#zavala x female oc

[littleshebear]

The Narrow Road part-4; The Warlord and the Stable Boy.

Zavala settles into his new home despite being socially awkward as heck. Saladin wishes Shaxx would stop talking. Jolder is enchanting. Efrideet drops a clanger! Shaxx discovers what it takes to make Zavala angry.

Destiny Fanfic | Commander Zavala | OC: Sasha | Zavala x Sasha | Zavala x female OC | Lord Shaxx | The Iron Lords | Various OC’s | The Dark Age | Angst | Romance | Unintentional(?) Shaxx x Zavala sexual tension

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Autumn’s end – how does my neighbour live? - Matsuo Bashō

“You’ll get used to the smell.” The old ranger’s face creases as she smirks in Zavala’s direction. Delores, Sasha had called her. She doesn’t look like a Delores, at least, not what Zavala imagines a Delores would typically look like. It’s a delicate-sounding name, yet the woman standing before him is decidedly indelicate.  She wets yellow-stained fingers and pats down the skin of a roughly rolled cigarette. “Everyone has to pull their weight here. Everyone pitches in and the stables need mucking out. The upside of horses and camels is that they’re more reliable than vehicles in the cold.” She lights her cigarette and takes a long drag. “Downside is they shit a whole lot.”

“I’m not sure - ugh…” There’s a sudden waft of ammonia and Zavala’s eyes prickle and film over with tears. “I’m not sure this is the best use of my time.”

“What would be a better use of your time? What can you do?”

Zavala considers his answer in awkward silence. I can summon electricity with my hands? I can come back from the dead? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“Is it beneath you?” Delores asks, her rheumy eyes staring right through him.

“No but -”

She places a shovel in his hands and pats his arm. “This shouldn’t take you long, strapping lad like you.” She gives a rasping chuckle and winks at him but the expression on her weather-beaten face softens when she sees how sceptical he looks. “You’ll be happy for the physical labour once the cold really starts to bite - The animals generate heat too. You’ll much rather be in here than up on one of the watch-towers once the snows come, believe me.”

“How long does winter last?” Sasha, Delores and the other rangers had made it quite clear that travel during winter was out of the question.

“Six months.” She stubs her cigarette out on the stable wall and tucks the remainder behind her ear. “I know,” she notes the sag in his shoulders. “You want to get moving. You want to get to where you want to be, you don’t want to spend half the year shoveling shit. But take it from me, you don’t want to be out there when it’s forty degrees below freezing. You won’t get far.”

Zavala acknowledges this with a glum nod before hefting the shovel and entering the stable. “I’d best start getting used to the smell.”

It had become something of a tradition for a group of the Lightbearers to gather at a fire near Shaxx’s hut for their evening repast. They would sit, nursing aching bones and tired muscles and eat together, swapping stories and boasts. The members of the group would change over time but Shaxx was a constant, having a seemingly endless supply of stories to tell. Zavala tended to hover at the edge of the gathering, he didn’t speak often. He preferred to listen. That night, there were two new additions to the circle. A contingent of Iron Lords had stopped off on the way back to their base at Felwinter Peak. Shaxx enthusiastically recounted a story about the oft-mentioned Lady Efrideet, who sat beside him by the fire, grinning all the while.

“So, Efrideet lifted Saladin,” a pause for emphasis, “over her head!”

“I’m fairly sure everyone from here to the Rusted Waste has heard this story by now, Shaxx” Lord Saladin grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“Oh, I never get tired of hearing this one.” the woman beside Saladin jostled him then laid a comforting hand on his knee. Zavala noted how Saladin’s expression eased from a scowl to a mere deep frown at her touch. Lady Jolder. She had immediately made a beeline for the training grounds after arriving to volunteer in one of Saladin’s demonstrations. Armed with nothing but a sword and shield she had deftly taken down four gun-wielding trainees. Zavala had been impressed when she had slammed her shield into his face. It was a good lesson. There was clearly more to combat than superior weaponry.

Jolder fixed Zavala with a brilliant smile. “He’s new, right? He hasn’t heard it? Has he heard it, Saladin?”

Saladin glowered in Zavala’s direction. Zavala tipped his head to one side in a noncommittal gesture, “My lady, I may have heard snatches, here and there. Enough to piece the story together.”

“Very diplomatic. Oh, I like him,” Jolder turned back to Saladin. “I’m glad you picked him out. So polite.”

“He knows when to hold his tongue, I’ll give him that,” replied Saladin, with a pointed look in Shaxx’s direction.

“So anyway,” Shaxx resumed, “Efrideet had Saladin over her head -”

Saladin snorted, “And she threw me like a javelin into the Fallen walker, combined arc energies, and so on, dead walker, laughing ghosts, end scene.”

Shaxx stared back in silence. “You just don’t know how to tell a story, do you, Lord Saladin?”

Efrideet laughed and patted his hand. “Don’t be a sore loser, you-.” She coughed and spluttered when the wind changed direction and blew a cloud of smoke in her face. “Can’t wait ‘til you sort out some proper buildings in this place. Felwinter Peak is cold but at least it has chimneys.”

“We should get some camels,” Zavala interjected, oblivious to the quizzical looks prompted by this statement. “Camel dung is good burning fuel; dry, no odour, burns smokeless.” There was silence and befuddled looks all around the gathering. Zavala looked up and paused to swallow a mouthful of stew before speaking again. “What?”

“I did not know that, Zavala,” said Saladin, the tiniest tremble of amusement creeping into his usual deadpan growl. “Thank you for sharing.”

“How do you know so much about camel dung?” Asked Shaxx, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “I’ve been trying to drag a tale out of this one for weeks on end now, I know he’s got one. So let’s have it”

“I worked in a stables once.”

Shaxx huffed and sat up. “That’s not a story. Come on. How does a Risen end up mucking out camel shit?”

“I was helping some people out.”

Shaxx was about to protest more when Jolder’s musical lilt cut him off. “Leave him be, Shaxx. Perhaps he’s shy. Besides. Why shouldn’t a Risen muck out a stable? It’s honest work, it’s necessary. There’s nobility in that.”

“You’re the storyteller here, Lord Shaxx,” Efrideet piped up. “Be proud.”

Zavala snapped his gaze toward Shaxx. “Lord Shaxx?” The only sounds that followed were the crackling of the fire. “Lord Shaxx?” He repeats. “Did you become an Iron Lord while I wasn’t looking?”

Efrideet continued brightly, apparently unaware of the tension in the air, “Oh, no. Shaxx was a Warlord but his ego wouldn’t let him give up the title.”

“I see.” Zavala put his bowl of stew, half-consumed, back down on the ground. “Excuse me.” He stomped away from the fire, no clear end-point in sight, just so long as he wasn’t anywhere near a Warlord.

“Did I say something wrong?” Asked Efrideet, after Zavala’s heavy footfalls had died away.

“Excuse me,” Shaxx rose to his feet and left to follow Zavala’s tracks, eventually finding him on the edge of the settlement.

Zavala glared over his shoulder when he heard Shaxx approach. “For someone who says he loves stories, it’s odd you never mentioned that little biographical snippet.”

“I’ve got lots of them. I hadn’t got around to telling that one yet.” Shaxx circled around to face him. “Something wrong?”

“You were a warlord?”

“Still am.”

“So what are you doing here?” Zavala hissed through gritted teeth.

“Training. Fighting. Same as you.”

“We are not the same! I came here to help humanity, you-

“Oh yes, please enlighten me, what is it Warlords do exactly? You’re an expert, apparently.”

Zavala closed the distance between them, face inches from that ridiculous helmet. “Warlord is just a fancy word for murderer. Tyrant.”

“Well I hate to tell you this, but you’ve been breaking bread with an awful lot of murderers then.” He threw his arm out in an expansive, violent gesture. “We were all Warlords! It was dog eat dog out there. We did what we had to do to survive.”

“And how did you do that? By burning villages? Murdering people who wouldn’t bend the knee?”

Shaxx put his hands in his hips and drew himself up to his full height, standing over Zavala, forcing him to tip his head right back to maintain eye-contact. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s the air like up there on that high-horse?”

Zavala didn’t shrink back. He stared up at the larger man and replied with one, clipped syllable. “Clean.”

A rumble began in Shaxx’s chest which bloomed into a hearty laugh. “You’re fierce. Shame you spent your time mucking out stables. You’d have made a good warlord.” He stepped back and folded his arms. “If you must know, I defended my territory and the people in it from all-comers. I conscripted troops, yes, I couldn’t do it all by myself. Then I met Saladin. He told me about The Iron Lords, Radegast and the Iron Decree. I realised there was another way. A better way. So I came here.”

“If you say so.” Zavala snorted. “Just don’t expect me to call you Lord,” he added with a sneer.

“After that display, I’d be disappointed if you did.” A silence ensued as Zavala turned away to gaze back at the surrounding countryside. “All right.” Shaxx crossed over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “It’s definitely story time now. Why are you so angry?”

“Everyone knows about warlords and what they do.”

“No. This isn’t hypothetical. This is personal. What did they do to you?”

A muscle worked in Zavala’s jaw and he took a deep breath before answering. “It’s not what they did to me.”

“Hey, stable boy.”

Sasha comes to a halt in the centre of the yard, grinning down at him from atop a sturdy little horse. When it nickered softly, Zavala could swear the horse is laughing at him too. He nods in greeting then returns to sweeping the yard, the pulsing strands of light beneath his skin gathering at his cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh don’t make that face,” Sasha dismounts and leads the horse toward an empty stall. “You’re doing a good job.” She sets about fussing over and removing the animal’s tack. “Trigger will be happy for a nice clean bed tonight, won’t you Trigger? Yes you will.”

��Trigger?” Zavala leans on his broom to watch this strange animal-human bonding. “His name is Trigger?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” She lays the tack over the wall of the stall and sets about rubbing down Trigger with handfuls of clean straw.

“Nothing, I just expected something a little more. I don’t know. Poetic?”

“I like poetry just fine, I like Roy Rogers too though.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

She chuckles. “Mm. Not many people do these days.” She turns her attention away from Trigger’s grooming and trains her large brown eyes on him. “Are you in any pain? You seem to be healing quickly.”

“I’m fine,” Zavala assures her. “Strong constitution,” And an over-zealous Ghost, he thinks to himself.

[I heard that,] Chides Izanami over their neural connection.

“Animals didn’t give you any trouble? They kick, you know, you need to be careful.”

“None of them tried to kick or bite.” Zavala casts a baleful look towards the Camels in another stall. “I got spat on quite a bit.”

Sasha laughs out loud and leans on Trigger’s withers for support. “Oh you poor thing. Yeah, they do that.”

Zavala smiles despite himself. The embarrassment is still lingers a little but he finds he doesn’t mind being the one to cause her to laugh. “Are they really better than vehicles in the winter?” Trigger clops over toward him and starts nudging him with his snout.

“They’re far better adapted to survival than we are, trust me.”

“Does it really get that cold?” He pats and strokes the little horse’s neck, sinking his fingers into the thick, coarse hair as if to confirm what Sasha had just told him. He looks up at the sky adding the wistful caveat, “I’ve never even seen snow.”

“The novelty will wear off, soon enough. And you’ll be glad of something to keep you occupied when the days get cold and short. A lot of people don’t do much except get drunk and cause trouble.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“No! Well…” She smirks and gives him a sly, sidelong glance. “Maybe. Now and then.”

Zavala is about to ask for details when Trigger darts backwards away from him, ears back flat. “Woah. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Sasha’s expression is deadly serious as she glances around the stalls, at snorting, stomping horses and grumbling camels. A wailing siren sounds from one of the watchtowers.

“What does that mean?”

Sasha pulls a pistol from her holster. “Fallen.”

[shaken-veil]

Happy Birthday @distant--storm. I made a small sketch of her Warlock Bean and Zavala... on his favorite spot..hehe... I hope you have an amazing day sweetie <3

[littleshebear]

My babies staring down a potential apocalypse together, don't they look fab? 💖

Thank you so much, you did a fantastic job.

Donation Commission of Commander Zavala and @littleshebear ‘s Sasha.

[a-heart-in-spades]

a heart in spades (12)

Pairing : Cayde-6 x Female Human OC Guardian Rating : M (eventually explicit) 18+ only, Minors do not interact! Word count : 1134 Warnings : Angst, Slow-burn, Canon typical violence, Heavy language, Romance, Canon Divergence A/N : This is purely self-indulgent, not beta read, with minor editing/drafting.

Ao3 || Previous Chapter

Silence had been what woke Ayla from her slumber. Unlike the sleep she'd gotten over the last few months, if she could call it that, this had been restful, leaving her reluctant to let it end. Unready to open her eyes yet, she inhaled deeply, nestling her face into the pillow she clutched tightly to her chest. A tantalizing mixture of gunpowder, leather, and cedar filled her nostrils, drawing her face deeper into the plush pillow. It wasn't her pillow, nor were the clothes she wore her own, the material caressing her skin in an unfamiliar way. Right, she was wearing Cayde's sweater and sweat, lying in his bed, with her face buried in his pillow. 

Letting out a heavy but content breath after a deep inhale, she let the sensation of safety wash over her. She was finally back at the tower, tucked away into the protective corner of Cayde's apartment. Sitting up, Ayla rubbed her eyes, letting them adjust to the dim lighting provided by the singular window by the door. It was much later in the day than when she had fallen asleep. 

❝Spectre?❞ Clearing her throat, Ayla swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare toes wiggling against the carpet. Had Cayde taken her shoes off? Had they fallen off when he tossed her through the air? 

❝Yes?❞ Spectre floated out from around the curtain. He must have been people watching from the window.

❝How long was I asleep?❞ A yawn broke her words, making them drawn out and sluggish.

❝A little over nine hours.❞ Spectre spoke nonchalantly.

❝Ni-nine!?❞ Ayla stood up, legs still heavy from sleep and wobbling beneath her. ❝Did Cayde come back? What did I miss?❞ Spectre chuckled before bumping against her forehead gently.

❝No, Cayde hasn't returned yet. Since you fell asleep this morning, he's been gone. I do hope that Zavala didn't tear into him too badly.❞ Guilt wrenched at her gut, twistings its claws into her nerves and lighting her veins on fire.

❝I should check up on him, make sure everything is alright.❞ Again, Spectre was chuckling as he bobbed around her shoulders.

❝I think you don't like the idea of being cooped up in his apartment all by yourself.❞ In the middle of tugging one of her boots on, Ayla froze, her head slowly turning to look up at her Ghost. 

❝You are just as much a little shit as he is, you know that? I don't care that you're right; calling me out like that is rude.❞ She wanted to sound jestful, but Ayla didn't like the idea of being in Cayde's apartment alone. 

The truth was, she didn't like the idea of being alone anymore at all. Six months of being alone and hunted were enough to last her several lifetimes over. Slumping over, Ayla sat on the floor, her back against the side of Cayde's bed as a hand covered her mouth. The hot sting of tears in her eyes, accompanied by the wet trails that burned down her cheeks, had her shoulders trembling. A choking pressure sat squarely in the middle of her chest forced her lungs to ache, pulling in hurried breaths. 

❝Ayla?❞ Spectre's voice sounded distorted through the thunderous rush of blood in her ears that left her all but wholly deafened. He might have even shouted her name after that, but she couldn't be sure. Hugging her legs against her chest, she tried to find some sort of stability, some form of comfort to ease the tremors that tortured her body. Closing her eyes, She tried to fight the heavy darkness that surrounded her, encased her in a cold sweat, and drenched her within minutes. 

Heavy footfalls surrounded her, the grunts and incoherent radio ramblings foreign to her ears as she tucked herself as tightly as possible into the crevasse of a boulder she had found. Against her chest, she held Spectre tightly, hiding the light from his eye as the cabal continued to trample around her. Just a little longer, and they would move on; she could slip away and lose the headhunters again. They'd follow the fake trail she set for them, and it would give her just enough time to escape. 

❝Ayla...❞ Her name was a whisper, Spectre's voice sounding so distant despite him being pressed so tightly to her sternum she was afraid she might crush him now that they were both lightless. Another quake raced through her body as she nestled herself deeper into the chasm, hiding as far into the darkness as she could. ❝Ayla!❞ Her name was shouted again, contorted by the Cabal radio, garbled and barely discernible as her name at all.

❝Princess!❞ Her eyes shot open, watching as a hand reached into the gap she was in, taking hold of her wrist. ❝It's okay.❞ The voice that hit her wasn't distorted this time, the hand holding her wrist no longer the oversized mitt of a Cabal's. No, it was smaller, but still large enough that all five digits easily wrapped around her arm. ❝I got you, Ayla.❞ Two blue hues looked down at her, a warm orange glow highlighting each word spoken to her, pulsating with each syllable. ❝C'mon outta there, nothing's gonna get to you. I'm here; you're safe now.❞ Hesitantly, Ayla pushed out of the boulder, realizing then that it wasn't actually rock. She'd managed to push herself between the back of the couch and the wall, nestled deep into a dark corner in Cayde's apartment.

Cayde.

His hand was wrapped delicately around her wrist still, guiding her out from behind his couch with patience that overcharged her emotions. Tears started building instantly, wasting no time carving a path down her cheeks as she pushed herself out of her hiding spot. Colliding with Cayde's chest, she nearly knocked him off his feet, making him rock back on his heels as he caught her in a worried hug. 

❝Easy, easy. I got you.❞ Ayla heard the thump of him hitting the floor on his butt, tugging her onto his thighs while turning her body, so she was sitting sideways. One of his hands smoothed the hair on the back of her head, guiding it under his chin slowly. The other was holding her opposite thing, keeping her pulled tightly against him. ❝You're okay; I promise you're okay. You're safe now.❞ Her hand twisted into a fist against his chest, gripping at the bandolier strap.

