully eases back toward the rear end of the house, eyes flitting and darting for any movement until her hand finds the wall. She dares to take her eyes off the hall to scan the space before she spots light filtering through around the corner. The soft moonlight reflects off a sword lodged…in the wall.

She doesn’t want to think about why it’s there but she does move toward it. Thank the Traveler, there is a door just beyond it but - it’s within eyesight of what might be his armory. She peers in and curses in the confines of her own mind; Shaxx is in there.

Perhaps the front door is still plausible?

She slips back into the main hall, turning her back toward the front door to eye the back hall. She can’t go invis right now, he’d hear it but if she doesn’t get creative–

The floorboards squeak behind her and her entire frame goes rigid.

There’s a clatter of something metal meeting the wall and she barely contains her cry of surprise.

For once in your life, ignore it, Shaxx! Please–

She’s frozen in place, eyes locked on that back hall. She doesn’t hear any movement, no call, no grate of metal over wood. Silence. Perfect silence.

But that means he’s listening now, straining to hear any movement in his house and she doesn’t dare take a step.

There’s a Sentinel shield that bounces around the corner in that instant, hurdling toward her and she has no choice. She darts to the side, tucking and rolling and colliding with a bench in the hall.

That she knew he heard.

Fuck!

The Guardian makes a break for the front door. She isn’t prepared when Shaxx barrels into her from the corner off to her left, slamming her against the hall wall and pins her there by her throat.

How did he get in front of her?!

“Going somewhere?” She can hear the anger in his voice but there’s something else there, too. Effort.

He’s…restraining himself. No doubt from killing her and she’s about to test his resolve.

This isn’t the first time Shaxx has pinned her. In the clearing, she was still wounded. She wasn’t at full strength but here? Here she can put up a fight.

She recalls a move she used on him not long ago in the Crucible. He really does like using his size to his advantage and that much hasn’t changed in two hundred years.

Her hand clamps around his wrist as her other arm swings upright and slams down against his forearm. He growls in pain and it gives her enough of a chance to slam her boot into his knee - he was expecting that blow. He doesn’t even waiver.

He hoists her up into the air, beginning to cut off her airway but she brace her feet against the wall. She narrowly gets a chance to swing again at his arm but this time-this time she pushes off the wall as she strikes.

Shaxx is thrown off balance and his hold falters. She wrenches his hand from her throat, his claws drawing blood but she ignores the pain and scrambles a few feet away. Her chest heaves for air as she eyes the Warlord.

He straightens up, drawing a sword from his back and she retreats a few steps.

They never disarmed her. Probably assumed she wouldn’t try to escape if they placate her into believing they’d help her return to her time.

Ghost transmats her sword into place and she drags it over her shoulders and drops into a defensive stance.

Shaxx’s helmet tilts before he charges.

Traveler, he doesn’t pull his punches. She retreats more than she can attack. He’s relentless and what blows she does land chips away at her strength.

She doesn’t have time for this.

Her eyes find the door over his shoulder and her grip on the sword doubles down. She’s going to have to hurt him. Imagine he’s someone other than her Warlord.

Same height as a Hive Knight? That’ll do.

She charges this time, tucking and rolling to grant herself a closer space of attack. Somehow, she manages to get around him. She slashes her sword between two armor plates and Shaxx cries out in pain.

It wrenches her soul.

She hears him hit his knees but she’s already running for the door. It occurs to her he hasn’t used his Light but she doesn’t have a chance to reason out why.

Her sword slides back into place along her spine as she tears through the fortress. She goes invis, making her way up the wall platforms and hurls herself over the wall into the forest below.

She needs to get back to the Iron Temple and worry about a power source later. Saladin had to have taken the spear with him to study it. Why did that Vex have to send her to an era she knew?

Hours tick by as she makes her way back as rapidly as she can manage. She stopped long enough for Ghost to mend her neck before pressing on. She strains to listen for movement behind her, any indication Shaxx was close by. But it occurs to her that she has a head start and although Shaxx is resourceful, he’d no doubt prefer to spend his time beating his prey to their goal.

He’ll be at the Temple when she arrives or lying in wait to spring an ambush.

Her strides falter for an instant and she stills in the middle of the forest.

The Young Wolf has to be smart about this. Lord Shaxx is not to be trifled with and if she can’t best him and whatever forces he’s rallied? This will be a short campaign.

Perhaps it’s best to find a power source first? But that gives them more time to prepare and the odds of success grow more daunting.

What is she supposed to do?

She leans against the tree off to her right, touching the edge of her helmet as her eyes dart over the foliage.

If she goes for the Temple first, she’ll still be short a power source. She wouldn’t have a chance in hell of breaching the Temple twice. But what if Saladin has agreed to aid her? It would eliminate one problem but judging by his tendency to distrust and…well, her escape, he won’t be as forthcoming with help.

So, it’s settled. The power source and then she ventures near the Temple.

It’s her only hope.

Now, where can she get something strong enough to power a Vex spear?

The Traveler! Of course!

She recalls where that shard of Traveler is. She’d sought it out during the Red War to reclaim her Light, there must be a way for Ghost to channel a shard’s power into the relic for a brief period - just long enough to get home.

She has a plan.

Now all she needs is some luck and a shard.

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

It’s there, beaming in the waning moonlight.

It’s nearly dawn but the Guardian managed to make it. Neither the Iron Lords nor Warlords alike know of it but she’ll still have to be quick. She can’t afford them tracking her here - if they could track her at all.

But there is one complication - the Fallen.

There are so many of them.

She can’t pick a fight. She can’t try and reason with them.

