#d2 fanfiction

[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)!

[danikamariewrites]

Watch Your Step

Feysand x reader

A/n: happy day 2 and another Feysand fic! Comfort fics are some of my favorites especially for Rhys. Some of my favorite moments with him and Feyre are in ACOWAR and he’s just doting on her. @polyacotarweek

Warnings: descriptions on injuries and comfort

“Nyx, slow down!” You yelled over the little boy's screeches and giggles as he ran through the upstairs hall. You held your dress above your calves, feet carrying you quickly.

You jumped toys littered across the carpet. Sighing mentally you make a note to have the boy clean up his toys. “Bet ya can’t catch me mom!” He giggled, disappearing around the corner. “No running on the stairs young man!” He giggled again as you heard the sound of winnowing. You came to a halt. The three of you knew Nyx’s powers were developing. He could finally hide his wings on command like Rhys. But winnowing was very new.

The first time he winnowed he had taken Rhys with him. Ending up outside the Winter Court palace wanting to see his friend, the Princess of Winter. To know he could winnow so far at such a young age was impressive but terrifying.

Your thoughts raced you began sprinting for the stairs. Praying to the Cauldron your little boy was only downstairs and not somewhere unknown.

Not keeping your eyes on the ground you completely missed the pair of toy swords in a small wagon on the first step. Your bare foot landed right on the center of the wooden toys, splintering them in half. Not even getting a chance to right yourself your other foot stays suspended in midair as the wagon moves across the stair.

Your ankle turns and you feel something pop. Falling down the stairs backwards you let out a scream. You try to grab hold of the banister to slow down, your fingers screaming in protest. You hit the curved landing hard. Rolling to a stop thanks to the wall.

Thanks to the pain numbing your body and ringing ears you didn’t hear Nyx scream for you. Or the multiple pairs of feet thundering to get to you as quickly as possible.

Groaning, you roll over onto your back, trying to keep your breathing steady. You keep your eyes screwed shut at the pain still coursing through your bones.

Nyx was now sitting next to you. A little hand on your face to comfort you. “Like mommy and daddy do for you,” he said once.

“I’m ok buddy, I’m ok.” You manage through gritted teeth. Opening your eyes you smile up at him. Panic on his little features. “See, mom’s ok. Just a little fall.”

Nesta and Azriel are first to arrive, Rhys and Feyre looking destressed right behind them. Nesta quickly gathers Nyx in her arms much to the boys dismay. He starts fidgeting wildly in his aunts arms fighting to get back to you.

Before he can be told to Az winnows away to get Madja. Rhys scoops you into his arms making his way to the bedroom quickly. Feyre prepares you a spot, fluffing your pillow as Rhys set you down gently.

“Questions later. I don’t want stress her out and add to her pain.” Rhys says into Feyre’s mind. He looks back at his mate to see silver lining her eyes. Her hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb. “It’s ok angel, we’re here.” Feyre whispered softly. You squeezed her hand in response. The both of them could feel your pain through the bond and it was breaking their hearts.

Madja came bustling in as quickly as possible leaving Azriel to linger in the doorway. The old healer shoos your mates away, “I can’t work with you two breathing down my neck. Go with the Shadowsinger. I’ll come get you once she’s patched up.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. They’re hesitant to leave you but know it’s for the best.

An hour later Madja had left you with your ankle wrapped and strict bed rest orders which Feyre and Rhys took very seriously. For the next week your mates kept a close eye on you, not letting you move an inch.

“I still think you should keep your ankle elevated, my love.” Feyre sweetly chastises you a few days later. You roll your eyes as she puts the lunch tray down to fluff the throw pillow you abandoned a half hour ago.

“I’m fine, Fey. Besides, it’s practically healed.” She hummed, raising a brow at you, gently placing your foot on the pillow. “You want to tell Rhys that?” You sigh, dropping your head against the headboard.

Rhys has been worse than normal. Maybe because it was the worst at home injury any of you had sustained. He wouldn’t even let you sleep in the middle of the bed like usual. Rhys insisted you take his side while he slept in the middle so it would be easier to carry you out of bed.

Feyre placed the tray on your lap as she settled next to you, brushing a strand of hair behind your delicately pointed ear. “How are you feeling?” She asks softly.

