rogueofart

[rogueofart]

We offer you salvation, guardian. This is what it looks like.

[rogueofart]

the pinnacle of commedy

[rogueofart]

A Breath After The Blood

  Agonizing fear. 

  It rattled through him the second he walked into that cold, dusty cave, following the trail of blood speckled across the Moon rocks.

  But it shook him to the very core the moment her limp body came into view.

  He thrust forward, barely keeping his balance in time before collapsing to his knees in front of her. 

  He reached out, touching her shoulder. She didn't move. 

  She was barely breathing.

  “Eris?” He rasped, throat dry, terror etched across his features. 

  Maroon dust pooled around her shoulder, where a jagged rock jutting from the ground had pierced her armor on impact–and around her thigh, where something sharp had torn a deep, angry gash.

  “Eris–please–Eris, wake up,” the Drifter choked, leaning his ear to her parted lips.

  He couldn't lose her. Not again.

  A breath.

  Then another.

  Soft–barely there. 

  But still holding on.

  “Hang on, Moonlight,” the Drifter whispered, tugging the headband off his head. “I've got you.”

  He bit down on the headband, ripping it into one long strip of fabric with a sharp pull.

  He wrapped it tight around the wound on her thigh, tying a firm knot to slow the bleeding.

  Then he heard it- a murmur.

  Quiet. 

  Faint.

  But still there.

  “Eris?” he breathed, scrambling closer. Her eyes fluttered open, blood trickling down her cheekbone.

  “C'mon, Moonlight,” he whispered. “Stay with me, okay?” 

  He slipped his arms under her, careful to dodge the wounds on her leg and shoulder as he lifted her and pulled her to his chest. 

  She was so heavy in his arms. So limp as her hand fell to the side, her head landing softly against his shoulder. 

  His fingers trembled beneath her as he shifted his hold and sucked in a deep breath.

  He got to his feet, whispering softly in her ear, begging her to hold on as he stepped into the light and transmatted away.

  *  *  *

  His palms slipped across blood as he pressed down hard on the wound- trembling, muttering panicked words between clenched teeth.

  “Ghost- bandages!” He barked, not taking his eyes off the wound, even as red seeped between his fingers.

  The red eyed Ghost appeared beside him, multiple rolls of gauze hovering between it and the Drifter. 

  He grabbed one of the rolls with blood slick fingers, tore it open with his teeth, and pressed the gauze hard against her thigh.

  The gauze was warm before it even settled- soaking through as fast as he could wrap it.

  Eris hissed, flinching, a gasp torn from her throat as he pulled the gauze out from under her leg, rolling back over, then under, repeating the motion and tightening the gauze with each cycle.

  He couldn't lose her.

  Not again.

  Even with the recent discovery of her Throne World, he couldn't take any risks. He had to do whatever he could to patch her up. 

  To keep her alive.

  “C'mon, Moonlight, stay with me- just stay,” He whispered, the knot in the gauze slipping once under his shaking hands before he snatched it back and yanked it into a tight knot.

  He didn't move. Just stared as red began to seep through the white bandage, his whole body trembling.

  Then his eyes found her face. Blood dried to her cheek alongside the eternal hive tears flowing down. Her lips parted, as if so close to speaking, but unable. Her eyes half lidded and unfocused. 

  And then his gaze slipped down to her shoulder–blood trailing over unseen skin and soaking the fabric of her sleeve. 

  He moved–quick and urgent, more gauze in hand, sitting on the old battered crate beside her. He peered down into the open wound, wincing. 

  “Damn it…” he muttered.

  It wasn't just blood–it was grit and dust, and a few sharp glints of moon rock in the wound. 

  “Ghost!” He barked again. “Get me my canteen, some tweezers, a towel, and some more bandages!” 

  The red eyed Ghost let out a low tone and darted off into the shadows.

  The Drifter turned back to Eris, softly brushing her unscathed cheek. Her breath caught and her eyes fluttered at his touch, before she leaned into it.

  “You're gonna be okay…” his thumb brushed just below her eye. “You're gonna get outta this. Hand to my heart.”

  She tilted her head towards him, slow and careful, her eyes barely open. 

  “Drifter…” she murmured, her voice cracked- barely there.

  “Shh, shh, shh,” the Drifter cooed. “Don't talk, okay? Not yet.” 

  The Ghost zoomed back, holding out each item the Drifter had requested through a lasso of red light. 

  His fingers shook as he looped the towel beneath her arm, careful not to jostle the wound. Next he grabbed the canteen and undid the lid.

  “Gotta flush this out… gonna sting like hell, okay? Just stay with me.”

  He hesitated another second, giving her as much time as he could to prepare.

  “Do it.” She rasped, her voice hoarse as she shut her eyes.

  He inhaled a shaky breath before tipping the canteen and pouring the water out in slow, short bursts over the wound.

  Eris flinched, her hand reaching out for something to hold through the pain–gripping the fabric of his pants, just over his knee. 