Her best option lies with sneaking past them and trying to secure a shard that way but this is a house she doesn’t recognize. They're not House of Light, but that means nothing. Even if they are from the House of Devils, she can't risk killing any of them. One misstep and–

No. There won't be any missteps.

She'll find a way in without killing any of them.

The Young Wolf gathers herself, checking the barrel of her hand canon before sliding it back into its holster. She begins the descent toward the fragment, weaving to avoid brush until she's just beyond the pond.

Crossing it silently will be problematic. Especially given the number of Dregs about.

The Guardian watches them for a time, trying to decipher their movements to grant her an opening. Sure enough, there's a small one toward the back of it. The guards never venture too close to it, just venturing far enough to see the stone a few feet beyond it before circling back.

Another moment and she slips from her cover, going invis almost immediately. She traverses the pond as quietly as she can manage, the currents of each step dissipating as they lap against the ankles of Dregs. She presses herself against the fragment and slips behind it, finally letting her cover fall as she inspects the newest complication before her.

She can't shoot it out and carving would also draw attention.

Ghost materializes beside her, scanning the fragment for himself for a weak point while she keeps watch. She's almost afraid to breathe but she's hoping nothing else can go any more wrong tonight.

"Here," Ghost whispers, floating down near a small chiseled indent around a small shard. "Your blade should just fit."

The Guardian draws her knife, scanning the pond cautiously before she notches the tip of her blade in the groove. She carefully works it in deeper, shimmying it side to side until she's sure it's far enough.

There's a sound of steps off to her left and she snatches Ghost out of the air, tucking him close to conceal the subtle glow of his eye as she strains to listen.

There's the chittering of a Dreg and then sharp blue eyes that are barely visible around the corner before the footsteps recede.

She stays still a few moments longer before releasing her Little Light.

"That was close," he mutters, "You'd better hurry."

The Young Wolf is a little less careful in her movement of the knife, working through stone until the shard jostles free and she snatches it up.

Ghost vanishes and she carefully creeps toward the side of the massive shard.

She watches the Dregs move about, a few congregating closer than they had before.

She should wait it out.

But she hasn't the time.

Tracking the Dregs had taken longer than she'd like. It's late. After midnight some time and that means Shaxx has had the time to catch up, if not surpass her on the road to the Iron Temple thanks to her tremendous detour.

She needs to get moving again.

The Young Wolf carefully creeps back, squeezing between the massive shard and the stone wall behind it. It's close, her chest plate grinds against it and she can only hope those Dregs can't hear it.

She emerges on the other side, scanning the darkness before she bolts. Going invis four steps in, the Guardian is keenly aware she's splashing too loudly through the pond, drawing the Dregs' attention.

There's a ring of chittering as she pierces the treeline, tearing through brush as quickly as she can.

Her steps only slow when she reaches a large clearing more than five miles from the Traveler shard. Full speed sprinting in pitch darkness, she's surprised she didn't trip.

As she sinks against a broad tree, her hands find the shard along her belt. Her chest heaves and still, she manages half a smile.

It was worth it. They have a power source. They can go home.

"Good work, Guardian." Ghost materializes beside her, shell rotating in a show of excitement.

He scans over it, "This should do the trick! Once we recover the spear, I can show you how to channel the power."

She lets him transmat it away for safekeeping just before he settles in her palm in its place.

"You should rest–"

"We can't afford to–"

Ghost darts up, "You won't be any good in a fight if you don't rest, Guardian. Even before we arrived, that was the third mission in a row. You've barely slept and this thing with Shaxx can't–"

She drops her head back against the tree with a sigh, "Alright. You stay where it's safe."

"Done!" Ghost whirls, bumping against the edge of his helmet before he transmats.

Ghost is right. She is exhausted.

The few hours she got in Shaxx's questionable dungeon was enough to tide her over before but now?

Her eyes sag shut and she focuses on calming her racing heart, steadying her breathing as she listens to the forest around her.

She's far enough away from the Iron Temple that they won't be looking for her yet. She can get a half hour maybe before she has to fight again.

Once she gets through the Temple, she's back to the Vex fight. And from there, home.

In the end, the Guardian manages to drift off for a little while, longer than she intended. Her dreams are more like nightmares: her subconscious wrestling with potential repercussions of failure.

Worst of all, she sees him.

Not the one she flees, but the one she runs toward.

When she finally comes to, Shaxx's name is a soft cry and then she's upright.

He's…right there, propped against a tree just a few fleeting feet from her. The Warlord, not her Crucible Handler.

He tilts his head, "That's quite some dream you were having." He remarks, pushing upright and striding closer.

How could he have found her? She's far enough from the Temple–

Her mind is still reeling from the nightmares so when he crouches beside her, she doesn't have the sense to lean away, to move.

His touch registers against her shoulder and that's when she bolts, scrambling back against the tree but there isn't much space to begin with.

He laughs softly, rising to his full height before he offers her a hand up.

What is going on?

"You put up quite the fight back there. I'm impressed."

Shouldn't he be trying to kill her by now?

She looks from his outstretched hand to his visor. He offers it a bit more insistently and she finally slips her hand into his and lets him pull her up to her feet.

Once upright, Shaxx doesn't release her hand. It feels more like a precaution on his part but until she's given any indication of danger, she has no reason to try and free herself.

"What's going on?" She manages.

"Saladin believes you. We'll help you get home." He returns, angling his head. "I apologize for the–" he gestures with his other hand.

"You don't like to apologize, do you?" She smiles slightly.

He snorts but nods all the same.

That much hasn't changed in two hundred years.