“Better. The pain in my side is gone and my head is fine, the only problem is the pain in my ankle.” Feyre hums looking back at your bandaged ankle. You start to pick at your food when you notice a card under the plate. Picking it up you smile. Nyx had drawn you many get well soon cards over the last few days. “Good.”

In the middle of your meal and chat with Feyre, Rhys made his way into the bedroom taking the other spot next to you in bed. He takes your chin gently in his fingers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. As if he was afraid of causing you more pain. “Hi angel, how are you feeling?” You smile against his lips, “Good.” He lets out a content hum leaning away from you.

As the week went on your mates let up on their hovering. When the bandage came off Rhys would massage your ankle every night, rubbing a special salve Madja gave you. While their overbearing nature at times can be aggravating, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d never stop being thankful to have mates and a family that cares so much about you.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

(Small, frivolous rant incoming, apologies)

One thing I wish the Destiny fandom did more of was dabble in the utter horror this universe holds, especially when it comes to portraying the vile atrocities committed by many of the cosmic level characters.

Destiny‘s T rating holds it back so much in my opinion (but it still manages to lay down excellent foundations for horror and more mature themes!!) and I really wish there was more fan works that explored the unimaginable tragedies that occur in lore!!

When you really dwell on the scale of many of the disasters that happen in lore, it really dawns on you just how sinister and monstrous many of the larger villains are. Antagonists like Eramis are much more grounded, certainly not saints though, but some of the antagonists we have encounter are truly odious in their behaviors, even if they are deluded into thinking what they are doing is correct (like the Osmium siblings ravaging whole star systems in pursuit of the sword).

For example, it’s no secret that I LOATHE the Witness like no other. This wicked entity has me fighting bile at the mere thought of it and I truly think the way it delivers cruelty with such a sense of compassion and righteousness to be the most stomach wrenching form of being baneful. I could not think of an entitlement more deplorable than the Witness‘ and it’s existence is a travesty that has caused irreparable harm that spans EONS.

Yet, in my experience, I never see much content that taps into the horrors experienced by those touched by the Witness and its pawns, such as the Noesis and humanity during the collapse. There are INCREDIBLE artistic and written works that tap into the psychological horrors of exos and the unethical hell Clovis was putting people through, but not as many on the more cosmic horrors from what I have seen!!

This may just be a me thing and the personal reasons why I want the Witness put under a hydraulic press speaking, but I often see plenty of depictions of the Witness being uncharacteristically soft and having deeper feelings towards its disciples, but works about its vengeful rage, simple mindedness, violation of the autonomy of others, and predatory grooming are quite barren.

I wish to see just how HEINOUS it is displayed in all its turpitude and how it leaves a festering rot on everything and everyone it touches. I love the Witness because it is so evil in it‘s actions and my heart SINGS any time I see people tap into the trauma it causes, especially for characters like Rhulk or Savathûn!!

There is so much room for exploring just how vast the Destiny universe is when you decenter perpetrators in stories and focus on the incomprehensible number of victims.

Destiny genuinely has a character running around with the title „The Final God of Pain“ haunting people and refusing to permanently die, but there is only so much a T rated game can do and I feel like Destiny enjoyers can go beyond what’s in game in such creative ways!! Just thinking of the fall of Torobatl has me going „Wow, I’m actually so sick to my stomach, I need to honor Caiatl and really capture the pain of such an event!“

The latest lore on the Qugu? My chest HURTS.

Some of the hive experimentations? The hive in general? Hell is not hot enough for what the Witness lead them into.

But you know what they say, be the change you want to see in the world! Create the content you want to enjoy and promote the content you do enjoy!! I wish to dabble into the darker areas of lore, and of course, promote Witness hatred any chance I get!! Hopefully I get more time to write about these things and really value the work the Destiny writers have put into portraying such strong feelings of loss time and time again!!

And also!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read The Garden‘s Witness by Titanmaster_117 !!! ESPECIALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER, I COULD RANT ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF PROSE ALL DAY, IT GENUINELY MADE ME CRY!! PROMOTE THE CONTENT YOU ENJOY ALL DAY, EVERYDAY!!

