#Felwinter/Shaxx

[makoredeyes]

22. Felwinter/Shaxx

#22 a kiss in a rush of adrenaline

"A rematch?" Felspring squinted suspiciously at the letter Felwinter held. "'No-one holds back this time',?!" she read on, incredulous. "He knocked your block off last time!"

"Shaxx didn't hold back," Felwinter drawled, unconcerned. "I did."

"He's going to kill you," Felspring insisted.

"Probably," Felwinter shrugged.

"Permanently!"

"Not if you keep out of sight. If his intentions are malicious, run back here and get backup. But Shaxx is a sworn ally. He won't try anything too uncouth."

"You're really going to go," Felspring deadpanned, disbelieving. Felwinter shrugged again, nonchalant.

"Why not? Could be fun." Felspring let out a howl of exasperation.

"Fun!"

They were both right.

Shaxx's intentions were pure enough, the big Titan truly simply wanting a rematch for the sake of the fight. For him this was play, and he was taking great delight in their little fracas.

Felwinter was also truly beginning to worry this beast of a man truly would end him.

Shaxx's energy was boundless, and they'd been at it all afternoon, trading blows and Light alike, gradually whittling one another's resolve away until their match had become more of a battle of the wills than a test of strength or skill.

"Give up," Shaxx demanded, lunging for Felwinter only to catch but the hem of his coat as the Exo danced away. The beloved garment tore when Felwinter lurched clear of a second grab, and he stifled a lamenting sigh.

"You give up. And get me a new coat."

"You shouldn't have worn such loose clothing into combat if you didn't want to get it grabbed at, idiot!" Shaxx boomed, chucking the scrap he'd won back at Felwinter. Felwinter huffed and slipped into the Void specifically so he could dart in behind Shaxx and yank his mark off his hips. The big Titan let out a shrill yelp of surprise and spun on his heels just as Felwinter tossed the belt and heavy fabric back in his face, then followed through with a wicked uppercut that sent Shaxx staggering backward and his helmet flying up and off his head.

For a split second, Shaxx stared back at him with wide eyes, the Warlord well and truly shocked. It would seem he'd barely actually even felt Felwinter's punch, but he was so surprised by the play that it had done more to stun him than pain ever would.

Then Shaxx grinned, and pounced on Felwinter.

They fell together in a tangle of arms, legs, and armor, Felwinter scrambling to try and escape, Shaxx cackling gleefully.

"Going to play dirty are you?!" He laughed, winding strong limbs around the slim Exo and holding him tight. "If that's your game, my friend, I'm afraid you'll be sorely beaten!"

"Hey-" Felwinter floundered, venting hard as he pushed and shoved and slapped at Shaxx, making the Titan giggle. He barked out an angry shout when Shaxx grabbed the back of his helm with one hand and pried it up and forward, peeling the protective garment from Felwinter's head and tossing it aside. Felwinter sputtered, blinking against the sudden daylight and abrupt loss of his hindsight. He glared at Shaxx, grinning back at him from mere inches from his face.

"Isn't this fun?" Shaxx gasped, panting hard as Felwinter continued to struggle, getting an arm free to slap him hard. Shaxx yelped but only laughed harder. "I haven't had this much fun in centuries!" He shook Felwinter in his grip gleefully. "Why, I'm so grateful to you Warlock I-" He cut off, grunting when Felwinter managed to knee him in the gut, but then he smirked and simply grabbed Felwinter by the shoulders and kissed him.

The Exo immediately slugged Shaxx upside the head, toppling him. He got up, wiping his mouth, and strode over to where Shaxx lay thoroughly stunned, and hauled the big Titan up by the straps of his armor, forcing him to stand.

"Cheater," Felwinter hissed, returning the kiss roughly.

Shaxx laughed, returned the punch, and followed Felwinter down for another kiss of his own.

It was going to be a long, rough evening.

It was going to be fun.

