#Destiny Fanfiction

[slightlyanxi0us]

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

#look at my boy #i love him #MY SON #destiny 2 #omg #destiny #destiny the game #d2 #destiny guardians #destiny fanfiction #destiny oc #destiny ao3 #destiny hunter #destiny exo

[wrenandthemachine]

#destiny #destiny 2 #watm #wrenandthemachine #cayde-6 #destiny fanfiction #wren #cayde6 #destiny fanart #destiny 2 spoilers #im so scared #i dont want to lose him again

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

Looking for Destiny Lore Mutuals!

Greetings everyone! My name is Jen and this is my first post after running a blank „observing from the sideline“ tumblr blog.

After a long battle against the internal fear of being judged and yearning for a community space, I’ve finally decided to come on here and try to make Destiny mutuals!

I’ve been playing the game since I was a young child and I’ve ADORED it’s lore SO MUCH! It has truly defined me as a person and I am utterly in love with it. Though I have been playing on and off over the course of the decade and am currently on a break from playing, my love for it has never left and in light of the recent issues that have happened at Bungie, I want to honor the work done by the wonderful creative individuals at the company by talking about Destiny and making pieces of fan media! I don’t know every little piece of lore, but I sure would love to!

If anyone would like to bond over the lore, OCs, theories, AUs, ships, or anything of the sorts (I‘m an artist and a writer!), I am more than open (going without yapping about this game for 2 minutes drives me up a wall) and would love to form friendships over this game! My specific interests are the hive, vex, the Witness, its disciples, the Traveler, the Veil, and psions, but I will absolutely consume every square inch of Destiny‘s story with room for more.

That is all for now and if you are interested, or know of things like Discord servers, my inbox is welcoming! I look forward to finally being free of the fear of being cringe and not holding back how the lore has consumed my life!

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny art #destiny oc #destiny #destiny au #destiny fanart #destiny fanfiction #destiny eliksni #destiny hive #destiny vex #destiny cabal #destiny lore #destiny guardians #destiny community

[makoredeyes]

New Housefire entry is up. Grab your hanky

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #osiris #saint 14 #destiny fanfiction #on like a Housefire #my writing #makowrites

[phantomwarrior12]

War Wrought Reunions (Chapter 6)

She lit up.

There is no other way to describe the straighten of her spine, the raise of her shoulders, the unclench of her fists.

All because she saw him.

Crow balances his blade on the tip of his finger, sunset flickering along her frame and then back to her helmet visor.

Over his shoulder, there is shouting and tension but she doesn't seem to pay it any mind as she stops beside him. 

"Not sure I'd go in there if I were you," he quirks a smile and she tilts her head. Her visor drifts back to the commotion and then to him like a silent question.

"You caused quite the ruckus out there, Old Light."

She shrugs and he arches a brow. She doesn't care. Guess she really takes no matter the cost to heart. That shouldn't surprise him about her but still. The alliance is so fragile. Barreling in like that, killing all those Cabal - she's usually more pragmatic, usually so much more aware of circumstances.

Perhaps Savathûn has her wound up as well.

The Witch Queen escaped after the ritual. From what Crow had heard, she dumped Osiris there and vanished. Mara was pissed. Saint, relieved. But the Young Wolf? He can't get a read on her. 

So much has happened since the last time he was in the City. Has she really changed all that much?

Come on.

She beckons wordlessly with a jerk of her head, moving toward what very well could be the scolding of a lifetime.

Still, Crow flips his blade once more before sliding it into its sheath, trailing after her. As they approach, his eyes flicker over the various parties; the irritation from Caiatl is palpable but his Hunter doesn't pay her any mind.

She's either brave or very, very foolish.

"Guardian, what fortuitous timing." Zavala straightens when his gaze settles on the Guardian. As she comes to a halt beside Saladin, Crow moves behind her, his eyes flitting from the Commander to the Empress as he settles with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Indeed," Caiatl agrees, a degree of anger in her voice.

Crow snorts softly behind them all, drawing Saladin’s gaze and a stern, reprimanding look at that. The Gunslinger doesn’t react as the Iron Lord turns back, gazing at the Young Wolf expectantly.

And yet, she seems completely at ease. Her hands hang at her sides, her helmet angled up toward the Empress as Caiatl speaks.

“I’m fresh from performing Cabal funeral rites. Care to explain?”

As expected, the Young Wolf defaults to her Ghost answering for her. But as Ghost begins to speak, her gaze shifts abruptly to him, as if surprised or…expectant?

“Our condolences, Empress. Your people fought and died with honor. But they didn’t have to.”

Crow watches the Guardian look back at Caiatl, apprehensive, perhaps, beneath that helmet. She’s always so thorough in veiling her true emotions, certainly more than Crow would like. She’s indecipherable most times when he wishes she were transparent with him. 

Now is no different.

Especially not after Savathun’s reveal.

Caiatl’s frustrated growl draws Crow’s focus back to the present, away from gazing at the hood of his - well, of the Guardian.

