#hey ikora

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Hey Ikora

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

VANNET PERSONAL VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Three-Eyes says hi. We're going on a scavenger hunt for weird Darkness bullshit and Vanguard's not invited. Back in like a week. Don't freak out.

No salutation entered, “VIP #1315”

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Apparently we've been workin for you the whole time and she only just told me. My bad. I didn't ask. Anyway, she's left a package for you. Says to send a field agent to come get it. Coordinates attached. Don't send Aunor. We don't like her.

Transmat firing, D

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

You're gonna love this. Did you know there was a small Shadow Legion outpost buried in one of the rings of Saturn? We didn't neither. Fixed that for ya. Might wanna send someone to come clean it up though. We made a mess.

Have fun! Nony Mouse

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

I'm typing this out exactly as she's sayin' it cuz I dunno what in the hell it means:

There is a lay line disturbance which is generating concretions of Darkness energy in the sediment which in turn are creating environmental hazards on the surface of Ganymede.

I think she wants you to send some Guardians to come and shoot it.

Toodles! Deeznutz

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

You've known Moondust for longer than me. If someone wanted to get her something special that'd make her super happy, you got any suggestions? I said something hilarious and she did not agree with how funny it was. She's real pissed at me and I do love making her mad, but not this mad, ya know? Help a fella out?

Transmat firing, D

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Heard some of your spies went places they shouldn't of and now there's a mess in the Annex. You could'a just asked. Get Aunor to clean it up with a toothbrush or something and we'll call it even.

Later, N. O. Buddy

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Eris says: The sedge is withered from the lake and no birds sing. Hope you know what that means cuz I sure as hell don't.

Ciao, Noman

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VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Want anything from Neomuna while we're out here? Nimbus says hi. Osiris said something too but I stopped listening after he started using words like "weft" and "transmutation." Also Three-Eyes don't hate me no more. Thanks for the help.

Catch you soon, D

.

VANNET PERSONAL VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Was quarantining the Annex really necessary? I already got past all those locks and shit your people put up but I need to run a business here. I left your Biohazard, Restricted Access, and No Entry signs in a pile under the stairs.

Transmat firing, 1315 in da house

[nightmarefuele]

Esk inne.

It.

Feyd-Rautha tongues his incisors on the idea of being reduced.

He would follow the voyeur: he lifts his naked knee to begin the pursuit, flexors rolling already through the arousal of the hunt—except that this great, stinking throat beats for him. Chants like the rings of home. Layers and layers of bleached white bone on Giedi sing with wilder voices than this. Uncle has amassed such lovely lickspittles.

But prettyyy; those beetle eyes in the brutal shell of his face gloss over appetite-heavy;

The black metal stench bears him a woman.

An unholy vibration in his throat. With it he's left women on Giedi crying.

na-Baron's shoulders roll the same way her creature sinew speaks; the roof of his mouth wets the floor; his eyes go dripping down the height of a beast in the cage of breasts, a breastbone. He almost laughs. The rustle of stone under his shifting feet—no closer, just near, just teasing—does it for him. He answers a thick impulse to lift his new gift and cup it in his hand.

The tooth smears his palm like grease paint. Feyd-Rautha stands so very still. His arm then slouches, the tooth dripping, while his second presents its ink.

His fingers tickle the open air, giving the blood a shine.

Tell him tell him tell him.

"Vorhal drameino? Esk inne gravadeot? Esk inne drokani?"

The dark's creatures beg of them all and what hands remain begin to beat. Banging. Bashing against the caves throat in a thunderous drumroll of a calling. Even the fingers, once severed, crawl to life, inching like worms of the forest to rejoin the hands they have been parted from.

"Is it one of us? Does it belong?" She finally says.

Fingertips continue to glow like dappled stars of an envious sky, hidden beneath mothers womb. Within. They bash and bash and bash until they cannot take the beating anymore but must continue on anyway. The air is tainted with the ichor of spilled blood. Blackened. They mash, mash, beatings weaker until they have abandoned what strength is left and sit broken and bloodied on the cave floor. Bone melds with blood. It all smells the same. The beating is no more.

Something monstrous has awakened in its wake. It shakes even the strongest stillness interwoven into Maura's being. A glance into the depths behind Feyd and she steps back, speaking with urgency now. "It must fight. It must live. It's birth has begun."

She disappears into the dark as if rejoining her true form. Even the hands find what little strength of self mutilation remains to drag themselves into the dark with her. All that remains is noise. Clicking. Razor sharp on stone, but what shows itself is soft and holy and not been seen in years.

A woman. She appears from the depths, flirting the shadows edges, the back of her hidden but the front is white and bare and glowing with ethereal luminescence. She is almost holy. Almost. Her hand reaches for him, but her eyes are straight again. Unfocused.

Dead.

[cayde-6-hunter-vanguard]

Hey, Spades! Sorry I, uh...fell asleep on ya. I guess that little outing wore me out more than I thought.

Anyway, I was wondering if you'd wanna go on a scouting mission with me. I reported that strange figure to Ikora and Zavala and they think it's worth investigating. And I can't think of anyone else more suited to scout with me than "the great Cayde-6!"

So, how 'bout it?

"It's fine! You looked ready to keel over after ramen. Happy you got some rest at least!" He dusts off the non-existent dust on his shoulder, stroking his chin, looking ever so smug at him. "Oh? The Great Cayde-6? I like that name."

Cayde's gaze softens at him. "So this time you're the one taking me out this time? About time~" He elbows Andal lightly before gesturing with his head. "Yeah but we're taking your ship this time!

[thewildnopeboat]

Ikora, calling up the guardian: Guardian.

Guardian, chilling out in the Lost City: Oh! Hey mom, what's up?