❝Don't go. Please.❞ Ayla hated how weak she sounded, clutching to him like a small child who was afraid of the dark and just had a nightmare.

❝I ain't going anywhere, Princess. I'm going to stay right here.❞ 

[xcayde6]

Before you read: these are only snippets out of my upcoming Cayde stories. Please pay attention to the ratings and warnings, have in mind that English isn't my native language and don't be mad at me in case publishing takes a while. I'm the slowest writer ever.

ONESHOTS Title: ? 2 exos 1 girl? Idk yet Pairing: Cayde-6 x female reader/Clovis Bray's daughter x Shiro-4 Rating: Explicit Warnings: knife-play, gun-play, humiliation kink, very smutty, watch your panties

—  a boring company anniversary takes a sudden turn when your two exo bodyguards pay you back after teasing them for so long

“Are you two going to eye fuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?” The two exos approach and surround me slowly. Their optics eyeing me like men starving, making me feel like I'm their trapped mouse. Which is ironic because they're my bodyguards who are supposed to protect me, to make me feel safe. But right now I feel neither.

I realize there's no use in defending myself. I was so drunk that I barely could stand up straight and also very tiny compared to these taller exos, human minds turned into ruthless war machines.

“Got you. You're screwed now.” Cayde quickly puts his hand around my throat and slams me against Shiro's body. I feel something hard pressed up against my butt. “Is that your gun or are you excited to see me?”, I can't help but chuckle. “It's definitely not my gun.” “Look at that little tease.”, Cayde snaps icy, his aqua blue optics glowing even colder. His voice sounds deeper and huskier than usual and makes me shiver. “You're going to regret that, babe.” His gloved hand is curling tighter around my neck and my alcohol dazed vision gets blurry. “Me and my friend share everything. Even you. Now move.” Somewhere in my delirious state, with the barrel of Cayde's Ace of Spades filling my mouth, the two exos jerk me to my bedroom. My body is betraying me with arousal, but I'm so nervous and excited. I want them. I want them to have me. I just can't help it. *** Title: ???? Pairing: Cayde-6 x female reader/Clovis Bray's daughter Rating: Explicit ⬆️— without Shiro version of the fic above for anon ***

Title: #1 Crush Pairing: Cayde-6 x female reader Rating: Explicit — your bodyguard Cayde caughts you right in the act thinking of him I thrust my fingers into me in a faster in a punishing pace, feeling so close to the edge, imagining how his cock slams into me, without mercy and tearing my insides apart. „Oh Cayde... Fuck me... Fuck me harder...”, I whimper to myself, encouraging the handsome robot in my imagination. A not unfamiliar chuckle makes me freeze in my movements. “We can arrange that.” My bodyguard was standing in the door. Arms crossed, a amused grin forming his mouth-plates. He enjoyed my one-woman-show like a man starving. This was real, not another projection of my imagination to get off to. He's real and he's walking up to me, something intimating in his slow movements. My attempt to pull down my skirt over the exposed wetness between my legs is cut off by his hands pinning mine down on the desk behind my back. “Soo...” He speaks up, leaning over to me, as his aqua-blue optics study my face interested. “Did I fuck you good?”, he whispers in such a husky voice that it sends a cold shiver through my sweaty, heated body. Before I can even get a proper sentence out he cuts me off with a chuckle again. “Hush! Of course I did.”, he answers his own question overconfident and leans in so close to me that his spiky horn bumps my forehead softly. “But I'm gonna give you the real thing...” *** Title: Dressed up to undress Pairing: Cayde-6 x female reader Rating: Explicit —  Your bodyguard Cayde takes you to The Last City and you claim him as your boyfriend for a day. „Being your boyfriend today? Huh. I'll tell your dad that this costs extra.”, he responds sarcastic, shaking his head in disbelief. „Oh Cayde...”, I snuggle up on his arm and look at the attractive exo, admiring his unique profile. „I know I'm the best job you've ever had.” Cayde looks back at me, a little smile forming his blue metal plate lips, reflecting the sun light. „Got it's moments.”, he mutters under his breath, winking at me. „So... Where are you taking me, my handsome boyfriend?” He seems to be comfortable in his new role and puts his arm around my shoulder, tugging me closer to his body. „Anywhere you want, my beautiful, pain in the ass girlfriend.” *** Title: I will steal you back Pairing: OC x Shiro-4 other characters: Cayde-6 (mentioned), Andal Brask (mentioned), Colonel, Saladin's “mascots” Rating: Explicit Warning: Shiro saying a lot “lady” in his angelic voice — grieving over a lover and friend seems so much easier together. Cayde's stash box jumped open. [Shiro-4.] The exo and the blonde freezed in their movements, when a not unfamiliar voice echoed through the hangar. “Cayde?”, the young widow whispered with tears in her eyes when she recognized her dead husbands voice. Shiro pulled the sobbing blonde gently into his arms and buried his face into her hair. “Shh... I'm here, Feena.”, he whispered softly, his hands running over her back to soothe her somehow. [Hey pal. Long time no see. When you hear this, I'm dead. I got killed, or you killed me. I wouldn't even blame you after our last conversation. Anyway. Congratulations, you get the vanguard gig. Stop. Stop. Stop. Listen. Before you start yelling, consider this. You don't have to freeze off your robo ass at the tempel anymore and... you'll be around my Queen Of Hearts. You're welcome. I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid. I know you love my girl as well, and she loves you too. So... I'm not big on goodbye scenes, but please take care of my queen. She made me happy and I want her to be happy. I want you happy, too, my man. See you.] Shiro and Feena sat there for a while in front of the stash box, holding each other tight, while Cayde's voice and words lingered heavy in the cold air. For the very last time. *** Title: The Last City (Destcember #2) Pairing: OC x Cayde-6 other characters: Amanda Holliday, Petra Venj, Shiro-4, Zavala Rating: mention of suicide attempt — a princess and exo find purpose in life again after saving a little girl and each other. “Feena! Cayde!” Little Amanda ran over to the blonde and the exo, clinging to their legs like her life depended on it. “You two were gone when I woke up! I was so scared!”, she cried out, hugging both of them tighter. Feena looked down at the little girl and gently ran her fingers through her curly blonde hair with a sad smile. How should she tell her that her parents died last night? The thought of it shattered her aching heart into thousands of pieces, she was afraid that Cayde and Amanda could hear it. Cayde saw that Feena was struggling and knelt down to Amanda's level, his aqua blue optics glowing warm. “Sorry, sweetie. Feena didn't feel good and needed fresh air. We would never leave you alone, sweetheart. Never.”, he assured softly and hugged her tight. Feena watched these two and quickly wiped away tears streaming her eyes. She didn't want to show weakness in front of them. They needed her. And she needed them. “Cayde's right.”, she blurted out briefly. “Yes. It's me and my girls now. Unless you're afraid of me, Amandy.” “I'm not afraid of you! You look so cool! Like a badass unicorn!”, she yelled excited. “Did you just call me unicorn?! I used to be a soldier!”, he spat back playfully offended, making Amanda even more giggle. God, her little laugh was heartwarming. Feena was so thankful for Cayde being able to make this little one laugh again, after all the horrible things that she's been through. He was wonderful. “I wanna touch your horn! Please!” The little blonde girl jumped into Cayde’s arm and her big blue eyes glowed with excitement when her little fingers explored that spiky, blue horn attached on top of his head.The exo held her tight in his arm and couldn't help but chuckle. “Smooth right? Amazing.” He turned to Feena with a wink and a grin formed his lip plates. “You wanna touch my beautiful, beautiful horn too, princess? “Let's rest for tonight.”, Feena suggested, before pressing a soft kiss on Cayde’s horn and Amanda’s cheek. She only knew them for a few hours, after a really terribly incident, but these two already meant anything to her. When the little family walked back to the shelter, all of them felt a moment of happiness and hope again, even though The Last City was in ruins and Cayde couldn't shut up about Amanda calling him a unicorn. *** Title: All I Want For Christmas Is You Pairing: Cayde-6 x female reader Rating: Explicit — Cayde hates Christmas and you're trying to get him into the mood with cookies, movies, cuddles, Last Christmas from Wham and more... „Merry Christmas, Caydie.” I hear a deep chuckle roar through his torso, as he turns around and puts his arms around me in return. I moan softly against his chest with a smile. His warmth and the familiar scent of leather and gunpowder was infatuating. „Hey beautiful.”, he greets me softly, his aqua blue optics looking me up and down in my sexy Santa dress. Another chuckle escapes his throat, the orange lights in the back of his throat flickering. „You look... ridiculous.”, he scoffs tender, pinching the fuzzy bobble of my Santa hat with his finger. I push him away from me, lift my dress up slightly and turn around slowly. „Your eyes say something different, my vanguard...”, I whisper seductively, looking over my shoulder and winking at him. He forcefully grabs a fistful of my dress and pulls me back to his body. „I mean it. Ridiculous.”, he repeats in a mocked tone. God, I loved it when this exo was a sassy. „But, but... I wear this for you...”, I whimper, turning away from him, starting to act out the most dramatic fake crying in the history of fake cries. „You hate it. I wanted to look pretty for our date.”, I sob and pretend to rub my eyes. „No, no, no... sweetie. You look stunning. I just hate Chr-”, I hear him awkwardly stutter behind my back, but I quickly turn around and laugh at his dumb but overall adorable helpless face. „Ha! Got you! You should see your stupid face!” I press a sweet kiss on his cold metal chin and take his hand. ”Now come on, we're late for the Christmas market at the Bazaar, Grumpy.”, I sąy and pull him with me out of his beloved Hangar. Cayde follows me more or less unwillingly and sighs. „I swear, if I hear Last Christmas one more time I'm gonna blow something up.”, he mutters under his breath and I can't help but smirk at him. „Can't lie, I would love to see that.” He chuckles, the orange lights behind his mouth-plates outlining a smirk back at me. „A girl after my own heart.”, he praises and gently puts his warm cloak around my bare back and shoulders. **** FULL STORIES (might be published on archiveofourown too) Title: In debt to love Pairing: Cayde-6 x OC other characters: Clovis Bray, Shiro-4 Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance Rating: Explicit Warnings: veeeery smutty, graphic violence, self-harm, ... — „... and hearts for this girl I guard. She's the best debt I've ever had.” Cayde is paying off his debt by guarding Coco Bray, the daughter of the man who ruined his life and turned him exo. Now or never. Swiftly and suddenly Coco closed her fingers around the handle of Cayde's gun and she pulled, knowing full well that she was taking a risk. Cayde quickly opened his optics as he felt her hand on his waist and his Ace of Spades being pulled from the holster, but it was already too late. The girl pushed and kicked the exo off her body with all the strength left in her weakened body and pointed the gun at him with a sweet smile, her face was a mixture of triumph and surprise. She finally had the upper hand. “Thanks for the ride, handsome. Any last words?” Cayde stared stunned at the pinkish haired girl pointing his own gun at him, but still he couldn't help but chuckle. A pretty girl with a pretty gun. His Ace Of Spades never suited anyone better. He should've known that something like this would happen, after all the things he heard about her. “You literally kick ass. Just a girl after my own heart, sweetheart.” He was completely at the her mercy, but decided to play along and raised his hands. “I'm impressed, I really hate so say this, doll. However, you won't do it.”, he gave back amused, before shoving her back on the ground again with his elbow, bending over her small frame. “If you blow a hole through my head, you better pray that I won't get fixed and come back at you, cause...”, he leans in closer to her, the muzzle of his own gun pressed upon his chest and his horn gently poking her forehead. “I'm gonna hurt you... make you cry... and fuck you into a coma.”, he hissed, sounding threatening and cheerful at the same time. She wouldn't shoot him, Cayde knew that. He hoped that. After all they've been through already, she wouldn't. She couldn't. The Ace Of Spades was shaking in Coco's hands. Her green eyes lost that glint of achievement and were replaced with the feeling of unshed tears beginning to blur her vision. If she really wanted to escape, she actually had to shoot him. Coco lifted her gaze and locked her eyes with his optics, her lips formed a sad smile, as her hands clasped tighter around the grip of his gun, her finger hovering over the trigger, that would decide her fate. His fate. “Please don't make me like you, Cayde-6.” “Isn't it too late, Coco Bray?” **** Title: Queen Of Hearts Pairing: Cayde-6 x OC other characters: Uldren Sov, Andal Brask (mentioned),... Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Adventure Rating: Explicit Warnings: suicide attempt, physical abuse — Cayde saves and kidnaps a princess, but she saves him too. Feena listened intently to every word Cayde was saying. She didn't know why, but she was intrigued by him. Just his voice alone was making her feel calm. “You're crazy.”, she said forcefully as she turned back towards the depth. “I am, but with all due respect, princess. I'm not the one who wants to jump off this castle.” His aqua blue optics stared at her and his mechanic heart broke for this girl. He blamed himself that he never noticed that she suffered in silence. Suffered so much that she wanted to end her life. “Please, give me your hand, princess. I don't know what happened to you, but I swear, I'll protect you better from now on.” Cayde reached out his gloved hand to her carefully, as not to frighten her. Feena looked down at his outstretched hand and she was surprised by her instinct to reach out and touch him. She slowly turned around to him and they both immediately locked eyes and optics. He felt his heart instantly stop when he looked into her green eyes and it shocked him that she was looking at him in the same way. “Phew,” he said relieved as he squeezed her soft, cold hand. “I'm Cayde-6.” “Princess Feena Brask.”, she breathlessly introduced herself as well. “I know damn well who you are.”, he chuckled, causing her to smile. That smile. He didn't know how long he was on duty in this castle, but he never saw her smile. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Cayde looked at her in amazement when he finally saw life sparkle in her always so sad and empty eyes. Her long blonde hair was tickling his face plates and the scent was intoxicating. “I got you.” He gripped onto her waist as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he lifted her up over the railing, feeling like his body was electrocuted in the most gentle way touching her. She was one slip away from death just second ago and he saved her. She was safe. Her heels clicked as they touched the ground, but her legs gave out on her and he was able to catch her before she hit the ground. He held her body close to his, their faces just inches apart. “Are you alright?”, he asked concerned, as he felt her chest rise and fall against his armor. “Never felt better.”, she said as her hands clung to his shoulders. Feena took a moment to take in Cayde's metallic features and felt her heart flutter, feeling so warm and safe in his embrace. Something she never felt before. “Who hurt you, my queen? I'm gonna kill anyone who hurt you. Anyone.” ______________________________________________________________ *changes/improvements possible. Soo... Which one is your fave? Do you wanna get tagged when I publish these? Are you interested in the playlist I listen to when I write these? Let me know anything and feel welcome to like and reblog if you’re interested in these beauties. xo

[literupture]

Banking Dark Chocolate Motes

Finally got around to writing this! The Dawning themed fluff, featuring my female Guardian OC x The Drifter. 

It's been five years since I've last written and completed anything, so I'm a little rusty. This is also the first time I've ever posted a fic online!

Cross-posted on Fanfiction and AO3.

The bland, serious walls of the Tower underwent its seasonal change slowly at first, but when the whispers of The Dawning started, it was as if the Traveler flipped the stronghold's festive light switch.

Vallory always treasured this season, and one reason was because it came after the Festival of the Lost. The Dawning was a time to feel more alive after spending the duration of the Festival remembering her fallen friends. She'd always found it easier to celebrate their lives after the Festival ended, anyway. Something about the painful reminder of their faces on the memorials made it harder for her to move on.

The air at this altitude could be sharp and unwelcoming, but everyone did their part to spread the warmth. Families taught their children how to make special paper lanterns that would be infused with Solar light from initiate warlocks, every booth had a heater set up from maintenance, hot beverages were made and passed out every hour. It was a nice, warm place for active Guardians to come home to after their missions.

Vallory especially appreciated the difference in volume. As a Titan, she rarely had much time to relax her ears. Around this season, the Tower replaced its evenly spread busy clamor for concentrated spots with idle chatter. Vallory wasn't too picky about it, but it certainly made the place feel more like a hub instead of a flea market.

But there was something extra special about this Dawning. About two weeks earlier, Val saw an elderly woman dressed in knitted clothing leading some groups in decorating, and the Titan immediately dropped what she was doing to greet the woman. It was none other than Eva Levante, whom many Guardians and other Tower-goers lovingly referred to as Shader Grandma.

Eva Levante seemed to remember every face here, which is one of the many reasons why people loved her. She also gave the best hugs--Val felt its warmth even through the bulky plate armor that she wore.

Eva had also set up her family's grand oven, and many civilians and Guardians learned how to bake that same day. Vallory was one of those newbies; she always had an interest in cooking, but lacked experience when it came to baked goods and other sweets. Eva was quick to make Vallory change from her battle armor into more comfortable clothing, saying that it would not be wise to wear metal when working with a hot oven. It became routine for the Titan to switch into casual clothing before landing her jumpship at the Tower's Hangar. She made sure to visit every day, and spent at least a few hours baking every visit. She'd spent the past couple of weeks baking and delivering sweets and pastries to her friends and comrades, from cinnamon-dusted Gjallardoodles for Commander Zavala, to Awoken Corsair-themed frosted cookies for Petra Venj.

"Whatcha baking today, Val?"

Vallory looked up from her mixing bowl. A thick, dark brown batter rested inches from the lip of the large wooden container. Her bright yellow-green eyes met the hazel eyes of a younger, shorter, tanned girl in dark-purple robes--Karyna, her best friend.

"I'm uh... trying my hand at a certain recipe," Vallory replied, then resumed mixing the batter with a wooden spoon. She focused on blending the ingredients, hoping that Karyna wouldn't notice the hint of a blush on her light blue cheeks.