But this is just something I’ve been thinking for some time now. This isn’t condemning anyone in the fandom or saying there is an issue, just a desire I would love to see (and hopefully fulfill if I ever get back into writing for Destiny!) If you guys have any recommendations for Destiny works that are horrific, focus on themes of loss and devastation, or hate on the Witness, feel free to mention them so other people can find them!!

Not enough Witness hate going around for my liking… this looks like a job for me.

[tigerspite]

Crab Behavioural Therapy

Eramis undergoes 'psychological warfare' at the hands of the Vanguard.

-

Wow I have not moved that fast to write something in a while. 24 hours turnaround. Bon appetit.

If anyone needs me, I'll be making tonics now.

[tsunami-of-tears]

Healing Hands

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 2 (Comfort)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: When Azriel and Cassian require healing, they can always rely on their friend, Y/N, to help them out.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.6K

Warnings: injury/illness; slight angst; mostly fluff.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Reader

When you first saw Azriel, cloaked in shadows, you thought death had finally come for you. 

Instead, he offered you a new chance at life. 

You couldn't help but develop a little crush. Gods, he was so handsome. Attractive and kind - you were done for. 

And then there was Cassian. He was so easy to get along with, the two of you were fast friends, especially with the amount of injuries the male received. 

You wondered if he was doing it on purpose, as a way to spend more time with you. You shake your head, trying to rid the thought from your mind. ‘Don’t be silly, why would he do that when his job requires him to be in peak physical condition?’ 

You managed to stay professional, for the most part. Cassian made it very hard with all of his flirting. You quickly realised it helped to take his mind off the pain while you were healing him. So, taking a holistic approach, you joined in on his games to help him through it. 

Azriel, on the other hand, was always on his best behaviour. You got to see a side of him that’s usually kept hidden behind his shadows. A soft side. The two of you would talk and talk while you patched him up. You’d chat about everything, new books, music, that new bakery by the Sidra that made the most divine cakes…

Getting on with Cassian and Azriel was easy. What wasn’t easy was battling your growing feelings for both of them. 

————

You’re working on restocking your salves and tonics, humming a song from your village as you grind magical herbs together. You’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. “Come in,” you say cheerily, stepping away from the work to greet your visitor. 

The door opens and Cassian enters your small clinic with a bright pink nose and red, puffy eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m dying,” he sniffles. 

You move closer and press your hand against Cassian’s forehead, letting your powers diagnose him.

“I’ve seen you with far worse ailments than allergies, Cassian.”

“You try not being able to breathe and see how you like it,” he responds.

“Take a seat, I was just finishing up a tonic that will help.” You gesture towards the stool on the other side of your workstation and you go back to mixing the tonic. Cassian watches you working in unusual silence. The only sounds in the room are the grinding of your mortar and pestle and the occasional sneeze. 

“Remind me to stock up on this if we ever visit Spring,” you smile, handing Cassian the glass vial. He downs the amber liquid in one big gulp. Within minutes his symptoms start to wane. Cassian stands and lifts you into a big hug, spinning you around. 

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, Y/N.” Cassian beams, planting a loud kiss on the top of your head as he sets you on your feet. 

You laugh in response to his affection. “It’s nothing,” you say.

You both turn at the sound of a male cough. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Azriel drawls. 

“Just saving Cassian’s life. Again,” you wink.

“Thanks again Y//N.” Cassian kisses you on the cheek on his way out of the clinic, leaving you alone with the shadow singer.

You scan Azriel’s face. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look on his face.

“What can I help you with, Az?” you ask.

“Just some scrapes, I’ve become such a baby since you’ve been around,” he smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. 

“It’s always my pleasure to help.” You turn to look through your jars of salves, grabbing one with numbing properties. 

You turn towards Azriel, motioning for him to take a seat. You grab his hand, your powers doing a quick scan - you can sense he has some minor scraps on his knuckles, but he’s also got something wrong in his chest - your powers can't quite determine what it is. 

You do your best to keep the concern from your face as you start to work the salve into his knuckles. Azriel shuts his eyes as you massage his hands. 

“Az,” you say softly, approaching the topic hesitantly, “is there anything else I should know about?”

He opens his eyes, looking into yours, “like what? I’m fine,” he says.

“You haven't had any pain elsewhere?” You push.

“No, why would I?”

“Well, I don't want to alarm you but my magic has never been wrong before. It’s detected something other than these scrapes…” You point towards his chest, right over his heart, “There’s something wrong here.”