[turtletoads]

shaxx has lived in my head for 8 slutty, slutty years

[datmoongamer]

Hello Shaxxwinter enjoyers

[stoshasaurus]

The BOYS and the BABY

the baby’s name is Rosalind (she/her)

brief tidbit I wrote on my server

[hiseumingo]

Warlords

[hidden-scarlet-whispers]

I love you O14 x Crow writers / artist

I love you O14 X YW writers / Artist

I love you O14 x Shaxx writers / Artist

I love you O14 x Saladin writers / Artist

I love you Osiris x Felwinter writers / Artist

I love you Saint 14 x Shaxx writers / Artist

I love you Osiris x Saint 14 writers / Artist

I love you Allll

[amazeingartist]

my ghostsoap before ghostsoap + me sketching felwinter with a different brush cause had a craving for it lol

[multi-muse-transect]

After seeing the Last Of Us show, I so want Craig Mazin to tackle a Destiny show that takes place in the Dark Ages and focuses on the Iron Lords with Steven Yeun as Felwinter, Idris Elba as Lord Saladin, Jeffery Dean Morgan as Lord Radegast, Daisy Ridley as Efrideet, Kira Knightly or Kate Beckinsale as Jolder, Natalie Dormer as Perun, Rahul Kohli as Silimar, Sarah Wayne Callies as Skorri, Oscar Isaac as Gheleon and Riz Ahmed as Timur.

That would be a Game Of Thrones meets the Mandalorian.

[lordshaxxhandler]

Lore for the hungry, I really enjoyed writing this one 💕

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[searsage]

"He's not well Shaxx..I'm under strict orders to keep visiters out..even the vanguard.." Saladin warned

"So it's true.." Shaxx breathed incredulously, there was a dangerous hysterical lilt to the warlord's voice..

"I was told… they were one in the same, the warmind and the Exo I met, is that true..?"

"I don't have those answers for you Shaxx…if your lucky you'll catch Ana before she hits orbit, ask her all you want, put that fire to rest and return to your watchful eye over your newlights…he..he can't answer those question for you.."

"He's in there, isnt he? Why is he hiding.. I want to see the warmind that slayed the iron lords.." The titan snapped impatiently, it was as if only half his words made it through the man's thick helmit, Saladin couldn't understand why the crucible vendor was so kayed up, but also feared it may escalate if he didn't get rid of the titan quickly.

"He's under observation, with strict orders to stay inside, he won't come out to meet you old friend, as I said no one goes in no one comes out.." Saladin grits,

Shaxx remained silent save for a tight sigh bellowing hot steam from the gaps inbetween tense man's helmet, the singular horn on his helmet shift as his gaze drifts back to the keep's doorway.

"I wanted to ask it..the warmind, if it knew his answer to my question, Felwinter…he never-.. No, I need to see it, I need to see him.." Shaxx mused darkly his words only solidifying his manic resolve.

But even then Saladin could feel the thirst for violence exuding from the furious titan, not that he ever had a good read on the impulsive warlord, nor could the Valus comprehend what was upsetting the man so deeply that he'd single handedly fight his way up the mountain to satify his curiosity.

What was lord Felwinter to him…?

Saladin's eyes widened as brief realisation washed over the older titan, but before Saladin could even open his mouth to inquire about the comment the titan starts pushing forward his shoulders squared in defiant determination, solar energy steaming in his bare scar covered palm, the cabal stand idle, knowing better then to interfere.

He'd made quite an impression at the foot of the peak…

"Stand down Shaxx, Your making a mistake.." Saladin warns his eyes nerrowing as he moved to block the men's warpath. His words however were lost on deaf ears, the stubbron warlord never listened, not during twilight gap and certainly not now..

Saladin's teeth grit in frustration..