"Oh? Which one?" Karyna inquired, leaning over the counter to get a closer look at the mixture. Her caramel brown hair was choppy and uneven, like she had cut it herself. It stopped just short of her shoulders, framing her face. The girl's face had lighter splotches of skin scattered about it, and people often mistook it for war paint. In fact, Vallory was one of those people, but she learned later on that Karyna had vitiligo. "Can I help? Where's the recipe? Is there a recipe, or are you just making one up?" The warlock's inquisitive eyes scanned the items on the table: basic baking ingredients like eggs, flour, milk, butter, and sugar... along with a small glass container of peppermint extract and a large bag of dark chocolate.  She seemed to come to a conclusion. "Oooh, peppermint! And dark chocolate! I don't think I've seen you make this one yet!"

"You haven't, because this is my first time making it," Vallory said with the tiniest hint of exasperation. She liked to think she was used to her bubbly friend and her rapid-fire questions, but that wasn't the case. "And I appreciate the offer, but I kinda wanna make this one on my own." Satisfied with her work on the batter, Vallory began to scoop it out onto two baking pans, smoothing them over evenly with the spoon.

Karyna's nose crinkled as she frowned, but her disappointment lasted just a moment. "Oh, alright," she conceded. She placed her elbows on the counter, and was about to rest her head on her gloved hands, but then she quickly shot upright, alerted. "Wait!" she exclaimed, then continued with a sly smile, "these are for a special someone, aren't they?"

The faint blush on Vallory's cheeks became more prominent, and she knew she'd been caught. "Shut up," she said, upon seeing Karyna opening her mouth to speak again. "It's not like that." She turned to place the baking sheets in the oven, trying to hide her stupid grin.

"Oh my Traveler, you are truly an awful liar," Karyna teased, hopping up to sit on the cleared space of the counter. Her small frame took up very little of the hard surface, and her legs dangled several feet off the ground. Vallory turned to glare at her, and Karyna added, "well, you're an awful liar when it comes to doing cheesy or wholesome stuff."

Vallory wiped her hands on her apron. "I hate you," she lied, then crossed her arms and leaned against the edge of the countertop, near her friend.

"Is it for..." Karyna's gaze moved over to an isolated corner of the courtyard, where there was a partially raised gate. "The Drifter?" she whispered.

Vallory's eyes followed her gaze. She said nothing, only bit the corner of her pink lip, hoping to stop herself from saying something stupid.

"Maybe," Val muttered, then swore under her breath. Eh, oh well, she thought, for nothing she could do would disprove the obvious. She looked at her warlock friend out of the corner of her eye. The girl was grinning at her devilishly. Val rolled her eyes, trying to downplay her embarrassment.

"Well, Val," Karyna started, and the expression on her face became smug. "I won't try to make you feel any worse than you probably do right now, but I just wanted to say," she paused, taking in a deep breath. "Since I first became a Guardian, I've seen you with so many partners that I've lost count. And of the ones I do remember, I know that's not even half of your total."

At this, Vallory regained her composure. Karyna was right; she did find her way around, and there was nothing wrong with that. If anything, she was a little proud of her sexual endeavors.

"But," Karyna continued, "this is definitely the first time I've seen you do anything like this for any of your partners."

The Titan could feel her neck and cheeks getting red with color, even with her Awoken-blue skin. Karyna was right--everything Vallory did was either casual or done as a joke, and she certainly never did anything for her partners that didn't result in sex. When the idea to bake something for The Drifter first came to her, her intentions were pure. Mostly. Any interaction with the shady individual was hardly pure.

"I dunno," Vallory began, and a soft bell chime interrupted her. She uncrossed her arms and slipped on a pair of quilted red oven mitts. "I just thought I would do something nice for a change. And you know he doesn't exactly have a... 'safe' diet."

Karyna snorted at that. "Ha! And here you are baking him sweets!"

Vallory swatted the girl's shoulder. "Whatever, you know what I mean." She strode over to the oven, removing both trays with ease, and set them on another counter to cool them. It didn't take long, due to the cold weather.

Karyna hopped down from her counter and stood beside Vallory, who had procured a triangular metal cutter, and assessed the freshly baked goods. Val's mouth watered at the smell, but she quickly pressed the cutter into the pan. She repeated this until she had turned the two blocks of brownies into a large platter of stacked triangles.

"Wanna try one?" Vallory asked, holding out a brownie for her friend.

"Do I?" Karyna beamed, then seemed to remember her manners. "I mean, yes. I would be honored."

The warlock plucked the brownie from Vallory's fingertips, and they both bit into their respective pieces. It was warm and soft and seemed to melt in her mouth. The dark chocolate was rich but not overwhelming, and the peppermint left a cool aftertaste. It reminded her of the chilly sensation she got when she first held a Mote of Darkness in Gambit, and the rush of blood when she hopped through the invasion portal for the first time.

It was perfect.

A low hum came from beside Vallory, breaking her out of her reverie. She looked over to see her friend's eyes closed, a blissful expression on her face.

"Well?"

"I think he'll love it."

Vallory smiled sheepishly. "I sure hope so."

 -x-

 After she carefully wrapped the plate of brownies with clear cling wrap, Vallory hung up her apron for the day. Karyna had wished her luck with delivering the brownies and suggested that Val should buy some milk, so she stopped by a dairy stall and bought a half gallon.

Now she stood by the gate to Drifter's hideout, balancing the platter on one hand and holding the jug of milk in the other. She took a deep breath to compose herself, and slowly ducked through the opening.

"Knock knock," Vallory said, standing upright. In the corner of the dim room she saw the back of a man in a long, dark leather coat with fur shoulders. He was hunched over a work bench, so the top of his short black hair and the black bandana wrapped around his forehead were barely visible. His gloved hands were tinkering away at a hand cannon. She noted the Tex Mechanica logo on the barrel and smiled; he had good taste in weapons for sure.

The Drifter turned his head, the fur on his pauldrons tickling his chin. His blue eyes skimmed over Vallory, and he smiled in recognition. "Well, if it ain't my favorite Guardian," he said, placing his tools down. He turned to face her, his demeanor all swagger, and grinned that winning smile that made most people uncomfortable but always made Val feel relaxed. "You don't look like you're here for some Gambit," he said, noticing that the brown-haired Awoken girl was not wearing her usual black bulky armor, but instead she stood before him wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a dark blue pair of jeans. Her dark clothing made her light blue skin and bright eyes more noticeable, and even though he'd seen her plenty of times without her armor, the sight of her momentarily stunned him.

The Drifter's gaze moved to the objects in Vallory's hands. "Oooo, what's that ya got there?"

"Just a little something I made for you," Vallory responded, moving to place the brownies and milk onto a free spot on a table. She unwrapped part of the plate and removed a brownie, then offered it to him. "Dark chocolate motes."

The Drifter took the pastry from Vallory's hand, the tips of his gauntlets brushing lightly against her bare fingers. She could feel her skin getting hot; she was immediately thankful for the poorly-lit room and the fabric of her sweater covering her skin.

She watched his scarred face as he took a bite of the brownie and chewed. "Mmmm," he said, with his eyes closed, and Val shuddered. There was something about that noise that pleased her; it was low and and almost rhythmic. "You're always feedin' me," he said, opening his eyes. "And here I thought our setup was casual."

Vallory shrugged, then smirked at him. "I can't casually feed the guy I casually fuck?"

At that, The Drifter let out an honest laugh. "Fair enough."

She watched him eat the rest of the brownie, then he popped open the jug of milk and took a swig. "Thanks for the grub, Miss Chosen One."

"Thanks for letting me share," Vallory smiled at him. They locked eyes for a moment, and she seemed to consider something, but shook the thought away. She told herself that she had just wanted to do this nice thing and be on her way, at least this time. In the spirit of The Dawning, she told herself, even though she wanted nothing more but to hang out here in his shelter, away from everyone else.

"Well," she finally said. "I'll let you get back to work."

Val could've sworn that she saw a hint of disappointment in his icy blue eyes, but she told herself that his desire for her to stay was different than hers, even if it was just this once.

She moved to leave, but paused. "Hey, Drifter?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Hotshot?"

Vallory leaned towards him and swiftly planted a kiss on his cheek. "Happy Dawning," she muttered, her face still close to his. She was starting to feel embarrassed again, and she didn't want him to catch on to that, so she quickly strode away and out of his corner, ducking under the gate.

Vallory didn't get to see The Drifter lift his fingers to his cheek, where she had kissed him moments ago. She didn't get to watch the surprise on his face turn into a huge grin, or how he cursed at himself under his breath afterwards.

[littleshebear]

The Narrow Road, Part 3: Dreams.

Aaaaand we’re back. New’s year’s resolution: Finish my damn wips. This chapter turned out far sadder than I expected. It starts out fairly humorous then takes a sharp left into angst-ville. 

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Commander Zavala | OC: Sasha | Zavala x Female OC  | Zavala x Sasha | Lord Shaxx | The Dark Age | Angst | Romance | Zavala x Insomnia = OTP | Awoken prophetic dream shenanigans | cw for partner loss/grief

You the butterfly - I, Chuang Tzu’s dreaming heart.

               -Matsuo Bashō

“Ow!” Zavala jerks his head back, sucking a short, sharp breath through his teeth. Normally, his Ghost would have healed him by now but this is not a normal situation. He’s accustomed to pain, just not hands-on medical care.

“Bear it, weakling.” Alexandra smirks down at him before she resumes dabbing at a cut on his forehead. Zavala supposes that whatever is on the pad she’s using is some sort of disinfectant but the way it stings and burns makes it feel like liquid torture.

He looks around the room to distract himself, from both the pain and from the fact that the first human he’s laid eyes on since being rezzed has her face inches from his own.  The room can only be described as functional. In terms of furniture, there’s the bed which he’s seated on, a plain wardrobe and a couple of battered-looking easy chairs. The back half of the room houses what seems to double as a work space and kitchen area. A tiny-plug in cooker sits on top of a work-bench beside scattered tools and what are most likely gun parts and empty rounds. The only decorative pieces he can see are a small statue of a seated, robed man and what looks like a two-stringed musical instrument, with a headstock carved into the shape of a horse’s head. He lets his eyes rest anywhere except on her while he keeps as still as possible. As gentle as her touch is, there’s every possibility she might pull a knife on him again if he’s a bad patient.

“You live here?” He asks, still casting his gaze around the spartan abode.

“No,” she replies. “I live on The Road, this is just where I keep my stuff.” She smiles down at him as she sets about closing his wound with butterfly bandages.

“Ah. I see.” He doesn’t really see it. If he stopped to think about it, he wouldn’t understand why anyone would trade the comfort of a home for the danger of The Road. As it is, he’s decided now is the time to look back up at her. He’s not thinking about much except how different she looks when she smiles.

[Zavala? Are you all right?] Izanami intrudes over their neural link. A tiny frown clouds his decidedly battered and bruised features. What an odd question. He’s been beaten up, one eye is swelling shut, it hurts to breathe, he’s fairly sure his nose is broken and he can’t ask his Ghost to heal him. Not yet, anyway. Of course he’s not all right.

[Why are you asking me that?]

[You’re tachycardic!] She exclaims, sending ripples of worry through the link. [Your heart rate is pushing one-ninety, is something wrong? Is it your injuries, did I miss something? I should heal you.]

[No.] Zavala replies. [You want us to keep a low profile, how do you think she’ll react if you suddenly pop out and start beaming Light at me? Relax. I’m fine.]

[Then why are you-] Izanami pauses as Alexandra frames Zavala’s face with her hands and tips his head up towards her.

“Look at me.” She rests her thumbs on his cheekbones, gently stroking either side of his nose and gazing intently at him. He obliges, his frown instantly dissolving. He avoids her eyes and finds himself staring at her nose. The freckles he noticed when they first met catch his attention. He decides he likes freckles.

[Now you’ve stopped breathing! There’s definitely something not ri-] There’s a sudden, stony silence across their neural link. [Oh. All right. I see what’s happening here. Never mind.]

Alexandra removes her hands and straightens up before Zavala can respond. “I think your nose is broken.” She crosses over to the kitchen area and retrieves an ice pack from a small fridge. She places it in his hand and guides it to his nose. “Keep an eye on it. You might need to get to the infirmary and have it reset.”

“That won’t be necessary, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. “If you’re fine with long term breathing problems and your nose healing all crooked.” She flops down into one of the chairs, sending up a small cloud of dust and causing the springs to creak. She clearly wasn’t kidding about not spending much time here. “Why didn’t you fight back? That long on The Road, you must be able to handle yourself.”

“I tend to favour running away. I’m good at that. Usually.”

Alexandra laughs. “That’s as good a survival strategy as any, I guess. So where did you get the spear? That’s a Fallen blade, you didn’t get that by running away.”

“I scavenged it.” He omits the part where he scavenged it from the body of a vandal he’d despatched minutes before. Alexandra doesn’t reply to this. She merely stares back as if studying him. “Is this an interrogation?”

“The others,” she hesitates no doubt searching for a tactful way to say ‘they don’t want you here.’ “The others are sceptical. The Road is a dangerous place, you’d have to be stupendously lucky to survive out there alone, for any length of time. Lucky or…” her lips twitch in amusement. “Extremely good at running away.”

“Well, can I ask you something?” He winces as he shifts the ice pack. “Who is Fulgrim and why do people keep asking me if I work for him?”

“Ah, well.” All traces of amusement desert Alexandra when she hears that name. “That’s Lord Fulgrim, to the likes of us. He’s a Warlord, he has territory not far from here. We’ve had the odd skirmish with his people but he hasn’t tried to take the town. Not yet, anyway. He’s ruthless. He’ll give protection in exchange for tribute but if people won’t pay…” She trails off, staring at nothing in particular. She shakes her head and comes to. “He’s a Lightbearer, do you know what that means?”

“I’ve heard the term.” His voice is even but his blood has run as cold as the bag of ice in his hand.

“They have abilities. Powers, like something out of an old comic book. And you can’t kill them. They have these little drones that follow them around, they bring them back to life somehow.”  She regards him seriously. “Take my advice. You see someone with one of those drones floating beside them? You do that running away thing you told me about.” She gets to her feet with a sigh. “Anyway. I need to go, I’m on watch soon. You can sleep here tonight, I won’t be back til morning.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not. Make yourself at home, there’s food in the fridge, bathroom’s through that door. I’d give you the tour but that’s pretty much it. Only one rule: Don’t touch my morin khuur or the Buddha.”

Zavala stands, removes the ice pack from his face and casts a puzzled, uncertain look around the room. “The what?”

Alexandra purses her lips to suppress a smile. “You are so far from home, aren’t you? Don’t touch that,” she points to the horse-head stringed instrument, then the statuette sitting on the shelf, “Or that.”

“Ah. I won’t.” He bobs his head, something between a bow and respectful nod, unsure of the etiquette for a situation like this. “Thank you Alexandra Ivanova. You’ve been very kind.”

“Don’t be so formal. Call me Sasha. And don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

“Even so. I’m grateful.”

She nods back to him in response before opening the door to leave. “Sleep well, Just Zavala.”

He shuts the door after her and listens closely for the sound of her footsteps receding into the distance. “Okay, come out.”

Izanami immediately coalesces beside him. “I thought she’d never leave!” She projects a cone of Light towards Zavala’s chest and he sighs in relief. “That’s your ribs intact again. Better?”

He takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. “So much better.” He puts up a hand to shield his face when she starts healing the bruises there. “What are you doing? How obvious did you want to make this?”

She stares back at him with as much incredulity as a floating drone can muster. “Zavala. We’re not staying. We have to to go!”

Zavala closes his eyes and sighs, visibly deflating. “Iz, I am tired. I am so tired. Let me rest.”

“Did you hear what she said? And the way she said it? She hates Lightbearers. She practically spat the word out. If she finds out what you are I…” Her shell gives a little shudder. “I don’t want to think about what she might do. We can’t stay here.”

“Just a couple of days.” He kicks off his boots and eases himself down on the bed. “Give me two night’s decent sleep and we’ll move on? Deal?”

Izanami turns her shell this way and that. “Fine,” she eventually forces the word out. “So long as it’s temporary. At least let me deal with some of the deep tissue damage. Let me take the swelling down, just a little bit?”

“Okay.” He settles down on top of the blankets and groans in contentment despite the throbbing pain in his head. So this is what sleeping in a bed feels like, he thinks as his eyes fall shut.

Izanami shoots small, hesitant beams of Light towards him. “She was right. Your nose is broken. Want me to fix it? Zavala?” He doesn’t respond, having fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. “I’ll fix it,” she whispers. “Sweet dreams.”

She sits in the corner of a darkened room. Her face is obscured, her head bowed. So much about her is different; her hair is shorter, she wears strange armour bearing sigils he doesn’t recognise but he knows it’s her. Somehow he knows. She cradles a large, black and white pistol in her hands with tender reverence.. When she eventually raises her head to look at him, she does so slowly, as though it’s a burden too heavy for her to carry. She looks at him with tear-filled eyes and when she speaks, her voice is quiet and strained.

“I’m sorry, Luchik.”

Zavala woke with a start, barely suppressing the urge to call her name. He sat up and looked around frantically until he remembered where he was. It was pitch black but his keen Awoken eyes could make out the sleeping form of Shaxx on a pallet on the other side of their shared yurt. He lay back down on his own bed and stared into the darkness, contemplating the dream that had so rudely shaken him awake. Of all his recurring dreams about Sasha, this was a common one but its frequency did nothing to help him understand it.

What’s wrong, Sashenka? What are you trying to tell me?

There were no answers forthcoming in the night’s silence. He had been so sure the dreams would stop once he reached the Traveler. That was their goal, they had been determined that at least one of them would make it. He did. He thought she’d be at peace after that. Clearly, he was wrong.

He rose from his pallet, having no desire to go back to sleep. He dressed as quietly as he could then picked up his spear and opened the door to the hut. Shaxx snorted and stirred as he did so.

