#d2 fanfic

[callous-and-misunderstood]

If Mal actually spoke with Carlos instead of giving him the truth gummy (instead of having a bad date with Ben and then running away to the Isle)

[jadevalentine-writes]

CHAPTER 6 OF WILD HUNT IS NOW LIVE

This is NOT A DRILL!

It's short! It's manic! I hope it puts the subscribers in a panic!

@everythingididididforher TAGGED SO YOU CAN READ IT WHILE YOU RAID YOU ABSOLUTE MAD LAD (gn)!

[jellisdraws]

Retrospective - Chapter 1 (Destiny 2 Fanfic)

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

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

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

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

Day: 5

Chapter 1: We Two Are One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm”

“Mira?”

“Mmhm” 

“I’m with you now.”

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

“Mira.”

“Mmph...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 3,321

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

“Yo!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They shook their heads.

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

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

“Or mine!” said Dusty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re…?”Han prompted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents... Do or Drown

Pairing: Crow x Young Wolf Category: Oneshot Genre: Fluff Rating: 13+ Warnings: Jokingly threatening to drown Word Count: 1.2k Summary: Please don't make this awkard or I will throw myself into the sea.

a/n: good for them. THIS FIC WENT LIVE WITH THE WRONG BANNER FORGIVE ME

I love you baby, and if it's quite alright, I need you baby.

They sit there, in pale moonlight, reflections of firelight dancing on their armor, and look like an angel. No, a god. Ethereal, celestial, and oh-so beautiful.

And he sits beside them, a respectable distance away, trying very hard not to think about how pretty they look like this.

It's hard, it's hard not to admire something so clearly divine when it is placed so close to you. A divine being, a god, in their sacred, glorious power and majesty, is sitting next to you, drinking bottom shelf stolen whiskey straight from the bottle and throwing stones at the water, smiling when they skip.

These moments, however small and stolen, these moments of celebration between battles, when they slip into the field to "shoot the shit and take the piss" as the Guardian puts it. Hanging out, as Crow would put it.

Since that first night, together in the woods, drinking cheap wine, he's learned well against taking any of the alcohol they offer. Evidently, their tolerance is much higher than his, and the idea of being well and truly drunk in their presence, saying something he may regret… is not one he's fond of.

But still, he takes a slow sip from the bottle he brought and drags his gaze to the lake before them.

"You know, skipping stones is an art. Takes lots of time to be good at," they say, picking up and inspecting a small, flat rock.

"Oh, really?" He asks, not really taking them seriously.

"It is! Seriously. There's a lot that goes into it. The stone itself, the way you throw it, it's all in the wrist."

"Whatever you say."

They roll their eyes and toss a stone. It skips twice and sinks.

"You admitting I'm correct, as I always am?"

He rolls his eyes. "I am not."

"Ah, you know I am." They toss a stone again. Skips twice and sinks.

"Repeated results. Proof of perfection, I'd say."

"Proof you're not as good at this as you think you are, more likely."

They look over at him, teeth bared in a wolfish grin. "Is that a challenge, Crow?"

He shrugs, taking a long swig from his bottle, trying to distract himself from that look in their eye. They're gorgeous like this. They're gorgeous all the time, but that playfulness they get about them when with friends, that arrogant, if well deserved, confidence they carry. That willingness to take any challenge. It's intoxicating, their surety. Their confidence. It's the kind of thing that makes you feel safe, that you can't help but love, however cocky it may come across.

"Maybe it is, old light."

They bark a laugh, standing up. "Oh you are ON, new light!" They say, glaring playfully at him.

The Guardian throws a stone again. It skips three, four, five- seven times. Seven times before sinking.

"Wow! Look at that," they say, with exaggerated excitement. "Seven skips! Beat that," the Guardian turns to him, teeth bared in a grin.

He smiles. He always smiles when they smile. How could he not? Their smile is always so genuine.

"Alright, watch this!" He grabs a flat stone, tosses it on the water. Once. Twice. Sinks.

"Haha!" The Guardian cackles, leaning forward to watch it drop. "Womp-womp. I win," they smile.

"Of course, you win. You always win." He says, rolling his eyes.

They lean back, offering him an exaggerated smirk. "Of course I do! I'm me. And I'm incredible. And everyone loves me."

Crow shakes his head. "I wouldn't go that far."

“I would! I'm the best, plain and simple and everyone knows it!" They laugh. They're taking the piss, he can tell. "And everyone loves me for that. As we know!"

"Whatever, you're delusional," he chuckles.

"Ah, don't act like that. You know you love me!" They tease. They don't know how true those words are. They mean it joking, friendly, but he does. With every beat of his heart, every breath he takes, every part of him, he adores them.

But he won't let that slip here. So he just rolls his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

“I will!" They laugh. "I will keep telling myself that because it's true, and you know it, and I know it." They turn to face him, hand right below their face, the other beside it, "voguing" they called it. An old pre-Golden Age joke. "And who could blame you. I'm the best. Greatest of all time, and I'm so pretty."