“We can all prevent future losses if we choose to put the incident on Mars behind us and work together.” Zavala intercedes smoothly, taking a step forward and gestures in an almost placating manner with both hands extended palm-up at his sides. His weight shifts before he draws a holoprojector from his belt. The soft click of the device reveals a visual of - a Hive Knight? But larger, bearing a shield.

Crow’s brow furrows as he leans, shifting his weight to his right hip as he stares at the projection.

Is this what you fought aboard that ship?

“What we discovered there is a threat to both humanity and the Cabal.” Zavala says, gazing up at Caiatl intently.

The Empress angles her head, intrigue flashing across golden eyes. “You want my help.” Less a question, more a statement.

“Want is a strong word.” Saladin interjects, both Hunters’ focus shifting to him and then back to the Empress.

The Guardian has begun to grow restless, her fingers tapping lightly against her holster along her right hip. Crow’s eyes are drawn to the barely detectable disturbance. She wants to leave. To get back to the fight before things worsen.

But she needs an answer. To know whether or not she can rely on Caiatl and her forces in the coming fight. To know if she will have to kill more Cabal.

Caiatl’s chin lifts, a degree of smugness in her voice as she answers the Iron Lord’s correction. “You need my help.”

The Commander speaks up before Saladin can respond, “I don’t know how the Hive came into possession of the Light. Ikora will find out. But in the meantime…” His eyes lift to Caiatl.

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” Her hand clenches into a fist on the final word.

“Sun Tzu?” Saladin’s gaze lifts in barely contained surprise.

“I’ve read your texts.” The Empress returns cooly before her eyes moves back to the projected Lucent Knight, “You want us to hit them.”

“I need us to hit them. Hard.” Zavala corrects, deactivating the projection and clenches it in his fist. Caiatl meets his gaze steadily before she chuckles softly.

The decision is made, seemingly in a single glance between leaders.

“Then hit them, we shall.” She says, gesturing to her Psions and they turn, preparing for her departure.

The Commander and Saladin move past the Young Wolf, each giving her their own form of an expectant, chiding look before heading back toward the Courtyard.

The Guardian turns to leave as well but not before Crow steps forward, uncrossing his arms so he can catch hold of her forearm. His voice lowers as her head turns toward him curiously.

"Rooftop?" He asks and she straightens, giving a firm nod.

"See you there," he squeezes her gauntlet gently before letting her pass.

—

The sound of her boots alert Crow of his Guardian's approach. He tears his eyes away from the Traveler, pivoting to face her.

"It's good to see you again," he manages softly, taking a few steps toward her.

She almost lunges forward, he can read her well enough to note the restraint in her movements. Instead of an embrace, she gives him a nod, holding a few feet short of him.

Keeping her distance. Prepared for the worst.

He's the one who closes the distance, much to her surprise. He's the one who lifts her hood off and gently removes her helmet. Traveler, she looks exhausted. There's no spark in her eyes, but there are bags beneath them.

She looks ready to drop.

"You look like you've had a hell of a day."

"You try getting thrown out of a Throne World." Her head sags forward, resting on his shoulder as Crow chuckles softly.

The fact she’s so willing to ease into whatever form of contact Crow will allow is a good sign. It means their last parting wasn’t as…damaging as Crow believed it was.

"I'm sure the scolding you got didn't help matters." He teases gently, laying his hands on her waist. It's as if all the tension drains from her frame beneath his touch. They stay there for a long moment, basking in silence and a comfort both have been denied for a long time. But she doesn’t reach for him. Her hands hang at her sides, fingers partially curled as they simply stand there. When she starts to keel forward into him, his grip tightens to steady her. Her hands snap up, curling around the front of his shirt, "Whoa, easy." He adjusts his stance, "You sure you're alright?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, pressing into the crook of his neck. She seems to have caught herself but the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

"You should probably get some sleep," he adjusts his grip, scooping the Hunter up in his arms.

"I'm fine," she protests even as he sits with her in his lap.

Stubborn. Always so damned stubborn on everything.

"Yeah, fine isn't the word I'd use. How long has it been since you've gotten any sleep?"

"...next question." Her arms loop up around his neck and she makes herself comfortable. Her breath against the side of his neck is damned distracting when he’s trying to reprimand her.

"Guardian," he scolds lowly.

She squeezes him in response, outright ignoring the tone of his voice in favor of kissing the side of his neck innocently.

To hell with it. He doesn't have the heart to argue right now anyway.

"I missed you," he manages after a few minutes of silence.

Her answer that follows isn't verbal. She presses another light kiss to the side of his neck before snuggling into him. It's confirmation that he'd been missed as well - sometimes he wishes she'd just say it. 

She’s left so much unsaid between them but then again, so has he. He needs to broach Uldren's death. Her role. The memories - but she's so warm. Solid and comfortable and soothing tucked against him. He can swear he can make out a soft snore after a while.

The Guardian fell asleep. 

His eyes drop to her, tucking a few strands of hair back away from her face before tilting her head up.