“Mmph? Effie? Where’re y’goin?”

Zavala can’t help but smile at that. “Efrideet’s not here, Shaxx. Go back to sleep.” It was good of his new friend to put him up the way he had, but Zavala was eager to get his own space. These disruptive, sleepless nights weren’t fair on Shaxx. As much as Shaxx's energy seemed boundless, he needed his rest. Zavala headed toward the centre of the settlement, to the fire that always burned brightly, no matter the hour. He sat down, fished out a whetstone from a pouch in his belt and set to sharpening the blade of his spear. He carried on with the repetitive, meditative movements when he sensed, rather than heard his Ghost approach.

 “I don’t think that spear can get much sharper.” Izanami hovered just behind his shoulder. “There’ll be nothing left of it.”

“It’s soothing.”

“Can’t sleep?” He shook his head. “Bad dream?” His only response was to draw the whetstone across the blade once more. “You can talk to me, you know.”

The Ghost’s assurance was met with silence. He rose to trudge over to the nearby wood pile. Sparks, like tiny amber stars, scattered into the surrounding darkness as he threw extra logs onto the fire. Once he was satisfied the fire was sufficiently stoked, flopped back down into his seat and resumed honing the spear resting in his lap. A not entirely comfortable silence ensued. The fire spat and crackled, the blade sang with each stroke of the whetstone and Izanami’s shell whirred softly as she considered what to say next.

“I miss her too, Zavala.”

He abruptly ceased his ministrations and looked up at his Ghost for the first time since she’d approached him. “Really?” He asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “You two didn’t always see eye to eye.”

“We agreed on some things; She loved you.”

She could tell she’d touched a nerve with that comment. A tense muscle worked in his jaw, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down his emotions, then there was his smile. It was barely discernible and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes but Izanami knew it was there. He held his hand out, palm up and beckoned. She sped over to him, straight past the proffered hand and nuzzled in between his neck and shoulder. Zavala gave a sad chuckle, musing on how his scarf served a dual purpose; protection from both cold and the shell points of an affectionate Ghost.

“I’m alright, Iz,” he whispered, covering her shell with his hand.

“No you’re not.” Her shell pressed into his scarf, muffling her voice. “You haven’t let yourself grieve, not properly. We were so focused on getting here, you didn’t have much time to think about anything else. You have time now.”

His Ghost had a point, he had to admit. As keenly as he'd felt the loss of Sasha, those feelings had necessarily taken a backseat to the daily drudgery of their pilgrimage: On your feet. Keep going. Don’t give up. Be brave.

“I just…” he tailed off, experiencing a flare up of what he’d come to think of as stealth grief. He understood the agony of the initial loss. There was an honesty about it, he was supposed to suffer, he could accept that. Bear it, weakling, he’d told himself. And he did. What he resented in the weeks that followed was how the pain would wait to ambush him without warning. He’d been lied to, grief didn’t go through stages, it came in waves, as relentless as the tide. Anything could remind him of her and set him off. A scent. A piece of music. An anecdote that he wanted to tell her. The thought of life plans altered or abandoned completely. And the worst: Those damn dreams of things that had never happened and never would. It was underhand. It was sneaky. It wasn’t fair.

“I just thought we’d have more time,” he said, in his second attempt at explaining his feelings. “I saw a future so clearly. I didn’t think I’d be doing this alone.”

[You’ll never be alone.] Izanami switched to the neural link to emphasise her point. [I’m here.] She floated back a little, extricating herself from this approximation of an embrace. [Try getting back to sleep?]

Zavala shook his head. “There’s little point, the sun will be up soon. Besides, I’m not tired.” That was a lie. He was worn out but he wouldn’t tell his perpetually worried Ghost the truth, that if he didn’t sleep, he wouldn’t dream.

[littleshebear]

The Narrow Road, Chapter Two; Training.

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER ONE |

This fic is taking a long time because of how I’ve decided to structure it. Flashbacks are bullshit, don’t do it fam. Anyway, onwards and upwards. In which Zavala gets beaten up a whole bunch, Sasha’s having none of it and the Titan Bros meet. 

Commander Zavala | OC: Sasha | Zavala x Female OC  | Zavala x Sasha | Lord Shaxx | Lord Saladin | Various OC’s | The Dark Age | Angst | Romance | Canon typical violence | Zavala getting in the ribs. Again. | Titan Bro Bants.

“The moon’s good”: They kick off their hakama for wrestling

- Hokushi.

“You’re going to die, you know.”

Zavala looked up at Shaxx quizzically, wondering how he could say something so ghoulish in such a casual tone of voice. They were on their way to combat training, Zavala’s first session. Shaxx was clearly an old hand, or at least he acted like one. Zavala couldn’t tell if he was trying to prepare him or if he was winding him up.

“Sorry but it’s true, you’re going to die today. More than once.” Zavala stopped in his tracks and kept staring at him. “You’ll get used to it. It’s all part of the experience.”

“Uh. Thanks for the heads up?” Zavala resumed walking and they carried on towards the sparring grounds on the outskirts of the settlement. “It’s fine. I’ve died before. Plenty of times.”

“In quick succession?”

“No can’t say it’s ever been more than once in twenty-four hours.”

“Get ready for more than once in twenty minutes.” They came to a halt with the other Risen from the settlement, who were gathered in a circle, waiting for the instructors to make themselves known. Shaxx leaned down and whispered, “People tend to be harsh with the new arrivals. Be prepared for that. You can team up with me if you like.”

“Would you go easy on me?”

“No.”

Zavala chuckled, then fell silent as an instructor entered the circle, and began to speak, projecting his voice across the field. “All right, pair up. Hand to hand combat today, Light abilities are not only allowed they are encouraged. Show us what you’ve got. Best of three, get to it!”

Zavala turned to Shaxx and asked, “Best of three?”

“Deaths,” Shaxx answered bluntly.

“Ah.” Zavala nodded. Shaxx wasn’t kidding about how many times he might die today. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. “Okay, so are we-”

“New guy!” Shaxx and Zavala turned to see Iakin glaring in Zavala’s direction. “With me.”

“He wants a rematch?” Zavala muttered.

While Shaxx shook his head slowly, Zavala suspected he was rolling his eyes behind that helmet. “Kick the little twerp’s arse. I’ll see you after.” He turned to the rest of the assembly and pounded a fist into his open palm. “Okay, who’s with me? Come on, step up. Anyone?” The other Risen avoided making eye contact and steadily drifted away from him, as though he had plague. “Oh come on. Come on! Oh, you bunch of wusses.” He eventually managed to grab a retreating Risen by the collar. “Come here. Oh it’s okay, it’ll be over soon.”

Zavala trudged toward his opponent, taking note of the state of the ground as he did. The foot traffic in this area had turned most of the snow to a treacherously slippy, brown, slush.

“All right,” the instructor called out once the group had been paired off. “Ghosts to a safe distance please.”

Izanami shuddered and turned her optic to Zavala for reassurance. “It’s fine, Iz.” Zavala cupped her shell in the palm of his hand. “It’s just to avoid friendly fire, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like this,” she glanced around nervously.

“Go with the other ghosts. It’s just a precaution, I’ll see you soon.”

“Very soon,” said Iakin, a smirk fixed on his face. She spun her shell to face Iakin and contorted her top two spines into a sharp ‘v’ shape. After she floated away to the edge of the sparring ground, Iakin asked, “Why does your Ghost have separation anxiety?”

“I told you, we’ve been through a-” He was suddenly interrupted by Iakin’s fist smashing into his face. Zavala staggered backward, tasting blood at the back of his throat. He spluttered and gingerly covered his nose with his hand. His nose was broken for sure, that would be Izanami’s first job when they were reunited. He suddenly realised Iakin was coming for him again and blocked his punch with his forearm. Iakin kept advancing, swinging left and right while Zavala was forced backwards, still not having recovered from that first sucker-punch. He eventually slipped and fell. He both felt and heard the crack when his head hit a rock, then everything went dark.

Alexandra had brought her bike to a halt at the crest of a hill overlooking a vast expanse of water, with a town nestled beside it. She chugs from a water flask before offering to Zavala who politely declines. He’s far too busy staring at the sight before him.

“Is...is that the ocean?” He supposes it must be the ocean, the water extends as far as the eye can see. He’s never seen this much water, not since he was revived and then he was eager to get away from the shallow sea he had obviously died in. His heart beats faster as images of darkness and cold panic skirt at the edge of his memories.

“Traveler help you, you really are lost, aren’t you?” She shakes her head, “No. We’re well inland here. That’s Lake Baikal. You’ll be staying at the Ranger Station there until we decide what to do with you.”

“What to do with me?” He wrenches his gaze away from the lake and frowns at his new-found...What is she to him? His guide? His protector? Or his captor perhaps?

Alexandra shrugs and screws the cap back on her flask. “You were out in the middle of nowhere, no weapons, no equipment. That’s unusual to say the least. The others will have questions about how you survived alone like that.”

Zavala drops his gaze to the floor, contemplating if he should just tell her the truth; that he didn’t survive, that he died over and over. What if his Ghost is being too cautious? This Ranger seems reasonable, terrifying when she has a knife in her hand but reasonable.

The crackle of a radio, then the sound of a woman’s voice interrupts the ensuing silence. “Sasha? You coming home tonight? Your dinner’s getting cold.”

She grins and picks up the radio and replies, “Yes, I’m on my way. Just pop my dinner in the oven for me, I promise I won’t be up past my bedtime. Seriously though, just taking a little pit-stop then we’ll be down.”

“We? Ah, yes, your stray. How long?”

“About half an hour, so don’t shoot.”

“Oh come on.”

“I’ve seen how bad your aim is, Dolores, your eyesight’s terrible. Wouldn’t put it past you to mistake us for Dregs.”

“Have a care. Age comes not alone, child, it’ll happen to you too. See you soon”

She pockets the radio and gets back on the bike. “Come on, let’s go.” Zavala ambles over and rides pillion behind her.

“Who was that? Another Ranger? How many of you are there?”

Alexandra pulls on her helmet and starts the ignition on the bike. “Not enough,” she sighs before setting off.

When they arrive, they’re waved through a massive gate set into a protective outer wall. After parking the bike, Alexandra beckons for Zavala to follow her through what pass for streets in this conflagration of humanity. The town is a mixture of crumbling Golden Age buildings, huts, lean-tos and what looked like converted shipping containers piled on top of eachother. Zavala winces at his Awoken senses picking up on the sudden cacophony of minds crammed into this space. The noise gradually quiets as he erects mental defences, more from instinct than anything else, he has no memory of learning how to do this. The occasional pointed, curious thought from someone staring at him in cuts through. The people here are dressed for hardship; tattered furs, cracked leathers and worn boots. Zavala is keenly aware of how out of place his white flight suit looks here.

He looks in the direction of the latest mental enquiry to breach his mental levees and sees that it’s Alexandra, staring at him intently. “You all right? You’re wincing.”

“I’m not used to this many people.”

“This an Awoken thing? I heard you people can sense things we can’t.” Zavala just nods, beginning to accept that he’ll most likely end up with a splitting headache before he gets used to this.  

“These people can’t all be headed for the Traveler?” He asks, looking around in amazement.

“No. You get all sorts here. Pilgrims, merchants, descendants of people who tried to get to the Cosmodrome during the Collapse. The Road is dangerous but it’s relatively safe here so some Pilgrims abandon the idea and settle. There’s some unsavoury types too, so stay close.”  They turn a corner and come to a ramshackle mess-hall set up in a large tent. “Get something to eat, I need to go debrief, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She points at him as though he’s a naughty child liable to run off. “Stay here. I mean it, don’t wander.” She shepherds him to the back of the queue before telling a man in armour similar to hers to watch him.

The line moves slowly and Zavala shuffles his way along, shoulders hunched and head down.

[I think I preferred it when it was just us.] Izanami complains.

[It’ll be fine, this is only temporary.] As he nears the head of the queue, the aroma from a massive pot of stew wafts towards him. He doesn’t recognise the smells, he just knows that they make his stomach clench and rumble. [Besides, it might be nice to rest properly. Hot meals. Sleep in a bed.]

[Zavala. Three o’clock.] Izanami says in a nervous, warning tone. [And nine o’clock and six...oh dear.] The others in the queue have stepped back while two men and one woman position themselves around Zavala. Their feet are planted far apart, their arms folded.

Zavala glances between the three of them. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the guy Sasha brought in?” Asks the woman.

“You mean Alexandra Ivanova? The Ranger? Yes.” Zavala unfolds his arms slowly, letting them drop to his sides. “Word travels fast, apparently.”

The three of them begin circling him and take turns firing questions at him, one after the other, “How long were you out there alone? Why don’t you have a weapon? How did you survive? Why are you dressed like that? You a pilot? Where’s your ship?”

Zavala does his best to keep an eye on each of them. His lips curls into a snarl, his annoyance overriding his sense of caution. “Do actually want me to answer these, or are you just trying to make a point?”

“Fulgrim sent you didn’t he? What is he after?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Alex- Sasha. Whatever. I don’t work for him. I’d never even heard of Fulgrim until today.”

“Liar!” One of the men yells. He’s stick-thin and wiry so Zavala is completely taken aback by his strength when he lands a punch in Zavala’s gut. He gasps and tries to back away, doubled-over.

He wraps one protective arm around his stomach and holds his other hand out, palm-up, in an entreating gesture. “Please don’t.” With that, the three of them set upon him, punching, kicking, scratching. Zavala collapses to the floor and curls into a fetal position.

[Fight back!] Izanami pleads.

[I can’t.]

[Yes you can! You’ve fought off Vandals hand-to-hand, this is nothing!]

[I might kill them.] Zavala screws his eyes shut, fighting against the brewing anger inside him. He doesn’t want his Light to manifest, not now but each blow from his attackers cause that little spark of heat in his chest grow and grow and until his skin begins to prickle and he feels that tell-tale jolt of power in his fingertips. He screws his eyes shut, crosses his arms  and balls his fists against his chest. He’s just about to yell, to scream a warning to his assailants to get back when a gunshot sounds just a few feet away. Zavala forces his eyes open to see who fired.

“What in the Traveler’s name are you doing?” Sasha is standing with a massive pistol aimed skywards, wearing a facial expression that’s one part incredulity, three parts murder.  She lowers her gun to point it in the direction of Zavala’s assailants. “Get back. All of you!” They shuffle backward, hands up. She holsters her gun and scowls in the direction of the armoured man toward the back of the mess. “What the hell, Goran? I told you to watch him.”

The man shrugs, leaning nonchalantly against one of the mess’ support beams. “I did watch.”

“They could have killed him!”

“I wouldn’t have let it get that far. You gotta admit, Sasha, it’s more than a little suss. You shouldn’t have brought him back here, you know he’s probably a scout.”

“You ever see a spy look as incongruous as him? Not much use as a spy, don’t you think?”

“Why take the risk?” One of the men who attacked speaks up. His gaze is still full of venom but he looks decidedly less confident than before. “Just chuck him back over the wall and be done with it.”

“He is my responsibility. If any of you touch him again, you can make your way to the Traveler by yourselves. How about we put you outside the wall with a couple days’ rations? You fancy traveling alone? During winter? Like the sound of that?

“You can’t make that decision, Sasha. You’re not in charge,” the ranger called Goran protests.

“Dolores can. Want me to call her?” Sasha’s suggestion is met with grumbling and shuffling. “That’s what I thought. Get out of here, all of you.” She glares after them as they retreat and the other pilgrims gradually gather back around to queue for food again, giving Sasha and Zavala a wide berth. She kneels at his side to help him up. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, wincing at a sharp pain in his chest as he gets to his feet.

[I beg to differ,”] Izanami interjects across their Link. [Two of your ribs are broken. You’ll have some serious contusions too, if you don’t let me do something about them.]

“Come on,” Sasha takes him by the elbow and steers him away from the mess tent. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Zavala nods, taking as deep breaths as his aching ribs will allow, not permitting himself to relax until he’s sure his Light has abated.

“Listen,” Sasha says as they walk side-by-side, “If anyone gets you on the ground like that again, kick at their legs. Strike with your heel, hard, and follow through. If you get the angle right, you might just break their shin or their knee.”

Zavala laughs softly and instantly regrets it as a fresh spike of pain lances through him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little scary?”

She smirks, not looking offended in the slightest. “I’m just practical.” She pats his arm. “Stick with me, you’ll be fine.”

Zavala gasped as his lungs filled with air. He blinked furiously as the world came back into focus and he saw Izanami hovering over him.

[Get out of the way] he told her silently. Iakin was standing with his back to them, laughing uproariously, calling to someone across the field.

“Did you see that? He must have a skull like an eggshell!”

Zavala waited until his Ghost was safely away before silently maneuvering himself around. He drew one leg back and kicked out hard, feeling his heel crash into the side of Iakin’s knee. There was a sickening snap and Iakin immediately dropped to the ground with an agonised scream. Zavala sprang to his feet and grabbed the back of Iakin’s head, fisted his fingers in his hair, pulled his head back then smashed his knee into his face. He let go of his hair and let him fall backwards, lifeless, like a rag-doll.

“WHOO! Yeah, that’ll learn him!” Izanami hollered from the sidelines, spinning her shell in jubilation. She noticed Iakin’s ghost staring at her. “What?” The other Ghost dipped the points of its shell in what could almost be a sigh before floating over to revive their Risen.

“All right,” Iakin said, getting to his feet after his Ghost brought him back, “All right. I got cocky. I’ll give you that one.”