Ikora: Mithraxx says you taught Eido human swears. Eido claims she didn't hear them from you. Now it's my problem.

Guardian, sits up a bit from the grass near the water front: Okay, which ones, cause just for the record, a lot of them were either Spider, Drifter, or Mithrax himself when he... isn't himself.

Ikora: Explain.

Guardian: Eido has been tampering with equipment for some time now, and it gets her into some rather funny situations. Spider is normally not one to scold but rather hides his amusement in front of her father. Drifter flares up for a second, then cools off after some accidental teaching of swears from the Golden Age. Mithrax, well, he doesn't exactly remember, but he sometimes will become rather cross with his daughter.

Ikora: Okay, well, who taught her to call Crow a "Bubble blowing baby" and "Corvid who didn't know how to fly"?

Guardian: Bubble blowing baby, and... I want to say the last one was when Cayde was still around, that or Eido is making new ones.

Ikora, sighing: Lovely. Stop teaching her slang. She has enough on her plate.

Guardian: Oh and by the by, please don't be mad at Crow for letting Eramis out.

Ikora, smuggly: Who do you think planted the idea?

[flowers-of-io]

Cayde: Hey, do you think I could fit fifteen carrots in my mouth?

Ikora: You’re a hazard to society.

Shaxx: And a coward. Do twenty.

[sylenth-l]

Hey What are your thoughts on the new Destiny Rising mobile game?

Think it will be any good?

I think I'm pretty neutral about it overall. I'm 99% sure I'm not going to play it, if it'll be available only on mobiles; I cannot for the love of me play anything including shooting on a controller, let alone mobile phone 💀 But maybe I'll watch the walkthrough once it's out.

So far I've only seen some screenshots and uuuh I don't think I'm into most character designs, let's put it that way. Most of them aren't super bad, but they don't look like Destiny at all to me. If anything, looking at its poster, I thought that Ikora looks like she doesn't belong there.

But I like that it's set in AU! It's even easier to ignore that way I think that's the best decision they could've taken, and it gives a lot of space for some fresh thoughts and ideas + it's more interesting simply because we don't know what'll happen in the future and what happened in the past. I'm actually curious to see what they'll come up with. In my head I think of it as of a canon divergence AU type of fanfic and that's it akslaskjdflksa

I see nothing bad in expanding this universe with more stuff, especially since it isn't even made by Bungie, so it has no effect on the main game's development whatsoever. But ofc more stuff means there will be both hits and misses. I personally will download it at least to play "Go Ghost Go" mini-game; now THAT looks like a mobile game I can play 😂

[destinythesims]

HEY YALL

does anyone have human/awoken ocs I could throw in as background characters. I think having the npcs at least be based on d2 universe characters would b more fun, see who pops up when they go places etc. not a fan of the base-game npc Sims.

what I need:

-appearance (in-game or fanart or whatever, if it's just a description give me a good one)

-clothing style. this is a big one bc I have to make a bunch of outfits w/ semi limited options

-name, pronouns, rough age (by appearance, given yk... 200 yo lightbearers look 30 half the time)

-personality- which aspirations/traits you think would suit them of the ones offered in the Sims. If you don't play that's fine, you can find the list of traits here NOTE THAT I ONLY HAVE THE BASE GAME + SEASONS (actually I might have get to work but I have to double check) and aspirations here

good to have but not required,

-relationship w/ the 8 we're following on this. that is saladin, drifter, ikora, zavala, sloane, crow, eris, and osiris. I will not be accepting oc/canon pairings, sorry, but it wouldn't be fair if multiple people put in ocs with the same pairing, + this just really isn't a ship thing. w/ that said, if the sims start flirting w/ each other I'm not gonna stop it. (if you're unfamiliar w/ the rules of this, I only interact to travel or to stop them from dying, or in one case to force drifter to come back when he glitched off the map.)

-sexuality/gender ID, since there's settings for that too now (Sims 4 win)

if I think of anything else I'll throw it in. go nuts yall. feel free to dm me or just rb this, whatever works

[erisxdrifter]

Make this story

1. Drifter and Eris doing dirty talking then Ikora catches them HAHAHAHAHAHA

2. Eris is sick so her beloved Rat takes care of him.

Here's the story for your first request, hope you love it!! I'm working on your second request, and I'll try and send it soon! 🥳 Thank you so much for the requests!!

The Drifter ran two fingers along the bright orange railing in his section of the Annex, collecting a small layer of grime and dust on his fingertips, staring at it with speculative and judging eye.

  "Observing dust are you, Rat?" Came a mellow voice from behind him.

  He turned towards the doorway, a smile already on his lips.

  "Hey, Moondust." He greeted. "C'mere, will you?"

  Eris eyed him suspiciously, cautiously approaching where he stood.

  "What is it?" She asked, looking down at the railing when he pointed at it.

  "Look," The Drifter replied. "What do you see?"

  Eris frowned. "Dust."

  "Exactly. Dust and dirt, on the railing. How?" He stared at it quizzically.

  "Perhaps from the rafters above." Eris replied, unfazed. "The idea is not particularly strange."

  "But c'mere, look at this too," he walked them over to the table nearby which was topped with books, a pot, jade coins, and a Cabal helmet.

  "Look at the table." He pointed to more dust. "How is the table so dusty? 'Specially the coins, you know I use 'em like a hawk. How come they're already covered in dust 'n grime?"

  "I doubt the Tower is without it's vermin, Drifter." Eris replied, observing the table and coins. "A mouse or rat could easily have crawled across the rafters and kicked down the dust and dirt you see here."

  "This much dust? Nah, that don't make sense. How does dirt get up on the rafters, anyway?"