"And humble," Crow teases.

They drop their hands laughing.

They sit together, drinking in silence for a few minutes after that.

"I love you too, by the way.

"Crow nearly chokes on his beer. "What?"

"Wow wow, don't die on me," the Guardian chuckles. Their eyes are softer than normal. Not the confident gleaming mischief he's used to. They're being genuine. "I- Traveler above this is embarrassing to say out loud." They pause, take in a breath. "I love you. I have for a while. You're my friend, and I care about you, and I would never let anything happen to you, but more than that, I- I fucking adore you. You're funny and you're kind and god you are handsome- like you're fucking gorgeous. And- I, I just needed to say that. Cause, if I face the Witness and somehow I don't come back I just, I would regret leaving without you knowing that. So, there. I said it. And, I feel very awkward but it had to be said. So, there we go. I love you. I am in love with you," they look anywhere but at him. "So. Yeah. And please, if you do not feel the same be nice about it because the sea is right there and I WILL throw myself directly into it if this gets even a little more awkward."

Crow is quiet for a long moment, just processing. "Ok first off, I don't think walking into the sea is the solution to... anything."

"I disagree but contiune."

"Ok. That's- whatever. Second. You- you love me?"

"Yes."

He isn't sure what to say. He dreamed of a moment like this. He looks at them. The light dances around them, shadows cast back by their mere presence, they are gorgeous. Ethereal, even when they're half-jokingly threatening to throw themself into the merciful embrace of oceanic death. He can't look away, because this moment, this confession, this feeling, love returned. It's here, and he isn't sure what to say.

"I- I love you too."

"Yeah, how could you not?"

"Oh my god. Shut up, do not act confident, you just said you would drown yourself if this got awkward.

They laugh, and scoot towards him. "And I didn't have too, so look at that, we're all happy and I get to continue being a jackass."

He looks at them. "Whatever. You're lucky you're incredible, otherwise you'd be intolerable."

"Oh please, I'm intolerable anyways. But look at this," they lace their hand into his. "I still managed to make you fall in love with me, so I can't be that bad."

"Yeah, you're not. You're.. quite frankly, you're too good to be true."

They laugh. "Yeah, you are too. I love you, man. God- I have been wanting to say that for so long."

He laughs. They smile.

"I love you too."

this is for @arcaneglitch and @astral-runic.

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.

[lordshaxxhandler]

I created my envision of Lord Shaxx in baldur’s gate 3 for my Tav and then modded Karlach to look like my Titan main, Thera. Look at them 🥹💕. I could literally throw up 🥰

[criticofallthings]

5:37am EST its been a damn hot minute (more like a couple of years prolly) anyway cant sleep wont sleep dont sleep I'm thinking back to a time where seasonal content was interesting with the spoicy lore drops. Also angst because why not since the Guardian x Crow ship cannonically sunk 😩 idk what a title is and no beta test readers so typos & issues abound, dont be a dick if u want me to fix it tho. This one kinda picks up waaaaay down the road from the other one I did about these two???

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

"Uldren Sov, Awoken Prince."

"Brother. To the Queen."

The titles fly out with cold dissociation. Crow pauses a moment, unable to meet the Guardian's gaze. He speaks another, vehemently, his voice quaking with furious emotion:

"Murderer."

The Guardian watches, unable to speak words of solace, knowing there is none that they can say. It tears at them, rips into their gut, to see Crow like this...to know they have no right to console him. To know just how fragile this simmering warmth that had hatched between them through the Wrathborn Hunts and Hawkmoon, truly is. The Guardian had reconciled with Crow's past, they know that Crow is not him, the two are different men...but how would Crow feel about it all?

What does it feel like to suddenly know that you have kissed the lips of your past self's killer? To know that body you enjoy waking up next to was once the same body hunting you down for revenge? That the hands that caressed his face so gently this morning, yesterday could have been wrung around his neck until it snapped like dry firewood beneath an axe?

The Guardian is stone, signs of life only showing by the whitening of their knuckles, tightly clenched into fists at their side. Crow shifts awkwardly and the Guardian's heart squeezes, breath hitching as they see Crow slowly turn to look them in the eye. At first his expression was unreadable, but then he spoke, voice low and hissed: darkened by what he felt but did not show.

"And you," his voice trembles with effort, hands moving to gesture at the Guardian "you, YOU knew everything!"

The Guardian takes a half step back, Crow's sudden outburst unexpected and deeply piercing. Hurt lines the corner of the Guardian's eyes and in shame they cannot maintain Crow's burning gaze.

"Just...how could you??" Crow's voice returns to a whisper, trailing into a choked back sob. "You, I-I-how could you...?"