"And this…?" She nods to his hand, still firmly clamped around her own.

He follows her gaze, lifting their hands. “Feels…right?”

Could it? Even this far back in time?

Her fingers curl around his slowly, eyes fixated on the contact for a moment before she steps a fraction closer and lays her head on his chest.

He wraps an arm around her and her frame sags into him. It’s all so familiar, the warmth, the comfort - she missed it.

“So easily disarmed,” he taunts and she hasn’t the heart to argue. "If only I'd known in the fortress. We could have avoided–"

She snorts, drawing her head back to look up at him. She gets to go home and now Shaxx wants to play nice. She squeezes his hand before gently pulling away and she's surprised he allows it. She stoops to grab her sword before gesturing for him to lead the way.

He lingers for an instant, holding her gaze until he nods and beckons her along.

They fall into a comfortable silence as they walk. The Guardian scans the forest absently, trying to ignore this nagging sense of unease in her stomach.

"Saladin has the relic?" She asks at last.

"He does." He confirms but offers nothing else.

The Guardian’s eyes dart to his helmet as she comes to a halt. Shaxx stops a few steps ahead of her, pivoting to meet her gaze.

"What is it?"

This is wrong. All of it–

"You're not taking me to the Iron Temple, are you?" She retreats a step.

"Now you're just being paranoid, Hunter." He holds his position, "Saladin–"

"Would have come himself if what you say is true." Her hand hovers over her handcanon.

Shaxx straightens a fraction, his shoulders drawn back as he tilts his head. "You overestimate your significance to him."

She tugs the fabric of her cloak aside for an instant, lifting the Iron Lord pendant for Shaxx to see. "I argue to the contrary. I know him better than you think."

Shaxx nods slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he casts his gaze over the forest. "You're clever, I'll grant you that. But this ends one of two ways; you come with me without a fight or I kill you here and drag your carcass back to Lord Saladin."

"Either way, I end up before Saladin?"

He nods in confirmation.

She needs to reach him either way, it doesn't matter if she's at Shaxx’s side or not when it happens.

She straightens up as Shaxx approaches her.

"Wise choice."

She juts her chin up a fraction, glaring at him from beneath her visor.

"You are such a feisty, troublesome thing, aren't you?" He grips her arm but she doesn't flinch. She doesn't so much as waver when he touches her chin gently. "You lost your fear of death a long time ago, I think. What's left knows what battles to fight, how to survive. Is that why I don't frighten you, Hunter? Because death is your friend?"

She scoffs but offers no words in return. She's too angry to answer. Too stiff to move. Too lost in his touch, despite her better judgment.

"Answer me," he coaxes though his voice is soft yet intense. She longs for the booming anger. That, she's used to. This? This sends a chill through her spine. This sets every nerve on edge and for a moment, she wonders if he truly could frighten her.

She gathers herself, leaning into the Warlord and guides his hand away from her jaw. "You don't frighten me. Leave it at that."

His frame tenses but she has enough of a chance to grip his wrist before he can even consider a strike.

"Lead me back to Saladin. We're done talking." She bites out lowly and Shaxx’s head tilts. He knows he can weaponize her affection for his future self, meaning she needs to be so much more careful about this. No more slip ups. No more momentary instances of weakness where she indulges him.

She keeps him at a distance and when she returns to her Shaxx…she can breathe again.

But for now, this Warlord doesn't get any closer.

"I can walk on my own," she jerks her arm away from him and waits.

"Stay close." He returns shortly, nodding in a gesture to follow as he starts toward the mountain.

The journey will take a few hours but eventually, the Young Wolf walks beside Shaxx rather than just behind him, if for no other reason than to ensure they are headed where he tells her they are headed.

And to Shaxx’s credit, he doesn't threaten nor manhandle her as they walk.

He's almost calm. Which should probably alarm her but after the last forty-eight hours, she will accept any reprieve she can get.

And as the sun starts to rise, the Young Wolf finds herself stealing a glimpse up toward the Warlord.

He notices, of course. But he does not ask. He doesn't press or demand, he lets it slide and that's all she could hope for.

But she has her own questions and she needs them answered.

"In the fortress," she begins quietly, scanning the forest around them, "Why didn't you use your Light?"

His head tilts toward her but his eyes remain ahead, "What does it matter?"

"You would've won if you'd used your Light."

"Saladin wants you alive. It's unlikely your Ghost would have been willing to rez you in that situation after I'd killed you." Now his gaze falls to her and she dearly wishes it wouldn't. "You're fortunate. Most die before they draw my blood."

She snorts skeptically. She's drawn blood from him multiple times…there's no way Shaxx holds back when they fight. Granted, it's not as savage and violent as this Shaxx fights but his strength is there. His intensity.

Perhaps he found a better way and it's not just "good sportsmanship".

Next question then.

"...how long were you in that clearing before I woke up?"

Shaxx snorts, "Why does that matter?"

"It matters."

He shakes his head, helping her up a steeper slope that he can cross in two strides.

"I deserve to know how long I was being watched." She tightens her hold on his hand.

"It's not relevant.”

She maneuvers in front of him, "It is to me."

Shaxx’s head tilts - a subtle reprimanding he usually employs - before he heaves a sigh. "If I answer, you'll stop asking questions?"

She nods.

He grumbles before starting past her, "An hour and a half."

The Guardian stops where she is and Shaxx pauses when he realizes she isn't right behind him.

"...you–" Her voice falters with an emotion she can't quite place.

"Know you have a fight when we return you to your time. You'll need all the rest you can get." He continues up the path and the Young Wolf slowly starts to follow.