  "Rats are not typically very clean creatures," Eris jabbed at him teasingly. "When did this start?" She asked before he could make a jab back at her.

  "Been goin' on for a few days." He told her. "And don't tell me a rat kicked down this much dirt, Moondust. I've been cleanin' it up every day and it's still comin'."

  "I will admit that is strange." Eris relented.

  "Run your finger through it," he told her.

  "What? Why would I do that?"

  "So you can see how thick it is."

  "Rat-"

  "Moondust," the Drifter interrupted.

  "Fine," Eris eventually grumbled, running the tip of her gloved finger through the dust. "It is surprisingly thick, I will admit." She said as she observed her finger.

  "Exactly, isn't that-"

  The Drifter was interrupted mid-sentence by the sound of a throat being cleared from the doorway.

  Both Eris and the Drifter jerked their heads toward the sound, finding Ikora Rey standing at the entrance of the room.

  "Am I interrupting something?" She asked, appearing faintly amused. "Something about dust?"

  The Drifter coughed. "Yeah, I was just sayin' how the Vanguard charge me too much to keep a room that's got dust and dirt fallin' from the rafters."

  "What brings you here, Ikora?" Eris interjected.

  "I heard you were in the Annex," she began. "And I came to make sure there wasn't something wrong."

  "Why would anything be wrong?"

  "I supposed that perhaps the Hive had become a more dire threat once again, and that you had come to the Tower to give a report in person." Ikora explained. "But I am glad to see the only matter is... dust."

  "And dirt." The Drifter added.

  "Yes. Well, if that is all then I will be going." Ikora offered a small smile. "It's good to see you, Eris."

  Eris gave Ikora a nod as she left the room. "Enough talking about dust, Rat." She told the Drifter once Ikora was gone, sighing and shaking her head.

  "But it's still weird!" The Drifter exclaimed.

  "I'm sure it is merely a rodent crawling across the-"

  "Rafters. Yeah, yeah, I know." He sighed.

  "I will be going, Rat, before you get any more worked up on the matter of dust." She turned away, heading for the exit.

  "Hey! I'm not worked up!" He called after her. "Moondust! Come back!"

  She laughed quietly to herself as she walked down the hall. 

[phantomwarrior12]

Alive?

This is a dream…or some cruel, horrendous joke.

But he’s right there. He’s alive.

The Young Wolf’s knees meet earth with an unceremonious thud as she stares up at her Vanguard, her mentor, her friend.

You’re alive?

The Ace of Spades is a steady weight on her hip but for a moment, it isn’t a crushing reminder of her failure but a firm reassurance from a friend. Is this what hope feels like? After so long, trudging from one debilitating atrocity to another, can she…finally have a win without repercussions?

Can she have her best friend back?

“Hey kiddo,” Cayde smiles at her, moving from his place beside the Warlock Vanguard to approach the trembling Hunter. He kneels down, laying a hand - Traveler, it’s solid, it’s real - along her shoulder. Her head lifts a fraction and in an instant, her arms are bound around his neck and a heavy, anguished sob is torn from her chest.

“Aw, missed me, huh?” He tries to tease even as he gathers the Guardian into his arms and holds her tight. “It’s okay. I’m fine, yeah?”

She can’t answer. Words are knots in her throat that will not dislodge.

Cayde-6 looks over his shoulder at Ikora with a smile and she folds her arms across her chest, a gentle warmth to her smile as they stay in silence.

He's here and she can - fuck, she's missed him.

After the Leviathan, after making peace with his death - she never dreamt she'd see him again.

And maybe it's not really him.

But the arms that hold her are too familiar to deny.

You're alive.

She's sure this is only temporary. Some last ditch effort from the Traveler to protect itself. To rally.

But she doesn't care.

Maybe this time…she'll get to say goodbye.

Hey, take me with you.

—

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

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

"You must learn to tease apart the hues of your own heart." —Parables of the Allspring.

Hey all! I'm a Warlock main named Matt and I've been posting my scattershot Destiny musings, ramblings, and theories since Lightfall's release. In that time, I've really enjoyed exploring the mysteries of the lore and honing my thoughts on Destiny's story through various posting styles. Particularly, I've loved exploring topics like the nature of the Darkness and the Veil, and their place in the story, as well as the generally rhyming, looping, spiraling structure of the game's narrative. I also love Eris, Drifter, Savathûn, and Osiris!

Sometimes I get a little all over, especially in those early posts, with big leaps and a lot of my own writing connecting the dots in an attempt to see a bit into the future. You'll have to pardon some of them, as I'm sure a few have aged pretty poorly or are just straight up bad. But as we've gone through the seasons and learned more, I've tried a sort of variation on web-weaving and assemblage by using lore entries, images, video, and sometimes song lyrics and poetry in a particular order and context to evoke specific moods or convey big, hard to articulate ideas and speculation. Sometimes, I just explore a theme or specific lore nook that fascinates me. It's a weird little practice in meaning-making I really like and the process has helped me unearth possible connections between things I've never considered in my many years following the lore.

As we move through The Final Shape, I wanted to finally compile a list of links to all my posts. Pardon the amount of repetition and, probably, off-the-wall speculation, but I hope you find something interesting if you decide to check them out! Also, keep an eye out for links. Sometimes it's simply the source text on Ishtar, other times.... something more. Please keep in mind that all these are products of the moment in time they were posted in, so topics I explored in early ones may have questions answered in the seasons since, or theories may have been proven unequivocally wrong. The list will largely go from earliest to most recent, and I'll put a * next to my favorites!

The Veil, Nezarec, and Jakob Bohme

Seeing the murals above the Veil enclosure

EMBRACE THE DARKNESS

Thank You, Verse 154i:4 - Call the Thrall

MCXLLII-I, forthcoming.