The Guardian raises their head to look at Crow, they see him half extending a hand out to them. Palm upwards, pleading, his face contorting with anger and disgust, grief and wholly heartbroken. When be speaks, its barely above a stuttering whisper:

"I-he, no m-me...I've hurt you so much."

Time trails on, mere seconds but now an eternity. The Guardian can't respond, they dont know what they could do here, if there's anything to be said. Their own lack of words frustrates them and the Guardian can only moreosely return Crow's gaze. He breaks it off and turns his face away, half of it fully obscured in the dark shadows of his hood and the other half sharply illuminated by the Helm's lights.

"I'm sorry."

It was spoken gently, cautiously, as if the Guardian was the one who had been suffering. They take a tentative towards Crow, still trying to find a remedy dor the situation. But before they can begin to speak or draw closer, Crow withdraws.

The coil around the Guardian's heart constricts ever tighter and they find themselves rooted in place once more.

"I...I understand. I don't think I would have told me either." A heavy sigh causes his shoulders to rise and fall, curving inwards, instinctively protective of himself. Crows looks up at the Guardian once again, seemingly shruken and by far the most uncertain the Guardian has ever seen him as.

"I need to get out of here." Crow's voice is slow and trembles slightly, still just barely more than a whisper.

"I'm afraid...of who I used to be." Discomfort and fear linger in his next words and Crow must look away to say them.

"That he'll come back somehow...that somewhere deep inside, you do too."

Crow tugs on his hood, covering his eyes, turning to walk away from the Guardian. They reach out to him, heart racing anxiously, trembling slightly as they realized what Crow was preparing to do.

"I need to get out here. I need to get as far away from her as possible. Somewhere I know my choices are my own."

The Guardian's fingertips barely graze the edges of Crow's cloak as he transmats out. The Helm is woefully quiet as the sounds of the transmat firing fade into the low mechnical background noise of the ship.

"I'm sorry." [please stay]

Without Crow in the Helm, no one is around to hear the Guardian's whispered apology or try to figure out their innermost thoughts. And no one at all would hear their anguished cries.

[tatooineknights]

Day Six: Not Realizing They're Injured

Luke Skywalker cursed under his breath as a plasma canon shot through the side of his X-wing, sending the ship on a spiraling downturn. This was just supposed to be an ordinary patrol – Imperial presence was supposed to be their main concern, so of course, the area happened to be a hotbed for pirates and mercenaries instead. “We’ve got to stabilize! Artoo, see what you can do, I’ll try to keep us in one piece!” He shouted, trying to compensate for the incredible turbulence as the ship spun out of control.

“This is Red Five, I’ve been hit,” he stammered, feeling the shockwave of an explosion behind him. The shower of sparks illuminated his cockpit, forcing him to look back with a gasp. Luke let out an exhale when he realized it was the ship that had attacked him, and not one of his own. Artoo beeped and whistled tirelessly from above, causing Luke to look down at the communicator. “The moon? Artoo, that isn’t an option, I can’t land in this condition! I don’t care if it is habitable, see what else you can—”

But the inertia of the moon’s gravity began to sink the X-wing down into the atmosphere, causing the damaged ship to zoom straight down by the nose. Guess we’re doing this, Luke thought to himself, licking his lips as he tried to maneuver the ship upwards to the best of his ability.

“I know, Artoo! I know! Let me concentrate!”

Luke braced for impact as he saw the chalky grey texture of the wasteland below, hoping that he could save the two of them from an imminent explosion. Keep pulling up; pull up! Don’t let the nose go straight down! Just as the ship began to recover, the damaged wing struck the side of a large rock formation, separating it from the cockpit, and spinning it horizontally instead of vertically.

The force of the impact was so great that Luke’s head slammed into the side panel of the cockpit; the helmet took the brunt of the hit, shattering the glass of his vizor, slightly cutting into the area below his eye. Luke’s vision glazed as he rocked back, a loud white noise filling his ears as he uselessly watched the X-wing dwindle down to the surface, unable to react as the other wing was soon torn to shreds – if it weren’t for the constant ringing in his ears, Luke would have noticed the loud wind that he was now exposed to as the hull began to shutter, as well as the exasperated cries of Artoo.

Images of his own death flashed before his eyes, his blue eyes staring straight ahead in a stupor, blinking autonomously. This was it; this was how Luke Skywalker, the last of the Jedi, would end. As he took one last breath, he found himself ejected from the cockpit, tearing into a dislodged panel, and flying out into open air. A stabilizing pack strapped to his uniform allowed him to avoid death, looking up as Artoo flew into the air himself; the droid must have saved them both.

As Luke raised his hand to his friend, looking on with a smile at their miraculous survival, his head crashed into the side of a rock, where everything soon went dark.

Beep.

Oh, his head.

Beep, boop-boop. Beep?

What… where was he? What happened? Luke grimaced as his eyes opened, looking up at his companion right at his side, rocking back and forth in jubilation. “I’m alright, Artoo,” he said, wiping off some dried blood from where the glass met his face earlier. “I think so, anyways.”