Shaxx confuses her.

A near death first encounter. A tender brush in that dungeon before he nearly killed her a second time but chose to hold back. Now he keeps watch over her while she sleeps and–

“Stop overthinking it,” he continues with a sharp edge. “Keep up, we have much ground to cover before we reach Felwinter’s Peak.”

Her stride quickens until she’s at his side once more. Perhaps he’s right. Overthinking, trying to rationalize? It’s more energy than it’s worth. But he did say he knew she had to return to her time, so perhaps…perhaps they are on her side. Perhaps there was a modicum of truth to his words back in the clearing and Saladin is more willing to help than Shaxx is trying to let on.

Still, it’s clear that Shaxx will continue to block any attempt at getting answers and she doubts she'll be able to drag definite answers out of him anytime soon. So, she settles for silence as they walk.

They reach a smaller camp at the base of Felwinter’s Peak a number of hours later and the Guardian casts her gaze up toward the Temple. Shaxx’s hand eases around her bicep, tucking her a little closer to his frame and she sets her jaw in response.

He's ensuring she can't bolt. That she won't try to make it to the Iron Temple but she needs that spear first. The Temple is secondary.

So she doesn't fight him.

She lets him guide her through the camp, well aware of passing gazes of other Iron Lords and civilians. She doesn't recognize most of them, but a few - Efrideet, Felwinter, even Timur. Saladin had told her of them all, but it's surreal to see them now, breathing, prepared for a fight.

She presses a fraction closer to Shaxx, her fingers brushing against his Titan mark and it's enough that the Warlord looks down at her.

He is an anchor whether he likes it or not.

But his grip eases regardless, less forceful in his guiding until he moves a tent flap aside and leads her inside.

An instant later, his hold relinquishes and he lingers near the entrance of the tent. She stands in the center, uncertain as she looks up at him.

They're waiting.

For Saladin, likely.

So, she turns, scanning the space before taking a seat away from the back of the tent but close enough to Shaxx that he won't feel obligated to hover.

For a time, they hold one another’s gaze before the Guardian finally looks away. At some point, she lays down, adjusting the angle of her hood to give her head some cushion.

Shaxx paces closer, kneeling down to check on her for a moment before she bats his hand away blindly. She just wants to sleep, just for a little while. Just until things are settled and she can leave.

But the Warlord takes a seat beside her instead. He deliberately lifts her head and when she starts to bolt away, he hauls her back by her shoulder.

"Be still. I'm not going to hurt you." He grumbles, guiding her to lay back down, but this time, resting her head on his thigh.

She is rigid for a few minutes, trying to decipher his intentions until his palm settles along her shoulder in an almost soothing gesture.

She isn't sure what game this is but his leg is decidedly more comfortable than the ground. The Guardian readjusts a little, shifting a bit to accommodate the height change before her head lulls toward his torso, her helmet clinking lightly against his plating before she closes her eyes.

His hand drifts up, cradling the underside of her jaw and she suspects it's less a comfort and more a deliberate establishment of power. A warning almost, but a wordless one.

She's too tired to care.

She lets him keep his hand in place as she drifts off for a little while. At some point, her hand finds his in her sleep and she holds it closer as she snuggles her head down against it.

She's awoken only by the Warlord jostling her. She bolts upright, reality crashing back into place and for some reason, she still has hold of his hand. She looks from their hands to Shaxx and then the doorway.

"Well, you've gotten comfortable." Salading sounds almost angry even as she snatches her hand free of Shaxx’s and gets to her feet.

Whether that remark was intended for Shaxx or herself, she can't be sure. But a part of her doesn’t want to know because if she did, that would mean he is in there somewhere. He who is familiar and gentle and so much more of a threat to her because her guard falls instinctively when at his side. There is no danger in Shaxx's arms, but just this once, his embrace is what very well could get her killed.

So perhaps, perhaps that remark was just that - a passing remark. An idle observation drawn from just a fleeting instance of comfort. A humane consideration that means no more than that.

Because this isn't her Shaxx.

The Guardian finally notes the spear in Saladin’s hand and for a moment, the inclination to steal it back and run like hell strikes her. But then she notices Shaxx standing and that thought all but vanishes. She’d never make it out - not against the two of them and Traveler only knows how many Iron Lords outside in that camp.

"Shaxx tells me you have an Iron Lord pendant." Saladin’s voice draws the Young Wolf from her thoughts.

Her spine straightens, her gaze flickering between the two of them before she moves the cloak fabric aside to reveal it. Saladin leaves the spear in Shaxx’s grasp before approaching. His features are set in a hard line, his eyes flickering from her visor down to the leatherbound metal around her neck.

His fingers hook beneath the pendant, inspecting it slowly. "Where did you get this?"

"...it was a gift. From you." She returns cautiously, "A few hundred years from now."

His eyes lift to her visor for an instant before he draws his own from around his neck. The two are identical save for some wear on hers. Saladin narrows his eyes before he releases the pendant. His focus shifts back to her visor but he does not step back.

“If what you say is true–”

“Then your return is more urgent than we anticipated.” Shaxx supplies, earning himself a look of warning from his mentor.

Saladin paces away a few steps and the Young Wolf tucks her pendant away. It seems Shaxx is more on her side now…or perhaps, it’s a ruse. She isn’t sure anymore. This era differs quite a bit in comparison to what her Shaxx had told her. He did omit quite a bit, but she can’t say that she blames him.