Traveler, he has missed her.

He's still angry, at least, to some degree. But his need to be near her outweighs that resentment churning in the pit of his stomach - at least right now.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The tension around her eyes ebbs in her sleep even as the rigidity in her shoulders falters. She almost melts against him.

His thumb traces that familiar scar over her brow, taking his time with each marred inch. How many new scars? How many sleepless nights?

How much has his Guardian changed?

—

He can’t…how could any of them be okay with this?

Lucent Hive are a threat, yes. But they don’t deserve this. To be trapped in their minds while a Psion pushes and prods and seeks the answers they require.

Perhaps it reminds him too much of Savathûn's efforts in months past. The prodding questions. The uncomfortably insightful observations. The games she played with all of their heads.

With Crow, she was fairly straightforward after her Osiris guise was dropped.

But how much had she toyed with the Queen of the Reef?

How much did she drudge from the Guardian’s past to sew discourse and stagger Earth's champion?

How much damage did she do to the Vanguard's strongest warriors?

Regardless, their efforts and essential compromise of the Vanguard's morality is not something Crow can stand for. They're better than this, why would they stoop so low?

Crow doesn't care about the answer, only that he puts an end to this.

And there's only one woman he can rely on that for. But it isn’t easy to catch the Young Wolf before she departs each time. She’s usually in and out in a matter of minutes.

Thankfully, this time she’s waiting for whatever intel the Psion pulls and Crow has a chance to talk to her.

He moves up alongside her, bumping his shoulder into hers and her head lifts. 

Traveler, you look just as tired as you did the day I returned.

“Long time, no see, Guardian.” He says warmly.

She doesn’t have a direct say in any of this but…she does have the Commander’s ear. If she agrees with Crow, she can talk to him, maybe get him to put an end to this.

It’s inhumane and…the Vanguard shouldn’t stand for this.

Her head angles toward him, her arms uncross and the Guardian rests the back of her hand against Crow’s.

He's grateful she's returned to initiating points of contact. With the way things have been between them, he feared she'd keep her distance. That he would have to approach her each time and be the first to broach that invisible barrier.

He smiles over at her, turning his wrist so he can slot his fingers between hers. Her head tilts in surprise and he smiles softly.

You're always so…sweet about things like this. Like you don't expect it.

She surprises him by curling her hand around his and pressing into him. Her head rests on his shoulder and she breathes a weighted sigh though she feels as though she relaxes. As if his touch had brought her a respite from the weight on her shoulders.

Can he really add one more thing to her list of burdens?

No. It wouldn't be right. She is fighting a war on two fronts…Crow will deal with this his way.

For now, he holds her hand tightly and he waits with her. He savors these fleeting moments alone with her while she clings to his touch and no doubt, reminds herself what humanity feels like between stints of being the only weapon Earth has that can consistently slay gods. 

Lord Saladin emerges from the chamber probably closer to a half hour later but it feels so much shorter. A matter of minutes.

The Young Wolf lifts her head, straightens up but she does not pull her hand from Crow’s. If anything, she holds it tighter while her mentor addresses her.

His briefing is succinct. 

She has her next target. Another Light-recovery op. Another fireteam that never reported in.

The Iron Lord departs and Crow looks over at her.

She looks distracted, no doubt already going through logistics and potential strategies.

He loves watching her mind work but for now…for now he has to reason out his own strategy to handle this…delicately. But he's not about to let her leave without a proper goodbye.

Crow steps closer, drawing her gaze from the floor and she summons a dazed sort of smile. Her eyes are still distant but the moment he touches her cheek, they clear.

Emerald sparks and searches his feature. Her fingers curl tight around his and her smile is warmer as she inclines her head into his touch.

"One of these days, we'll have that chat you promised me."

The promise she'd made in a note she left for him during the Dawning. A vow to talk things through, mend whatever they have in - hopefully - its entirely.

"When the Witch Queen is dead." She squeezes his hand, "When we're safe."

There will be something else that rises from her ashes. Some other hellish nightmare they must endure while she tries to find a solution.

Crow knows this and yet, he gives her a smile and a nod.

"Gonna hold you to it, Old Light."

She leans in, resting her forehead against his and he can't breathe. She's - she's rarely that close. Close enough that a simple tilt of his head would allow him to do the one thing he's ached to do since the day they met.

And yet, he holds steady. He closes his eyes and enjoys her proximity - soft, warm breaths against his skin. Her Light dancing on the edge of his senses.

"Be careful out there," he manages at last; a breathless whisper against her lips.

"I'll see you soon, my Little Light." She lifts her hand, stroking her thumb over his cheek three fleeting times before she forces herself to withdraw. Before the only point of contact is firm grip on his fingers that all too quickly falters as she moves past.

Until he can no longer hear her footsteps and his palm feels oddly cold and heavy. Until he opens his eyes and he is alone save for the soft beeps echoing from the room before him.