The EDZ saw paracausal conflict long before the Collapse

Pattern is system and system is sequence, but what is sequence?

Forsaken Lightfall

Deterministic Chaos

Eight

SALVAGE THE TRUTH

Aren't they beautiful?

"What is this feeling? I do not want it."

"They desired meaning. A Winnower to shape the garden."*

"How many legends of katabasis do we have, Ikora?"*

The Sundial

The Dreaming Cities

Not Light, not Dark: Power.*

Chiasmus*

Conspiracy Theory-D

The Truth in the Darkness...

Have you ever been afraid of your own Shadow?*

[I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?]*

©0RrUptIôN.*

Prismatic Hearts*

"We are unique emanations of the same shared Light."

Kugelblitz

Final attempts to understand before the Shape is unveiled*

[The following posts contain entries, imagery, and spoilers for the Final Shape and Echoes]

Paradrome

Speaker's Sight — Study the voice. Gaze into the heart.

"Focus. The Pyramid distracts. Nothing more."

It all means one thing

DECRYPTION KEY: 3136664202-777

Ruinous Effigy

There is only SUFFERING

SPOILER ALERT

Hope for the Future

It's not over

Echoing

Echoes of Deep Hidden Truth

Solipsism

Anima Mundi

Caught up in a web

II. Theory**

Gardener|ɿɘwonniW**

Cipher**

Eclipse**

"What is 'OXA,' and who was 'MSund12'?"

I know you're not afraid of a little dark...

How do I live?

Half-Truths**

!lettinggo*

Abyssus abyssum invocat***

THE POINT***

Eyes up, Guardian

"The road ahead is unknown, but time tells us many things. The moments that become past in turn become blueprints for the future. In this space, there is no right or wrong. "We find a contemporaneous merging of what is known and what is unknown here. Somewhere between the knowns and unknowns lies the real. The tangible. "There is a weight to it; a feeling that tells you what you hold is true. "But what if the truth hasn't been told? What if the truth is a lie? "New paths present themselves. Blueprints change. We walk the line of truth every day. "But now, the line that holds the gentle balance has been crossed. "The truth is, this won't be the last time."

—Excerpt from the Symmetry pamphlet, "A Place Between"

Reading for world-building is a skill. I have seen brilliant people, laureates, inventors, Ph.D.s, try to read fiction with deep world-building and fail completely, looping back, rereading, never following events, trapped in a sense of muddled wandering. Reading for world-building requires retaining information without context: a term, a place, a coin, a category comes up once and we know what that is—a puzzle piece—and that our task is to gather up these pieces as the author drops them, and to slowly assemble the whole. This is not easy. Human memory needs hooks for facts: a mnemonic, a story, context, something; grueling textbook rote-learning fades quickly, but a story of the statesman or the king, that's what makes knowledge stay. To retain puzzle pieces that don't connect, dropped without context, is a skill that not all have. All had it once: it is how children read, every book, poster, and headline a stream of unknown terms, far too many to ask about them all, but the child retains them, trusting that they will connect to something someday. Kids collect Earth's puzzle pieces every time they read, but as we move to grown-up books they all use the same picture, and define immediately those terms they fear a reader may not know. Thus the skill of keeping puzzle pieces fades, unless we read books set in other worlds, new puzzle pictures which make us retain the skill, as frogs sometimes retain their tadpole tails into adulthood. This—many have observed—is why most F&SF readers come to the genre young, it's hard to start in adulthood when one's puzzle memory skill has sat atrophied. We find dozens of other puzzle pieces—creatures, buried engines, monstrous plants—but they don't connect either, no explanations, no recurrences. We trust. We ponder. We wade through the clutter of clashing technologies, tales of degeneration, glories lost, but there's no fall-of-space-Rome story to connect it up. We can guess at one, as we can guess the missing end of the story of the strange plants, as we can guess at several ways rats could gain language if time passed and—click—we see it. These puzzle pieces do not fit together—rather this puzzle-maker trusts that we are puzzle-masters and know the archetypes that must fill in between (a rise, an age, a destined king.) So we spread our disconnected puzzle pieces out, not assuming that the strange creatures come from one origin, the ruins from one era, and as we spread out, looking not for direct connections but for fragments of arcs and colors, our 100 puzzle pieces let us glimpse an image so vast it would take 100,000—an image large enough to capture true Deep Future, years numbered in millions, where contours that do connect do so at scales which make the layers of Freud's Rome appear shallow as coats of paint.

—Excerpts from The Path of the New Sun by Ada Palmer, introduction to The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Chicken

Wherein Eris is frustrated and the Drifter reacts. Truths are spoken. Alcohol and the nature of French Toast are involved.

Set during Season of the Witch.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

“Drifter.” The radio crackled.

“Hey hey, god of vengeance, how you livin’?”

“With some difficulty.”

“Oh?” Eris overheard a metallic plunk, as though a tool were being put down on a table.

“Ikora is upset with me and wants me to rest but there is no time. She keeps saying she does not like what I've become.”

“Aww is it the chitin? I didn't pick Ikora to be shallow like that. Whether you have an exoskeleton or not, I still think you're hot.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me.”

“Well now, I'm going to have to do better if that's the best you've heard so far."

“This is… I should not have called.”

“Hey… Eris…” His voice had become soft. “I'm here no matter what. Ikora is too. She's just scared.”

“I wish she trusted me as you do.”

“That's the thing about humans, we're all different. And is it really a lack of trust? My read on her is all care, worry, and more than a little guilt.”

“Guilt and pity and concern. I have more than enough from all sides already.”

