No-text Version Of First Crota Fireteam Finds & Kills A God.

No-text version of First Crota Fireteam Finds & Kills A God.

hi i made a bg3 side blog @justiciared follow if you want to see me be insane abt shadowheart + co.

benefits of traveling an ice world with a (albeit begrudging) lightbearer: staying toasty with some Solar energy

Intimacy #14 (Sharing Drinks) w Omar and Sai?

Debated whether I considered this an "unusual" ask! However, I've never written them before so it counts. I have to say @bbyfacedx's recent fics/art have inspired me with these two, but you can interpret their relationship however you want.

"Whatcha got there?" Sai asks, brown eyes glistening covetously at Omar's drink. It's a delectable-looking mug of . . . she's not sure, maybe a latte or hot cocoa if she had to hazard a guess. Whatever it is, it's covered in a towering dollop of whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and a drizzle of caramel for good measure.

Omar likes sweet drinks but the gaudy display of toppings isn't usually his thing. The uncharacteristic nature of it intrigues her more than if he'd just shown up with a can of energy drink, or a cold brew with too much cream and sugar. 

". . . Coffee," he says, preemptively lifting it up and out of arm's reach as she leans in to steal a taste. "Sai, you have your own drink."

She gives a forlorn glance at her modest cup of milk tea. "This is not that."

"That sounds like your problem," says Omar. "Besides, you wouldn't like it."

"I would!"

He tries his hardest to avoid the small hunter's doleful stare as he takes a swill. Unfortunately, Sai can be irritatingly intense when she chooses, and has chosen to now. Wiping the cream off his nose, he pushes his drink into her free hand. "Suit yourself."

She passes her teacup to him. Excitedly hefts the mug to her lips with both hands, takes a long slug—

And immediately chokes, barely managing to swallow down her portion. "Sky above, Omar —" she stammers between coughs, "What'd you mix in?"

"Something the lads at the Coyote's Den concocted," he grins, referencing one of the more storied hunter speakeasies in the old part of town. Sai usually didn't go there, too busy and loud, unless every other joint in the City was closed for the night/morning and she was desperately in need of caffeine or imbibements. "This might have been a failed experiment, so Mendoza sold me a bottle at cost. 'Just make sure you let your Ghost know before you drink it' is what she told me, hah. Pretty good if you can mix enough crap in with it to distract from the aftertaste."

"Eugh, awful," says Sai, before taking another tentative nip. "It grows on you, though . . ."

"I'm not getting that back, am I?" he asks, taking a short sip, then a second longer drink from the cup. The velvety blend of smoky black tea, sweet cream, and notes of cardamom and cinnamon are delicious, even without his additions. "You know what? Scratch that. You can keep it. But you might want to tell Yuka before you stumble off the Tower wall or get hit by a trolley on your way home."

(Somewhere in Sai's bead-embroidered hood, she chirps affirmatively.)

"Won't you walk me back?" She asks, tucking her arm around his. Her tipsy sentimentality was excruciatingly charming, enough to momentarily divert him from his plans for the evening. 

He gives a good-natured huff. Steadies Sai when she wobbles a little. "Karsys, let Olu know I'll be a bit late to our Go match. I don't want her to go around crowing about a forfeit victory . . ."

Sai gives a happy bounce on her feet as they turn and make their way toward midtown.

trying to finish some destiny wips ive been working on for ages and this is genuinely one of my favorite drifteris snippets ive ever written. maybe perhaps i will Finish It

Eris Morn is not a woman who wishes for pity. Sympathy makes her ache nearly as bad as any physical ill she’d suffered; more foreign in her than her own three eyes. The tentative, placating words of others do nothing to put her at ease. Words alone cannot bring back anything she’d lost, sacrificed, or gambled away of her own free will, after all. She isn’t fond of them in the slightest.

The only balm capable of soothing her is a strange one, made from unknown ingredients and applied in a thick layer whether Eris likes it or not. It stings, seeping into her skin, penetrating her down to the marrow each time. He can’t help being obnoxious, she’s aware, it’s simply in his nature. An ointment of his own to rub over the wounds of being known. As much as she’d like to say she knows the Drifter, she doesn’t. Eris has no weapons or words capable of piercing through that thick, cold skin, but she doesn’t necessarily mind it.

Whatever truth lies buried under the Drifter is inconsequential to her. She knows his hands, each scar and callous and imperfection; his voice, the cadence and lilt of it, the way he clips the ending clean off of his words and slurs them into a drawl. She knows that he fiddles with his jade pendant when he’s nervous, upset, frustrated, thinking hard, or holding back excitement. She knows his nicknames for her; Moondust when he’s trying to be romantic, Three-Eyes when he’s trying to push her buttons. Eris knows enough about the Drifter to keep her curiosity sated, for now.

The Drifter’s Gambit is one thing Eris has never bothered to study much. Why should she invest her time learning the ropes of a simple game meant for trigger-happy Guardians to shed the blood of aliens and their own? How could Eris hope to participate while she had nothing but an Ahamkara bone in hand and Stasis replacing her Light? Why was she pacing around the Drifter’s alleyway, eyes darting impatiently from the open grate to the swirling bank of motes to the jade coin discarded on the table? More questions with answers that Eris will never know.

i wrote first crota fireteam sauce…. 6k+ words of it…