  His heart stopped.

  He reached down, giving her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before focusing back on her shoulder. 

  The water had flushed out most of the dust–all that remained was a few shards of moon rock.

  “Tweezers,” the Drifter called out, reaching for them from his Ghost’s lasso of light.

  He held the metal tool in hand, his focus on the open wound before him–but before he even began, he had to let her know-

  “This… this is gonna suck.” He swallowed hard. Voice low. Jaw clenched. “I'm sorry, Moonlight.”

  He slid one hand out, across the chestplate, until he was just below her collarbone. His touch was neither negligent, nor was it demanding. It was simply gentle, supportive, ready to brace her if she needed it. 

  “Do it.” She rasped, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall.

  The Drifter hesitated one last second, gritting his teeth, before sticking the tweezer in–slow, careful.

  He inhaled deeply, trying to stop the tremble in his hand–trying not to think about the way her shoulder tensed when he pinched down on one of the shards–before yanking it free in one clean, merciless pull.

  She choked on air–gripping his pant leg tight, and gripping the hand on her chestplate with her other hand as she jerked forward.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” the Drifter breathed out, aware of how hard she was gripping his wrist. “Just a few more, Eris.” 

  He eased her back against the wall, one by one, pulling out each shard–his movements deft and precise.

 When the final sharp slid free, he grabbed the bandages, pressing them into the wound with shaking fingers as Eris leaned back against the wall, her chest rising in slow, ragged breaths.

  The Drifter pulled back. 

  The wound was bandaged now, covered in a thick layer of gauze.

  It started with a breath–too deep, too broken.

  Then another, shallower this time.

  And then it broke loose.

  His head ducked down, his shoulders hunched, no words left as he trembled violently–dry sobs scratching at his throat.

  And then they came–tears spilling hot from his eyes, his blood-slick fingers smearing red on his face as he tried to swipe them away.

  Eris's hand shifted–a brush along his thigh, light and lingering.

  Like she was anchoring him now, the way he did for her.

  It was soft–vulnerable in a way that sent a shiver through him. But he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned forward and let his forehead fall gently against the side of her armor. He closed his eyes, the tears slipping down his nose and dripping onto her chestplate.

  She hissed softly, pain threading her breath as she shifted her hand, slipping it up into his hair.

  “It is alright, Germaine.” She murmured, voice soft and hoarse. “I will survive this.”

   He didn't speak–just drew in a sharp breath, blinking fast to hold back the tears still threatening to spill. And then he felt her hand weaken in his hair, as if it was about to slip off of him.

  He pulled back and looked up at her.

  “You okay, Eris?” His voice was thick and laced with concern as he looked into her eyes.

  “I will be. I am merely tired.” She replied, voice still cracking.

  The Drifter slipped off of the metal crate and stood.

  “You need to rest.” He told her, his voice steadier now. His panic bottled away–for her. “C'mon, I know where you can sleep.” 

  He gingerly reached out, his touch soft but strong as he slipped one arm around her waist, and the other to hold up her injured arm instead of having her wrap it around his shoulders and risking further bleeding.

  They moved in slow, easy steps across the ship’s corridors, their footsteps echoing quietly throughout each vast space, until they had reached a small cramped room, where a cot lay against the far wall. 

  “Okay, sit here for a minute…” the Drifter eased her down onto the cot’s edge, then leaned back and met her glowing green eyes. He swallowed hard.

  “Eris, are you comfortable with me takin’ off your armor?”

  “I trust you,” She said–nothing more and nothing less as she returned his stare with the same level of intensity.

  “Alright,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Let's get this thing off…”

  Carefully, he reached for the first clasp at her shoulder–his fingers hesitating for a breath before pressing the release. The mechanism gave a soft click, loosening a sliver of tension from the armor’s line. Eris did not pull away, but her breath hitched. 

  He glanced up. “You good?”

  She gave a faint nod–nothing more.

  He set to work on the next buckle, just below her ribs, giving Eris every opportunity to push him away before he gently pressed down on the release. The chestplate shifted beneath his hands, loose now. He eased it away from her body, slowly, carefully, before setting the heavy and scarred armor beside the cot.

  Then he looked back at her. And without her armor, she looked… smaller. Not weaker, just somehow farther from the fury they all knew her for.

  She shifted now, reaching up to remove her cloak with her good hand–her movements slow, but precise. She dragged the fabric over her head, then tossed it down onto the cot, letting it fall in a dark heap. Her fingers slid downward, brushing the clasp of her robes, before undoing it.

  The Drifter stayed silent, watching as she grabbed one edge and attempted to ease her way free–but the sleeve caught at her wounded arm, her breath hitching at the effort.

  The Drifter leaned closer.

  “Let me help, yeah?” He offered, his voice low, careful. One hand outstretched- not touching, just waiting.

  She let hers drop to the cot. No words spoken. But her permission given.