Crow’s eyes drift to the door before him before he turns and moves toward the Psion chamber. He knows what he must do now. What the Vanguard needs to do.

This hell ends here and now.

—

It all went so wrong.

The Psion - he hadn’t meant to–

The Guardian had arrived in the aftermath. Saladin tearing the Gunslinger a new one over his actions with sparks dancing around them. The smell of death had begun to settle over steel paneling, fluids coating the floor.

It was awful.

And when all was said and done? When Saladin left and it was just the two of them?

Crow looked to his Guardian and there was no way to tell how she reacted. She stood there, steadily holding her weapon, taking in the carnage.

She never looked at him once.

He couldn’t stomach facing her - he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in her eyes again. So, he left. He planned to face Caiatl and make whatever amends he must to pay for what he’s done.

Crow never expected Saladin to offer himself up. To take the fall and leave with the Empress.

Zavala’s anger was tangible but here and now? With his Guardian a mere few feet away? The Guardian is silent and, to some degree, an unpredictable factor. She had been close to Saladin. He was her mentor, her friend, her confidant after Cayde’s passing.

And now Crow has taken Saladin from her, too.

“You’re angry with me too, aren’t you?” Crow keeps ample distance between himself and the Guardian.

Her eyes are locked on the axe leaning on the console, her fingers tracing along the pendant so slowly that it unsettles the Hunter.

“Say something.” He pleads, taking another step closer. Her head turns slightly in his direction with an abruptness that forces him to retreat again.

“These are for you,” she says at last, her hand falling away from the pendant as she steps away. He watches her cautiously - he can’t get a read on her. Usually there’s something; a twinge in her voice, a shift in her body that tells him exactly what she’s thinking but now? Now it’s impossible to decipher.

She’s standing off to the side, allowing him a path toward the items Saladin had left him but her head is still turned toward them. He thought she and Saladin didn’t get along - or perhaps it was the sort of friendship where she could get away with the pranks her Ghost described because Saladin allowed it. He knows her Young Wolf nickname stemmed from the Iron Lord - perhaps they were closer than he thought.

His feet carry him to the axe and he tentatively reaches out, fingertips grazing the cool metal. “I don’t deserve these.”

“He thinks you do.”

“Do you?” Sunset flickers to her visor.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She returns calmly but he can hear the resentment sparking on the edge of her voice.

“Guardian–”

She holds up a hand to silence him and his jaw clamps shut.

“Don’t do him the dishonor of refusing him this, Crow. He made a sacrifice for you. Don’t lament over it. Don’t…waste it.” Her head tilts toward the axe again, “Be the Guardian he believes you can be.”

She moves past him and his hand snaps out before he can think better of it. He grips her forearm, halting her but she does not meet his gaze.

“You used to have that kind of faith in me.”

She doesn’t answer, her head turning away a bit more so all that he can see is her hood.

“Do you really hate me that much? Have I fallen that far out of your favor?” He takes a step closer and her shoulders square.

“I need to–”

“Guardian,” he cuts in gently and her shoulders sag. Another step and his chest is inches from her pauldron. “Talk to me.”

“You won’t like what I have to say, Little Light.” She returns stiffly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

“Is it that cruel?”

“It’s not kind.” She pulls her arm free of his grasp, “We’ll discuss this later.” She takes a step away, “For now…make it count, Crow. Saladin would want it that way.” 

She’s gone a moment later.

---

A week later…

She won’t look at him.

The Young Wolf is at the war table, going over god knows what but when Crow took a place just off to her right, her head didn’t lift. Her helmet remained a steadfast veil of her emotion yet Crow can sense the tension from here.

He went to take a step toward her and she turned away, starting toward the vault on the other side of the room. Crow follows but he can read the warning - her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted; don’t touch me is clear yet the Hunter follows.

She’s at the console and he stops beside her, “Guardian?”

Silence, yet her helmet angles toward him a fraction while she continues sifting through the vault contents.

“How long are you going to be angry with me?” He asks softly.

Her fingers still against the panel and his eyes dart from her visor to her hand. He has her attention, perhaps that’s a good thing. His weight shifts as he looks back to her visor, “I didn’t–”

“Think.” She interrupts, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time, “You didn’t think, Crow. You were impulsive. Careless,” she turns to face him squarely and Crow’s shoulders draw back. “Selfish. There were other ways, other options but you thought you could handle it yourself.” She steps closer and Crow’s eyes drop; they’re inches apart and it’s not like any other time she’s ever been this close.

Solar sparks against his senses, a dangerous flare of her temper manifesting far too close to him. But he doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t dare. Because if he does, she’ll withdraw and Traveler only knows when he’ll see her again.

“And Saladin paid the price,” her voice is low and holds an edge he’s never heard from her before. It sets his nerves on edge - for the first time, he feels something akin to fear of the Young Wolf. A flare of memories from the Citadel - the last time these emotions had surfaced and Crow reaches for her instinctively as he always does when the memories flare.

