#iron lord felwinter

[stoshasaurus]

casually adopts iron lord felwinter as my own oc

he drives me INSANE i fucking love him sm. here are some design notes. felwinter is often described as not being as expressive as other exos. something about not having the same "modifications" (i don't have the exact lore excerpt but it goes something like that) so it seems like he doesn't have the same plates that most exos do to emote. so a static faceplate seemed like a solid bet. i use a lot of similar shapes in his face that I do for rasputin's exo frame, especially around the jaw area, and the same shade of red in the eyes and mouth. he is, however, described as having a "black skull", so his frame is black instead of white. i think it's an interesting contrast; if one were to look at both side by side, they are obviously associated with one another, but also opposites. the static faceplate and dark color palette also adds to felwinter's cynical and impassive demeanor. (iirc, he is directly described as cynical) a dark appearance suits such a personality in my opinion. i mean, he took over a whole mountain, he's described as being less inclined to show mercy. surely he's a bit more intimidating than the average fellow.

anyway, i hope y'all enjoy. i've been oc-ifying him for a while now but was kind of nervous to share it considering how relatively new i am to this fandom, and how little i know about the game and much of its lore. still finicking with him, of course, but i've been enjoying the journey.

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

Destiny 2 Incorrect Quotes- 16

Osiris: Are you upset you don’t get to be on the same team as Shaxx?

Felwinter: Have you ever played a game with Shaxx?

Osiris: No…

Felwinter: Have you ever been trapped in a cage with a wolverine?

*Meanwhile, on the other side of the field*

Shaxx, chasing Saint-14: I SAID FASTER! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORD “FASTER” MEANS? IT MEANS MORE FAST!!!!

[urlyngendary]

TLDR: "A Man With No Name" Lorebook from Destiny 2

"A Man With No Name" lorebook reveals the origins of the polarizing character being The Drifter, some people enjoy his laid-back, witty-tongued nature, some people despise the fact that he's the figurehead of the grueling Gambit playlist. Here is a quick summary of "A Man With No Name"'s 9 pages.

The Drifter is resurrected by his Ghost during the Dark Ages, his ghost tells him to go one way, Drifter runs the opposite, getting himself killed in the process. His Ghost resurrects him, but he still runs in the opposite direction.

Drifter, in his trek away from wherever his Ghost wants him, begins to die of starvation, his Ghost asks if he can help his Guardian, Drifter refuses on the grounds of "Don't need you. I got this" The Ghost implores the Drifter to give himself a name, or perhaps name his Ghost, Drifter refuses, and dies to a scorpion sting.

The Drifter begins to live in a small village named Eaton, he keeps his ghost a secret and lives amongst mortals. He takes on the name of Germaine.

The Iron Lords, lead by Iron Lord Dryden, offer Eaton resources for the harsh winter to stay at their village and use it to set a trap for a notorious Warlord known as the Red Man. A well-known man in Eaton named Judson protests, saying that being around any Risen¹ will get them killed.

A small child talks to Drifter of Judson, that she agrees with him, that the Risen are awful. The Drifter talks how, without the food the Iron Lords had given them, her parents would've starved to death.

Judon attempts to leave Eaton, wanting to get out before his predicted shootout takes place. He says that the Risen kill by nature, and no matter of negotiating will change that. Drifter attempts to get Judson to stay, but he leaves anyways.

A group of 6 Risen Warlords return a week later with Judson, with The Red Man leading them. The people of Eaton accept Judson back, but the Red Man questions where the Iron Lords are on grounds that they saw a Ghost about theie town.

A very bloody fight breaks out amongst Eaton residents, Iron Lords, and Warlords, Drifter's Ghost flies away to a safe space. It is unclear who won the battle, but it is said that multiple risen leave the battle alive, Iron Lord Dryden is one of them.