  He reached out, gently grabbing the fabric at her good side first, pulling it away. Then, slower, he worked the fabric loose from her injured arm. He pulled away the blood stained fabric, gathering her cloak as well, before handing it off to his Ghost to be cleaned. 

  She sat now, in a dark undershirt, her skin sleek with sweat and blood, some of it already beginning to harden and crust along her arm and against the side of her undershirt.

  She looked at the Drifter, trust in her eyes, letting him see scars that she had never shown anyone else, as his gaze moved slowly, tracing the scars across her collarbone, her shoulders, her forearms.

  They suited her. Not because of the pain. Because of the way she wore them–like proof she never stopped surviving.

  “C'mon,” the Drifter murmured, easing her down onto the mattress, her short, dirty hair fanning across the pillow. “I'll clean up the blood in a second.”

  He lingered a moment, still looking down at her, watching. Her eyes had already began to flicker closed, trembling with the ache of rest long overdue.

  When her breathing had settled- slow even- he let out a breath of his own. Then he stood, turning towards the cluttered nightstand and grabbing a dented tin cup, and a scrap of old rags. 

  This would have to do. 

  He sat back down at the edge of the cot and leaned over her, dipping the rag in the water he had warmed with his solar ability.

  “Alright, let's get you cleaned up.” 

  He started first with her face, wiping away the sweat on her good side, before moving on to gingerly cleaning away the grime and blood that remained on the other side.

  Then, he pressed the warm, damp cloth against the base of her neck, where grime clung to sweat. 

  Slowly, rhythmically, he wiped away the sweat and dust from her neck and throat, his touch soft and gentle, careful not to disturb her.

  He dipped the rag back in the cup, squeezing out the grime.

  Then he moved to her collarbone, wiping slowly along the ridge, grime clinging to the shallow scrapes and scratches.

  He paused at the upper edge of her sternum. A bruise was already blooming there, a shade too black for his liking. He gently dabbed at it with the damp cloth- slow and gentle.

  And that's when he saw it.

  A scar- long, jagged, carved down the line of her sternum.

  He ran his fingers alongside it- not over, not pressing. Just tracing near its edge.

  “Don’t know how you keep gettin’ up after all this...” He whispered.

  Without thinking, he leaned down and brushed the softest kiss to her skin. 

  “But I'm glad you do.”

  He saw it–the faintest upward twitch of her lips. 

  He smiled, huffing out a chuckle before dipping the cloth back into the water and running it over her good shoulder. Then down the forearm, cleaning off as much sweat as he could. 

  He dodged her hand, saving that for last, and set to work cleaning off the hard and flaky blood from her injured and bandaged shoulder.

  He moved– slow, careful– wiping along her bicep where dried blood had streaked down in maroon lines, pooling darkly at the crook of her elbow.

  As the cloth passed over blood and dust, he couldn't help but notice how strong her arm felt beneath his hand. Muscular. Honed.

  Gently, he eased her arm a little farther from her side, just enough to reach the blood that had snuck into the hollow beneath.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled as he reached under her arm. “Know this ain't the comfiest place to have me cleanin’.”

  The skin there was warm– slick with sweat that kept the blood tacky, sticky instead of flaking away.

  His hands stilled. There, beneath the warmth and sweat, he felt it–her heartbeat.

  He let the cloth rest a moment longer than he had to. Just long enough to feel it again.

  His fingers trembled–barely–as the weight of her trust sank in.

  She let him in.

  Let him care for her. 

  Let him be the one to patch her up.

  He exhaled, then smiled–small, quiet– as he dipped the cloth back into the cup and ran it along the soft skin of her inner arm.

  Then came her hand–her beautiful, bruised hand. 

  He reached for it–slow and reverent, taking it in his own. He swept the wet cloth down her palm and between each grime coated finger, careful not to press too hard.

  Her hand was strong. Powerful. Incredible in a way that no one else would have noticed–except him.

  He finished cleaning up the hand attached to her injured shoulder, then returned to her good side, swiping away the last traces of blood and dust from her other hand.

  When he was done, her arms lay still. Clean, mostly.

  He stood, wiped his hands, and glanced around the room. She'd need something better to wear when she woke. Something soft. Something that might bring comfort.

  His gaze landed on a faded blue-grey shirt, crumpled in a dark corner. It smelled faintly of metal, engine grease, old coffee… and whiskey. It smelled like him.

  There was a softly strange kind of reverence in the way he slipped it over her head, guiding each arm through the sleeves–careful not to tug too hard at the bad shoulder, gentler still as he pulled the hem down over her ribs.

  Once he had finished, he didn't pull away. He stayed on the edge of the bed, watching her chest rise and fall beneath his shirt. 

  Then he reached out, gently placing his hand over hers. 

  She stirred. Her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy lidded, as she looked up at his face, recognition sinking in. 

  “Drifter…” she rasped. “You stayed.” 

  He smiled–small, tired, certain.

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

  He leaned down, aiming for her cheekbone–but before he could make contact, she tilted her head and met him halfway.