But this time, this time she doesn’t hold him. This time, the Young Wolf pushes him back against the wall beside the vault panel, holding him there with a forearm over his chest and panic wells in his throat.

“Guardian–” He whispers, a desperate plea as his hands hang uselessly at his side.

She must see the fear in his eyes because her arm withdraws and she retreats a step. Her head diverts immediately, “I need time, Crow. I’ll see you again when I’m ready.”

Her hand comes down hard on the button to retrieve a weapon and it transmats into her hands. She slings it up along her shoulders and turns to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Crow chokes out, stumbling half a step away from the wall, willing himself through the panic.

Her head turns toward him for a moment before she nods and vanishes in a transmat.

He can’t breathe.

Crow sinks to a crouched position against the wall, sucking in an unsteady inhalation as his head falls into his hands.

I’m sorry, please–

The Young Wolf won’t return to the H.E.L.M. for weeks and when she does, Crow wishes it were under better circumstances.

—

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

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

Crow's Guardians: @thejediassassingirl

#crow #crow destiny #the crow #the young wolf #new light #new light fic #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #destiny 2 fanfiction #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #phantom writes

[arcaneglitch]

tagged by @baronetcoins (tyyy)

rules: use this generator to generate three random words (or however many you'd like) and share the lines where they show up in your wips

my words: desire, reluctance, behavior, meeting

desire | DSMP Firefly AU

He had no good memories of Hera and no desire to ever return.

reluctance | CF12

Jesse knew their Ghost was looking forward to showing them the Tower, yet that didn’t abate their reluctance as they raised their arm to call the elevator down.

behavior | DSMP Firefly AU

Wilbur was no longer sure what game he was playing, as sometime between yesterday and when he’d entered the cell ten minutes ago, the commander’s behavior had shifted.

meeting | CF12

The shop’s latest location sat in a small meeting room between the Courtyard and the Hangar, colloquially known as “the secret room.”

tagging @houseofmcallister @utlana @collapsingintojupiter @featherfang and anyone who sees this and wants to participate

#i decided to generate 4 so they'd be evenly split between my two main wips #tag game #writing #chasing fate #destiny fanfiction #dsmp fanfiction

[gnostichor]

That Hopeful Alchemy

Eris stepped out into the evening air of the Tower, the warm mug of mulled cider in her hands a welcome bulwark against the rapidly cooling weather. Festival of the Lost had just begun, and something about those celebrations made it feel like it was always evening in the Tower. She walked in between paper lanterns and decorated gourds, effigies of reverence to the autumnal harvests and the spirits of those we have had to leave behind: the semiotics of change and time's stubborn procession.

Historically, Eris had found little of value in such pageantry; what could someone truly know of loss, she would assure herself, if they thought it transmutable by the exchange of confectionery and the carving of winter squash? This year, however, her steps were not quite as heavy, her glances less cutting. Her trials in the athenæum and the oubliette—just as they had peeled away the chitinous plates from her body—had served to abrade some of the more calloused edges of her preconceived notions about modern life in the City.

Where she had once seen frivolity and unearned levity, she began to see catharsis and a different sort of magic: that transmutative rending of a source of grief and sorrow not into a weapon designed to spread more of the same, but a scalpel to be turned on itself so that the flesh may heal. She had begun to appreciate and respect the poetry of that hopeful alchemy.

Out of the corner of her left-most eye, Eris saw a woman waving to her. An older woman. Eva Levante, she noted, the cheermonger. Eris took a sip from her mug and let the kind embrace of the rising steam give her the courage to approach the grinning woman.

"Hello, Eva." Eris said, doing her best to unflatten her affect. "As ever, the efforts you and the other citizens put into the decoration is commendable."

"Hello dear, and thank you," Eva replied, her impish smile never fading. "You're looking quite well, if you don't mind me saying." "I do not mind, and thank you—I am in fact feeling quite well. An auspicious symmetry."

Raising her hand to her mouth, Eva laughed quietly, but never dropped the mirthful grin.

"How can I help you, Eva?" Eris raised the mug to her lips, sipping. "So, been any Hive gods, lately?" Eva finally let out with a titter.

An awful sound emanated from Eris' mug: the sound of someone bursting into laughter as they are sipping hot mulled cider.

#eris morn #eva levante #festival of the lost #fotl #destiny fanfiction #destiny the game #destiny 2 #my writing

[abidethetempest]

looking for a new beta for my destiny fic!

hey everyone! sadly, my current beta is no longer available due to life reasons, so I'm looking for someone to beta-read my Destiny fanfiction, rise and fall!

rise and fall is a fic about my primary oc, Risen/Fenris, and her journey alongside an original Eliksni House of mine. There is a focus on Eliksni worldbuilding/headcanons, themes of family and community, and an eventual romance.

Things I need right away:

proofreading for grammar, spelling, and minor plot inconsistencies

feedback on specific problem scenes that I request special focus on, usually dialogue

Things I would like in a long-term beta:

feedback on outlines and larger plot arcs

workshopping on plot ideas or being a sounding board

knowledge about Destiny lore, especially the Eliksni

If you're interested, please reach out over tumblr messages! I'll reblog this a few times over the next week or so, will try and remember to add a note when I find someone.