“Hey, not telling you what to feel or anything, but of all people, you and I both know how awful it is to be powerless to help someone you love when… you know… bad stuff… It's normal to be afraid of it, and normal to want to protect someone who matters to you.”

“Then why aren't you also wailing and gnashing your teeth at me? Is it because you are by nature not attached?”

“What?”

“If I am subsumed and remain hive, you can just drift away. Never love anyone, never trust. Once in a while wistfully think of how things might have been? It is after all how you are, is it not?”

“No. Not any more.” His voice shook.

She felt it in his voice. The pain she had just caused. The resonance with other pain she knew he held because he had trusted her to tell her of it. Parallels with his past previously invisible to her became suddenly very sharp and clear.

“I'm sorry.” All frustration had left her. She had unintentionally caused harm.

“I gotta go.”

“No, please, I spoke in anger and I'm not even angry with you. These transformations have been bringing raw emotions to the surface unrestrained. You do not deserve to be treated harshly. You have been exactly what I need at every moment. Please forgive me.”

“Yeah, sure Moondust, you're forgiven.” His voice was flat, as though he were now carefully keeping all emotion out of it. She felt suddenly cold, like she had opened a door to the Europan winds which could suck out all heat in even a brief moment of exposure.

“I am… I am very fond of you.” Her voice was small. Pleading.

He sighed, “Feeling's mutual. I… thought you knew that.” His words felt like brittle ice cracking. Between the words, the one thing she could not bear to hear in his voice: doubt.

“I… can I come to you? I can make a portal right now.”

“Guilt and pity?”

“What?”

“That's what you're feeling right now, ain't it?”

“This is not the same thing.”

“Ain't it, though? Look I'm not gonna stop you from coming here. Not like I could. But, honestly that hurt. I think that's the first time you've ever hurt me like that and I think I need to just be by myself right now.”

“Please,” her voice was barely above a whisper, “I need to see you. Please.”

For a few moments there was only silence.

“Airlock's open.”

The Drifter sat at a table near the makeshift bar he had in the corner of the Derelict’s small galley. There was a bottle on the table and one glass. He reached back behind him, picked up a second glass, and slid it toward her along the surface of the table as she approached.

“This is our first fight, isn't it?”

“I do not wish to be fighting with you.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” He poured liquid into her glass and then into his own. “To not fighting, then.” He raised his glass in a toast

Eris sat across from him and clicked her glass gently against his. They both took a sip. Eris made a face.

“It's good for dissolving permanent marker, too. Also takes off acrylic paint.”

“Ugh,” She took another sip and winced.

“So, let's get something out of the way, shall we? You've come out here when I told you not to, and that means you are either very stupid, which we both know you are not, or you are prepared to shut up and let me say what I need to say.”

She nodded.

“And because this is raw and I'm hurting, what I'm going to say ain't gonna be said nice.”

She nodded again.

He took her free hand in both of his, and began gently pulling off her glove with trembling hands. He worked in silence, carefully setting the gloves on top of each other, palms facing, empty fingers intertwined.

The Drifter took a large swallow from his drink, then took both her hands in his, two eyes staring intently and into three across the table.

“I love you.”

His words hung in the air between them, the silence following giving them even more weight.

Eris tried to caress his fingertips with her own. He gripped her hands tighter and shook his head, frowning and glaring at her. She tensed.

“You’re always asking me to speak plainly. This is as plain as I can get. The reason I trust you so completely is not that I’m not attached. It’s that I am fucking attached. And that scares the shit out of me because I have worked very, very hard not to get attached. No extra hidden shit, no schemes, no secret reasons. I fucking love you. That’s why.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

“I ain’t done.”

She nodded.

“Now, I am right pissed off. I should not have had to say this to you like this. Me telling you I love you should have been one of those special sweet things we whisper to each other naked in bed instead of me being angry and hurt.”

He paused, letting go of one of her hands to take a large swallow of his drink, before returning his hand to hers. She waited, listening. He spoke his next words slowly and deliberately.

“It is wildly unfair and unkind for you to go about comparing my reactions to those of the other people who also love you too. You are doing shit that is scary as fuck and dangerous and has literally everything on the line, and I am behind you one hundred percent.”

He gripped her hands tightly.

“You demanded to call me by a name that’s only ever been used by ghosts. You insisted I let you be counted among those people whose lives I woulda laid down and died forever to protect. And I let you. And I am still, right now, letting you. Don't you ever think for a moment again that I do not love you. Don't you fucking dare.”

“We’ve fought together.” he continued, “Saved each other’s lives. Eris Morn’s fire team is no longer all dead because I am now on it. I’m the living one among your ghosts as much as you are among mine. I am here and I love you and I will support you through every kind of hell no matter how many times you willingly walk through it. Don’t you ever fucking pull this shit again Eris. I. fucking. love. you. You got that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.”

He let go of her hands, downed the rest of his drink, and poured himself another.

“Now, get the fuck off my ship so I can get blind drunk and cry myself to sleep, you fucking bitch.”

She did not move.

“Just go.”

“No.”

He turned his head to one side until his neck cracked and let out a slow breath.

“I thought we’d agreed that we weren’t going to fight, Moondust.”

The drink was visibly shuddering in his hand. The liquid almost but not quite spilling.

“I am… not done my drink. You poured it for me and I would like to finish it.”

He nodded, glared at her, and took another swallow from his glass, never breaking eye contact.

“Fine. We can play it that way. Finish your drink.”

She took a sip.

They sat in uncomfortable silence as the Drifter filled, and consumed, three more glasses of alcohol, staring angrily at her while she took the occasional small sip.

“Chicken,” Eris said quietly.

“Come again?”

“Chicken. The game with vehicles.”