  Their lips touched.

  She sighed against him and let her eyes fall closed again.

  He stared, wide-eyed and surprised, because of course–even bruised, bandaged, and half asleep–she still had enough spunk to catch him off guard.

  He smiled and returned the kiss–soft, unhurried–before pulling away.

  “You should get some more rest, Moonlight.” 

  Her voice rasped, low and rough with sleep. “Will you sit beside me?” 

  “You want me to?” He asked, surprised.

  “Of course.” 

  The Drifter hesitated only a second longer before setting into motion. He helped her scoot over, careful of her bandaged wounds, then squished himself into the narrow space beside her. 

  He leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out, arms loose at his sides.

  Eris curled close without a word, resting her head into the soft hollow above his hip.

  And there, in the quiet, with nothing but the sound of soft breathing as her warmth soaked into his side–he finally let himself breathe.

  And for now, that was enough.

[rogueofart]

REAL

if you make that female character less goth as a sign of her ~healing~ or ~improving her life~ I will kill you

make her MORE gloriously dark and over-the-top. she's growing into herself. she's getting comfortable being who she wants to be. do you see the vision. I am crying and throwing things

[rogueofart]

DESTINY 2 COMMISSION SHEET

Next to my usual commission sheet, I decided to give it a go and do one specifically for Destiny 2 commissions!

If you like my style and are interested to see your Guardian or whoever in it, DM me!

[rogueofart]

Resuscitation 6: Half of Forever

May Mixtape Writing Challenge Day 11, 12 & 13 The Tragically Hip - Boots or Hearts Talk - Run Away to Mars Henrik - Half of Forever

I give up trying to figure out how to break this into three parts. Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there.

Eris stood smiling down in front of the Drifter as he looked up at her from the steam and bubble filled pool, then she stepped back into the cloud of mist suffusing the bathing room, using her mind to draw it around herself like a cloak, intentionally disappearing from his view.

"Fucking Hunters," she heard him mutter with a small laugh.

"Hmmm...." she responded playfully to him from within the steam.

She did not need to make noise, but he was entirely focused on her and it pleased her to take advantage of the Drifter's excellent hearing. She flicked the buckles on the sides of her modified Lucky Raspberry chest armour as she undid them so they would make soft metallic clinks. Instead of putting it down silently, she dropped it to thunk on the floor.

Her teasing was rewarded by a small intake of breath through the steam.

Her mementos made soft clicks against the stone bench, as did her gauntlets. She deliberately shook the cloth from around her helmet as she pulled it off so the beads and charms would shift and tinkle. She raised each boot a few inches above the floor and let them fall noisily.

A soft half-laugh from the side of the pool made her smile.

When she was clothed only in warm mist Eris ceased making noise, closed her glowing eyes, and quietly walked to the other end of the pool.

She allowed a small sploosh to announce her new position as she stepped into the pool, immersing herself completely and swimming toward him below the surface. She rose up and opened her eyes when she was closer to him, letting the glow suffuse the mountains of bubbles and mist around her.

"Oh, hello," she heard him breath out as she approached, her face the only part of her visible above the surface.

His hand moved a large mound of green-lit bubbles to the side and then he was there, an arms-length away from her, his hair wet, his face filled with adoration and relief yet still with sunken red-rimmed eyes. The colour, though, she noted, was beginning to return to his skin. It was not a huge improvement, but it was clearly there.

She reached for him and took his outstretched hand, pulling him toward her. But, whereas in the past they would have pulled each other close, their limbs forming a joyful tangle, he held back, hesitant, as though he were afraid to touch her.

They stood in the middle of the pool, the water around their necks, with only their hands touching and she watched him briefly, her head to the side, analyzing, as he bit his lip, clearly struggling with articulating a thought. The silence continued as he chewed the lips she wanted very much to kiss.

Whatever was troubling him (undoubtedly many, many things) Eris felt uncertainty from him, and was drawn to reassure. But would he accept reassurance? The Drifter was a tumultuous creature and prone to attachment issues, which would have been made even more severe with her death. A cautious approach was needed here. Eris' own desires were not as important to her in this moment as repairing the damage done to him psychologically and emotionally by her demise.

"May I hold you?" she asked him gently.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched her hands.

"Whatever it is," she added, "You can tell me, but I would... like... to hold you... while you do." She spoke with her slow deliberate phrasing, watching him carefully as she did so, articulating clearly what she wanted while making it clear it was a request, so he could decide.

His eyes opened and he made a small noise in the back of his throat, grimacing and nodding, his eyes overflowing with tears.

Eris slipped both arms around his neck as his hands went to her waist under the hot water, sliding behind her back and clinging to her.

Eris let the buoyancy of the pool take over and wrapped her legs around his waist. It was not sexual, although they were both quite naked. It was maximizing touch. A desire for the closeness of skin against skin, both because she wanted it and because she felt it would bring him much needed intimacy.