Zavala resisted the urge to reply with a sarcastic quip and instead concentrated on finding a strong stance and anticipating Iakin’s next gambit. He brought his arms up to a defensive position and kept still, waiting for Iakin to attack. He watched him pace back and forth, trying to goad him into making the first move but Zavala remained impassive, staring him down. Iakin eventually gave in to impatience and charged at him, swinging wildly with his fists. Zavala blocked as best he could until he feels the hairs on his arms rise and his skin erupt in gooseflesh; there’s arc energy nearby. He raised a void overshield in response.

Iakin backed off when he realised his blows were to no avail. “That overshield won’t last forever, you know. Are you going to land a punch or-”

Zavala took Iakin’s jibe as an opportunity to drop the shield and summed the arc aspect of his Light. He rushed him, turning to a bright, crackling blur as he rammed his shoulder into Iakin at full force. He vapourised mid-taunt and Zavala stepped back, allowing himself a small, satisfied smile.

“Best of three, right?” He said, turning to the other sparring couples for confirmation. They had all stopped and were staring at him. A few whispers broke out and Zavala’s smile vanished. He looked around uncertainly until he found Shaxx, also staring at him. “What?” He mouthed.

With that, Iakin’s Ghost revived him and he immediately started yelling in the instructor’s direction. “That doesn’t count! This isn’t fair, how was I supposed to know he could do that?”

Zavala scurried over to Shaxx. “Do what? What did I do? you said we were meant to die, best of three deaths, that’s what you said.”

Shaxx cocked his head. “Uh, you switched between void and arc Light as though it was nothing.”

“So?” Zavala shrugged, nonplussed. “Was I not supposed to? No one told me I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“It’s not that you’re not supposed to. It’s rare. Especially for a youngster.” He looked toward Iakin, still protesting the injustice of it all. “He wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh.” Zavala nodded. “Oh, I see. Am I supposed to pick one or the other?”

“Not for me to say.” He jutted his chin toward another Risen walking toward the sparring ground. “Better to ask him.” This newcomer was dressed in armour that put most of them to shame. Aside from the ornately inlaid helmet, there was a slightly ramshackle feel to it. The parts didn’t all exactly match, there were obvious dents and scuffs, and it was complemented by somewhat ragged-looking cloth accoutrements. The effect was all the more intimidating though, he was a clearly a man who was no stranger to battle.

“Do you think the Fallen care one whit for fairness?” He spoke in a low growl that somehow managed to cut right through Iakin’s histrionics. He fell silent, bowing his head in deference. “You think a gang of Vandals will back off if you cry ‘fair play?’ Do honestly believe a Captain won’t use your bones as a boundary marker because you invoke rules of engagement?”

“No, my Lord.” Iakin mumbled in response.

“What have you learned?”

Iakin shot a surly glare in Zavala’s direction before responding, “Don’t underestimate your opponent.”

“And?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

“Good.” He nodded once before turning away. He stopped in front of Shaxx who nodded respectfully.

“Lord Saladin.”

“Shaxx. Vicious as ever.” A note of amusement had crept into that gravelly voice.

“Thank you m’lord.”

“And I see you’ve made friend. Good for you.” He turned to look at Zavala. “This one might give you a run for your money.”

“I hope so,” Shaxx said, giving Zavala a playful punch to the shoulder. “I was getting bored.”

“I won’t be here for the next couple of weeks at least, a matter in Old Russia requires our attention.” He glanced at Zavala, then back at Shaxx. “Keep an eye on this one for me. He’s got potential.”

“Will do. Is...” Shaxx hesitated. “Is Lady Efrideet going with you?”

Saladin snorted and turned to leave the sparring ground. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll give her your regards.”

Zavala waited until Saladin was out of earshot before grabbing Shaxx’s arm. “Lord Saladin?” He whispered urgently. “As in war Lord?”

“No! No fear.” Shaxx assured him. “Iron Lord. They’re the ones who put Warlords down.”

“Oh,” Zavala visibly relaxed. “I don’t like Warlords.”

Shaxx looked at him askance. “You’ve had run-ins with Warlords? Zavala you’ve got stories to tell, why don’t you talk more?”

He gave a lopsided shrug and stammered, “I uh, I heard things. Never good things.” He took a deep breath and decided to change the subject. “So who’s Efrideet?”

“Ah,” Shaxx put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out. “Lady Efrideet.” He drew out the second syllable of ‘Lady’ in a happy sigh. “I like Lady Efrideet.” He clapped an arm around Zavala’s shoulder and walked him back towards the camp. “Let me tell you about Lady Efrideet…”

[littleshebear]

Destiny Fanfiction: Truth

Some self-indulgent Dawning-related fluff I wrote last year but never posted for whatever reason. Here’s a dark age, kinderguardian Zavala learning about the power of myth and stories, then teaching those lessons back to a Guardian Sasha.  

Commander Zavala | OC: Sasha | Zavala x OC | Zavala x Sasha | Mutual Pining | The Dawning | Anxious Ghosts | Gratuitous story-telling

Crunch!

“What are you doing?” 

Crunch!

Zavala trails behind Sasha, watching her bunny-hop through the snow outside the gathering hall. He had recommended they leave when Sasha had reached for her knife after the tenth or so suggestion that they get a room. 

“It’s really satisfying,” she replies, jumping onto another patch of virgin snow. Crunch!  “You should try it.” 

“Is it calming you down?” He cocks his head, smiling at the incongruity of a woman who can snipe three Fallen Vandals in as many seconds, playing in the snow like a child. 

She turns to face him, grinning brilliantly. “I wasn’t actually going to stab anyone, you know.” There’s a series of gratifying crunches as she hops towards him. “You worry too much.”

“I’m never sure when you’re joking.” He hazards reaching out and brushing the back of his fingers against her chill-flushed cheek. She doesn’t flinch or pull away, a fact he finds infinitely more pleasing than the sound of freshly-trodden snow. “It’s cold, you should get inside.”

“No,” she protests, taking his hand in hers. “I’m not tired yet. Come on.” She leads him back towards the festivities but eschews the main hall. The normally sterile winter air is alive with the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat. They weave through the crowds until they reach one of a few braziers dotted around a larger bonfire. There’s a group of people gathered around the open air fires listening to Matushka hold court. Sasha warms her hands over the flames and smiles up at him. “There. I won’t freeze to death, happy now?”

“I just worry.” 

“We already established that,” she says with a chuckle. “It’s endearing." He looks sceptical so she adds, "Really.”

He nods towards the old woman. She speaks with a clear, ringing voice, in a language he doesn't understand. “What is she saying?”

“She’s telling stories.” Sasha smiles softly, unmistakable pride creeping into her expression. “Matushka knows them all. We lost so much during the Collapse but alot of our legends made it. The Fallen could burn as many archives as they liked but you can’t burn down an oral tradition. So long as there are storytellers, the stories will survive.”

“Which story is this?”

Sasha takes a moment to translate. “How Lake Baikal came to be. Well, one version of it, there are a few.”

“I thought it was seismic activity?”

“No!" She gives him a playful smack on the arm, before hedging. "Well yes. But no. It's an old, old legend. I’m no Matushka but I’ll do my best. So, Old Man Baikal had three hundred and thirty six sons and one-”

“Busy man, this Baikal.” 

“Shh!” She gives him another light tap on the arm. “He had three hundred and thirty six sons and one daughter, Angara. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world, so Baikal became jealous and cruel. He locked her away and refused to let her see anyone. She spent her days in loneliness and misery, the birds where her only contact with the outside world.” She paused to listen to Matushka speak for a while, before continuing. “One day, the birds brought her news of a young man named Yenisei who had heard of her plight. The birds carried messages between them and they fell in love.”

“Birds can’t talk.”

“It’s a myth, Luchik, work with me here. Suspend your disbelief.” She sighs to compose herself. “So. Yenisei came to rescue Angara and they managed to escape Westward. When Baikal realised Angara had fled he became enraged. He picked up a massive boulder and threw it at the young lovers to try and stop them.” The lake is shrouded in darkness but she knows exactly in which direction to point. “The Shaman Stone, that’s the rock he threw. It sits at the source of the River…" She expands her palm outwards in a revelatory gesture, "Angara! When Baikal realised he’d lost his daughter he wept and wept until his tears formed the lake.” 

Sasha falls silent again and rests her head on his shoulder as she listens to the end of the story. “That’s how Lake Baikal and the Shaman Stone came to be. And that’s why three hundred and thirty six rivers flow into Lake Baikal and only one, the Angara, flows out and merges with the river Yenisei.”

There’s an outbreak of murmurs and discussion from the gathered crowd as Matushka finishes the story. Zavala says nothing for a time, he just gazes into the flames in front of them. “I don’t understand,” he says, eventually. 

“What’s not to understand?” Sasha asks.

“Why do you still tell these stories? You know they’re not real. You know that these rivers and lakes happened because of tectonic plates, glaciers and what have you, not a possessive old man’s tears.” 

“Just because they’re not real, that doesn’t mean they’re not true.” She need not  to look at him to know that his brows are almost certainly knitting into a confused frown. “We don’t tell these stories because we literally believe them. They tell us things about ourselves. There are truths in myth.” 

“Very well, I’ll bite,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders. “What’s the truth about an angry old lake spirit throwing rocks at his daughter and her lover?”

Sasha relaxes against him, drawing on his warmth as well as that of the fire. “Well, I think it tells you about what love really is.” Zavala holds his breath, hoping that she can’t feel how much he’s tensed up all of a sudden. “Yenisei loved Angara. He wanted her to be free but Baikal...” Sasha pauses, leaning into the embrace. “Baikal said he loved Angara, he claimed she was the most precious thing in the world to him but. Well, that’s just it. She was a thing to him. He kept her locked up like a jewel in a box. That’s not love. That’s possession. In trying to hold on to her, he lost her. Attachment like that, it’s…” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s not healthy. If you love someone, if you really love them, you have to be willing to let them go.”

Zavala closes his eyes and encircles her with his arms, as if to relieve her of the weight of the words she's just spoken. “You don’t need to do that, Sashenka. I meant what I said.”

She returns the hug, the way her fingers sink into the fur of his jerkin belying her words. “If you need to leave for the Traveler after the thaw, I won’t stop you.”

“I’m not leaving.” He plants a kiss on top of her head that seems to serve as a full stop. 

They stand in silence for a while, watching the fire and listening to voices that float over from the main gathering. Sasha eventually interrupts the quiet with a question. Zavala knows she’s trying to change the subject but he’s willing to let her. “Don’t you have stories? The Awoken, I mean. Aren’t there stories in the Reef, creation myths, tall tales?”

“There are, I guess but…” Zavala hedges. He guesses there are but he’s damned if he can remember any of them. “We left. Maybe our stories didn’t have enough truth to them.”

Sasha tips her head back to look up at him. “So make new ones.”

~*~*~*~*

“Zavala!” Izanami flitted around Zavala’s head like a gadfly, nudging his shoulder and purposefully blocking his view of his work. She wove left and right trying to lock his gaze with her optic. “It’s the first night of The Dawning, that’s enough now. You haven’t even looked at the Dawning Crystal, Ikora really outdid herself this year. The night shift is here. Everyone else has left, you’ve got no excuse...”

“The Dawning isn’t going anywhere, The Dawning can wait a few minutes while I finish up.” He replied, gently pushing her out of his way.

“We’re going to be late, Amanda will kill us.”

“First of all, we’re not going to be late and secondly Amanda will not-”

“She’s been working hard on this dinner, if we’re late she will literally kill us.”

Zavala pressed his lips into a thin line. “Literally? Words mean things, Izanami, you know I don’t like it when you do that.” The little AI’s shell was quivering with nervous energy. If he didn’t know that Ghosts didn’t eat, Zavala could swear she was hyped up on too much sugar from Dawning treats. Maybe it was psychosomatic? Could Ghosts pick up on the mood of over-excited humans? No matter, the root cause didn’t change the fact that she was actively delaying him rather than hurrying him along. 

“Let’s go!” She pleads, turning in an impatient pirouette.

“The more you pester, the longer this will take. You go on ahead, tell Amanda I will be there in twenty minutes.” He raises an eyebrow for emphasis. “Literally, twenty minutes.” 

“Fine.” His ghost turns to leave before abruptly turning back to face him. “But if you’re late and Amanda does kill you? I’m not rezzing you.”

“Thats a risk I shall have to take.” Zavala returned to his work with a wry shake of his head. It wasn’t just dotting i’s and crossing t’s in these missives to the Speaker. For his own peace of mind, he had to be sure the hand over to the Night Shift was properly handled and besides, there were Dawning-specific social niceties to think of. His conscience wouldn’t have allowed him to head off to a celebration without personally thanking each and every one of the staff who had volunteered to work over this festival. It was a selfless act and that was something that spoke to Zavala’s pride in his City like nothing else.

When he finally left, he decided to take a brief detour to take a look at the decorations around the Tower. As the Dawning Crystal hove into view when he ascended the steps to the plaza, he had to admit, Izanami was right. Ikora had outdone herself. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest as he took in the sight of the lanterns strung around the plaza and the snowfall filling in the footprints of raucous guardians armed with snowballs. He turned towards Traveler’s walk; the view from there during winter was always lovely and that area was less likely to be used as a snowball field of conflict. As he suspected, it was far quieter there. It was silent save for the sound of two feet jumping simultaneously into the snow over and over. He followed the sound to see who was making it.

Sashenka. No, he couldn’t call her that, not anymore. Hunter. Guardian. Those were the only appropriate names now. She was leaping, two feet together, from one unsullied patch of snow to another. She would occasionally pause to stamp down the snow into ice before moving on. He shouldn’t be there, he could practically hear his Ghost urging him to leave, telling him what a terrible, terrible idea it was to stay. Yet, there he was. Rooted to the spot, taking in every detail; How beautiful she looked bathed in the combination of lantern and Traveler light, the snowflakes settling on and standing out against her black hair, how similar she was to that woman he fell in love with centuries ago. How very discomfiting it was how often she challenged his assertion that Guardians were not the same people they were before they died. 

Sasha did a one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn. Her laugh when she stuck the landing was suddenly cut short when she saw Zavala watching her. She staggered to the side, spoiling the pattern of double footprints she’d left in the snow. She gave an awkward wave. 

“Evening, Commander.” 

Zavala responded with a respectful nod and crossed over to her. “Hunter. Enjoying your first Dawning?”

She shrugged and nodded a little too vigorously. “Uhm. Yes?”

He frowned at how unconvinced she sounded. “No plans for tonight?”

“My friends are having a party.”

“Your friends.” He held her gaze. “But not you.”

She exhaled slowly and seemed to deflate. “I’m just not feeling it.” The lines on Zavala's forehead deepened, signalling a demand for an explanation. “It’s not a real festival. It’s all made up.”

“Not real?” 

“It’s cherry-picked. It’s a hodge-podge of different cultures.” She bowed her head and looked up at him through apologetic eyelashes. “It seems fake to me.”

Zavala brushed some snow off a nearby bench and gestured for her to sit. 

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked, sinking down, her shoulders hunched up as far as they’ll go.

“No,” he said,settling on the bench beside her. “Just consider the possibility that just because something isn’t real, that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” He paused to let her respond but her only answer  was knotted brows, so he continued. “Rites, rituals, festivals. They give structure and meaning to our lives. You don’t have to believe in the reality of the Dawning to believe in the truth of the message behind it.”

“Which is?” 

“How did you feel when you were first resurrected?”

“Scared. Lonely, I guess. Doesn’t everyone feel that way at first?”

“At first, yes. Being awoken, alone, without even the memory of who you once were to keep you company is a hard thing to bear. I know I felt adrift, with only my Ghost to keep me right.”

Sasha shook her head ruefully. “It’s hard to imagine you as a confused kinderguardian. You’re so-”

“- Choose your next words carefully,” he deadpanned.

“Stolid.” She grinned up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“All right. That’s an acceptable description.”

“Well I’m relieved, Commander,” she said, through soft laughter. “But what does this have to do with the Dawning?”

He smiled, allowing himself a modicum of pride in the fact that he can still make her laugh, stolid as he is. “I was scared, yes, lonely too but I found people. Made friends, formed connections. The same goes for the refugees who came to the Traveler and founded the City. The collapse was culturally devastating, so much was destroyed; Histories, languages, communities. We lost our stories, we lost those things that teach us about the world we live in. So we salvaged what we could and made new stories. We took what was true, what mattered and made new festivals to preserve them. We survived. We joined together and were stronger for it. We rebuilt. We are the light in the Darkness. That’s the story the Dawning tells. That’s what it’s for. So yes, it’s constructed. Made up, if you will.” 

“But it’s true. It's the City's truth. I get it.” She gave him a sly, sidelong glance.“So it’s not just about cookies and presents?”

“Well, no. A big part of the Dawning is about celebrating family and friendship. Cookies and presents help with that, I suppose. So go. Be with your friends. Eat drink, be merry, for tomorrow we fight.”

Sasha rose and vigorously shook her head, theatrically ridding her hair of the snowflakes that had settled there. “Wait.” She smoothed her hair out of her face and looked intently down at him. “You’re by yourself. Do you have somewhere to be? You can’t be spending the Dawning alone, not after that speech you just gave me.”

“I have somewhere to be,” He reassured her as he got to his feet.

“Oh. Well. Good.” She seemed relieved and perhaps a little disappointed too. Zavala couldn’t be sure but he wondered if she’d started forming an invitation in her head. He decided that was just egotistical wishful thinking on his part. It was safer that way. 

“Happy Dawning, Guardian,” he said with a respectful nod.

“You too, Commander.” She pivoted her foot as if turning to leave but the rest of her body didn’t follow suit. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“You always know what to say.” She shrugged, as though that were completely obvious.

“I’ve had some very good teachers.” 

If Sasha were intimidated by the intensity of his gaze, she didn’t show it. She stared back at him for a not uncomfortable couple of seconds before finally blinking several times and looking away. She drew up her hood with a sheepish smile and a mumbled, “G’night.”