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny rise and fall au #destiny fanfiction #fanfiction

[intrepiddreamx]

Unbothered. Moisturized. Happy. In My Lane. Focused. Flourishing.

Gift art of Meren Hale(OC) and Variks from the very talented Rotary.

(Tell me Variks wouldn't wear that robe...)

#destiny 2 #eliksni #variks #destiny fanfiction #diplomatic ties #meren hale #destiny 2 art

[demiclar]

Just spotted a ChatGPT Destiny fic on Ao3 for the first time, muted it immediately, I didn’t even look. Y’all, if you’ve got an idea that you want someone to write about, first I’d say try your hand a writing it but if you don’t want to do that, offer it to someone who might actually want to write it. I promise you, ChatGPT doesn’t give a shit about those characters you love so much. It’s not going to do them justice. Maybe it will give you exactly what you ask for, but the value of art is in the humanity and the meaning you can find in it, ChatGPT just isn’t that.

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny fanfiction #I’m sorry I just don’t like ChatGPT #I don’t really want people to think it’s okay to give an algorithm the task I pour my heart into #and maybe that’s defensive of me but I know my worth #and it’s more than a regurgitating program #the same goes for all writers #I would rather read your first fanfiction ever than anything by ChatGPT

[wrenandthemachine]

For the art event zine thing that I'm too sleepy to remember how to tag

#destiny #destiny 2 #watm #wrenandthemachine #cayde-6 #destiny fanfiction #cayde6 #destiny fanart #ace of spades

[farmergilesofham]

I'll be writing a fic on here and perhaps also AO3 of THE Guardian trying to rope several vanguard members and familiar faces into doing a set of swimsuit calendars, to be sold in the City for morale and to get more funding for the Eliskni Quarter. This will be silly.

#destiny 2 #destiny titan #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #destiny saint 14 #destiny shaxx #destiny exo #saladin forge #destiny #mara sov #destiny crow #destiny guardians #elsie bray #exo stranger #calendar fic #bungie #eris morn #the drifter #mithrax #ada 1 #ikora rey #xur #the big bad destiny calendar fic #the vanguard swimsuit fic

[makoredeyes]

It’s my birthday and my gift to me (and all of you) is a little Warmind bullying… as treat :3

Part 22 of On Like A Housefire is up!

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #makowrites #warmind rasputin #Ana Bray #fixit fic #Felwinter #Osiris (sort of) #Papabot is having one hell of an uncomfy day #but it’s ok it’s good for him #(cackles)

[zalia]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny) Characters: Osiris (Destiny), Saint-14 (Destiny) Additional Tags: Early Days, Thanatonautics, Drowning, Prophecy, Sex, Anal Sex, Love, Falling In Love, Affection, Vacation, Swimming, faction wars (Destiny), The Last City (Destiny), Developing Relationship, Teasing, Porn with Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feelings, Light Angst Summary:

He treads water, then takes a deep breath and sinks.

An experiment with Thanatonautics is, as Osiris discovers, not Saint's preferred way to spend a day away from the City. Especially when far more enjoyable entertainment is available.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #o14 #osiris #saint-14 #destiny osiris #destiny saint 14 #destiny fic #destiny fanfic #destiny fanfiction

[thewildnopeboat]

Guardian, back on their bullshit in the Imbaru engine: so I've asked some other Guardians about this.

Ghost: yeah, I've seen your notebook

Guardian: you've seen A notebook

Ghost, Vietnam flashback: I've seen the fanfic one

Guardian, vibing: But I am right with the pairings!

Ghost: Why are you pairing Crow with a good night's rest and a cup of Hot cocoa?

Guardian: Because our little brother deserves it!

#destiny 2 #destiny2 #bungie #destiny guardians #destiny ghost #destiny fanfiction #the boy needs it

[lizzieraindrops]

Liminal - Chapter 2 (2034 words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Ikora is terrified of losing Eris now that she has become the Hive god of vengeance. The long tension between them has finally been driven to breaking point. Can the two of them reconcile their conflicts and misunderstandings before it might be too late?

Some good old-fashioned monster-loving.

Eris transforms.

Eris stands indomitable in the center of her spell circle, catching her breath as her body attunes to the pulse of ichor and soulfire rather than blood.

She does not turn around. The tatters of her Hunter leathers hang about her waist, girding her full-body chitin plate armor like a Hive Wizard's careless robes.

Ikora steps closer behind her. Boots sound against the stone-flagged floor like a sonar signal. Slow and deliberate, she approaches Eris' broad, spined back.

Hands close on Eris' upper arms from behind in a grip that is firm but not rigid. Eris rumbles in surprise and goes stock-still. She hadn't known Ikora's arms could reach hers, not without impaling herself upon the massive spines that have sprouted from her back and shoulders like raised hackles. Slowly, Eris relaxes somewhat into the touch. Those human hands are ungloved; she can tell by their flush, static friction against the roughness of chitin. Through Eris' modulated sense of touch through her exoskeletal plates, those hands feel different, their pressure spread more lightly but more broadly across the subsurface of her body.