It did more than that.

He crumpled into her, clutching her tightly, and began to shake. He pressed his face into her neck, his lips at her collar bone. Eris ran her hand along the back of his neck up into his hair. She had initially intended to pull him into a passionate kiss, but this was not a romantic embrace. This was desperate. He was trembling, overwhelmed with emotion, sobbing uncontrollably, falling apart... breaking. He was breaking.

Eris bit her lip and willed the water to push them toward the edge of the pool where they could sit on the steps and keep his head above water. The water complied and, as his legs gave way, they bumped up against the shallower depth. He did not even seem to notice.

She had never in all their time together, in all the moments she'd seen him cry, throughout all the times she'd held him when he was upset, through nightmares, through terror, through loss, never had she ever seen him demonstrate this level of emotional distress.

He was convulsed with sobs. His throat made sounds that sounded almost like a goose honking in shuddering, bleating cries. Eris, in turn, was, herself, overwhelmed, with concern, with protectiveness, with powerlessness, with guilt. She understood, conceptually, what was happening, but experiencing the man who had turned himself to stone to protect from sorrow coming completely undone and falling apart in her arms was upsetting. It had likely been centuries, lifetimes, since he'd cried like this, if he ever had. Eris was not certain that who he was now was recognizable compared to who he had been.

She thought she had come to terms with her own inability to cry, but she shuddered and struggled to control her own breathing, upset at her inability to join him while at the same time knowing how badly he needed her to help him with his is own out of control breaths. Mechanically, she pet his wet hair. Numbly performing the action because it was all she could do, that and remain wrapped around him, holding him, reassuring him that she was indeed, really here now and that it was safe to cry.

They held each other this way, sobbing, shuddering. The Drifter, incapable of bringing his emotions or the physical instantiations of them to heal, and Eris doing her best to soak up his tears and grief and pain like a sponge, trying, failing, and trying again to control her own breathing. Eventually she was able to do so, and then many long minutes later, his sobbing also slowed. It was even longer still before he was able to lift his face from her skin.

"Shit," he mumbled, embarrassed. "My nose is runnin' and I'm snottin' all over you."

Eris kissed his forehead. "We have both been immersed in far more vile and disgusting fluids. Besides, surely a bath is the best place for a mess."

He responded with a joyless laugh and she reached away from him with one arm, leaning toward where the towels still were at the edge of the pool. He followed her lead, pulling them over while still clinging tightly to her. He then proceeded to once more blow his nose into the same small towel as before.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

Eris dipped her hands in the water and ran her wet thumbs along his cheeks, up under his eyes, along the edges of his beard, at his temples, behind his ears. Grounding him with her touch.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said quietly.

"Oh... actually, I do and..." He coughed, trying to get his throat to behave and let him talk. "And I need you to know about it. I don't want you to find out later an' be surprised."

"I will not be surprised," Eris said quietly. "But I can tell you wish to partake in... confession time." She reached behind him and presented him with a metal cup filled with cool water that she had willed into existence on the coloured mosaic stones.

He drank it gratefully before continuing. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Very well, then," Eris said, pulling away slightly, so she could kneel beside him in the water while still keeping him close. Her hair dripped down onto her shoulders. Bubbles wafted around them and floated in mounds on the surface of the water, making it feel almost as though they were in a small cave. "I will hear your confession."

"Well when you say it all formal that way it makes it sound silly." He said with a forced attempt at humour, his mouth trying to smirk while his eyes remained sad.

"No," she spoke with finality, accentuating her speech with the fingers of one hand raised above the water. "There is nothing silly about it. Speak."

She was simultaneously his lover and a god demanding a sacrament from one of her supplicants. A ritual. He felt compelled to unburden himself. She would help him carry his burden, then. As his friend, as his companion, as a member of his fireteam.

The Drifter shuddered at her words, feeling the weight of them, accepting her willing participation. He nodded, and swallowed hard.

"I uh... didn't handle you bein' dead uh... well..."

"I know. There is no way you would have."

"I heard the message you left in your apartment and... I tried. I tried to carry the comfort with me. It uh... It didn't go so well."

"I know." She squeezed his hand under the bubbles.

"I know you wanted me to reach out to other people but I... I couldn't... I tried. I really did try. I was helpin' out for a bit. Get 'em back for killing ya. But uh... the weight of it all... it... Felt like I was runnin' out of oxygen. There's... there's never been anyone like you... for me..." He licked his lips and looked away before returning to meet her three-eyed gaze. "I never had somethin' like this and I... I couldn't take losing you. I couldn't take it. I stayed as long as I could and then... I... Eris... I did that thing you were always afraid of me doin' - that thing I promised you I wouldn't never do to you. I ran. I ran away."

"I know." She wiped away more of his tears with warm wet hands. "You told me. Sloane hit you and you left."

"Yeah but, it wasn't just goin' off to sulk. I... I left-left. Permanent. I wasn't comin' back."