Everything around him felt so blurred, almost unreal. Cold and warm, equally, as his vision slowly came back to him. “I feel like I’m not even here,” he said to the droid, though almost as much to himself. The smoke of his former ship rose in the atmosphere, the husk of it’s remains ablaze across the ashen wasteland. “Good thing it was a spare and not our usual one, huh, buddy?”

Artoo whistled as Luke sat up.

“You alright? Yeah? That’s good. Next time, let’s try something other than landing on a moon,” Luke said with a sarcastic edge, though obviously thankful at his small friend for saving their lives. He nodded to Artoo, putting a hand on his chassis, as he used the weight to hoist himself up and—

“Aah!”

A blinding pain in his leg shot out from nowhere, sending him falling back down and bumping his head against the same rock. His friend worriedly beeped and whistled at his response, shaking over to his side. Biting down on his lip, Luke looked down at his leg: kriff, was all he could muster inside that head of his.

A piece of the panel had cut through the orange flightsuit and into the upper part of his thigh. The tanned pink of his skin and the white fabric of his underclothes were stained with a crimson red, adorned by a narrow line of a wound that made it difficult to walk. “I didn’t even notice,” Luke said, exasperated as that mixture of warm and cold seemed to seep all around him. “I don’t think I can stand.”

The wounded Jedi unzipped the top of his flight suit, taking out a small knife from one of the pouches of his belt. He sliced through it and tore a few strands off the sleeve, wrapping them in a circle over the wound. “That’ll help,” Luke winced, his heartbeat erratic and all over the place. “Did they get our message, Artoo? When we got hit? Did they see us coming down?”

The droid comfortingly let out a low chirp, easing his fears, before going as close to Luke’s side as he could. Luke’s hand clung to him, an incredulous smile on his face. Another X-wing began to form through the clouds of the moon’s atmosphere, causing Luke to let out an exhale of relief.

“I owe you one, buddy,” Luke said, looking at his small friend, patting him as he tried to fight off the pain. The ship was heading downward now, a beacon in the barren landscape. The duo would live to see another day; funny how such an ordinary patrol could end in such an extraordinary way.

[adh-d2]

Lil' Obimaul fic snippet

Two Men and a Baby Zabrak AU

[Part 2 here]

Summary

In which a disastrous attempt at ambush and subterfuge on both sides leaves Obi-Wan and Maul trapped on the ruins of Dathomir. Maul needs Obi-Wan alive for his lightsaber and his intel. Obi-Wan needs Maul alive to teach him what the hell to feed this abandoned baby he's found...

Word count: 570 | WIP | SFW | Dividers by @xurengu0

Maul gives a sidelong glance to the bundle that hasn’t even stirred in Obi-Wan’s arms.

“Perhaps there is a reason it was left for dead. It has no survival instincts to have slept through all that.”

Obi-Wan bristles, torn between a twinge of shame at his own actions and the strangest instinct to defend the child’s honor.

“I told you, he’s hungry. He cries the entire time he’s conscious. I-I’m enlisting a little help from the Force to keep him asleep for now. I don’t want him to suffer unnecessarily.”

“Then you should smother it before it wakes.” Maul doesn’t even break his stride, his eyes still scanning their surroundings like the predator he is. “Even if we find something to feed it, it will hunger again. It will be cold. It will cry for its mother, and she will remain too dead to soothe it.” His voice is low, conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “To live is to suffer.”

Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment. The wave of contempt he braces himself to feel, then release into the Force, never comes. Instead he simply observes Maul. He watches the way the zabrak’s body moves as if on autopilot; as if hunting for food with nothing but his wits and his bare hands was so mundane to him as to become instinct. His horned head shifts in response to a near-imperceptible sound, and as his eyes catch the light his pupils seem to disappear in a flash of refracted glow. ‘He can see in the dark’ Obi-Wan thinks, a dormant memory of his studies of zabrak physiology returning to him. There was a time, not long after Naboo, when he’d obsessively trawled the archives for any information he could find on Dathomirian zabraks. ‘Well, the adult ones at least’ his mind ruefully supplies, aware of the weight of the infant in his arms. He’d hidden those long nights of research from everyone at the temple, knowing the mind healers wouldn’t approve. Something about unhealthy coping strategies. Even now he couldn’t explain exactly why he did it beyond the fact that he’d needed to know. if he’d just had the information, was there any weakness he could have exploited, anything else he could have done…Obi-Wan wrenches his thoughts away from the past. The man before him looks every bit the nightmare that has haunted Obi-Wan’s dreams for the past decade. For all of the countless hours that Darth Maul had consumed his thoughts in the years since Qui-Gon’s death, for all of the agonizing and analyzing and ruminating, Obi-Wan still finds himself unprepared for the reality that the Sith is walking right beside him.