Drifter is resurrected after the battle amongst the ruins of Eaton, everyone is dead, or gone. Ghost calls him Germaine, Drifter tells him that it isn't his name. He buries the bodies, and finds a barely alive Judson, who sees that Drifter is Risen, accuses him of killing Eaton, then dies.

The Drifter's Ghost tells him that The Drifter has done wrong, that he needn't live amongst mortals, that he can be so much more, in response, Drifter raises his hand towards the Traveller and gives it the bird. 🖕

The Drifter now operates a bar at the base of Felwinter's Peak, he lives under the name Wu Ming and runs "The End of the World Bar"

Citan (Yes, of Citan's Ramparts) comes to take all of Drifter's Food and drink, Lady Efrideet stands up for the bar and wins in a gunfight against Citan and his fireteam.

Drifter climbs Felwinter's Peak to speak to Felwinter, asking him to kill Iron Lord Dryden for wronging Eaton. It is Iron Lord code to not meddle with mortal affairs in the midst of Risen conflicts. Felwinter turns him down, but after he leaves, Felwinter tells his ghost to ready his Iron Banner arsenal.

¹ "Risen" is the term used for resurrected Lightbearers pre-City age. It refers to Guardians, just anyone resurrected via a Ghost to utilize the Light.

[ryuhumble]

Erm... My kinda version of Felwinter?? ... And my Guardian being just a cameo- intensely staring at each other.

[electric-blue24]

more Felwinter because I guess the olympics has put me in a green and gold mood

[makoredeyes]

“You seem far too obsessed with these ‘Warminds’.” Timur stops and stares into the horizon as if smelling something; not danger, discovery. He draws his fellow Iron Lord close. “Tell me, Felwinter,” he whispers, “what does the word Seraph mean to you?”

Felwinter leans in to whisper back. “Old Earth theology? I know its power well; one can make great use of the traps of faith and its myths.”

“Damn you, Exos!” The whisper game abandoned. “Do you even ponder the before? Or that number etched into your ‘flesh’? Do you see yourself in your dreams?”

———————————

I still am just fascinated that we were given this same story from both of their perspectives…. And how differently it comes across.

Timur seems like he’s being a bit of a creep on purpose here (bless him he doesn’t realize how uncomfortable he’s really made Felwinter) and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to… well. Be me about it 😅

Poor Timur’s design (bastardized into a muppet though it may be) belongs Sylenth-l. I didn’t even try. I borrowed the whole thing head to toe and I didn’t even do a good job at it but here we are. It’s too good to change. I’m a little bit sorry. But this was a lot of fun ❤️‍🔥

[zappadoodlecat]

slightly early birthday gift to @liobits ! i love you dear! enjoy your problematic science duo! read her fic: Warranty Void!

loose refs for the designs i made for the two of them:

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

you ever think about how Osiris “grouchy old bastard recluse who rains down flaming death from above” was mentored by Felwinter, and we only recently discovered Felwinter was Rasputin, and therefore Osiris may be just now coming to the uncomfortable realization that there’s more of the Warmind in him than he’d like to admit

[warlordfelwinter]

i thought of an on-brand poll i could do with exactly 10 options!

sorry if ur fav is not one of the og friend group but i only get 10 options and there are 10 of them

[searsage]

Skorri sat in place hidden behind one of the many pillars of the keep, across the hall she could see Lady Efrideet following suit, hiding in a similar spot behind a pillar just shy of the stairwell.

Her lovely ivory and bronze armor glinting gently where the stray light caught it, it made the singer's heart skip beats.

She looks beautiful and excited, just as excited as Timur, the warlock had been glowing for days, it was great to see his mind free of the stress that often plagued the him, never had he seemed so young.

Down the hall she could just make out lord saladin's silhouette, he was frowning like always but even skorri could see Timur's vigor had infected him as well, he too was invested in the mischief about to unfold before them.

It seemed everyone's spirit's were high, for once things were unexpectedly looking up for the iron lords.