"I know." Eris whispered.

"You know?"

"Yes. I heard it... through the walls..." Eris reached up a dripping hand and wiped more tears away from under his eye, her own voice trembling with emotion, heavy with sorrow. "I heard you... screaming... over the communications... Pushing people away. Every time you spoke you were... closing yourself off more. I..."

It was Eris' turn to lick her lips. She reached for the cup which he'd drained and picked up a metal pitcher she had materialized on the floor behind his head, pouring more cold water into the cup, drinking some of it, and handing it to him. "I tried to call to you through the Darkness... where the walls were thinnest... not bound by time and space... I fear I made it worse... at one point you were screaming at me..."

He gave a short joyless laugh and gulped down more water, handing the glass back to her to refill. "So that was you... the whispers."

"Yes. I do not know if it was worse that I attempted or that I stopped. You were in so much pain I... I could not continue. I feared I was... driving you mad..."

"I didn't believe it," he said, forlorn. "I thought it was just... You were dead in my arms, lover. You were gone. I buried you... I tried anything, everything to get you back. I was willin' to give up... everything."

"I know. I do not blame you for not recognizing it was me. The Darkness wears familiar faces and speaks with familiar voices. And you and I are both more accustomed to its tricks than most. I should have realized you would believe the Darkness was tormenting you, and not I. But... then, when your voice became silent..." Eris took a deep, shuddering breath. "I knew."

Eris reached out both hands and pulled him closer so she could kiss his forehead.

"The quiet. When I stopped hearing your voice shouting bitterness and despair. I knew what you had done."

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked and he started crying again. "I almost lost you again. I would'a been gone. You would'a come back and been alone. We're a fireteam. I would'a... I would'a... taken that away from you again... The one thing that mattered to you more than anything else. And it would'a been me that took it from ya."

"Yes," she said solemnly. "And, while I would have looked to try to find you in the stars, I do not know that I would have succeeded."

He turned away from her, squeezing his eyes shut.

"But I would not have given up," she said quietly.

Eris put her arms back around his neck and held him close once more, speaking into his ear. "It was... heartbreaking, listening for you at the walls and hearing the silence. To have ascended to godhood, my Throne vast and unending, omnipotent and eternal... but alone... without the comfort... the understanding... the quiet seeds of joy that we have so long kept safe between us. No more randomly delivered dumplings." her voice shook. "No more inane rambling voice messages. No more insufferable pestering." She drew a shaky breath and her hand slid along his head, her fingers tightening in his hair, clutching him even closer. "But... you returned." She leaned back from him so she could see his face while still holding him tightly. "You came back. You are here now. And I am... so very grateful for it."

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

"I was the one who died," Eris countered. "I did not have to grieve. You did. I am the one who is sorry. I know... what it is you were forced to confront. Do... you... forgive me?"

The Drifter blinked, confused. "What? It's not like you killed yourself. You were murdered. Right in front of me. I was there."

I taught you how to love me. Eris left the words unspoken. I demanded it as the price of my attention. For years I coaxed you out of your safe detachment. I taught you how to feel again and I was not here to hold you when my death broke you.

"I was murdered," she said out loud. "But you... survived." Eris tilted her head, once more reaching a hand out to run wet fingers through his wet hair. "And we both know the cruelty of survival. The bitter weight of what it is to still breathe while those closest to us no longer can. To feel when those we love can't feel anything."

He nodded at her words.

"Do you forgive me?" she asked him again.

"There ain't nothin' to forgive, Moondust."

Eris' lips quirked into a small smile. "I feel the same."

"You forgive me?" he asked, tentative, hopeful.

"No."

He stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away.

"There is nothing to forgive." Eris added. "You were grieving. You tried. I will not judge you for attempting to alleviate pain."

He looked back to her. "Are you sure?"

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead again. "Yes."

"It don't feel like there's nothin' to forgive."

Eris took another deep breath and let it out. "Then you are asking for forgiveness from the wrong person. I am unable to give you absolution. Only my gratitude... and relief... and..." Her smile widened. "...joy."

"Joy? I ran off, lover. It's a wild, wild world out there. I almost cost us everything."

"In a desperate attempt to outrun your grief, yes. But you came back. You ran to the edge of oblivion and chose to step away. That is what matters. You are here, now. And I have not lost you forever."

"Eris, I wish it was that. But that's not what happened. I didn't stop. Somethin' else stopped me and then... it was only then I realized I needed to come back. I didn't do it on my own. I wasn't strong enough for that."

She cupped his cheek in her hand and pulled his face to look at her. "I don't care if you weren't strong enough to do it on your own. I care that you are here now, with me, and that we have been given another chance. I will not squander it or berate you regarding the circumstances of how it came to pass. To have heard your voice again... enacting the ritual to free me... to see you and touch you and hold you close... " She pulled him into another tight embrace.

"I was worried you wouldn't be able to forgive me for running," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Eris sighed and pulled away again, locking eyes with him so she could make sure she had his full attention. "I love you."