Zavala didn’t move. He watched her make her way down the path, waiting, hoping for her to grace him with another glance in his direction. Amanda Holliday’s amused drawl over his comm unit eventually distracted him from his vigil. 

“So your Ghost wanted me to tell you that you’re officially late, Commander.” 

“Are you going to kill me? She was at pains to tell me you would literally kill me if I were late.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” she explained. “You’re officially late, not Zavala-late.”

“What is Zavala-late?” he started ambling down the path once Sasha was finally out of sight.

“Half an hour after the official starting time. That lets you squeeze in all those one last, one last things you always have to get done before you leave work. So you’d better get down here before your Ghost has a nervous breakdown.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon.” He turned off his comm unit and halted where the path met a patch of snow-covered grass, deciding that he had one last, one last thing to do before he went to dinner. He regarded the pristine, gleaming expanse of white with a serious expression. He glanced around furtively, looking to make sure no one else had entered Traveler’s Walk. When he was sufficiently satisfied that he was alone, he put his feet together and bunny-hopped forwards onto the snow, chuckling softly to himself. 

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 (END.)

Epilogue: 

“It’s so nice not to be bogged down with full combat armor,” Miyu chimes, the warm spring breeze kicking up flower petals and rippling the banners all around them. She spins once, her light robes flaring for good measure. She still keeps a sword tucked into her sash, but it's clear that she's far more comfortable.

Zavala hums indulgently when she returns to his side. Her fingertips dance across the back of his palm and he shuffles just the smallest bit closer, enveloping his hand with her own.

“I need to visit Tess,” She informs him, and he nods, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’d like to get Lilith a present.”

“I don’t know that Tess has anything that isn’t green and gold, Anata,” He informs her. “The Revelry’s adornments are a bit... Earthy.”

“Something that matches her optics might please her,” Miyu considers, “But I’m certain Tess will have some loud, girlish shaders, maybe left over from Crimson Days?”

“Perhaps,” He relents. “Shall we?”

Eververse isn't busy, the majority of Tess's customers have been coming later in the afternoon as opposed to mid-morning. It's unsurprising, considering the Guardians have been carrying on late into the night, celebrating the season. When they approach, Tess is reorganizing her inventory following a night of record sales. She turns when a shadow is cast over the bundle of Revelry gear she’s just placed on the shelf.

“Looking for something, Guardi- oh,” The normally shrewd businesswoman stalls as her eyes trail from the Warlock’s snow-colored eyes to the familiar red cording of her bond. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” She recovers, ignoring Zavala’s pointed look in lieu of addressing her most… interesting prospective customer.

If Miyu catches on she doesn’t show it, inquiring, “May I see what bonds you have in stock?"

Tess narrows her gaze, confused, asking pointedly, “Not happy with the one you have? It's one of a kind, you know. The Commander here was rather specific about it's every detail."

Miyu’s hackles go up, shoulders wound tight, her brows pulling together fast. She keeps any concern from bleeding into her voice. “Not at all,” She shakes her head immediately. “I want to get something for my friend. Hers took a beating on our last mission.”

“So you like yours-”

“Tess.”

"Yes." Her diamond eyes blink up to Zavala, whose gaze softens monumentally under her scrutiny. Tess could almost gag at the shift in the mood, but she's got glimmer to make, and the information she's gathering is far too good to get squeamish now.

“Anyway,” The Awoken shop-keep segues, turning back to her assorted shelves, “Are you looking for a custom design? That will take longer.”

“She changes her mind too much for me to invest in something like that,” She gently cups the intricate knot that's wrapped around her upper arm, at the bottom of her deltoid. The faintest brush of a hand at the small of her back has her looking up at Zavala for a beat, her smile soft, before regarding Tess. "Do you have anything for the Revelry that would look good with a pink shader?”

“Of course!” She huffs, indignant. “I have plenty of options for you.” She procures a box from a nearby rack of similar containers stamped with the Eververse logo. "Look these over, and I'll see what kind of Shaders I can turn up for you. How gaudy are we going?"

"As bright and shiny as we can," Miyu answers, with a delicate laugh.

With the Awoken shop-keep rummaging through the back, Zavala leans in close to look with her through the smaller boxes with Warlock Bonds that are contained neatly within the larger package. The ones at the top are intricately engraved with flower-like sigils, clearly a limited run to celebrate the inaugural Revelry. Beneath, there are others, but none seem to fit what the demure Warlock is looking for.

"Nothing caught your eye? Hang on," Tess instructs, setting down an armful of Shaders on the table beside them. "I know just what you're looking for," She calls over her shoulder. "Eva is technically selling it down the way, but I'm sure she won't mind if I help myself to one. I helped her design it, after all."

The Bond is a simple, thick band, covered with chrome finish, and features the flowery symbol of the Revelry like a projection. Miyu hums. "Yes, with the right shader, she'd love it."

"Take all the time you need to decide," Tess obliges.

Miyu turns to Zavala. "Help me," She begs, pouting, "I don't know anything about color combinations. Just that I don't like any of these."

The Commander frowns. "She likes loud, yes?" He confirms.

"And it has to be sparkly." Miyu matches him, leaning in closer to him go look down at the collection of shaders.

Tess sighs, shaking her head, watching them from the corner of her eye. Never did she think she'd see the day the Commander willingly walked the Tower with a suitor. She can admit there's something terribly endearing (almost disgustingly so) about the combination of the two of them... Although, it's a wonder he didn't commission her bond in a clashing color scheme. And if she thinks the Commander to be an authority on style, well.. Tess isn’t quite sure under which rock this particular Guardian's been living.

But, then again, who is she to judge?

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 16

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Sunsinger.

Previously

-/

Miyu looks at Tamashii, her glowing eyes flat and subdued. She takes a deep breath and exhales in a sigh that wracks her mild frame.

“You take up projects like this when you're sad,” He tells her. “Not that there's anything wrong with that, but... whatever you're doing to this robe… It looks like you're going to plug yourself into an outlet.”

She steps back and regards it with a critical eye. “It kind of does, I suppose. I've been thinking about this for a while, and its purpose is similar enough.”

“It's flame retardant, I hope?” He asks, cheekily.

A pale hand pushes him to the side, though it's not hard enough to do more than waft him gently sideways.

“You know,” He says, flitting about it once more, “It's mostly grey.”

Her eyes narrow, and her disdain is visible. “Good materials almost always come in blasé colors.”

Ghost sighs, pushing his cones out as they orbit around him, floating casually to the edge of the room - toward the entryway - and back. “Yu-mi, relax.”

She lays some intricate cording around the collar and sighs. “I can't.”

“It’s going to be okay,” He reminds her. His cones flutter carefully as he returns to her side and perches himself in the crook of her neck. “I'm with you, always. It's going to be okay.”

“I'm tired of crying,” She says thickly, patting the top of him. He doesn't need to look to know she's in tears. “Tamashii, I'm so very tired of all of it.”

“You should talk to Zavala.”

“But Ikora-”

Ghost scoffs. “Fuck Ikora.” At his Guardian's shocked reaction, he moves to hover in front of her face. “That woman is as haughty as her predecessor these days.” He drifts up and fades down, exasperated. “My student,” He growls. “She's a joke. You know that the way she's been conducting herself since Cayde died is completely inappropriate.”

“She's still my Vanguard.”

“Even so: Zavala doesn't care. He told you, point blank.”

“Still. We don't hurt the people we love,” She says, softer. She plucks her partner out of the air and cradles him close. “It's not right.”

Tamashii sighs again. “Well, what do you call this, then?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Four days, Miyu. You've been cooped up for four days. This project is an excuse. A good one, yes, but... it's still an excuse not to talk to someone who is very worried about you.”

“But, he hasn't-”

“Messaged you? Adelaide started pinging me hours after you went silent. He's worried. They thought you went off planet, or that you were upset with him.”

“I'm not!” She looks at him in surprise. “I-I didn't mean-”

Tamashii nudges her cheek. “You need to tell him what's going on. He isn't a mind reader.”

“I just - I didn't think it mattered that much to him. I'm not… not-”

“It upsets me that you think so little of yourself,” Her partner says. “You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” Tamashi sways around her. “You shine brighter than the Sun.”

“I used to!” She exclaims. “Now, all I do is melt my own fingers off!” Her eyes spark in fury. “Everyone talks about what I was capable of and how they know how I was and I’m NEVER, EVER JUST ENOUGH! Just me, Tamashii. Not ‘the Hiveslayer of Burning Lake,’ not ‘the Sunsinger,’ not ‘the Dawnblade,’ just Miyu.” Her breaths come in great heaves, her eyes wild. “I just want to be good enough. Just me. Not the idea of what I could be, not the person I was.” She looks down at her hands, clenches her fists. “Just me. As I am, right now.”

A polite, staccato rap draws her attention to the door. She looks at Tamashii, eyes narrowing.

He shrinks back, as if he's going to the door before thinking twice on the matter. “I don't mean to meddle,” He tells her, soft enough for the man on the other side of the door not to hear. “I just - you've always been good enough for me, Miyu. And the Commander has never asked for more than you were able to give. I think he's good for you.”

Miyu nods, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Is Addy pinging you?”

“I, uh,” If a Ghost could flush, she thinks he would. “They, uh, heard your… outburst.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Okay.” It does nothing to abate the flush from her cheeks or her bloodshot eyes, but she swipes beneath her eyes in an attempt to herself presentable as she moves to the door.

Not that she'd ever know, she's too busy looking at her own feet when she finally opens the barricade between them, but he too is averting his gaze. His shoulders are rounded, sullen, sad even, and he sighs when she beckons him inside.

“Would you rather I go?” He asks, sounding subdued and worn out. She wonders belatedly how late it is. “If you would like time to-”

A chance gaze up into his eyes makes her heart hurt. Tamashii is right. She's hurting him, behaving this way. “No, no. Please come in, Zavala.”

Her abode is minimalist with the exception of what might have been a dining area that she uses as a work space, so they end up facing each other on opposite sides of the couch. Zavala eyes her warily, as if any motion might frighten her into running away.

“I wanted t-”

“I owe you an-”

They both sigh, their words tripping over the other's. The Commander motions to her. “Go ahead, Miyu.”

“I’m sorry if I've upset you,” She murmurs, making sure to hold his gaze. “I wasn't ignoring you because I'm angry at you, or upset. You're wonderful,” She admits, and his eyes soften at her compliment, until she continues. “More than I deserve.”

Zavala shakes his head, gesturing between them. “What about this don't you deserve?”

She shrugs, as if that should explain everything. He levels her with a stare until she mumbles, “I really don't know.”

“Out there,” He says, gesturing to her door and the world outside it, “I cannot show favoritism or emotion. My feelings,” He concedes, “Do not matter when it comes to defending the greater good. Not my grief, nor anger, or even love.” She looks up at him, and the spark of hope in her eyes is almost too radiant to look at. “Miyu, out there, this - I cannot place you before the rest of them, no matter how I find myself wanting to. Our relationship is… important to me, but my duty must always come first. That is the path I must follow.”

Miyu looks down at her lap, at deft, large fingers that curl over her hands.

“You are special to me, Miyu. It is you who deserves more than I can give you.”

She shakes her head. “Everyone assumes they know what I need, or who I am. You are the only one - outside of my Ghost - who tries to understand. Who doesn't expect me to be someone I used to be.”

“I will admit,” He rumbles, “I am quite smitten with you as you are.” His free hand tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “What I care about, is how you feel.”

Her eyes flutter close as he smooths her hair back, his palm coming to rest on her cheek afterward. When she looks back at him, he's gazing at her in admiration and compassion. And, something… even deeper than that. She leans into his touch.

“Zavala, I-” She takes a deep breath and lets it go, collects herself. “I have feelings for you.” The left side of her lips curl up in a tiny, secret smile, and he leans forward in earnest, matching her small grin. She continues, heartfelt, “But I don't want to make things worse for you and Ikora. You've both been through a lot lately and I-”

“That isn't for you to worry about.” His tone is firm, though his fingers swipe across her cheek in a maddeningly gentle caress.

She tips her head out of his grasp. “That isn't how it works,” She says, quicksilver eyes flitting up to him, bright in the dim light of the room. “You don't get to worry about me if I don't get to worry about you.”

He looks amused at that. “Oh?” It's clear he isn't used to being chastised like this.

“I'm being serious,” She pouts, lip curling in a way that's cute, but that cuteness stops at hard eyes. “I’ve told you before: I worry about you, too. Even if I have my fair share of problems.”

The hand over hers laces their fingers, squeezing. “We all have problems,” He intones sagely. He mulls things over for a moment, before telling her, “I would not be averse to sharing some of mine, but this goes both ways.” His eyes are cool, collected. It’s as if he's brokering a deal. She suspects that’s exactly what he’s doing. “I expect you to tell me what's bothering you, to have kept you locked away for as long as you have been.”

She sighs. “I kind of did.”

“You kind of-” He repeats sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as he replays the conversation over in his mind. Cerulean eyes snap open when he figures it out. “What did Ikora say to you?”

“She was horrible,” Tamashii says, zipping over in-between them from the other room, unable to help himself.

“Easy,” His Guardian chides, her gaze stern. “Let me talk to him,” She presses. The Ghost’s shell droops a little, but Miyu nudges him gently and he settles on her shoulder. “She’s not happy,” The Warlock says once her little Light is situated. “She gave me the impression that what we’re doing - that is, you helping me figure out what’s wrong with my Light - is untoward. Selfish, on my part, both in neglecting her guidance and keeping you from your duties.”

“What about the part where she doesn’t want you to see him anymore,” Adelaide calls, joining them in the small living room area. She boops Miyu’s cheek before hovering above her Titan’s shoulder.

“I don’t think she meant it like that,” Miyu says to the white-shelled Ghost. “She didn’t mean this,” She gestures between herself and Zavala before tipping her head to the side and asking, “You don’t think she meant it like that, do you?”

“She’d have no reason to,” Zavala tells them. Gruffly, he says, “She and I are at odds. It looks as though I am turning you against her, which I’ve told you. That bothers her. That is what Shaxx told me. As for the rest, with Cayde gone-” He does not lock up much at the mention of his fallen comrade, but his voice does get softer, “Everything has become politics. The Consensus is looking for points of weakness, the Factions are looking to pit us against each other. Anything one takes from the other becomes a point of contention.”

“What has Ikora told you?” Miyu asks.

Zavala shakes his head. “About you? Nothing. It’s as she says: We rarely speak outside of Consensus meetings.”

“It isn’t as she says. She believes you to be drowning in your grief.”

“It feels like it, much of the time,” He admits.

Miyu tugs him over with surprising strength, and Adelaide takes that momentary shift to read the room and transmat away his bulky armor. She can feel the indignant sound he wants to make in his chest, but wraps her arms around him tighter, until he shifts and relaxes, half-curled on the moderately-sized couch, his head in her lap, face pressed against her thigh.

“I want you to be happy,” She whispers, fingers stroking the smooth skin of his head from crown to temple and back.

A wide palm comes to cover her knee. “I am finding it is far easier to be when I am with you.”

She gazes down at him and smiles, small and sweet. “Me too.”

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 04

A Zavala x Female Guardian work.

Summary: When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

She makes sure to get there early. Ghost is barely awake - which is saying something for a being that does not actually require sleep like she does. Quietly, carefully, she withdraws her notepad from her bag and rests it carefully atop the books he’d lent her. Her hand is cramping a bit this morning, likely from training the night before, but she ignores it as she holds her pen. It will pass. The skin is healed, the regenerated nerves just aren’t immune to the knowledge of what they’d suffered. She focuses, meditating on what she’s read in the last day or so, and waits for Zavala and his trainees to arrive.

A lot of what she’d read was philosophical. What it meant to be a Titan. What they stood for. At first, she’d believed it to be impractical to rely on such knowledge. But, as she read onward, she realized he’d chosen these texts for a reason. He was hoping for her to find a commonality.

Light could be - and often was - measured in terms of enemies vanquished, in the amount of time the Guardian can manifest the pinnacle of their bond to the Traveler. She knows her benchmarks, and clearly he believes she’s measured them (she has). It was incredibly flattering, she felt, for him to care as he did. Not to say that he didn’t have some connection to her, being the leader of the Vanguard, but even so. The fact that he’d had a short conversation with her and still managed - despite his schedule - to select books for her to read meant a lot.

She’d joked with Ghost that she must be pathetic if one person being nice meant such a great deal to her, that maybe she needed to get out more. She didn’t miss the sad twitch of his cones. Miyu knows he’s worried, and this isn’t something that gets fixed with hugs and conversation. They’ve talked themselves in circles about her Light. She needs to find a way to fix it. For Ghost, for herself, for everyone else who is counting on her - whether they realize it or not.

In the course of her thoughts on the subject, she’s considered the liability she is for teammates on strikes. She could, in an emergency, draw up the necessary power - she hopes - for Dawnblade in its entirety. But it would maim her, easily, if not worse. She’d be useless after that. And in a Darkness Zone… it was suicide. A last resort.

At last, Zavala emerges from one of the training corridors, eight Titans in tow. Three women, based on their builds, two exo males, and one very tall, slender Awoken male followed the Vanguard closely. Two others walked further behind the main group. Based on their measured, confident gait, and the gear that looked a bit higher quality than that of the others, she guessed they might not be as new as the rest.

The Titans’ Vanguard immediately set about making them work through a series of drills - warm-ups - to get the blood flowing. His eyes cant up to her, and she nods to him. His face was impassive, unreadable, and he returns his gaze to the rest of the group after a single blink.