The two of them stand there like a diorama within the ring of columns, unmoving except for their breath.

Stealing a quick glance over one shoulder, Eris catches a startling glimpse of Ikora's face among the forest of spines. Her eyes are closed, her head bowed. Smooth, elegant features have tautened into an expression of deep worry. Her mouth has fallen slightly open, yet her breathing is very shallow.

Eris averts her eyes before Ikora's can open, feeling like she has seen something she shouldn't. She has never seen emotion that extreme writ across Ikora's face before.

In the center of the Athenaeum, their soundlessness is wreathed by the quiet-whispering flames of Eris' spell drawn into the stone-paved floor.

"Eris..." Ikora murmurs.

"Yes?"

But that is the only word Ikora says. "Eris," she says again. "Eris." Her name is a beautiful ache in her mouth. It makes the woman who bears it both uneasy and touched.

"What? What is it, Ikora?" The layers of her new voice tend toward restless dissonance.

Another repetition is her only answer, this time approaching a muted, pained whine. It alarms Eris enough that she lays a rough palm over one of the hands on her arms, then unlatches the other so that she can turn to face Ikora in her morph at last.

The silent tears streaming down Ikora's brown cheeks shock Eris to her core. She takes Ikora's hand between both of her own and weaves her claws carefully around it in a protective net of living chitin.

"Ikora, what is wrong?! Why are you saying my name like that?"

"I am afraid, Eris." Her voice is wet, broken gravel scraping over the raw muscle of Eris' heart. Eris drops her hand with a stab of hurt which is instantly overridden by a wave of complete confusion as Ikora seizes her face with both hands, bare skin against her carapace. Eris stares back into those deep amber-brown eyes, speechless.

"I—I," Ikora says as if choking on the prospect of her own perspective. She takes a deep, ragged breath before letting the words out in a sprawl of agony sharpened by her own reluctance. "I need you, Eris,” Ikora scrapes out as if her throat is bleeding. “And I don't know if you're coming back this time. How many more times can you survive certain death?" Unable to hold Eris' aghast stare, she hangs her head. Her body tremors like a tree in a quake, steadfast yet shaking. Her hands fall helpless from her face to the upper edge of Eris' chestplate where her collarbones have fused into it.

The depth of Ikora's raw pain horrifies Eris. She cautiously circles her armored arms around the shaking form, gentle and then fierce as Ikora throws both arms around her neck and sobs with an ugly sound. Eris bends over as she holds her, as much because her morph is taller than Ikora as to bring her under the shelter of the Harbinger's immense shoulder crests. That great forest of spears points backward and skyward in defiance of any tormented past or presumptive higher power. She barely notices the rumble that emanates from her own chest, half protective and dangerous, half solicitous and soothing.

Their sounds soften as the storm blows over. Ikora's arms slacken in the just-wide-enough space between Eris' neck and the first angular spikes that spring from her shoulders. Sorrowful echoes fade, glancing more quietly off of each green-gilded pillar of the pavilion until they vanish into the throne world's haze-shawled, burning sky.

Eventually, Eris kneels in the center of the Athenaeum holding Ikora's drooping shape against her chest, bearing most of her weight. The claws of one hand dance lightly over Ikora's scalp with soft scratches. Various small creatures chirrup and buzz and rustle in the quiet patches of marsh outside the gazebo. Through it all, that vibrating thrum in Eris' chest never falters, only softens into a more comforting timbre.

Eris will stay here as long as is needed, as long as it takes for the strongest person she knows to be able to stand again.

With a brief articulated gesture of one hand, Eris collapses the glittering portal to the HELM. They need no interruption. Ikora needs her—needs Eris, for once. When she returns to caressing Ikora's head, she leans into the touch.

"Are you well?" Eris says in a rattling whisper.

Ikora's eyes open. "Don't let go," she answers.

Eris chuckles like boulders crashing underwater. She strokes the back of one claw down the side of Ikora's face, making her eyelids flutter. In this form, somehow, some unseen, unspoken wall between them has crumbled and fallen away. "You seek strange comfort. Many fled from merely the sight of my eyes years ago, much less this."

"I never did."

Eris hums a deep harmony. "No. You didn't.” Ikora has never been anything but kind to her even at her remarkably terrible worst self, and her gratitude for that is boundless. So are the depths of her affection, even if she does not act on it, and has never planned to.

In thanks, she bends to touch the crest of her brow to Ikora's forehead. That's all. But when she tries to lift her head away, fingers catch at the ridges behind her jaws. She cannot draw more than a hand's span away without wresting herself loose. She does not want to do so. Ikora's nearness is a balm, one she has never permitted herself to seek. So she gazes back at her in contentment and waits to see what she will do.