"Moonlight... I don't deserve that."

She smirked at him. "It does not matter if you do."

"Just doesn't seem fair, is all."

Eris tilted her chin up defiantly. "Since when do either of us give a..." she paused for effect before continuing, saying the next two words deliberately. "...flying fuck... about what is fair?"

He laughed. She laughed too. It was the quiet stifled laughter they had first shared together, only this time it was his mirth bubbling forth unbidden and hers following after, delighting in having caused it in him, having made the sad man laugh.

"I guess we don't tend to give a flying fuck about what's fair, yeah. Two peas in a pod."

Eris smiled at him, nodding.

"But it still don't feel right. I fucked up. If you ain't who I need to make it up to, then who is? The Vanguard? Sloane? Ikora? Heh. She'd probably rather I stayed gone. None of them would have missed me."

"That is not true. But you are correct, that they are not who you need to make it up to. And acts of contrition toward them, while recommended, are not what is needed now. The person you need to make it up to is the person you hurt the most by running." Eris said quietly.

"That was you."

"No. It was not."

He frowned and squinted.  "I ain't askin' myself for a absolution if that's what you're sayin'.  I ain't absolutin' nothin'."

Eris smiled wryly at his characteristic obstinacy. "Then you will remain unforgiven."

He shrugged and chewed his lip for a moment. "I guess... wouldn't be the first time... You're... you're really ok with it? We're really ok?"

She regarded the haggard man in front of her, broken because of his love for her, shattered by the pain of losing her, all of his mental and emotional armour stripped away, because she had demanded his honesty, insisted he become more naked, emotionally, with her than he had ever been physically, before or now, and all she could feel was love... Love and compassion, and gratitude that she was able to be with him again.

She placed her hand flat against his chest, over his heart, feeling his heartbeat, a stone heart that had quickened and then shattered because of her. He placed his own hand on top of hers, as though he could press her fingers into his flesh and let her rip the painful organ out of him if she so chose.

"Yes," Eris said, with all the intensity and certainty of the strongest magic she had ever wrought.

It was not a ritual, and yet also, it was. It was the articulation of a choice and the assertion of desire. And his next breath did not shudder. And his eyes were more clear, the lines in his face less troubled. She felt his whole body relax under her touch and it was as though some magic, some small bit of healing, had indeed been enacted between them.

Several deep breaths in tandem later, Eris broke the silence. "May I wash your hair?"

A mischievous glint flickered in the Drifter's eyes and he smiled widely. "I'd like that."

Eris slid behind him and obtained some soap in her hands before beginning to swirl her strong fingers in circles along his scalp.

"Oh man..." he mumbled as she continued.  "This is the shit."

She pushed him away from her just enough to be able to tug him backwards so he'd lie on his back, half covered in a mound of bubbles and let her rinse the suds out of his hair.

A soft "Hmmm..." escaped her lips.

"What?" he asked with feigned innocence, an adoring look on his face.

"Did you already wash your hair? It is not as greasy as I expected."

He looked up at her with a sheepish grin.

"Tsch," she rolled all three of her eyes at him.

He giggled playfully at her and pulled her arms around his neck so his back was to her front and his head was resting on her shoulder.  

"You gonna let me wash yours?" he asked her.

Before Eris could answer, another faint, piercing, high-pitched "ting" resounded through the air.

She frowned.

"That's your doorbell, isn't it?" he asked, twisting around in the water and tangling his fingers between hers.

Eris sighed. "After a fashion, yes."

"Who is it this time?"

Eris sighed again, looking at him wistfully. "Zavala."

The Drifter chuckled. "You gotta get that. Ya only just got not-dead.  Tonight's gonna be one long stream of well-wishers and friends and all sorts of people grateful to have you back."

"Yes, well... it is not every day that one is resurrected as a god after one's permanent demise."

He took her hand under the water, brought it up to the surface, and kissed it through the bubbles floating between them. "Tell ya what. You go deal with that, and tell me where this bed is you wanted us to cuddle in, and I'll wait for you there. And you'll probably have to come and go all night long, but... when you're not bein' visited, I'll be waitin'."

Eris smiled at him over their clasped, bubble encrusted fingers.

"I would take joy in that," she whispered.

"Me too. You'll have to tell me where to go though. Don't wanna get lost and de-cor-porealized for bein' in the restricted section of the library."

"Tsch. I have already told you nothing will harm you here. But... Back in the hall we entered from, the next door down is beside a small table and leads to another room. Rest there and I will join you."

"Will do."

She kissed his hand again, just like she had in front of the Guardian when he'd first come through the portal to see her.

His face lit up and she could tell he was staring at the bubbles which had transferred from his hand to her lips.

"Hmmm..." she kissed his hand one more time and then ducked under the water, swimming under the surface to the opposite end of the pool and cloaking herself once more in steam.