 ‘But he is,’ the whisper of a thought sounds just like his old master. Obi-Wan takes a steadying breath, relaxes his shoulders, and centers himself on the present. On the living force. For perhaps the first time since their fateful duel all those years ago, Obi-Wan looks at Maul and allows himself to simply be curious.

To live is to suffer, he’d said.

“You’ve fought awfully hard to stay alive, for someone who believes that.”

Maul’s head swivels to face him, the hunt forgotten, and Obi-Wan finds himself pinned by the intensity of his stare. It is impossible to focus on anything but the weight of the Sith’s undivided attention.

Maul opens his mouth to speak-

and the infant begins to wail.

[Link to Part 2]

Yo, I figured I'd put this at the bottom rather than the top, but this is the first piece of fanfic I've posted. Like, ever. Anywhere. I guess I'm a writing blog now? It feels weird to make any kind of fuss about it, but just as fucking weird to post it without context.

Anyway, I'm hoping to keep writing this and turn it into a properly fleshed out AU, but just in case the mice in my brain move on to other things, I wanted to put this snippet out in the universe.

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 2: Comfort

Nesta has always struggled with more intense cycles than most, and when she became fae it only got worse. Thankfully, her mates Azriel and Cassian are there to take care of her.

Based on my headcanon that Nesta has endometriosis, which became more intense after she went through the Cauldron.

Have some Nessriel hurt/comfort fluff for @polyacotarweek day 2. Start reading below the cut, and read the full fic on AO3 here!

When Nesta rolled out of bed that morning her body felt sluggish, tired even after a full night's sleep. But warriors, especially Valkyrie’s, didn’t let anything keep them from training. She held in her groan as she sat up, trying not to wake Azriel. The male could sleep until the second before training started, still make it on time, and be one of the most alert people there.  Cassian had awoken and left the bed almost an hour ago, preferring to have extra time for his hair and breakfast routine. Nesta fell somewhere in the middle. She allowed herself only the exact amount of time it took her to pull on her leathers, braid her hair, grab a quick snack from the House, and make it to the training ring.  Each step she took felt heavier than the last, and her arms ached from what was typically the easy task of taming her hair. If that wasn’t a sign that something about this day would be different, the House providing Nesta with a pan au chocolat instead of her regular oats with berries definitely was.  Groaning at the realization of what the House was trying to tell her, Nesta decided that she would pretend like it wasn’t happening and accept the House’s gift as a token of friendship and not the warning it was. This was her first mistake. The second mistake was heading up to train with the Valkyries and her mates.  Training was horrible. Azriel and Cassian kept an eye on Nesta as she faltered slightly. Not enough that any of the usual priestesses training with them would notice, but these males were finely in tune with their mate’s abilities and they noticed the subtle differences. Toward the end of practice Emerie and Nesta sparred. When Emerie actually managed to land a gut punch Nesta had been properly defending for years, both females immediately stopped.  Nesta stood hunched over, fighting for her breath through the pain that radiated through her body. In an instant, Emerie was by her side.  “Fuck Nes, are you okay? I didn’t think I hit that hard, I’m so sorry.” Emerie grabbed Nesta’s arm and helped her to sit on the ground. It took several moments before Nesta could gasp in a full breath. She felt the stares of her mates from across the training ring, and sensed their concern flow down their shared bonds. Cassian and Azriel respected her enough to know that she could handle her own training, even if she took a bad hit. They wouldn't approach unless she was too injured to respond or she asked for them. Instead of getting up as she usually did, Nesta curled further in on herself. The scent of blood filled the ring, and Cassian could no longer keep himself from helping his mate. Within moments he was kneeling beside Nesta and Emerie at the edge of the ring. 

Finish reading on AO3 here!

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

[littlest-w01f]

Scars

For @polyacotarweek

Poly Acotar Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 2: Comfort

Summary: Rosalie is worried about Eris after his father's punishment, she takes it upon herself to get Rhysand there to take care of him with her.

Cw: whiplashes, blood, hugs and healing

To say it hurt, would be an understatement, seeing Eris in his current state, on her bed, in her home, harsh whip lashes on his back, blood gushing out from his cuts, clothes sticking to his untreated wounds.

Rosalie was teary-eyed, watching the male she was falling in love with lay in her bed, clothes soiled in blood, slight whimpers of pain that he kept to himself.

She had written a letter to Rhysand, the now High Lord of Night, that Eris was hurt, she had watched the letter instantly be winnowed away and a reply that he would be coming soon returning on her lap.

It had been a few minutes since and Rosalie was stressed, she moved to Eris who had been silent since he winnowed into her room dropped on her bed and simply lay there.

"Er...?" Rosalie whispered softly, worry clear in her voice, "Please say something..."

Eris moved his head to the side slightly, "Ro...? How bad is it?" His voice was rough from screaming earlier, eyes dizzy.