Afterward, he begins discussing their connection to the Void. “The Void’s voracity,” He imparts, voice carrying loud enough for her to hear, “While certainly a factor to consider, is not nearly as demanding within us as it is in Warlocks and Hunters. It does, however, require a clear mind and true intent to wield, all the same. Even if your resolve is not to care how many fall at your feet,” Zavala continues. “You must become impenetrable. Your body a shield, your Light a wall. A fortress in which your allies may seek refuge from the storm.”

It takes time for the Light to well inside a Guardian. While Zavala gives them that time, he calls upon his Traveler-given ability. Cool, lavender-violet light surrounds him in a bubble of unstoppable Light. She can feel the cool ripple of Void energy, even as far away from him as she is. It’s different from the handful of times she’s seen Ikora utilize her Nova Bomb. The hunger that the Void feels is muted, as if he is doing to the Void what the Void does to others. Feeding off of it, and it off of him. A cyclic event, she hypothesizes, jotting down a brief summary of it.

The hazy-cool pulse of it makes whatever he says to his students impossible for her to hear, but she watches with interest as he stops bracing the dome of light and allows it to simply exist. She is certain that newer, unsteady Titans would likely have to brace the entire time, which is effective as a defensive maneuver, but for an experienced Titan - and from her experience working with some of them - it is actually a small pocket of space summoned to give them an advantage.

He shows them what it feels like to be shielded within the Ward, stepping out of it and back in with each of them in turn. An overshield - she knew about this perk of the Titan’s ability. They all radiate a similar pale purple when they step inside, making their forms look extremely distorted from her outsider’s point of view.

Later, after exhausting them with calling upon their own fledgling abilities, he invites them all to attempt to break his shield.

He stands inside it plainly, arms at his sides. Does not move to attack. Does not attempt to defend. A cockier man would sit down within it and close his eyes, wait for it to be over. Maybe even make a snarking comment at the fact that there was not even a ripple in his Ward, that it sustained minimal damage. Zavala does not. When they are all panting, overwhelmed by their leader’s great strength and resolve, he encourages them to take a break, water themselves and then join him in meditating on what they have learned before returning to the Tower to begin their day.

Miyu follows along, returning to the bleachers instead of standing beside one of the structural supports, allowing breath to fill her lungs and her mind to clear. Meditation is centering, and she allows herself to reflect on her questions, on Solar and Void, their burning demanding need to consume and feed.

Feed the void and it grows colder. Numbs. Consumes.

Feed a solar fire and it grows hotter. Burns. Consumes.

She repeats the mantra until she drifts away.

When her eyes opens, she sees a candle. One singular light against the darkness all around her.

“What can one light do,” A warped voice asks, “When faced with such overwhelming darkness?”

The question is rhetorical, she thinks. The Warlock commits the sight to memory and chooses to observe. She approaches the candle hovering in midair before her.

“The Light lives in all places, in all things.”

Miyu repeats the words. Somewhere. She thinks she’s heard this somewhere.

“You can block it, even try to trap it,” It continues, “But the Light WILL find its way.”

There is a pause, as the candle’s light grows, crackling and spitting as the flames give way to a roaring fire. The twisted voice softens, and the flames consume her but do not hurt. It has been so long since the fire of her Light has not burned.

“Even in you, though broken you may seem.”

Her eyes flash open and Ghost is hovering in front of her, looking concerned. “You were mumbling,” He says. “You never mumble when you meditate. What-”

Miyu’s chest heaves as her eyes widen, her words rushing out quietly. “I think I... had a vision.”

“You what?” Ghost stares at her. “About what?”

“The Light,” His Guardian says, voice low but giddy. “Candles. Bonfires. It’s - I don’t know how to explain it.”

“We should talk to Ikora,” The small AI tells her. “She will know what to-” Ghost shrugs his shell and groans. “You’re shaking your head no. Why are you shaking your head no?”

“I don’t - She isn’t who I want to talk to about this,” Miyu whispers. “Can we talk to Zavala instead? He said he’d answer my questions, anyway.”

Ghost bobs up and down, thinking. “I suppose… but, if he suggests talking to Ikora, you should.”

Miyu scoffs. “You know he will.”

“I do,” Ghost agrees. “But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t get both of their opinions, right?” He understands and agrees with her reservations about Ikora, but there’s no doubt that she is the most knowledgeable person in the Tower and best equipped to discuss this with his Guardian. “If you don’t agree with her, that’s fine, Yu-mi. But you should hear her out. She is your Vanguard.”

“Fine,” The Warlock agrees, reluctantly.

A small drone and a flash of light alerts them to the presence of another Ghost. “Hi,” She says, in a child-like, sweet voice as she swivels to regard them both. “Zavala wanted me to let you know that he’s been called away. He said that you should check in with him later, if you have a moment. When I figure out when he also has a moment,” She says in a child’s version of sarcasm,” I’ll ping your Ghost.”

Miyu nods, a bit caught off guard by the tone of the rather formidable man’s Ghost. She’d expected it to be an icy, frigid female, or a similarly reserved male. Instead of voicing such a thought, the Warlock simply insists, “That is fine.” The Ghost spins and prepares to transmat back to her Guardian in reply. “Um, Ghost, I-” The little bot turns back to her, single eye blinking curiously. “Thank him for me, please. This was helpful.”

“I will!” She chirps, bobbing excitedly as she departs.

When she’s gone, Miyu’s partner says, “Huh. That was not what I was expecting.”

“Me neither,” The Warlock agrees.

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 15

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Sunsinger.

Previously

-/

Nothing changes, and yet, everything does.

The Commander himself is incredibly subtle. She sees him only a touch more than usual - an extra minute here there after a training session, a late night meal in the quiet of his office, taking the long way back to one of their apartments. He does not push her - and very rarely do they engage in anything that would be frowned upon. Certainly no trysts in the office, but a chaste kiss at the corner of her lips if there’s no one around to see, or a hand that barely brushes the small of her back as he passes. She’s as naive and delicate as she is old, her Ghost says (only when they’re alone), and it translates well into blushes that make her cheeks feel like fire.

The handful of times they spend alone, away from the Tower, in the hazy, ethereal glow of the Traveler, however… Those are something different entirely. Where she is meek, she becomes bold, hands skirting over taut muscles and fingers making quick work of well-worn braces and buckles. Where she felt doubt she radiates confidence, bright eyes warm and gentle, her advances becoming more and more sure.

For his part, Zavala does not mind, for the more he learns, the more he’s transfixed by the bloom of this woman into someone he desperately wishes to know everything about. There’s more to her than the gentle, timid creature he sees in the waking hours. And every day, he uncovers a little bit more of her that she keeps sequestered away.

It’s a few weeks after their discovery of the spark between them that Ikora sends for Miyu. The wayward Warlock follows her into her study, a dusty, well-worn nook that looks comparable to the Speaker’s quarters in the old Tower.

“How are you faring,” Her mentor asks, her voice mellow and cool. “You have not checked in with me recently.”

Miyu dips her head, but looks up into the other woman’s eyes as she speaks. “About the same,” She admits. “I have not made any significant progress.”

In that same breezy, unimpressed tone, she continues, “And your work with Zavala bears no fruit as well?”

Ikora’s eyes narrow at the breath that lodges itself in Miyu’s throat. Beside the pale-skinned Awoken, her Ghost spins his segments and watches his Guardian carefully from a respectable distance.

“I did not hear you,” Ikora says, though she knows full well her subordinate has not spoken.

Miyu flinches at the curt tone. Though she has no recollection of what being a child is like, she suspects how she feels now is close to it. “No, Ikora.”

“I had presumed,” She turns her back, wrapping her hands around the opposite elbow, “That you would consider that you are under my jurisdiction. My student. However, perhaps that was not made abundantly clear.” She paces a few steps before turning back around. “Do you understand the current political state?”

Dark eyebrows furrow. “I don’t follow.”

“Certainly you’ve heard some of what is going on in the Tower, if you haven’t heard it directly from the Commander,” Ikora grouses. “It is no secret-”

Miyu shakes her head. “Ikora, really, that’s-”

“I’m sure he’s plenty kind to you,” She says, easy. “He has always liked taking broken things under his wing.”

Tamashii trembles in rage, his optic narrowing. “Ikora-”

“Enough.” One teal and two amber eyes direct to the pale-faced woman. Her eyes are as hard as they are bright, the spectral glow under her skin well defined in her anger. “What the Commander is helping me with is personal and none of your business. Have I not done as you asked?”

“I asked you to cease this nonsense. You are not a Titan. You are a Warlock. Do you hear me? I am who you seek for issues with your Light.”

Miyu looks up, mustering the least offensive gaze she can. “With all due respect-”

“I’ll not have any more argument on the subject. Whatever lessons, whatever you think it is that’s transpiring between you is over.”

Miyu’s face goes blank. “Is there something you wanted of me, then?”

“Osiris will see you in two weeks’ time.”

“Fine.”

Ikora watches her closely, dropping her defensive stance in lieu of tucking her hands in the long sleeves of her robes. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t doubt that Zavala is trying to help you. He is a good man at heart. However, I know what is in your best interest. Like you, I’ve had-”

“I don’t believe you do,” Miyu says finally. Her fists are clenched. “Visions or not, you have absolutely no idea what I’ve gone through.”

“Believe what you will,” Ikora says, strangely aloof. “Regardless, Osiris will see you in two weeks. Prepare accordingly. As for the rest, I expect you to follow my orders.”

“We’ll see,” She growls scathingly under her breath, turning her back on her Vanguard in a whirl of dark robes.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” Miyu says louder, equally detached. Ikora hears everything. Tamashii watches her carefully. She gives him an inscrutable look and straightens. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“There will be consequences,” Ikora warns her. “The Tower is uneasy, as it stands. I am not the only one you're making look bad, you know. Did you know they think he's turning you against me?” She waits for a beat, but there is no reply. “I see,” She croons, as if Miyu’s replied and she’s found it interesting.

Miyu stays still for a moment, but she does not turn back around. She knows, alright, but the less information she gives Ikora, the better. So, she allows her Vanguard to taunt her.

“You know, but still you persist. I’m not so foolish as to miss those feelings you wear like a coat of arms. If you won’t do it for me, I wonder: would you do it for him?” She calls mockingly, as the other Warlock takes her leave.

-/

She's been ignoring his messages for three and a half days. He looks at his tablet more frequently - and then mentally rebukes himself for doing so. She is a Guardian. He knows that she too has much on her plate...

Except, he's removed her from active duty.

...And, any requests for her to be deployed anywhere have to go through him.

Adelaide tells him not to worry. She forgets that he sleeps very little and can hear the sound of her pinging Tamashii, even when she's trying to be quiet about it. Part of him wonders if perhaps - based on what appears to be his partner's lack of success - she's been sent to see Osiris without his approval. He would have approved, without question. He's told her that.

On the afternoon of the fourth day without contact, his little Light hovers delicately in front of him. He lifts his gaze up to her optic, his brow raised.

“She hasn't left her flat,” Adelaide says softly.

Bright blue eyes blink back, one elegantly sculpted brow arching. “Adelaide-”

Her segments spin. She sighs. “Something happened. Tamashii wouldn't tell me.”

The Commander remains silent for a long moment.

“Zavala,” She presses a fin against the lower stripe of the ice blue tattoo on the left side of his face. “Tamashii can't convince her to come out. But we think maybe you could.”

“If her Ghost cannot-”

“She's not in love with him,” Addy presses. “Not like that. Not like she is with you.”

“Adelaide!”

“Oh, come onnnn.” She hangs back and shrugs. “You'd have to be blind not to see it.”

Zavala sighs. He does see it. He's been trying not to, but… some things are hard to ignore. It is very early. This - it isn't some defined relationship. It's companionship and comfortable and - and -

“I know you're in love with her, too.”

The gentle ripple of starlight under her skin gets more abrupt when he's jolted by his Ghost's easy-going, child-like tone making such a serious assessment. It becomes almost hostile in nature, a combination of surprise and hot embarrassment. He isn't ashamed of what she's saying; It's been centuries since he's come to terms with being an emotional man. While he might try to hide it with walls taller than those around the City…

Adelaide sees straight through him, every single time.

He slides a finger over her top cone, the one that's centered over her optic. “After I finish for the day,” He says. “Let him know I'm coming?”

“I already did,” She coos, cones tilting toward him and spinning as she warbles.

Zavala chuckles. “Of course you have,” He intones in that smooth, rich tone. She's a balm for his ever-fraying nerves. “Thank you, Addy.”

She bumps his forehead lovingly in reply.

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 01

A Zavala x Female Guardian work.

Summary: When the Traveler's Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

She is not a loud Guardian. There is far more to be learned from observing and experimenting on her own than there is from dancing beneath the Traveler, she thinks. Not that those solo activities help her make friends. The few she has message her mostly from their assignments abroad. Fine by her, she's okay with the occasional friend visiting every couple cycles, because she enjoys her solitude... for the most part, at least.

It's a strange, beautiful thing, she thinks, thoughts always redirecting when she looks up at the Traveler, glowing dimly in the light. She wishes she had a better analogy or something more poetic, but sometimes, simple words said enough. Her fingers curl around the railing and as her eyes drift closed, her Ghost materializes at her side.

“It's a lovely evening,” He says. “I am happy you're outside to enjoy the cool breeze.”

Pale lips turn up into a smile, and she offers him her shoulder with a tiny wiggle.  He settles upon it without a fuss as several others pass by them.

“Grey,” One of them shouts, “Isn't it past your bedtime?” Another makes a more disparaging comment about her skills, but she does not rise to the bait, instead keeping her gaze focused straight ahead after the initial turn in the direction of the voices. They have no idea that she is far older than they, that she's fought battles they couldn't dream of.

Things, for her, have just been… different, since the war.

“I hate that they treat you that way,” Ghost tells her. “You deserve better, Miyu.”

“It's not a big deal. They never bother with me for long.”

Ghost sighs. “Yu-mi,” He nudges her skin just above her neck guard with the cones of his shell, “Your fists are clenched so hard on the railing I think you could bend the iron.”

Miyu promptly releases it, the pale white lights under her skin swirling quicker in her embarrassment. “Oops.”

“Just tell them you don't like being called Grey. It's okay not to like it.”

“But then they double down on commentary,” She counters. “At least Grey doesn't sound like an insult.”

“If those Guardians - and their Ghosts - don't notice that you tense up every time they call you that name, they're horrible at their jobs, too. They enjoy getting a rise out of you.”

The thing about Miyu is that she's not a very good Guardian. Doesn't enjoy the Crucible anymore, isn't covert enough to be one of Ikora's hidden, and always gets thrown the tasks no one wants to do in Strikes. She could be a leader, knows ways to make things go more smoothly, but… no one besides Ghost listens to her. Sometimes she swears it's like she speaks but no one can hear her. She knows they're just not listening, and in the last few centuries, since coming to the Tower, she's learned to let it go.

Still, sometimes it nagged at her.

“I wish you would stick up for yourself, just a little. Being assertive isn't wrong, and if you're used to them being rude, it won't matter that you speak up, will it?” That last bit hurts him to say, but it's true. The other Guardians are either outwardly rude, of ignore her entirely. He isn't sure which he feels is better.

For him, though, she's always been willing to try. The sweet little robot that's been guiding her since she woke up somewhere in the Far East, who has always been there for her. Her partner and best - truest - friend. “Fine. The next person who calls me Grey, I'll ask to call me by my real name. Deal?”

“You should be doing this for you,” Ghost says. “Not for me. But,” He sighs, “Fine. Deal.”

-/

The situation arises a few days later, in the early evening. She's making her way through the Courtyard when it happens.

“Grey.”

Her hands ball into fists, and she forces herself to breathe. A Guardian sticks up for themselves against far bigger foes - she's fought wars against enemies all over the system. She had thought about how this would go. She was just going to politely insist that wasn't her name, and everything would be fine.

“That is NOT my name!”

Well, she thinks, as the words leave her voice in a scathing-loud, bitter, angry tone, maybe Ghost was onto something when he said he knew it bothered her. At least she hadn’t screamed it out, just raised her voice a little. She whirls around to see who she's just blasted, and it's like the ground has been pulled out from under her, any semblance of an apology on her lips falling to pieces.

“Oh, no. I'm, um - shit!”

The most elegant eyebrows in the Tower arch upward, silently regarding her with a cool gaze, waiting her out.

She sighs, and her Ghost comes to what she hopes is her rescue. “What did you do now?” He teases as she hangs her head. He swivels, sees the Commander and swirls around in a defeated beat. “Figures, the one time you defend yourself, you manage to pick someone important. You just can't catch a break, can you, Yu-mi?”

“Yu-mi?” Commander Zavala looks between the two, curiously now.

“Oh, uh, actually, it’s Miyu,” Ghost offers helpfully. “Her name is Miyu.”

Zavala straightens, brows furrowing as he thinks. Her eyes watch the motions they make. They're very expressive, and incredibly shaped. He says, “Ikora asked for you by that name. Grey.”

She shrugs feeling soundly defeated, but Ghost interjects, “I suspect it's just easier to call her by a moniker everyone knows. My Guardian - Miyu - hates it.”

The Vanguard Commander frowns at that. “Have you told her?”

When she shrugs a second time, she all but plucks Ghost out of the air where he's spinning beside her. He's getting worked up. It isn't worth it, she thinks. “It doesn't matter,” Miyu says quietly. Her voice is smooth, like beach glass. “I don't want to make waves. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I promised my Ghost I would try to be more assertive and instead I was rude.”

Zavala braces her shoulders when she tries to sidestep him and escape his scrutiny. In his typical, overly polite way he replies, “Nonsense. It can prove difficult to stand up for oneself, if you do not usually do so. I apologize for making you uncomfortable, Miyu.”

Her head shoots up at the sound of her name, her glowing silver eyes meeting his ethereal azure ones. She blinks, and the smallest hint of a smile graces her face. The momentary embarrassment of feeling like a Kinderguardian is forgotten. “I guess we're even then, huh?”