Saladin heaves a sigh and turns back to the Guardian, “Alright. Somehow, you’ve earned his trust,” he nods to Shaxx, “And despite my reservations, I trust his judgment.” The Iron Lord takes a step closer and the Guardian squares her shoulders. “But make no mistake. If this is a trick–”

“I’ll handle it myself,” Shaxx reassures him.

Saladin gives Shaxx another pointed look before beckoning them to follow. “Shaxx will accompany you up the mountain. I’ve already made him aware of the specifics of your arrival, so he’ll escort you to the proper location.”

The Young Wolf nods, “Thank you.”

Saladin grumbles something about not thanking him before brushing the tent flap aside and stepping out into the encampment. Beyond the tent, the Guardian hangs back a few steps, but she can hear a brief exchange between the Iron Lord and Warlord a few steps in front of her.

"You know better." Saladin reprimands lowly.

"She has a fight before her. A modicum of comfort would help her rest better, so I offered it. Do not presume to understand."

Saladin grips Shaxx’s forearm and the two stop abruptly. Arc ignites against Solar, a subtle flare of wills and tempers that alarms the Young Wolf enough for her to hold short of them, glancing between the Titans apprehensively.

Saladin looks to her and then back to Shaxx, "We'll discuss this later."

Shaxx squares his shoulders as Saladin releases him and moves forward.

The Guardian steps up beside Shaxx, watching Saladin go. "Thank you," she manages softly.

"Don't thank me." He returns as his gaze drops to her, "Just win whatever fight you're returning to."

She nods wordlessly and Shaxx beckons her to follow as he leads her up the mountain. He carries the spear, more a convenience, or at least, that's what they tell her.

She doesn't anticipate he'll relinquish it easily when they reach the Temple but this grants her time to find a means of attaining it.

Halfway up the mountain, Shaxx's pace slows just enough to keep him within a few steps of her. To the point his hand brushes her own and she begins to wonder about his motivations.

Then comes the questions.

"Hunter–"

"I can't tell you anything more, Shaxx." She interjects gently. "You're at risk as is. And I can't go home to an empty apartment tonight, my Titan."

"...why would you?"

"If I change anything here, Shaxx–"

"I'm not asking you to," he cuts her off both verbally and physically, her head snapping upward to his face. "I need to know…how is it I find you? Now?"

"You don't. I won't be rezzed for another few hundred years." She tilts her head.

"But where–"

She chuckles softly, shaking her head as she continues past him. "I can't tell you that."

He catches hold of her arm, pulling her back to him and she has no choice but to let him. Her boots had skidded against the rock she was stepping on and Shaxx took advantage of her loss of balance.

She looks up at him but then the hand on her waist registers and her head lowers. She wishes he wouldn't hold her like that - like her Shaxx would. Carefully cradling her form against him, fingers spraying firmly along her spine.

"You're stubborn." He remarks.

"Something you come to admire in my time."

His head tilts and he gently eases her back onto her feet. "How do I meet you?"

He's so curious about their future, she doesn't think he's even considered why.

"I'll tell you when we reach the Temple." She carefully eases his hand from her waist, "I need to–"

"Go. Yes, I'm aware." The Warlord sounds almost irritated as he recoils and starts back up the mountain.

He's being petulant. He is definitely used to getting what he wants but that won't work on her. It never has.

When they reach the Temple, Shaxx guides her to the room she'd portalled into. Her Ghost materializes beside her and begins to scan the room.

"The portal should be - ah! The residual energy is strongest here so you should have no trouble re-opening it." He turns and the Guardian looks over her shoulder at Shaxx.

She pivots, holding out her hand for the spear and Shaxx’s head dips a fraction. Reluctance permeates his entire frame but he still draws the weapon from his shoulders and steps up to her.

One hand curls around the spear before she looks up at him. Her other hand splays against his chestplate as a silent request to let go.

"Do you want to know the real reason I didn't use my Light back at the fortress?"

Not what she was expecting but she had to admit that she wae curious. She desperately wanted to know what spared her his wrath. So, the Guardian nods, tracing a scar in his chestplate.

"It's because I knew I'd regret it one day. Robbing myself of whatever haven I've found in you in your time. Killing you would mean I never find that…piece. The fragment clinging to the Light that finds solace in you." He steps closer. "I didn't kill you, Hunter, for purely selfish reasons. I hope they were well placed."

The Young Wolf pushes up onto the balls of her feet, lifting his helmet a fraction. Shaxx grips her wrists for an instant before the fight drains away, replaced by curiosity.

Her helmet transmats away and she presses a soft kiss to his lips.

His form goes rigid. His shoulders draw back in surprise but he does not pull away. He doesn't lean in either but he does return the kiss, gently, carefully. His hand cups her jaw and she smiles into the caress.

When they do break apart a few moments later, the Guardian smiles. She touches his hand, tracing along his knuckles.

"It will be."

She lets his helmet settle back into place and withdraws. She grips the spear, offering a smile before turning away from him.

She steps up to where the portal should be, running a hand along the spear before Ghost transmats the Traveler shard into her hand.

"I should question where you got that," Shaxx’s voice rings behind her, far more steady than she feels.

She looks over her shoulder at him, tilting her head and he chuckles softly, shaking his own.

"But I know better."

She smiles, turning back as Ghost helps her channel the Light into the spear. Just enough to power it before she plunges it into the stone and the portal rips open before her.

Wind whips through the room as she dislodges the spear and pivots to face the Warlord. Shaxx has taken a step closer, his hand half-raised and for a moment, she thinks he'll retreat but instead he closes those last few feet.

"Tell me before you go…how do we meet?"

She tilts her head, reaching up to cradle the edge of his helmet. "Telling you could change things."

"Please."