She moved his hair away from his face, wiping the little sweat that had gathered there away, "I'm going to take your tunic off ok? It might hurt since it looks like the fabric is burnt in."

Eris just gave a simple nod, bracing himself as she moved to straddle his lower back, gentle hands ripping the fabric from the centre of his back, he hissed and bit the pillow under him as Rosalie tried to carefully remove the fabric without causing too much damage to the already suffering male.

When it was futile she groaned and pulled the tunic off him and his wounds in one swipe, taking Eris by surprise and him letting out a cry of pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Rosalie gave Eris some soothing rubs on the parts of his back that weren't wounded. "Rhys will be here soon, I promise."

Eris was healing, but whatever Beron had done to him had slowed his healing, he needed another Fae to heal him and Rosalie wasn't aware in the slightest, of how to properly heal him without leaving scars, nor did she have that strong of magic, and he'd have to talk her through it anyway, since she didn't really know how.

"Well, if he doesn't, just do it yourself, please." Eris pleaded, his head buried in her pillow for comfort.

Rosalie kissed his neck in comfort, rubbing over his shoulders, Rhysand winnowed in behind them, he was hurried, moving beside Eris and Rosalie, "Mother, what did he do to you."

Rosalie got off Eris' back, jumping to hug Rhysand's side in greeting, "Whips, fire." Eris sighed, tensing ready to feel his skin be stitched together.

Rhysand kissed Rosalie's head softly, moving to Eris, hands spread wide over his wounds, making Eris flinch. Rosalie bit her lips lightly, watching Eris gasp and whimper as Rhysand used his powers to heal him, She grabbed his hand as he moved to sit in front of him, letting Eris rest his head in her lap, "He's been doing this for quite a while," She frowned, watching Rhysand work, Eris skin merging again, leaving only the blood that had seeped out from the wound while it was fresh.

"Hurting him," She told Rhysand, stroking Eris' hair, scratching his head to distract him from the pain, "But it's never been this bad."

Rhysand frowned, his hands glowing over Eris' back, using his High Lord powers to heal his lover, "he tortures you?" Not taking his father's name.

Eris laughed, despite his discomfort, "Please, you know my father."

"Er... Don't move too much..." Rosalie voiced in concern, stroking his head.

Rhysand kissed the back of his shoulder blades, using his powers to take his pain away. "He'll be ok."

Eris relaxed in comfort when Rhysand took away his pain and discomfort, finishing healing the last of his wounds. He winnowed in a damp cloth and Rosalie took it from him and patted the blood away, some dead skin still stuck to his back.

Eris sighed softly, enjoying the cold of the cloth, holding onto Rosalie's hips. "This feels so nice..."

"Move over a little," Rhysand whispered gently, taking his place on the edge of the bed, Eris' face buried in Rosalie's chest, Rhysand wrapped his arms around the heir's waist, his hand tracing the few scraps of dead skin.

Eris sighed, as Rosalie stroked her hair, her hand warm causing him to start to feel sleepy. Rhysand kissed the back of his neck, softly making her cosy.

"Thank you..." Eris whispered, holding onto Rosalie, "I wouldn't be able to deal with this alone."

"You're not alone," Rhysand and Rosalie whisper together, prepping him with soft kisses.

Rhysand held him tight, a feeling of protectiveness washing over him, "I might kill him for this, call a blood duel against him." He declared, his eyes dark.

"Rhys... Focus..." Rosalie whispered softly, moving her hand to stroke his cheek, "Er needs us for now."

Rhysand sighed, kissing her palm, snuggling into Eris, "I'm sorry, this just angered me so much."

"I'm done too," Eris rubbed his head in Rosalie's chest, "I'll help you kill him..."

"Rhys? Could you...?" Rosalie requested, a much needed change of conversation and Rhysand instantly used his powers to darken the room, making Eris sigh in comfort.

Rosalie held Eris close as he slept in her arms, after he had fallen asleep, Rhysand slipped out, giving Eris a soft kiss on his head and Rosalie to her lips, he winnowed away with a short, "Goodbye."

Rosalie sighed, holding Eris close in the comfort of the darkness Rhysand had left, kissing Eris' forehead, smiling hearing the steady beat of his heart.

{General taglist- @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[rubinaitoart]

I would love any crumbs of anything you're writing rn /nf /gen

(I keep seeing you go insane so thought I would see what you are interested in :3)

“I keep seeing you go insane” HAH yeah it’s even worse on discord lmao

The current WIP I have is based completely on spite. That’s it. I absolutely hated how the Lamia episode ended because. BECAUSE. BECAUSE.