“Like Russian roulette only with two people in a head on collision?”

“Yes, only with us, it’s with emotions instead.”

“Well, I guess that means I lost.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Do tell.”

She looked down at her glass and then back up at him.

“Do you believe I love you?”

This time his shaking did spill his drink.

He sucked in a breath and blew it out through his lips, like he was blowing out invisible candles before him.

“Hoo boy. You waited till I got four drinks ahead of you to drop that one. Well done.”

She took another sip of her drink.

“Your alcohol consumption was not a factor. I was choosing my words carefully. So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Believe I love you.”

He glared at her.

“I believe,” He took a large sip from his glass and rolled the alcohol around in his mouth first before swallowing it. “…that you wouldn’t lie to me about it.”

She nodded.

“So, you tell me.”

She waited until he met her gaze again.

“Yes.”

“Then I believe you do. Ah… fuck.”

He wiped the tears out of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, then flicked the moisture off to the floor. “Fuck you.”

He put his drink down and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes to try to squish his overflowing tear ducts closed.

She looked inside of her now empty glass and placed it next to his on the table, leaning forward close to his ear as she did so.

“Do you still want me to go?”

He looked up from his hands with a bitter laugh, his face wet.

“No.”

“May I touch you?”

He shuddered, still crying. “Yeah.”

She cupped his face in her hands and ran her thumbs along his cheekbones, wiping at the tears. They kept coming. He placed his hands over her own, pressing them into his face, and sobbed into her palms, centuries of pain flowing freely against her skin.

They sat this way for several minutes. The Drifter sobbing. Eris’s hands receiving his tears. Eventually the tears slowed and his breathing evened out.

He released her hands. She left them on the table in front of him.

“Well,” he said, wiping his face on his sleeve, “that happened.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

“May I stay here tonight?”

“I ain’t fucking you,” he said flatly. “Not after something like this. I don’t want us to be like that. Emotional yo-yos are for people less than three hundred years old, not us.”

“I do not want us to be like that either and that is not what I am asking.”

“Good.”

“But I do wish to stay with you.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

He picked up his drink and looked at it, clearly trying to decide whether or not to consume it. She took the glass from him, replacing it with one of her hands while with the other she tilted her head back and in three swallows, emptied the glass, coughing a little.

“Track dust all over, break my heart, and steal my booze, why don’t you?”

“I have not broken your heart.”

She placed the empty glass on the table and stood.

“But I have carelessly bruised it, and that requires attention. Can you stand?”

“Yup.”

“Which way is your bed?”

He pointed.

She led him by the hand.

“Wait.” He pointed at a cupboard. “In there. Extra blanket.”

“You are cold?”

“No, but I will be when you steal all the covers.”

“I do not steal covers.”

“Like hell you don’t. I seen how you sleep when we were on Europa. You cocoon. I got extra blankets when I got back just because I knew this would happen at some point.”

“How long have you been planning on sleeping with me?”

“I uh,” He swayed and steadied himself against a wall. “…wouldn’t say planning. Hoping maybe.”

“You obtained extra blankets out of the belief that I steal covers. That is literally preparing in advance for something you have planned.”

“There’s a difference between planning an being prepared.”

“Fine. How long have you been preparing to sleep with me?”

“Uh… a while.”

She pulled the blanket out of the cupboard. It was soft and pleasant to touch.

“Since Europa at least, how much longer before then?”

“A while. Why?”

“I regret us not doing this sooner.”

“Yeah well, we’re here now. Let’s go snuggle like people who love each other this much are supposed to and, provided I’m not too hung over, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“I would like that.”

“You ever had French toast?” He tossed his coat onto a chair and his boots in the corner.

“No. What makes the toast French? How can bread have language?”

“Uh… those last couple drinks have finally hit and I am too drunk to properly explain this… I can show you tomorrow. It’s got nothin to do with language, though. The French toast isn’t French.”

Trust, Drifter’s hand cannon, went on the bedside table. He blinked when Eris placed her Ahamkara bone next to it and then nodded.

“Then why is it called French toast?”

“To…to differ… it… from regular toast.” He seemed briefly mesmerized by her boots next to his, and her armour on the chair next to his coat, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real. Eris sat next to him and began to unwrap the layers around her head and neck. She placed them on top of the glowing orb on the table, dampening its light and darkening the room.

“But why French?” She asked, her three eyes glowing brightly in the darkness.

“Uh… I don’t know… is just what it’s called… is good though… you’ll see…” He lay back on the bed.

“Do people believe that eating it enables one to speak French?” She slid in next to him and pulled both blankets up over both of them.

“Nope there’s nothing French about it.”

“That’s ridiculous. There has to be something French about it or it wouldn’t be called French toast.” She draped her arm across him, found his hand, and twined her fingers between his.

“Nah, it’s just…it’s just called that.”

“Hmmm…”

This is one of a series of stories written during Season of the Witch that I called Kept Conficence, after the hand cannon with the lore that helped to inspire them.

Here is a link to all of them in order if you wish.

[telestoapologist]

hey also uh. quick question. we've only been given like... three radio messages in the helm right. like i know there's going to be another act but i'm not sure if there were any extra ones i missed hhh

also has anyone else completed this or do we gotta wait for ikora to get back to us to start act ii...

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Every year on April Fools, Cayde has played some sort of prank on Magnus. It's completely unexpected every time. It always catches the Titan off guard and is harmless completely, but it's time for payback. Absolutely.

So this April Fools, Magnus sets a trap SUPER devious, for his husband, as revenge.

Cayde visits the Tower to go to his Vanguard post. But as soon as he arrives, he finds dozens of Guardians riding various sparrows around in a circle while... is that It's a Small World being sung by every Guardian all at once offkey?!