She doesn't have much time but she relents, "The first time I come to the Tower, you invite me to spar with you. That, my Titan, is how we meet."

He lowers his head a fraction. "I'll wait for you there, wherever this Tower is."

"I know you will," she clinks her helmet against his gently, "I'll see you soon."

The Young Wolf pulls away, backing into the portal and when she emerges, it is time for a fight.

And this time, she won't lose.

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

Stepping inside their home is the hardest thing she's had to do today.

Venturing beyond that threshold, silently searching the house until she finds Lord Shaxx on the back balcony. He's…without his armor, arms crossed as he gazes out over the City.

She should get cleaned up. She should do something to delay this but she can't think of anything else besides facing him and putting it behind them.

She removes her helmet, setting it on the stand just inside the door before she crosses that last barrier and steps out onto the balcony beside Shaxx.

His head turns toward her, his eyes flickering down along her frame. He reaches out, pressing a few fingers against the massive dent from his fist along her chestplate.

"So, it finally happened."

She swallows and nods, diverting her gaze.

"I knew this day was coming, I just…I had almost hoped I misremembered. That I didn't–" his voice falters, an agonized crack on the last word that spurs the Young Wolf forward a few steps to hug him.

"Guardian–" he whispers, gathering her impossibly close and squeezing. "I'm sorry."

Don't apologize. Please.

The words are trapped in her throat and all she can manage is a "No."

His hold doubles down and she buries her face against the crux of his neck.

I missed you.

He holds her for a long time, whispering affections and apologies in one mangled plea. She tries to reassure him, tries to find the words but she can't.

Finally, she can't hear anymore. She can't stomach the pain this has caused him.

The Young Wolf pulls free of Shaxx’s embrace, grips the collar of his shirt and drags him down for a harsh kiss.

Stop. Just, stop.

She swears she felt a tear slip between them before Shaxx gathers her in his arms, returning the kiss tenderly and she can finally relax.

It'll be alright now.

She won't lose him.

After today, losing Shaxx would be the one thing she couldn't bear. Her anchor. Her home. Her Titan.

Shaxx kisses her gently yet there is a desperation to it. An almost frantic exchange of affection as if he's trying to convince himself she won't vanish between his fingertips.

She manages to back him against the banister, press herself as close as she can manage and it steadies him. His hands begin to drift along her frame; that same tender, affectionate brush she had ached for.

No dangerous edge. No deliberate gripping. Just unadulterated exploration of something he knows impossibly well and could trace in his sleep. Every inch, every scar, everything.

That's how well her Warlord knows her.

And she'll let him.

As many times as it takes for him to remember that she loves him more than anything and seeing his past self? Seeing the man he's overcome? She's more proud than anything else.

Tomorrow, perhaps, she'll find the words. She will tell him how proud she is of who he's become. She'll shower him in affection and words of affirmation to remind him they are inseparable even by time and space.

But for tonight, they stumble inside. A blind frenzy of armor plates being removed and clothing being scattered along the floor. For tonight, Shaxx apologizes over and over with every kiss and caress. For tonight, the Guardian cuddles up in his arms after hours of love-making and listens to his heart thrum.

For tonight, it's the physical.

Tomorrow is for the heart and she'll ensure he never questions where they stand.

Because nothing has changed.

Nothing will ever change how she feels about Lord Shaxx.

Not even his past.

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

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Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @forgotten-by-the-stars @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 @aetosavros @niemands-bibliothek @paracausal-hunter @florence-and-the-machinegun @orbdotexe

Shaxx's Guardians: @tootiredforyourshit3963 @squirrel-stars 

#lord shaxx #lord shaxx x guardian #shaxx #shaxx x guardian #the young wolf #saladin forge #lord saladin #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #destiny 2 fanfiction #phantom writes

[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents

Enemy of my Enemy

Pairing: Uldren x Young Wolf

Category: One-Shot

Genre: Fluff

Rating: 13+

Warnings: No major warnings apply

Word Count: 951

Summary: Enemy of my enemy is… also my enemy?

they/them pronouns used for the Guardian. we're inclusive here.

author's note: I'm so abnormal about them it's probably not healthy. also arguably a reader insert cause you are the guardian?? whatever.

Enemy of my enemy, never been a friend to me.

There is an old saying from before the Golden Age. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”Most things from before the Golden Age had rotted into obscurity, meaningless memories of a past long dead, like old bones of interest only to historians and those who mourn its loss personally.

Unfortunately, this particular memory of the time long before was frustratingly still applicable.

The Guardian is a capable fighter, a worthwhile ally in the hunt for the House of Wolves. An ally if only by a common enemy because he’d be damned if they were anything more.

Uldren hates the Guardian, despises everything about them.The way they tilt their arm up when they grab their gun, it’s such a needless “trick”. Just hold your hands steady, and you won’t tilt the sights.

The way their gauntlets are so dented and scarred. Just take a bit of time to buff out your armor, it wouldn’t even take that long, it’s just lazy.

He hates the way they grow silent when analyzing a target. It’s so unsettling. Just… say things to your team. It makes missions more effective.

He tries to convince himself he hates the way they smile into the sunshine, tilting their head up just a bit to catch the light a bit more. He tries to convince himself that he hates how they lean in a bit when people speak to them, so quiet and so focused on listening. He tries to convince himself that he hates the way their voice rasps when they speak, unaccustomed to talking, quiet and rough, annoyingly so.

He’s starting to wonder if Mara is making him work with them because she’s mad at him right now. She knows how much he hates the Guardian.

“You don’t hate them, dear brother. If you did, you’d be quieter about them,” she had said when he raised issue with having to work with them again.