Azriel exhales through his nose, “Oh, that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.’”

You frown at the male, sighing. Illyrians were a stubborn breed, you decided. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Azriel nods and leaves your clinic, leaving you wondering what worries plague him and what you can do to help. 

————

Azriel continues to mope around for a few days, the dark circles never leaving his face. Not even Mor can get him to smile.

With your worries only increasing, you turn to Rhys and Feyre for some answers. 

You explain what you felt to Rhys, that you knew something was wrong but you couldn’t tell what.

Rhys props his chin on his hand pensively, “Azriel has always had his demons, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Just keep monitoring him and try to get him to talk. I know he feels fondly for you, it may just take him time to open up.” 

You nod, taking in the High Lord’s words. 

Feyre gives you a reassuring shoulder squeeze, “He’ll be alright. He’s got you.”

You give her a meek smile and exit the office, on your way to try and cheer up your friend.

————

“Az!” you call out in the House of Wind, “Where are you?”

He appears down the hall, a flurry of shadows swirling around him and towards you. “Yes, Y/N?” 

“Can you please give me a lift to the city? I’ve got a few things to pick up, and I’m craving something from that bakery.”

Azriel nods, “Sure, are you ready to go now?”

“Sure am, lead the way.”

He scoops you up into his arms like he did the day he rescued you and launches into the sky. The wind rushes past your face and you scream out in joy, loving the exhilarating feeling of soaring through the air. You wrap your arms tighters around Azriel’s neck as he starts to descend.

You land and he places you down gently. ‘Thank you, kind sir,” you say, curtsying. Azriel rolls his eyes but can’t fight the smile creeping onto his face.

You grab his hand and break into a skip down the street, triumphant over your small win - getting a grin out of the spymaster. 

Azriel follows after you, listening intently as you chatter away animatedly. 

As you exit a shop selling different apothecary ingredients you spy a busker on the street playing the fiddle. 

“Oh Az, will you dance with me?” 

Azriel pauses, observing the crowd before taking your extended hand in his. The two of you dance clumsily in the street, letting the music flow through your body. 

As the musician hits the crescendo, Azriel lifts you into the air and spins with you while you laugh loudly and unabashed. When he places you on your feet you notice a small crowd has gathered, they break into applause for both you and the fiddler as the song ends. 

You take Azriel’s hand and make him bow with you. He smiles and shakes his head but humours you. You tip the busker generously and give him a small wave as you continue down the street, still holding onto Azriel’s hand. 

As you approach your favourite bakery - Azriel’s mood has lightened. You can still feel the pain but it has lessened significantly. 

————

With your treats in hand, you make your way to the Sidra and lean against the wrought iron banister edging the river. 

Azriel said he’d get whatever you did - so you opted for two huge brownies with a generous dusting of icing sugar on top.

“These look so good,” you gush, grinning madly at Azriel. 

The slice of cake is so thick that your nose brushes it as you take a bite. You cover your mouth as you chew and swallow. 

“That is amazing,” you moan, turning to Azriel. “How is yours?”

Azriel takes one look at you - with sugar on your nose and chocolate in your teeth and bursts into a deep laugh.

“It’s brilliant, but how have you already made such a mess?” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, “Is there something on my face?” 

“Here let me.” He reaches up and brushes your nose softly, wiping away the sugar. “It’s still all in your teeth though.”

“I’m saving that for later,” you say with a wink and the two of you burst out laughing again. 

Standing so close to Azriel, you can’t help but admire his gorgeous face. And his eyes - there are less shadows in them. 

“Thank you for today,” Azriel says quietly, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “You’re good at that.”

“Good at what?”

“Knowing what I need.” He smiles, “Come on,” he beckons with his head, “Let's get back home before you make more of a mess of yourself.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe

[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

[lordshaxxhandler]

A little photoshop edit of my Hunter, Behemoth-29 in his street clothes with his Ghost, Flare🔥

[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.

[little-de-vil]

As recompense for me taking forever to respond to @tumblingghosts, I offer you My Ficlet. This is my first time posting about my Silly OC Thoughts, I'm terrified so please be nice!