Something changes in the bearing of Ikora's supine frame within the unfamiliar cradle of her arms. Her movements become both more tentative and more purposeful. Exploring her craggy face with deft fingertips, Ikora traces the line of her chin, the pitted hollows that pock her cheeks, the bony ridge that surrounds and shelters all three eyes. Ikora's two search every feature with a golden brown gaze as darkly brilliant as sunlight struggling to seep through summer honey. Something that Eris has never seen before floats up through the depths of that gaze as if from an abandoned well. She wants to understand what it is, needs to know with a consuming hunger akin to the exponential voracity of the knife-void that has split open wide within her, clamoring to devour the entire Hive for her divinity.

Those captivating eyes dip toward her shielded mouth more than once. If not for the protective plate covering it, it almost seems as if Ikora would–

Fingers skirt the marge of Eris' mouthplate; then lips brush, once, twice. Eris trills in surprise. Both sensations are strange, yet not unpleasant.

"Ik—what are you...?"

Her fingers run along the seams of the plates of Eris' face and neck, where chitin gives way to toughened connective membrane that yields slightly to the touch. Below those thin bands, the nerves are not shielded by rigid armor. The sustained contact gives Eris chills that make her spines bristle like windswept trees.

"Trying to understand all of you," Ikora says. "Should I stop?"

"...No, but—"

"Then let me. Please." She braces one hand on the flat plate of Eris' chest and weaves the other among the jagged spikes on one shoulder like a curious serpent. She examines each one from multiple angles with both touch and sight, dedicating her every attention to the cartography of Eris' utterly inhuman body like—like—

Even in her most idle, unrealistic fantasy, Eris could scarcely imagine Ikora ever touching her like this, even were she still human. How can she do so now? With greater caution than she would approach the maw of the Hellmouth, Eris eases one palm onto Ikora's hip, slowly wraps her fingers around. Including the talons, her hand circles half of her entire waist. Ikora doesn’t retreat.

"What...why?" Eris asks, but she cares about the answers less and less every moment.

"Eris," Ikora says again, damn her. The rampant want and pain in her voice rends Eris from the inside out like a blade of bittersweet tithe.

An involuntary growl rips out of Eris as Ikora scrapes her nails against the grain of the fine ridges across her chestplate. Although less sensitive than the seams, there are far more tactile receptors beneath each plate, and any pressure activates all of them in tandem. The rattling scrape, multiply so. The combination of the unexpected feeling and their current close situation is nothing short of intoxicating.

Ikora's eyes go wide with surprise, then narrow with a satisfaction approaching smugness. That won't do.

"I-chorr-ahh," Eris says in her deepest growl. She plants both hands firmly on Ikora's shoulders. Her eyes fly open wide again, accompanied by her blown pupils. Eris presses the tips of her claws into Ikora's flesh—not hard enough to puncture skin, but enough to make her freeze. "Are you certain you want what you are asking for?"

In a subtle yet sublime implosion of effortless Void Light, Ikora surges forward and pins her acolyte morph to the floor, bent back over the spikes of its crest in the center of her own spell circle. The mouthplate drops away from the hidden jaw in an appreciative, terrifying grin.

"What I want is Eris Morn. Are you not her?" Ikora retorts. A drop of blood seeps into her pristine robe beneath the indent made by Eris' thumbclaw. With every striving sinew of her Light-suffused body, she challenges the being before her to deny it, challenges herself to doubt it. She is incandescent, powerful, passionate. Beautiful.

Like a whisper from a crypt, a deep chuckle ascends from Eris' throat. It grows louder and redoubles upon itself until she is but the chamber for a choir of pleased humor.

"I am."

The look in Ikora's eyes is both tenacious and tender. And it is completely, entirely for her, as she is.

In a sudden contraction of movement, Eris reverses their positions and fully looms over Ikora. She runs the point of one claw along the entire length of her soft, strong body. They both shiver.

With a casual hand, Eris waves a new portal open, one that leads directly to the private quarters set aside for her in the HELM.

Despite the fact that this netherworld's queen is currently dead, Eris begrudges her every iota of joy she has found in this last life of hers, and she will not share it with her throne of memory. Besides, Ikora deserves better than this accursed place. Eris' morph will last for a little while, outside of the spell circle. Long enough for the way Ikora clutches at the chitin of her shoulder crests, making the muscles attached beneath them strain with sweet pleasure.

With an earthen croon, Eris gathers Ikora up into her arms as carefully as if she were made of orchid petals the color of her robes. Then she sweeps them both away to somewhere more sheltered from prying eyes. The portal winks out in a glimmer of green sparks behind her.

#eris morn #ikora rey #hive eris #season of the witch #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #erikora #ikoris #eris/ikora #ikora/eris #lizzie taking up space #lizzie's adventures in writing #destinewt #fic #long post #i am once again saying. #monsterfucker rights for ikora rey #as a treat #and eris should get to be adored for all she is. and make funny little hive noises. #yes i'm ace yes i'm spiritually a monsterfucker next question