You’re telling me after they kill the Lamia, everything is back to normal and perfectly fine between everyone. You’re telling me Merlin was actively threatened by some of the people he trusted the most, to the point he actually started COWERING a little when they got mad at him, and he walked out of that without even a little bit of emotional distress? A smidgeon of trauma? You’re telling me none of the knights apologized to him or to Guinevere, because even though it’s not their fault every single one of them would have still felt some form of guilt over scaring them like that, you’re TELLING ME—

^^^ Live footage of Rubin being carried off before he starts yelling even more /lh ^^^

It made me so MAD that it got wrapped up with everyone in good spirits and Arthur making fun of Merlin for being saved by a girl, and everything was fine and happy and ARGHHHH.

So yeah I started writing a fic to expand on what I feel should’ve happened after that episode I guess? Except make it a Merthur AU where they’ve been dancing around their feelings for all four seasons up until this point.

I’ve been going back and forth on this draft for a bit, so there’s a good chance whatever I end up publishing to AO3 will look COMPLETELY different. It’s also very clunky and not well edited but I figure that’s a given right now lol. Both options start the same before splitting into two different drafts, currently labeled D1 and D2 respectively.

I’ll dump a few snippets below the cut since this is already looking like a long post. Everything so far is in Arthur’s POV.

From the shared start: Set when Arthur shows up just in time to rescue Guinevere and Merlin from the Lamia.

A few seconds of silence stretched out before Arthur jerked forward and rushed to Merlin’s side.

“Better late than never.” Merlin groaned, but that stupid, goofy grin that Arthur loved more than he’d ever admit was plastered all over that smug face of his. “What took you so long?”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur said pointedly. Guinevere moved to help Merlin sit up, and the king didn’t miss the way his servant’s face twisted into a pained grimace, or how his hand quickly grabbed at his side. It hurt to see Merlin in any kind of pain, a dull ache in his chest that was somehow worse than anything Arthur had suffered in the past. “Are you hurt?”

“A little bruised, maybe.” Merlin leaned heavily against Guinevere. “Better off than everyone else though.” He added quickly, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Do you know where they are?” The king wanted to ask an entirely different question, but their objective held priority. They were safe, the lamia was dead, and the others were still missing.

“Elyan isn’t far.” Guinevere loosened her hold on Merlin—reluctantly, Arthur noted—and moved him to lean against a pillar. “I’m not entirely sure about the others.”

Arthur straightened up, gesturing for one of the knights. “Bevan, help Merlin outside. Cecil, with me.” He ordered. The king glanced towards his servant once again briefly before he extended his hand to Guinevere and helped her to her feet. “Lead the way.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bevan gathering Merlin up into his arms and hefting him up into the air. The man made a soft, pained sound in the back of his throat that was horribly loud to Arthur’s ears. Carefully with him, or I’ll have you in the stocks lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit back his words and turned to follow Guinevere. Bevan’s receding footsteps faded, and they pressed onward.

“He’ll be alright.” Guinevere murmured to him. She reached over to lightly squeeze his arm, a small comfort for the moment.

“Mm, he better be.” Arthur said quietly in reply. “He’s a good friend, I’d hate to lose him.” They ducked under a fallen beam, and Arthur lapsed into a contemplative quiet. Merlin was so much more than just a friend to Arthur, something he’d struggled to admit to himself for a long time. What he was, however, was just out of reach.

So in typical fashion the king did what he always did best—try his damndest to ignore what he felt, because it could never come to be.

From D1, which is set as everyone leaves Longstead. Merlin is preparing Arthur’s horse before they leave despite still recovering from his injuries, man is just insisting on staying busy.

The king watched Merlin from afar as the servant busied himself with tacking up Arthur’s steed. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

Slightly curled raven locks and pale cheeks dappled with sunlight, Merlin’s brow furrowed slightly in concentration. His slender, pale hands deftly checked the leather straps, and his fingers occasionally strayed away to brush against the stallion’s ebony coat. A faint smile finally appeared in its truest and most genuine form as the horse turned its head to bump its nose gently against Merlin’s shoulder with a soft nicker. Arthur watched as Merlin finished securing the saddle and turned to gently take the horse’s face in his hands, rubbing his palm up and down the side of its head in slow, soothing strokes. Beautiful, he couldn’t help but think. That traitorous feeling of longing welled up in his chest and Arthur found himself tempted across the small clearing to join the servant.

Almost immediately, the longing was replaced with guilt and a hefty dose of self-loathing. Merlin was in no small amount of distress, and here he was practically ogling at the man. He turned away before Merlin could catch him staring and searched the clearing for something he could busy himself with, and hopefully rid himself of the shame that had overtaken the king.

From D2, which is set directly after Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, and the knights return to the village so Gaius can treat them: Gaius and Guinevere are busy with the knights, so Arthur takes it upon himself (as any good king no would do, of course) to try and tend to Merlin’s wounds himself. The best he can do is clean the gash on Merlin’s forehead, but he’s trying his best okay?