Cayde cautiously makes his way to Zavala and asks what's going on.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Why do you ask?" Zavala replies.

"Uhh. The Guardians. Singing. Riding sparrows."

"Huh? What Guardians?" Zavala looks around questioningly.

Cayde throws his hands toward the circle of singing Guardians. "RIGHT THERE, ZAVALA!! THEY'RE PRACTICALLY IN FRONT OF YOU!! THEY'RE SINGING IT'S A SMALL WORLD!!"

Zavala frowns, crossing his arms. "I neither see nor hear anyone besides you screaming at me."

Cayde almost explodes at this. He storms off to find Ikora, and forcefully drags her to the main portion of the Tower. "THEY'RE HERE!! CAN'T YOU SEE THEM?! HEAR THEIR AWFUL SINGING??!!" he cries.

Ikora sighs. "Cayde. Stop playing games. Get back to work. Nobody is there."

Cayde is so angry at this point. He rushes home to Magnus, and grabs him by the arm as best as he can grab a giant beefy Titan by the arm. "Please!! Honey!! You have to believe me!! They were singing!! Riding sparrows in a circle!!"

Reluctantly, Magnus goes along with his husband to the Tower. And the Guardians are still riding around singing offkey.

"PLEASE TELL ME YOU SEE THEM!!!" Cayde begs.

But Magnus shakes his head. "Is this another one of your April Fools day pranks?" he asks. "Because if it is, it's your worst yet." Magnus turns away and walks off.

The ceaseless circle of singing Guardians still continues. And Cayde goes to everyone in the Tower asking if they can see or hear this at all. A Cabal looks angrily at him at one point, then does the big stomp and sends him flying. Eliksni chitter and scuttle away from Cayde as soon as he asks the bizarre question. Everyone denies confirmation that this circle of Guardians is there. Nobody can see or hear them besides Cayde. But nonetheless the Guardians continue riding and singing all day long. Nonstop.

That night, the Exo returns home and flops face first into the sofa, groaning loudly.

Magnus approaches. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nobody. Not one person believes me when I ask if they see or hear them..."

"Maybe it'll be gone tomorrow. Maybe things will return to normal by then."

Cayde groans even louder. "I hate this!! On my favorite day of the year!!!"

"Your favorite? Why? What's so special about today?" Magnus asks.

"It's April Fools. I should've spent the day playing a prank on you. But it feels like the universe is playing pranks on me. All my efforts coming back like a sick joke torturing me endlessly."

And there, Magnus grins wide.

Cayde looks at him. "Wh... what? What're you doing?"

Magnus giggles uncontrollably.

Cayde's eyes widen. "NO!! NO WAY!! YOU DIDN'T-"

"APRIL FUCKING FOOLS IDIOT!!" Magnus bursts out in complete laughter and doubles over, unable to contain himself any longer.

Cayde tackles him to the floor and is BEAMING with frustration.

Magnus smiles and lifts his head up, then kisses his husband. "Hope I did a good job. I was afraid I'd never outdo your legacy, or even reach it. But hey. It was my first prank ever. I love you."

"You outdid me by light-years," Cayde tells him. "I'm so proud of you!!!"

[a-driftamongopenstars]

too much to ask; cayde & guardian

exploring some personal thoughts about Cayde through my Guardian :) been really looking forward to writing this ficlet! also on ao3

An equal measure of grief and accord settles around the small camp. A few empty bottles of wine sit by a folding chair, the Ghosts are quietly huddling together, giving space to their Guardians. Crow, after giving the Guardian and Cayde a small drowsy smile, has walked away to join Zavala and Ikora as they overlook the endless valley of the Pale Heart, contemplating. 

Cherish finds herself alone with Cayde. He comes to sit on the ground next to her, plucking a grass stem and fixing it in his mouth. 

“They are not very subtle, are they,” Cayde says. “Really want us to talk, huh.”

“Maybe we should.”

“Not to be all Crow-like, but I agree. We do need to talk, something important.”

Cherish looks at him, a curious sideways glance. 

It's been ages since they have shared a moment like this together. Never been good friends, not even as a mentor and mentee. A friction that neither could express or smooth out. But something companionable always tried to bloom between them. Maybe back then, she wasn't ready yet. And he didn’t want to push.

“You've changed,” Cayde says, and her spine crawls with a shiver. He notices and adds, “Hey, that's not a bad thing. If we all stay the same, what kinda world would that be? Change is beautiful. Painful, uncomfortable, but beautiful. And you turned it around. Look at you.”

Pride swells in her chest, tightening. At what cost is a question that hangs in the air. 

“It… wasn't easy. When you died.”

“Straight to the point, I see. Always liked that about you.”

“I mean it, Cayde,” she turns to look at him, meeting eye to eye. “You died, and I was meant to pick up the pieces. Go on a murder spree, stray from everything I've ever known, and when it was all done, I watched a man die - with a part of myself.”

Cayde's bright glowing eyes focus on her. She wants him to feel her desperate pain that still echoes from that time. Her confusion that muddled the thoughts, her headstrong intentions as she scoured the Reef for Uldren and for answers.

“It's a lot to ask of you, I understand.”

“It was expected as it was questioned. If I could become a vigilante overnight, then why couldn't others. And if I didn’t go and become one, then that would have sent the wrong message.”

Cayde sighs and moves a little closer. To her own surprise, she does the same, until their arms touch. And as another surprise, she finds her fingers encrusted with a layer of Stasis ice, crumbling at her notice. 

It's been too long since those thoughts surfaced quite so physically, and she suddenly feels drained. 