Beautiful music filled the echoing halls of Felwinter peak, it shattered the dreary ambiance, Tchaikovsky's symphonies filled the silence, their notes chasing each other around in timeless loops.

The delightful trap was set and now all that was left was for the iron lords to wait, and to Skorri's surprise and Timur's pure delight they didn't have to wait long.

The drowned out sound of a bed chamber doors creaking shut could just be heard just trickling through the obnoxiously loud classical music, across from her skorri can see Lady Efrideet brimming with mirth and excitement, as lord Felwinter emerges from the staircase true to Timur's predictions.

She finds herself holding her breath as the curious iron Lord descends the staircase, his right hand is full of paperwork, no doubt charts and data sheets but he doesn't bother setting them down, instead the curious Exo immediately heads for the antique record player, there he hovers around it for a good while, curiously looking about, but obviously too infatuated by the machine to thoroughly scope the parameter for hiding iron lords or even question the suspiciously empty common space.

Eventually he reaches his hand out, metal fingers plucking the nail up and setting it back two tracks, his head tilted elegantly downward as he listened to the mystifying.

He looked like an artistic sculpture, standing so still near to the table, the machine who was all sharp edges and elegant posture, for once looked..at peace..

Fleeting light crept in from the windows, illuminating the thick faded fur of thr robe against his back and catching the horns of his well worn helmet.

He looked utterly radiant in his little moment of private peace, skorri could practically feel Timur's soul leaving his body, and silently hoped the man had the strength to go through with the prank he himself orchestrated.

Again Felwinter set the nail back, the exo had no doubt found his favorite song, his finger tapping against the table once, twice before the iron lord finally pushed away with all the reluctance of a sailor under a siren's spell, slowly vanishing into the nearby study, to no doubt deal with the moutain of charts wedged under his arm.

This was her cue.

Her heart slammed in her chest as skorri darted out from behind the marble piller, to her left Lady Efrideet was practically vibrating in place, quickly motioning for her to go forward before the iron lord returned.

Skorri swallowed her apprehension, if she was caught it was game over, with a brief scope of the room and hall leading to the study Felwinter had retreated to, she dashed forward swiftly closing the distance between her and the record player.

The moment her nimble fingers plucked the needle from it's track the melody adruptly died, instantly the room was all too quiet and Skorri felt her heart freeze under the weight of apprehension.

"Pssst!"

The singer jolted as a small sound jumpstarted her reflexes again, it was Timur, the man was waving wildly, pointing from the study door to her hiding spot, quickly she replaced the record, leaving the nail idle and carefully placing the pilfered record on the table, then she darted out of sight, sighing in relief as the shadow of the piller cast a cool concealing shadow over her.

Luckily for the songtrist she had made it just in time!

It was mere seconds before Felwinter's silhouette reemergred from the study, his peculiar ram helmit pointed towards the idle player

[sylenth-l]

I was talking to my friends about how much sexy art I see of Felwinter here only to now realize it’s all done by you

Asjdhfjsdhfklalksdhk omg thank you 😭😂 That's a little embarrassing, but well. I can't help it. He IS hot & cool ❤️‍🔥

(Also I'm pretty sure there are some Felwinters drawn by other people that are sexy as well 👀)

[stoshasaurus]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

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

——

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

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

Destiny 2 Incorrect Quotes- 37

*The gang's thoughts on stabbing* Saint-14: Would never stab anyone. Osiris: Would stab someone in retaliation. Young Wolf: Yells "I won't hesitate, bitch!" first. Shaxx: Would stab without warning. Felwinter: Would stab as a warning.

[zamasever]

Felwinter but I gave him Iron DRIP

This took 20× longer than expected. Please enjoy.

[gtswmeiko]

Got a new fic out, this one delves into an AU that is just casually sitting in my head.

as always, read the tags before reading the fic!

[electric-blue24]

got a look for Felwinter that I actually kinda like, despite me putting the green though several different colour filters lol, in this house we only use primary colours