He hates that maybe she’s right.

Maybe the vain attempts to convince himself of how much he despises them aren’t working. But damn if he doesn’t try, taking every small flaw and amplifying it to infinity.

They walk too fast. They’re too confident. They’re so unsettlingly quiet so often. They’re constantly hyperactive. They’re so reckless on the battlefield. They have awful taste in music. What the hell even is Led Zeppelin? Their eyes are creepy, speckled with the Light, twining around the Iris like vines. Their smile is infuriatingly genuine. They almost never talk when they’re not on the field, preferring to let their Ghost do it for them. They don’t even have a proper name! What kind of hero doesn’t have a proper name?!

He repeats these small hatreds to himself, reminds himself of how they dance so stupidly at any given opportunity, how they drop the ground when they sit like their armor suddenly became too much weight to carry, reminds himself how they run about the Reef like a child every time they arrive.

And then they do things like this.

The mission had been complete, but the Guardian had insisted on staying behind just a bit longer because “the sun is about to set and it’s always so pretty out here.”

So, they sit on the ledge of a cliff, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the sky with rapt attention. And Uldren is standing a few feet away, impatiently waiting for the sun to set so they can get a move on already. He has things to do that aren’t… this.

“Stop sulking over there. I can feel your glare from here,” they call over their shoulder.

Uldren huffs. “I’m not sulking, I’m waiting.”

“Waiting, sulkily,” they counter, turning around to look at him. “Come on, sit down with me. Watch the sunset. Maybe seeing the glorious beauty of life will help fix that relentless hateful energy you have all the time,” they say and pat the ground next to them.

“I’d rather die,” Uldren all but hisses.

“Well, cliff’s right there,” they gesture. “Feel free to jump.”

He rolls his eyes and does his best to hide the hint of a smile battling its way onto his face. That was… a clever comeback. He has to give them that.

“Ah!” The Guardian cries, stumbling to their feet, pointing at him. “What’s that? Are you smiling?!”He bares his teeth at them. “No,” he growls.

“My god you were! And I thought you were allergic to happiness!” they tease, approaching him.

“I’m not, I didn’t smile, now go back to watching your sunset so we can leave. Please.”

They stretch their arms out, and shake their head. “Ah, I’ve seen plenty of sunsets before. And I got something way more valuable out of this,” they offer him a mischievous grin. “You have a pretty smile.”

He tenses, heat flushing his face. No, no! He doesn’t like them. They’re not even friends! They’re just an ally. Enemy of my enemy. They’re annoying and overconfident and only useful as a gunman and- and wow, they look pretty at sunset, the fading light catches beautifully on their face, glinting off their armor like paintings of gods and angels from before the Golden Age, like Ares with kinder eyes. No! No, don’t think like that!

They lean in, eyes teasing. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” He thinks his brain short-circuited for a second there.

They clap a hand on his shoulder, and begins to walk past them. “Come on, let’s get back, eh? I’d like to get back to the Tower before tomorrow.”

God, he hates the Guardian so much. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, but The Guardian is an enemy all their own.

Just discovered All Them Witches while porting this. Pretty good band.

ao3: houseofmcallister main account: houseofmcallister buy me a coffee!

Don’t repost my work or I’ll eat your shoulder blades! I do not consent to my works being used for AI training purposes.

#destiny the game #destiny fanfic #destiny 2 #fanfic #destiny fic #uldren x guardian #uldren x young wolf #uldren x reader #destiny x reader #destiny the game fanfic #d2 fanfic #uldren sov x guardian

[visionsofmagic]

Hey there :) if it’s okay to ask what is destiny [sons of odin x reader] going to be about and which sons will be romantically involved:)

it's okay! & here's the link of plot of the work: <3

I said it in the notes section but to make a clear statement; in the fic, I want the reader has specific feelings as romantically, friendly and soulmate for all three sons. heimdall as lover, thor as kindred spritis/soulmates refers to two souls that understand each other deeply, and baldur as a soulmate we all know. however, the reader will have romantic parts with each of them since the fic is determined to show love, affection and feelings that odin's sons has for the reader. ^^

I hope answer helps! ^^

#anon #question #destiny fic #baldur x reader #thor x reader #heimdall x reader #odin's sons x reader #^^

[zalia]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny) Characters: Osiris (Destiny), Saint-14 (Destiny), Immaru | Savathûn's Ghost (Destiny), The Traveler (Destiny), Sagira | Osiris's Ghost (Destiny), The Witness (Destiny), Original Ghost (Destiny) Additional Tags: Game: Destiny 2: Season of the Witch Spoilers, Game: Destiny 2: Lightfall DLC, Dreams, Visions, Game: Destiny 2, The Last City (Destiny), Anger, Grief/Mourning, Regret, Affection, Advice, Ghosts, Neomuna (Destiny), Frustration, Pain, Surreal, Symbolism, Love Summary:

In the dream, you are screaming.

 In the aftermath of the Witness carving open the traveller, Ghosts begins to flock to Osiris, seeking counsel, help, a friendly word.

And then the dreams begin.

Osiris is less than happy with this development.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #o14 #osiris #saint-14 #destiny fic #destiny fanfic #destiny fanfiction

[abidethetempest]

Rise and Fall Ch 1 Retrospective

I've been wanting to do little behind the scenes style posts for my fics for EVER, and now i finally have a platform to do it >:D prepare to be subjected to my ramblings!!!! (link to the fic btw)

long ass post below the cut:

General Notes:

chapter 1 of any fic for me is both very fun and very nervewracking. writing the start of a project that I've been brainstorming for a long time can go one of two ways: i have All The Ideas right away and it comes out in one session, or i spend 600 years agonizing abt my ~vision~ and making sure everything is perfect. this fic was decidely the second. part of this is because im a big dumb idiot and planned everything except the opening for literal years. it took me probably 3 months just to get thru the intro stuff and feel like it was good enough to move on, let alone post.