He chuckles at that, a rarity in recent times. “Indeed.” His lip quirks just the tiniest bit upward it isn't a smile, but it looks positive. He asks, “By the way, your name, Miyu… what does it mean?”

This time she does smile, while her Ghost trills proudly, “I chose it. It means a gentle truth, in one of the old languages.”

“Pre-Collapse Japanese,” Zavala muses aloud. His knowledge impresses them both. “You have an interesting Ghost.”

“He's wonderful,” Miyu breathes, far more comfortable talking about him than herself. If Ghost could blush though, she's sure he would. He settles for making a few droning beeps that sound rather adorable to her ears. “I'm very lucky.”

“Yes,” Zavala agrees. “The bond between ourselves and our Ghosts is one of the most important we can have as Guardians.” She nods her agreement, and he continues. “Anyway. Miyu.” She stands at attention, sensing the transition to business. “Ikora had asked me to send for you.”

The confusion that crosses her features is gone before it ever truly settles. Reading the mood in the Tower as of late makes this particular outcome surprising, but she nods. “I'll go to her now,” Miyu says. “I hope…” She looks at him, a touch uncomfortable and clearly not willing to speak out of line for the second time in their interaction. “Well, I'll see how she is for myself, won't I?”

“She should be mild,” Zavala tells her. His cool professionalism never wavers, despite the rumors that have run rampant lately. “I believe you had research she was interested in?”

“Uh, yeah,” She mildly stresses. “Research. I should - well, yeah. I'll go see her now. Thank you, Commander.” This time, she goes to walk around him and he allows it.

“Miyu.”

The Warlock turns back. “Yes, Commander?”

“A name is a powerful thing. You mustn't be afraid to assert yourself.”

“I'll try.”

He nods once before carrying on.

Ghost hovers above her shoulder. “Well, that could have gone worse,” He tells her. “Maybe next time you should look before you tell someone off?”

She covers her face with her hands, embarrassment catching up to her. “I can't believe I did that!” She moans into her hands as they head back to the Bazaar to see her Vanguard, feeling like the biggest Kinderguardian in the universe.

[Next]

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 12

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Sunsinger.

Previously

-/

Miyu slashes swift and hard into the meat of a Hunter’s chest piece, the force of the blow throwing them back into the crumbling concrete wall behind them.  She flicks the sword and shoves it back into its sheath quickly, reaching for the scout rifle on her back.

A Titan surprises her, whipping around the corner in a blur of sparking blue arc energy. He throws her back a good ten meters, but it isn’t enough to put her down. She slams her fists to the ground, feeling the burn of her Light at her fingertips. She breathes hard, and suddenly the Titan is pinning her, a knee heavy in her abdomen, gauntlet-covered hands wrapped around her neck.

She burns.

The Striker yelps, but she holds his wrists with blazing fingers, and rolls them with knowledge that comes from beyond the edges of her memory. They both burn in the strange Solar fire that’s half grenade, half Lightburn.

Shaxx pulls her from the match. She rezzes mid-transmat, both Guardian and Ghost caught by surprise. Miyu lands hard on her rear, glaring up at the emotionless helmet of the one-horned Crucible Handler.

“For fuck’s sake, Mimi,” He says, looking at her charred gauntlets. “What the hell was that about?”

She dips her head, but her chin juts out. In others it would be proud, but on her it’s an indicator that she’s furious. “Not dying?”

“You just died. Try again.”

“He was killing me.”

“You could have rolled him, then reached your blade.”

“You’ve done nothing but damage yourself today. Usually you are far more careful.” He motions to a crate beside where Arcite oversees the matches Shaxx is too busy to tend to. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You came from the Bazaar,” He tells her, not that it’s a secret. “What did Ikora say to you?”

Miyu rolls her eyes, and Shaxx - while irritated with her - is happy she’s not behaving like a wet kitten, at least. “Nothing. I have to get going, anyway. I have plans for lunch.”

At that, the Titan freezes, caught off guard. “What?”

She slinks away, more like a broody Nightstalker than a Warlock. He wants to think on it some more - that’s a shift in events - but Arcite points out a ten-kill streak on one of the monitors. The Crucible waits for no one.

-/

He can see the intensity of her rage without her saying a word. She’s practically vibrating, contents under pressure. He dips his head to regard her, blinking pointedly in her direction. She looks at him and closes the door to his office behind her.

“What’s on your mind,” He asks by way of greeting.

She sighs. “I don’t want to ruin our lunch.” She sighs. “We’ll talk about it afterward.”

“You won’t ruin our lunch.” He slips an arm around her, guides her to the table upon which their lunch is waiting, cutlery, take out containers lined up with effort. Her stomach rumbles, as if to prove his point. “I invited you so that we could catch up.”

The Warlock nods reluctantly, and he pulls out her chair for her. It wins him a smile, puts a heavy crack in her anger, and helps set her to rights. “How have you been?”

“More or less the same,” He tells her. “The Consensus is still asking me who the Hunter Vanguard is, and the Hunters are still saying it’s Colonel.”

She chuckles, though he gives her an exasperated look. “She’d look great in a cloak, I’m sure.”

“Don’t help their cause,” He teases gently. They dig into their meal - she’s infinitely grateful for the lean meat and noodles, Crucible always does a number on her. The silence is comfortable until Zavala hedges, “So, what happened?”

She sets down her chopsticks, folding her hands under her chin and resting her elbows on the table. “I spoke with Ikora today.”

His eyes darken. “That bad?”

“She’s upset that I withheld my vision from her.”

“But you-”

“‘If you wish to be heard, speak louder,’” Miyu says in a scathing mock of her Vanguard mentor. “‘Perhaps if you were to assert yourself, I would be less inclined to push you away.’”

Zavala deadpans. “You went to her multiple times.”

“Twenty three, to be exact.”

Zavala frowns, chewing thoughtfully. “Did she have any input?”

Miyu nods, levelling him with a deadpan stare. “Kind of. She’s contacting Osiris.”

“What?”

“Yup,” Miyu huffs at the Commander’s reaction to his predecessor. “Apparently her visions were similar to mine, but she wants an expert opinion. Don’t be surprised when she tries to send me to Mercury.”

“Miyu, even though I dislike-”

“If you tell me I should go see him, I’m leaving,” Miyu tells him, eyes hard. “I know you want to help me, but we’re of similar opinion when it comes to him. Don’t pretend for my sake that you’re alright with me seeing him.”

The Commander exhales, leaning against the back of his chair. “I’m not, but you come before my reservations.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. It’s bold for her, but she’s become more comfortable with him lately. “I appreciate that. But I remember when he was our Vanguard Commander.” Blue eyes blink at her in surprise. She smirks at him, “Told you I’m not that young. Anyway, the only lessons I’ve learned from him are how not to be - both as a Warlock, and as a person.”

He sighs. “Miyu, it’s your call.” He looks away. “My personal opinion, or with those you come into contact with should have no bearing on yours.”

“I know, but I value your opinion, Zavala.” She squeezes the hand she’s still holding on the other side of the table before releasing it.

“If Ikora - even if I - do not repeat this -” She nods, eyes serious, “Am not on the best of terms with her, she is a skilled Warlock.” He levels her with a firm gaze. “She would not consider Osiris if she herself were not stumped. You are a Sunsinger and he is one of the best to ever exist.”

“He is a heretic and a piss-poor defender of humanity.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Zavala concedes. “He is egoistic and selfish, and personally, I do not condone his behavior. However, neither did Ikora. It is not an easy task to contact him. She would not go out of her way for his input unless she felt there was no other choice.”

Miyu sighs. “If he’ll speak to her, I’ll listen. But I have no interest in going to see him.”

“If that’s the only way?”

“It’s not.” White eyes burn. “We both know it’s not.”

“We both hope it’s not,” Zavala corrects. “Think carefully, Miyu. Dealing with someone you dislike is a small price to pay. Do not discount anything that might help you.”

The Warlock sighs harder than before and looks down into her lunch. “I’ll try.”

“So,” He muses, lighter, “You’re far older than I gave you credit for.”

“Old,” She scoffs, without any malice behind it. “I will throw this piece of broccoli at you, Commander,” She quips back, lightly. “You’re old too, you know.” She flushes at the playfulness of her comment, but his lip pulls to the right to signal he finds the humor in it, which allows her to relax.

“I would prefer if you did not,” He deadpans. “I have a feeling you would not prefer to be assaulted by this carrot.”

She laughs so hard she snorts, and Zavala follows suit. By the time she leaves his office, she doesn’t feel nearly as angry.

“Thank you,” Miyu calls in her airy voice, lingering in the doorway before she goes. “I feel better now.”

“It was my pleasure,” The Commander says, warmly. “We’ll talk soon.

Golden brown eyes watch as the docile Awoken hovers in the doorway for an extra second before flitting away, a spring in her step that was not present hours before. The pale-skinned Warlock might have feel better, but Ikora is absolutely furious.

“What is he angling at,” She wonders aloud. Ophiuchus, her ghost, the only being around, does not answer her. She follows the Sunsinger until she leaves the Courtyard - which is not what Ikora had told her to do, but she has bigger issues, so it’s actually a help - and heads to the only other person who might know what in the Traveler’s name is happening here.

He’s barking into the comms that feed directly into the arena - Legion’s Gulch, at the moment. She steps in front of him, imposing for a woman who barely reaches his shoulder.

“Shaxx,” She demands, eyes sparking, nostrils flaring. “I need a moment.”

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 02

A Zavala x Female Guardian work.

Summary: When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

[Previously]

Ikora always wants more.

By research, Ikora actually means to discuss Miyu stopping hers. Focusing on more important matters. The Reef. Uldren. Miyu wants nothing to do with any of it, and that is why she had willingly offered her services detaining escapees from the Prison of Elders despite not actually wanting to do that at all.

It gives Miyu time to actually complete some more secretive research on the side: why her Light is messed up. Why it feels like when she received hers back, after the war, it felt like it belonged to someone else, the person she used to be but wasn’t any more, coiling uneasily beneath her skin. She’s gone to Io. The Shard. Both under the guise of hunting escapees, but also to seek answers.

Neither place does and very day, the solar sword is more difficult to grasp, wings of flame beyond her reach. Telling her Vanguard that didn’t work. Ikora didn’t understand. The Void has always been at her fingertips, for as long as she’s been connected to the Traveler. With that in mind, Miyu attempts to adapt her argument, listens to Ikora insisting that she push herself and hopes that eventually either her own efforts or Ikora’s reasoning pays off.

Ikora still demands an answer, though. Wants Miyu to give her something. So, Miyu presents her personal thoughts. Based on her research, she finds that her connection to the Light is strongest while meditating or calling upon her abilities in the midst of a healing rift. Ikora is not impressed. Miyu isn’t expecting her to be. She tells Ikora the truth - that she does not believe offensive maneuvers are her true calling, not anymore. It’s something she’s believed for a while now. She can hear Ghost cheering her on in her mind for being honest - for expressing her opinion. That was rare. Miyu hated doing so, especially when she knew it was going to be an unpopular one.

Ikora, in response, cites battles, strikes, accolades. Ikora always measures a Warlock’s worth in accolades.

Miyu measures a person - Guardian, Human, Exo, Awoken, whatever - in terms of character. Heart. Sometimes she thinks that’s why she just doesn’t fit in with her more intellectual colleagues, aside from not being sneaky and clever like the Hidden or having half the honors or titles that Ikora’s top-tier Warlocks have. Put a sword in her hands and Miyu can cut down almost anyone or anything. But have her infiltrate a group and act a certain way, play a role of some sort? She’ll fail right away.

She is not an actress. She’s a Guardian. And to her knowledge, the definition of a Guardian is someone who protects. There has to be some merit in that, she’s told Ghost, and he - her best friend and most honest critic - agrees.

Ikora - Miyu thinks - must not think much of her. Still, the Void user pulls her back from her thoughts with praise. “Grey,” She says, “You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You need to push yourself harder. Do not give up. I know you are better than this.”

It’s times like this that she wonders. Does Ikora know what her name is, really? Does Ikora even care? Miyu is beginning to think she’s just a faceless person, a puzzle that is challenging and therefore worth the more esteemed woman’s time. Ikora gave her hardly any face-time before the war, before she had these issues.

Regardless, the younger Warlock attempts to retain her composure. “Thank you. However, I would like to pursue my research on a more defensive Solar ability,” Miyu says, barely a whisper of defiance. “I believe it is possible.”

Ikora shakes her head. “Leave shielding for the Titans. A Warlock’s rift is not meant to protect. It is meant to heal or empower, and only briefly. Attempting to augment it is a waste of Light better spent on dispatching our enemies.”

Miyu sighs, but nods. “What would you have me do, then?”

The Warlock Vanguard crosses her arms, turns her back to Miyu and looks out at the City. “Take the most difficult Strikes and Patrols I can give you. Challenge yourself and you will find yourself calling upon your abilities more. If that does not help you to realign yourself with your Light,” She trails off, eyes narrowing on a fixed point beyond the horizon, “I will explore other paths. Your research is unnecessary at this time. If you require a project, I will send you to collect information from the Reef.”

The younger Warlock bows. “I understand,” Miyu says, schooling her features into something blank, and trying to sound collected and grateful, not detached and indifferent. “Thank you.”  This won’t help. She’s already tried this, Miyu thinks, but tries not to let it bleed into her demeanor.

“You’re welcome, Grey. You may go.”

Miyu turns her back to Ikora Rey, but waits until she is nearly to Banshee’s stall in the main portion of the Tower to let the frustration show on her face, a very quiet growl escaping her. Ghost appears at her side immediately. “I can’t believe she wouldn’t listen to you,” He says, sounding even more irritated than Miyu is. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes to her. “But I think you should keep working on it.”

“So do I.”

Ghost bobs, spinning around her in a wide circle of disbelief. “You do?”

“Yes.” Silver eyes cant over toward her Ghost’s single teal one. “I’ll do what she asks, and continue my research on my own. What else can I do?”

He sighs. “I know. I just wish it had gone differently.” He taps her cheek. “If you could have convinced her to watch you summon your-”

“We asked that the last two times and she refused. It’s okay, Ghost. I’m used to it being just you and me.” She reaches up to cup his small being with her hands, and holds him close. “Sometimes, I think it’s better that way.”

Ghost nuzzles against her abdomen in a return of their improvised hug, and wonders not for the first time if she considers leaving. He knows she doesn’t feel like she belongs here, that she’s trying so hard to fit into the roles dictated by social norms. Most of her fellow Guardians hurt her with their lack of understanding, their taunts. Most of them do not know how it feels to have their Light feel foreign to them. Still, she remains as gentle as she can, does her best to be kind to everyone she meets. It’s no wonder they don’t live within the confines of the Tower. The City folk are far kinder to his wayward Guardian than her own brothers and sisters. It’s a shame.

-/

Three days later, news hits the Tower. Cayde-6's killer has been eliminated. Almost everyone is celebrating. Miyu uses the general population's distraction to her advantage, slipping out to the training grounds recently restored near the base of the wall. There should be free space for her to experiment unseen, a rarity in the middle of the day.

She discards her gauntlets and lets the heavy, flame-retardant sleeves of her robes hang down over her palms. Pulls her sword from its sheath at her side. Ghost flutters around her, cones spinning silently in anticipation a safe distance away. She drops to her starting position, kicks off.

What she does not have in stealth or strength, she makes up with in skill. Some of it, Ghost believes, may have been written upon her from her first life, muscle memory and reflexes allowing her to pick up swordplay far more easily than ever anticipated. But not all of it. She worked hard to hone her skills, consulted archives and videos, took every ounce of criticism to heart.

He enjoys watching her dance throughout the training arena with her blade slashing out, parrying imaginary blows, each move fluid yet moving with unbelievable discipline and precision. However, he knows it will come soon. Can feel the tingle of Light, the increasing heat. She’s going to try without the rift. She always does, first. When her mind is clear, when she’s reached that place of blank-white concentration.

The Warlock sheaths her physical blade in a motion like lightning, before reaching out for the heat in the air, calling upon the Light in her soul to manifest the sword that answers the call of her heart. It always looks so effortless from afar.

It isn’t, though. He watches her throw the first one, scorching the dirt. Watches her call upon the second. Watches the flames spiral up her arm, paying no heed to her robes. Watches her grit her teeth and give form to the energy in her hand. This one doesn’t go as far, doesn’t track like the first.

The third fizzles into ash, blackens her fingertips. She screams, drops to her knees, slams her fists into the dirt. He doesn’t approach. He knows she wants to feel this, to commit it to memory - as if she hasn’t already, he thinks, but allows it to continue - and use it to fuel her. It’s how Ikora believes she will improve. Miyu doesn’t believe in it, but she tries anyway. He knows she’d try anything, to feel like herself again.

This is torture, but it’s therapeutic. She needs to let it out, to blaze, like the fiery powers locked inside her, refusing to come out the way they’re supposed to. The way they always had, before the Cabal had ripped them away by force.

Any changes in her personality, since the war, have been subtle. He notices the way her swordhand twitches after she lets the blades burn through her nerves. Can tell that where she might say ten words once, she now says six or five. Notices that where she’d try to be social once in a while, it takes a great deal of encouragement to convince her to approach a friendly face.

Ghost’s cones push out and then back in, spiraling around him in surprise as someone appears on his radar. Someone approaching, quickly. At a run. Miyu is pushing herself up, the rush of a healing rift spiraling out from beneath her. She doesn’t notice.

Another attempt is made to call upon the sword. She growls and braces her sword hand - gripping her left wrist with her right hand. Flames spit and spiral up both arms this time, fighting for purchase against the healing properties of the rift.

“Mi- Miyu?”

The small AI turns at the sound of the familiar voice. Oh, no.

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