This takes place during the 73rd Hunger Games, the main characters in this fic are Cassia (Slip Name) "Harlow" (Home Name) Sophro, an 18 year old tribute reaped from District 2 and middle child to Vance (SN) "Hawk"(HN) Sophro, the Victor of the 44th Hunger Games and a historic one as the first of the Cutters, and Dardanius "Dani" Bollard, another 18 year old tribute from 2, but a Volunteer. He's originally from the south, but his family moved up north after a tragedy. He's what's called a Cutter by Blood, someone who still holds onto the Cutter traditions but works (or in this case, his father) as a Keeper. He's trained as a Career, whereas Cassia has been trained by various Victors, those from 2 and not. @thegreatmelodrama let me know if I did your baby Dani justice! She's also a Snow but that's a topic for another day!

Sand continues to trickle into the cave as the storm destroys the supplies at the nearby Cornucopia. What a rarity, for the whole lot of Career tributes to be cornered and beginning to starve. Starving softly, unlike the chronic harshness other district children are so used to. Like the pair from 3, who are tangled together in wires and sparks bleeding out from a corner most camera.

“Why can’t we just destroy each other?” Dardanius asks Harlow softly. 

The question throws her off and she’s been so focused on perfecting the nose of the stone version of her district partner that it takes a moment for his question to register. She is, however, certain that he’s broken his nose more than once.

Who is the “we”? The pair from 1? The lone boy tribute from 4? Certainly not the ones from 3, who no one can really tell why they’re still alive, let alone with the Pack.

Or does he mean himself and Harlow? Are they the “we”?

He must mean them. Because if the years of watching District 2 pairs reach victory has taught her anything, it’s that those from 2 are loyal to their community. Of masonry or military. And that it’s the worst part of watching The Games in District 2, how much the animosity grows amongst the crowd at even the slightest difference in trade or birthplace is put to question the chance of triumph as one tribute falls. 

But is the answer so simple? A mere difference in industry? In home? The Cutters: hewer and layer masons, quarry-folk, stone and crystal miners, blacksmiths. The Keepers: soldiers—the common grunt and almost unheard of 2 born general—, cadets in schools, Peacekeepers stationed throughout the country never to return for 20 years, the hundreds working in The Peak. The southern desert folk and their blunt nature, intrenched in tradition that mirrors what it was before. The northern mountain people and their river sweet ways, creating new rituals after living so close to their invaded neighbors. 

No, nothing as simple as that. Their mutual destruction is not an echo of past rivalries, but of present vows.

A small piece of granite crumbles under the light tap of her brother’s chisel, and she looks back to see that Dardanius’ stoney eyes match his own. “Because we both made promises that work against each other. You promised my brother that you’d protect me. And I promised my father that I wouldn’t become him. Those two don’t work well together.”

He nods, but his brow tightens in concentration, mind locked deep in thought. His voice is soft and filled with sadness or maybe remorse, unlike its usual deep, assured cadence, “So what will we do if it’s just us?”

She blinks, having not considered this point until this very moment. But something deep inside her quickly finds the answer, “I give you permission to kill me.” She says sternly, mirroring his typical tone.

That comment can’t be playing well with the audience. What sponsor would back a tribute so unwilling to see their own victory? Hasn’t the Capitol been so generous to give these poor tributes the opportunity to better their life? And her especially, who has grown up in the greatest Capitol family of them all her whole life? What joy comes from watching someone fight who will never want the crown?

But this must also be playing horrifically among the Cutters back home. Self-sacrifice isn’t a Keeper trait, but Cutters aren’t known to back down from a fight when it comes to dishonoring their people. By allowing even this possibility to happen, she’s just repeating the cycle of those loyal to the Capitol can claim victory, and those traitors are always bound to fall at their hands. 

But her father must be proud of her for lasting this long, for sticking with her partner, for still Saying her Stones? Was he proud of himself when he was in her position 29 years ago, or did that pride diminish once his partner crumbled in his arms and the trumpets of victory rang? She wonders if he will still be proud of his eldest daughter when she returns cold and lifeless, sprinkled with hard tact bread given to her by a joint sponsor of the Master Mason and Head Peacekeeper of 2, spread generously at the end by her partner. Or will he be filled with disdain and fury for defying his one wish to not become like him, like her cousin of the 66th, like her neighbors of the Village who practically raised her. Only time will tell, she supposes, to whose promise will be kept. Or if District 2 will have two tributes sprinkled with bread.