On the outskirts of the keep's snow dusted grounds the empresse's legionaries watch on with silent intrigue as the last of the iron lords stands against the vanguard's warlord.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

ive always been a lore relationship kinda person i think i just prefer piecing together a relationship from scraps and filling the rest in myself. its so much more fun. this is something historical and it ended poorly. no one will tell you exactly how these people interacted beyond little bits. an unsent letter here. a half-finished note there. something that once existed and no longer does but it was so significant it lingers after its gone

[asklordfelwinter]

Hello Lord Felwinter sir!

What are you opinions on the crucible? Or any guardian vs guardian games?

I saw you say that you want to join some of the “war games” so I wanted to ask

Every one of us should be trained in how to fight our own. Shaxx may not say it himself, but I am certain he holds this same belief. And it is far safer to learn there, supervised, than out in the wild where one of you will not be walking away.

This Crucible is almost a child’s game compared to the training that we put one another through. Even so, the mere fact that he went to the effort to arrange it is something to be admired.

…If you so much as breathe a word of this to him, you can expect to meet me on the field yourself.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

Oh hell yeah tysm I’m still getting obsessed with him BUT THERES SO LITTLE ABLUT HIM?? IN THE FANDOM???? CRIME!!

IKR! But what there is is just so delicious. Season of the Worthy was such a goddamn pain but the lore was mouthwatering good! I cried at the end!

I know there's a few artists who post a Lot of Felwinter art!

[datmoongamer]

[stoshasaurus]

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.

[vallaragna]

Preface this that this is about Destiny 2, a video game, so none of this actually matters. Just hypothetical ravings of a fiber artist with a bit of knowledge about historical things. So like I keep having thoughts about textile production during the dark ages after the collapse. (Specifically at Felwinter's Peak, but hold that thought). We have such varied descriptions of what survived the collapse. People are depicted as wearing basic tunics and dresses that would not look out of place at an SCA event. Technology is primitive, except they still have guns that they up keep and have ammo for, Shaxx is described as sealing his keep with an artificial sealant. So things are so varied and random. Like did spinning wheels exist still? They obviously don't have access to industrial machines, but are they just spinning everything on drop spindles? (Making me question how much work it would take to keep all the freaking iron lords and wolves on that mountain clothed.) For that matter, do they still have acid dyes? Or are they relying on natural dyes? Dye materials used to be highly valued, you can't tell me warlords wouldn't be fighting over this stuff (which also brings up Spices being fought over likewise). I mean you could hand wave everything by saying "golden age technology", but that shouldn't be half an interesting. We do have the Strand lore book where Osiris talks about using a spindle when during the dark age they had to make everything from scratch, which supports that line of reasoning. So no spinning wheel, only spindles. Cloth production takes so much freaking time when doing everything from scratch. With a spinning wheel it takes me hours to produce a few hundred yards of a thicker yarn for knitting, I'm not incredibly experienced, but it takes so incredibly much more time on a spindle. And you need so much yarn to be able to weave cloth of any yardage. There's a reason women in paintings used to be depicted with spindles and distaffs so often. For that matter, what sorts of looms were they using? If they didn't have spinning wheels I'm guessing advanced looms are out as well. So rigid heddle looms? Warp weighed looms? The second would make more sense, but also takes so much time and you can only weave cloth so wide. It's limited by the arm span of the weaver. So narrow fabric, so even more yardage needs to be made. We're not even at the sewing stage yet. I discussed dyes earlier, but it would be important. Even in the actual medieval times clothes weren't all brown. Natural dyes tend to fade faster though. Black dyes were really hard to produce, and they fade fast. Then sewing would be by hand, I doubt there are sewing machines if they don't even have spinning wheels. Sewing by hand takes *forever* even if you are fast. There are tricks to making it go fast, but you're not producing an entire garment in a day, especially if you have anything else going on. For that matter you really care about mending in this environment. Also knitting and crochet? Technically those take longer to produce a garment than weaving and sewing. I know Zavala learned knitting from Safiya in the dark ages, so it did survive.

I think I'm at the end of my ramble, I'll add if I can think of anything else. I'd love to hear other people's opinions.