Far and few between were times that Arthur Pendragon found himself worried about his manservant. Merlin was an odd man, clumsy and strange at the best of times, prone to bouts of misfortune that he’d somehow miraculously overcome. Injuries were as rare as sickness, and he was right there at Arthur’s side day after day. Yet here he was, sleeves rolled up and a damp cloth in hand as he worried over Merlin. Thankfully the only ones around to see it were Gaius and Guinevere—the knights were still unconscious, and the physician and seamstress were busy tending to them.

It was just Arthur and Merlin, tucked away in the corner of the little hovel they were using as an infirmary.

“This feels backwards.” His servant muttered, wincing as Arthur lightly pressed the cloth to his forehead. Blood soaked into it quickly, weeping from a shallow cut on the side of his face that looked far worse than it actually was—head wounds were funny like that. And yet after all these years, after countless battles where he’d seen wounds worse than this over and over, seeing Merlin bloodied and bruised always made his heart lurch. It was so wrong.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Arthur mused, pulling the cloth back to inspect the injury. There wasn’t exactly much he could do other than try to stem the blood flow and clean away any dirt and debris until Gaius could take a proper look at it, but it was something.

He could feel Merlin’s eyes boring into him. “You’ll live, unfortunately.” Arthur added after a moment, flashing his teeth at the servant in a brief grin.

“Unfortunately for me, yes.” Merlin sank back against the cot. “I’ll be back to cleaning your stinking socks within the next few days.” His eyes remained affixed to Arthur, half-lidded and tired, and for the briefest of moments his face betrayed him to his king. Something heavy weighed on him, his gaze reflecting the burden of Atlas; then Arthur blinked, and it was like it hadn’t even been there in the first place.

What a strange thing to see on Merlin’s face.

[polyacotarweek]

Day 2 Masterlist: Comfort

Fanfic

"Willow" by @fieldofdaisiies (Elain X Gwyn X Lucien)

"Rhys's death scene but if Rhys lost his powers, Part 3" by @lorcandidlucienwill (Feytamsand)

"Embers In The Wind, Ch2: Eyes Closed, Head Down" by @chunkypossum (Nerissian)

"Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tender" by @acourtofladydeath (Nessriel)

"Matching Wounds" by @readychilledwine (OC X Azriel, OC X Feysand)

"Scars" by @littlestw01f (OC X Rhysand X Eris)

"Even High Lords Need a Break" by @nocasdatsgay (Reader X Azris)

"Healing Hands" by @tsunami-of-tears (Reader X Cazriel)

"Welcome Home" by @mrs-illyrian-baby (Reader X Cazriel)

"Watch Your Step" by @danikamariewrites (Reader X Feysand)

Fanart

"The bane of the loyalists" by @queercontrarian (Drakon X Myriam X Jurian)

"Valkyries" by @copypastus (Nesta X Emerie X Gwyn)

If your creation is missing or you see an issue with the masterlist, please reach out to the blog so we can rectify it!

[jedi-order-apologist]

Senator Amidala, Can You Please Come Collect Your Astromech?

There isn't much need for a recruitment drive for a war fought with clone troopers, but an unusual candidate tries to enlist anyway. Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "Useful"

Based on this post I made a while ago.

Excerpt:

“Think you scrapbuckets are lost,” the recruiter grumbled. If ever a droid could be said to look taken aback, it would certainly describe this protocol droid. “Pardon me,” it said, “but the plaque outside indicated this was the Galactic Armed Forces Enlistment Center?” “That it is.” “Oh!” the droid sounded relieved. “We are in the right place, then. I am C-3PO, and my companion,” it gestured at the astromech, “is R2-D2, who insists he has a matter of great importance to discuss with you.” The recruiter just stared blankly at the droids as C-3PO turned to R2-D2 and continued, “Now, what is this mysterious matter you brought me here to relay to this gentleman? Don’t take too long; I’m sure he’s very busy and doesn’t have all day to talk to us!” R2-D2 whirred and chirped. C-3PO opened its mouth to translate, then abruptly cut off before even beginning, and whirled on his companion. “R2-D2, that’s absurd! You cannot enlist in the army!”

READ ON AO3

[fluffykittensox]

Please Star Wars fanfic writers; Stop using “thank the maker” when it’s anyone but a droid talking!!

When C-3PO says that in the original films he’s literally saying the droid version of “thank God”! Literally thanking whomever assembled him from parts!!

Thank the force is right there!

Thank you for coming to this Ted talk

[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.

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[totallynotobsessedwithfandoms]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, R2-D2 (Star Wars), C-3PO (Star Wars), Padmé Amidala, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, Mentioned 501st members, Mentioned 212th members Additional Tags: Angst and Feels, Memories, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, comfy-vember 2024, i have no idea how to tag this, Clone Troopers and Jedi as Found Family (Star Wars), Bittersweet, Found Family Series: Part 23 of comfy-vember prompts Summary:

@comfy-vember on Tumblr's day twenty-three prompt: art on fridge

There's a fridge in Obi-Wan's quarters. It holds memories.