[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)

[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

[titanicfreija]

Reunion

Three stood on a ruined rooftop to observe the only thing the Vanguard ever did right.

Miisraaks and the rest of House Light shambled, trudged, skittered, crawled and scrambled into their new home, a shitty corner of City no one had yet cleaned up. Ether tanks on backs, hatchlings in bundles, taking in Eliksni refugees was a step beyond Three ever imagined. The Warlocks never gave her any hope, even after they called the uneasy truce. This was real progress.

It did feel like their acceptance was conditional on their devotion to the Traveler, but that was probably not actually true. Miisraaks's faith didn't speak for the rest.

"Korreks is down there."

Three could have choked on her tongue if she still had one. "What?! Where?! When did he join House Light?!"

"Taks, too. And I think that might be Kirtask, they look just like Taks. And there's Chedraask and her husbands."

Three hopped down without further ado. She caught a few eyes as she went, but the cloak would show Hunter, not suicide. (Or, impermanent suicide, anyway)

Helmet down, she raced to the Eliksni Quarter, brushing past the numerous curious hopeful and anxious and angry civilians, and finally hopped over the heads of the last few rows, breaking the No-Light-In-The-City rules.

She scared a few people. They gasped and one cried out, and several moved away, human and Eliksni alike, and the poor Eliksni scrambled away with their arms covering heads and tanks and young and each other, except for the six in the direct path.

The tallest of the six swore, and two purplish-gray Eliksni cried, "Siinin!" together. The two ran to meet her, all arms open, and they collided with such force that the observers flinched.

The remaining four, one with half-regenerated lower arms and one half the size as the rest, eased closer and circled, waiting for their turn.

"I thought for sure you guys were dead!" Three cried, spinning to hug the one closest to her left, and letting the next one join in. "I couldn't find you again and it made me so proud until it scared me!"

Miisraks lurched over to the crowd without a word, but the party turned to see him and let him see Three.

"I believe I remember you, Hunter," said Miisraks patiently.

"Yeah, bet you do," Three replied, turning to face him.

He nodded with a slow grunt and thumped his lower hand against his thigh absently. "Indeed."

"Paid off, I guess," she admitted, waving a hand at the line.

He grunted again and relaxed. "It did. It was a risk. But the Light provides." He gave a graceful bow to the Hunter and her company, and he turned to lead his people onward, past the small crowd.

Taks patted Three's back with her upper hand and she turned to face her old friends, and then to the smallest one. "I remember when you hatched," she said fondly to the dark blue child. "Everyone was so happy, you could feel the joy so strong I thought it was gonna get everyone caught."

The child chittered at her, and she grinned. "Siinin," she said, smiling. "Your name is Kirtask. I remember when it was picked out."

They chittered again and reached for Taks's hand, who took it and wagged it lovingly, and she led them back into the line. The relief and joy seemed to spread to the others in line, heads and feet lifting as they ventured into the bombed out corner of the City.

Progress, however few fucking inches at a time.

~~

For DestinyTober

Full History list is here

Complete prompt list is here

I got the words and names-ideas from @abidethetempest and their Eliksni Conlang

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

In the face of recent news about our beloved Destiny, I think it’s more important than ever for us as a community to come together and support each other in numerous ways.

It’s been a very hard week for all of us, especially those who lost their jobs and outlet for their passion in mass lay offs. Losing a position that allowed you to craft magnificent stories alongside some of the most ambitious people in the gaming industry, especially in worrying economic circumstances, must be excruciating to deal with and I wish the best for all those laid off from Bungie.

For us fans, it hurts more than anything to see the game you care so much for get put in headlines for how little that care is shared amongst the people responsible for making decisions on it. I’ve been into Destiny since it first dropped, making it the love of my life for nearly two-thirds of my whole existence , and to hear about how it’s just another product to be sold when it’s everything and more to me is just despairing. I wanted to become a writer and concept artist to create a game for others that made them feel as cared for as I did when I played Destiny and now I’m sitting here seeing all the people who helped foster that feeling be treated as another expenditure.