Stuff I Cut:

unfortunately, there is actually a lot more i wish i could have included, but didn't for the sake of pacing. i wanted this section to include more of Risen's time alone on the road, her isolation from post-collapse society, and her deeply held guilt abt her role and self-percieved failures as a Lightbearer. i'd love to write some one-shots or little scenes about it! I wish we got to see more of what it would be like for a Lightbearer in the dark age that didnt want to be a Warlord, since timeline-wise we don't really see the emergence of the modern Guardian archetype until the Iron Lords or the early Titan orders. We hear abt it some from Drifter, but he is understandably reticent to speak on his past so we don't get much. Risen as a character feels very strongly about her purpose as the "Traveler's warrior", something that will be touched on next chapter, but she struggles to reconcile who she wants to be with the reality around her. The aftermath of this gets explored as time goes on, but i do want to revisit her very early days of life as a new light someday.

The Sanctuary:

the mission that Risen and Ghost are on at the beginning of this fic is,,,,, entirely made up by me, it's not from canon or remotely related to anything in the lore (as far as i know, at least). They're chasing rumors, driven by Risen's desperation for someplace to find a family and a purpose, and by Ghost's desire to keep Risen away from danger. I just needed a reason for them to be on the move.

The Town:

The town scene is... *sigh*. I struggled with it a lot. In part because it, AGAIN, was not something i had ever planned for until i actually sat down to write. I needed a scene to show Risen's desire to be a protector of others conflicting with her current modus operandi. I still feel like it's too on the nose when she talks to Ghost at the inn but sometimes you just gotta spell it out i think. Her reaction after running came out as I wanted, though. While running away to fight another day might be the logical choice, Risen definitely is the type to carry her guilt with her forever even if it was the "right decision". Risen:

I LOVE Ghost as a character. I want more Ghosts that are flawed, angry, hurt. More Ghosts who are afraid maybe none of the fighting and death is worth it. More Ghosts who go thru just as much development as their Guardians, please. I find it interesting that, as the first contact a Guardian has and their constant companion, a Ghost has a big influence over their Guardian's early development, and I want to see it explored more how they could push their Guardian down one path or another.

Warlords:

In case anyone is wondering, the Warlords in this fic are entirely OCs. The destiny timeline already gives me hives, I am NOT abt to try and find some canon characters to use in this fic when I can just.... make them myself. Warlords are such cool concepts! I want more lore about them (and the Dark Age in general).

I think thats all I have for now! Thanks for reading (assuming anyone is reading these lol)

#destiny rise and fall au #writing #destiny fic #destiny #destiny 2 #long post #rise and fall retrospectives #my therapist told me to journal but i write fic instead

[shalalalalaw]

so you see, i know your fate [M]

Nezarec+Rhulk

[M, to be safe / mind games / shippy if you squint]

“Tire? How could I ever tire of you, oh Disciple?”

#destiny #nezarec #rhulk #shippy? if you squint hard???? #dont mind if the lore doesnt make sense #i sure didnt #nez is just fucking around with rhulk #i think they can be so unhealthy together #nana writes #d2 fic #destiny fic

[xivu-arath]

Xivu Arath goes to challenge her sister after her rampant heresy in Sol, and takes a risk in the aftermath.

The Deep moves like the tides of the Fundament once did, with currents that are already dragging parts of Sol under, to consume inexorably unto a single crushing point. Xivu Arath does not follow it there, as her brother might have. Her will moves across a million battlefields, and her armies are entrenched in millions more. Her children carve her sigil into the crust of planets so that the oceans burn away in fury and the atmosphere sets itself alight. She fights, and triumphs, and forges weapons. Her worm within is well sated and the worm her god pleased.

But she also makes an echo, as quiet as she can permit herself to be, and traces a path amongst Sol’s besieged planets and the Deep’s steady pull. There, facing northward, is an entrance to her sister’s throne. The layers of secrets and wards guarding it tear loose, stitching themselves back together in her wake.

Savathûn is already waiting for her, a barely-there oilslick shimmering.

They crash together in battle because she did not come all this way to not have a fight at the end of the journey. As is usual, she has the first victory, tearing Savathûn’s echo in half – and her sister has the last, as her finished spell renders the surrounding area broken down to its primordial elements.

Their meetings often go this way. Xivu suspects she treats the battle as a formality, rushing it so they can get to more serious matters than mere life and death. But she can feel her sister’s love for her in the power of the spell that killed her, and so does not mind terribly.

“This is sudden,” Savathûn says when they have both reformed their echoes. It is almost a rebuke; she means this is unplanned, there are important things you are interrupting here. Though of course she would claim every scheme of hers is important if pressed, no matter how petty.

“I know you have more plans in mind than there are stars in every sky of every surviving world, but they must be pretty terrible if all it takes is my showing up to ruin them,” Xivu says, shrugging it off. “Can’t I just drop in?”

The air drapes around Savathûn in heavy and obscuring coils, huffy but not yet offended. “You haven’t ruined anything, apart from my focus.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” her sister allows.

Xivu grins.

#repostober #destiny fic #xivu arath #savathûn #it is still the fic I am the most proud of and since it is reset day and all my hive friends are Wary #have some older fic of sisters turning on the deep