“I'm not gonna apologise,” Cayde prefaces, “but I get it. Maybe even more than you think. And I wish you weren't put in that position. And for that, I am sorry. The Vanguard always asks a lot of you.”

For a moment, they are quiet. 

“So… How did that happen?”

“What?”

Cayde glances over to Crow whose back is still turned, his cape softly flowing with the wind. 

Cherish huffs, rolling her eyes, but her lips are already smiling. 

“No, no, I'm not judging. Just curious. You keep giving each other those eyes and I keep wanting to push y’all into a tent and let you get on with it. Still, wonder how that came ‘round. Can't imagine it being all sunshine and rainbows after… Well.”

“Yeah... We did have some monster hunting, some Ascendant Plane racing, having the Traveler’s premonitions, being babysat by Savathun in disguise…”

As she numbers it off on her fingers, Cayde laughs.

“Well hold on there, tiger, not so fast. A who in disguise?”

“Don't tell me Crow didn't update you on that particular situation. He's efficient with his reports.”

“I'm well aware,” Cayde hums. “But I'd like to hear that from you. If you wanna share. Penny for your thoughts?”

Their eyes meet, and for a moment Cherish feels that maybe that camaraderie, long time in the making, can finally happen. She is different, she did change. So did Cayde.

He offers her an empty hand, and she squeezes it, holding on. But somehow, that handshake is worth a hundred thousand pennies - and a small pile of glimmer. 

[jate-kara]

*gentle yelling* Write something! If you need a prompt, maybe something fluffy or just soft in a fandom of your choice?

Tuesday felt like Tuesday. Which felt like Monday. Which felt like every other day before that. Sun rose. Sun set. The City carried on.

And Cayde watched it all from The Prison of Zavala.

"C'mon," Cayde groaned, draping himself across the back of the office chair he was supposed to be occupying. "Please tell me you’ve got something for me to do."

On the other side of his desk, Zavala was so immovable that he could give the sculptures in the courtyard a run for their money. Cayde waved a hand in front of him, just to test the theory. In the old days, he would have had to brace for a Titan Glare.

But now, just like every other time Cayde had spun in his chair, or rearranged the bookshelf, or paced with the very deliberate goal of actually wearing a hole in the floor, Zavala remained steadfast. All Cayde got for his efforts was a soft snort that might have passed for a laugh. Zavala's mouth twitched. Just barely. Possibly a smirk.

"Okay, that means I won this round." Cayde pulled his hand back and slumped down into his chair.

"I wasn't aware we were playing a game." Zavala, for the first time all morning, set aside his datapad. His tone betrayed no irritation or annoyance, though Cayde strained with every power he had to hear it. "However, if we were, I believe I would still be ahead, four to one."

It struck Cayde to silence. It wasn't like Zavala had never indulged his games before, or cracked the worst deadpan joke on the planet. But he, like most people, had a limit to his tolerance for interruptions, and more specifically, Cayde’s interruptions. He should have tossed him out on his ass two hours ago.

"All right, I give up," Cayde huffed. "Put me under constant surveillance if you have to. Have three fireteams tail me around the Tower. Just-"

"You'd lose them in the first five minutes."

"Not the point."

"That would defeat the entire purpose."

"The Young Wolf! Where's my favorite Guardian at? They've killed how many gods now? Sticking with me should be no problem."

"The Young Wolf has more important things to do."

Cayde slumped onto the desk and propped his chin on his arms. "And the Titan Vanguard doesn't?"

That unshakeable composure cracked, just a little. "You should continue reviewing the mission reports. You have a lot to catch up on."

Cayde was quiet for a beat. Zavala’s tone had been carefully pitched for a soft reproach, more like a gentle reminder. In fact, everything he’d said in the last three days had been said with that same gentle note. Not like it was unlike him; the big guy had a heart of gold. But three days was a long time to be stuck in the same room with anyone, let alone Cayde.

“Hey, Zavala,” Cayde started, pushing himself back upright. “You’re not keeping me here for surveillance, are you?”

Zavala arched an eyebrow. “Your reports,” he reminded, measured, but not quite even.

“Nah, I think I’ve read enough reports, thanks.”

Zavala met his gaze squarely. Cayde didn’t flinch. “You said it yourself: there’s no way to prove if I’m me or I’m a me the Witness made to act like me or - whatever. You’re not gonna learn anything keeping me locked up here. And I know you know that. And you know I know you know that.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna die if you let me wander around the Tower. Or - and brace yourself, this is a big one - go for a walk in the City.”

Cayde expected a denial or a dismissal. Not a sigh. Definitely not a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose you are correct," Zavala allowed. One of his hands curled into a fist.

"Also, Ikora just asks me if I want some tea or ramen when she wants me around. Or she just tells me. You should try that."

Zavala made a noise that was somewhere between a huff and a strangled laugh. "I'll take it into consideration."

Cayde shot to his feet. He got halfway to the door before Zavala spoke again, so soft he almost missed it: "Be careful."

"Hey, it's me."

"I know."

Ouch. Rude. Probably true. Cayde had the urge to press his hand to his heart, but spun around and marched back to the desk instead. He plucked Zavala’s communicator off the corner and dropped it unceremoniously into his hands. "Here. I'll check in every couple of hours."

"Since when do you follow protocols?"

"Since now. For now. We'll see how long it lasts." Cayde tossed off a salute. "See ya later, Commander."

It earned him half a smile, and that, Cayde decided, was the second win of the day

—--

[thewildnopeboat]

(Tomorrow I will no longer tag stuff as Spoilers, I no longer care)

Guardian, watching Zavala go through the throws of grief again: Hey, at least you have Targe!

*Later, after the Targe Incident*

Guardian, watching Zavala come to terms with Mortality: uh... you still have me and Ikora?