It’s awful, a lot of us are feeling really uninspired and betrayed at the moment, not sure we even want to see what will happen to this masterpiece of a game in the hands of the current executives. We are also dearly missing the developers, artists, writers, and more who made Destiny more than a fps looter shooter.

But it is times like these where we are torn and confused that we must uplift one another and not let the bitter taste of Bungie’s actions make us speak with hostility. This is not about decisions on whether to support Bungie or the actual game, but about refocusing on what truly makes Destiny enjoyable to so many.

Its world is immersive with care put into every story and that clearly shows in just how eager fans are to create masterpieces for it. It was never playing the game or the notoriety that kept me coming back for more, but the joy of creation I could share with others.

It stings to see a disinterest in nursing the potential of the Destiny universe from the executives with motivations other than monetary gain, but when the executives won’t care, we can. There are still employees at Bungie who adore their work and we can continue to support them by speaking up against horrible industry practices and show that we won’t abandon their efforts to make Destiny what it is.

Make ocs, write fanfictions, follow the former employees wherever they go, draw til your heart is overflowing, join Discords, roleplay, share headcanons, create aus with friends, do whatever keeps Destiny alive and flourishing for you!

Destiny will never die to me, even when it’s long forgotten and the servers shut down, because Destiny made me who I am and I intend to repay that gift an infinite amount of times over. The characters and universe will be alive and well to me until I die, regardless of the fate of the game and Bungie.

So go out and prove that Destiny’s themes of the power of community and hope are more than just morals behind a screen, that they are life changing messages that we will carry on despite hopeless news!!

Reblog charming artists, message people about ships you enjoy, leave questions and tags that contribute to conservations, write essays about what Destiny means to you!!

My messages and inbox for questions are always open if anyone would like to talk (I’m trying to get better at answering them, even if they are months late)! You are all welcome here and I want to start reblogging and liking more freely even if those things scare me sometimes!

We can decide our fates and we can decide the fate of Destiny’s presence in our lives as well! We can choose to care when others won’t and refuse to make our enjoyment debatable!! In troubling times, we should be able to reach out into the dark and find hands to hold onto tight!!

[chunkypossum]

Embers in the Wind

Ch 2: Eyes Closed, Head Down

Nesta X Cassian x Eris for @polyacotarweek

DAY 2: Comfort

Ch 2/4

4k words

READ ON AO3

Snippet under the cut.

Eris muttered something as he took a sip and Cassian felt Nesta stiffen next to him.  “What did you say?” He growled.   “I said,” Eris raised his voice, sitting up and leveling Cassian with a stare that would make lesser men wilt. A true lord of fire. “The mother has a sick sense of humor.” He slumped back in his chair and smirked, downing his second glass completely.  Cassian tracked the movement as he swallowed, watching as a drop of whiskey that hadn’t made it into his mouth slipped from the corner of his lips and slid down the column of his throat. Realizing what he was doing, Cassian’s nostrils flared and he too threw back his entire drink in one gulp.  Nesta’s eyes narrowed on him and she sent a tug down their bond but he ignored her.  “What if we made a bargain?” She offered, looking down at her hands.  “Absolutely not.” Eris said.  At the same time as Cassian ground out a resounding, “No.”  “See,” Nesta teased, “Already working together. That’s progress.” She winked at Cassian who glowered back. Out of the corner of his eye Cassian swore he saw a smirk on Eris’ mouth, but by the time he had looked at the male the smile was nowhere to be seen. 

I know I gave a shout out on Ao3 but needed to here too! @acourtofladydeath thank you so much for your help beta-ing this fic. Your suggestions were beautiful and made all the difference.

If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!

@hieragalbatorixdottir @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @icey--stars

[snooze-mode]

In The Wake Of Winter

Re-uploaded onto AO3, now with better formatting a bit of bonus content! A lorebook telling the story of an aged Eliksni Captain, detailing her struggles with morality and the degradation of her once-proud species.

Find it here:

In The Wake of Winter (4484 words) by SnoozeMode Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Original Fallen | Eliksni Character(s) Additional Tags: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Trauma, Shame, Survival, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Minor Character Death, parental loss, Implied/Referenced Suicide Summary: A survivor of the Whirlwind and the Long Drift reflects on her life amongst the Fallen Houses. One day, she finds a new spark of hope amongst all the desolation she has witnessed her people fall into. If only she had known the price of such a thing.