She heard him chuckle as she willed her clothing to cover her once more. He was enjoying the teasing of her not letting him see her naked outside of the water just yet.

The pages of the books which made up the walls of her vast library rustled and, as she willed herself through them to the entrance area of her Throne, Eris smiled and wiped her face. It would only confuse Zavala to see her with soap bubbles on her nose.

She retained the smell of mint and rosemary, though. It pleased her, knowing that the Drifter's olfactory experience would be the same.

I've made a playlist for all the songs that will be added to this series as I go. Playlist on Spotify Playlist on Youtube

Here's all the stories I've submitted to the May Mixtape series.

[rogueofart]

Not even Drifter can survive the Grimacing.

(Click for better quality!)

COMMISSIONS OPEN!

[rogueofart]

DESTINY 2 COMMISSION SHEET

Next to my usual commission sheet, I decided to give it a go and do one specifically for Destiny 2 commissions!

If you like my style and are interested to see your Guardian or whoever in it, DM me!

[rogueofart]

SWHFTT‼️‼️SUNDAY‼️‼️

57. It's easier to just accept fate (of being called daddy)

[rogueofart]

Happy Pride to all! (Yes im late, been busy with life but we ball)

Small droplet of lore - Nezabud constantly misses the events unless somebody reminds him of them. Man lives on Europa and can’t exactly pinpoint the months.

[rogueofart]

I was inspired to create a part two to Beyond Words... Enjoy ✨💚

BEYOND WORDS PT. 2

They remained that way for some time. Eris's arms draped across the Drifter's shoulders, his hands firm on her thighs, his head resting in her lap. 

  She nuzzled into the dark strands of his hair, letting it tickle against her face as she breathed him in.

 It was oddly… comforting. Like home. 

  Like she had always belonged there.

  Then, a thought crept in, pressing against her mind. Her fingers twitched, loosening their grip as she pulled back enough to look down at him.

  The Drifter lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers, waiting.

  She hesitated- just for a second. Then, before she could second-guess herself, her body moved- as if drawn by something beyond reason.

  Her hands found his shoulders, grounding her as she sank into his lap, her legs settling on either side before she had the chance to stop herself.

  His breath hitched- but he didn't move. 

  He just let her stay.

  His gaze lifted, his eyes locked onto hers- hesitant, afraid… longing. 

  “Eris,” he rasped as his hands curled around her hips.

  She stared down at him, gaze flicking over his lips, hovering there for just a second too long before meeting his eyes again.

  He smiled- small and shy, as he slowly, carefully slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer- urging her into the moment. 

  His forehead met the soft fabric of her robes- lightly brushing over her collarbone. And for a second, he just stayed there, as if afraid moving too fast or breathing too hard would shatter the moment.

  She shuddered in a breath, her fingers ghosting over his shoulders, trailing up the curve of his neck before slipping into his hair, pressing him into her- into her chest. Into the warmth of her body. 

  He felt so seen, so vulnerable. But also so warm. Safe. At home. 

  He exhaled softly, sinking first into the fabric, and then into her body, his arms still tight around her waist. 

  She let her fingertips press into his scalp, tracing slow, lingering strokes through the short strands. Then, her fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his headband. 

  She hesitated- just for a breath, stroking her thumb across the fabric, before slipping the headband off.

  He shivered, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze, his own wide with surprise and surrender.

  Her chest rose too sharply, her grip on the headband long forgotten. 

  She should look away.

  She didn't.

  Her eyes were back on his lips- on every tiny movement, from the slight twitch at the corner to the way his tongue had flicked out- just enough to wet his bottom lip. 

  She caught the way his mouth parted- his breath slow, steady, deliberate. He leaned just a fraction closer, his fingers tightening against her waist just enough to make her aware of the heat between them.

  It was an offer.

  Eris felt it, even with her eyes set on his lips, she felt the way his own gaze had dipped lower. She knew exactly what he wanted to do. And it was exactly what she wanted as well.

  The last sliver of space between them evaporated.

  At first, it was soft. Slow. Hesitant.

  Their lips brushed- just barely, testing.

  And then something changed.

  The kiss deepened- fast and unrestrained. Every last shred of hesitation forgotten as their mouths collided, sloppy, uneven. Absolutely perfect.

  Their breath mixed in what little space was left between them- warm and dizzying. 

  The Drifter groaned into her mouth- low and rough as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Demanding more. Taking more. Swallowing the soft gasp that left her lips, kissing her like she was the only thing that ever made sense.

  She could tell he wanted more- the way he held too tight, kissed too long- and she wanted it too.

  But- not yet.

  She pulled away- not far, just enough to search his face. 

  And what she found stole her breath all over again.

  Eris should have stopped. Should have said something. Should have given herself a chance to breathe.

  But the way Drifter was smiling up at her- cheeks flushed, swollen lips pulled into a lazy grin, shining eyes locked on hers, like she was the only thing he wanted in the entire galaxy?

  There was no stopping.

  Her hands found his cheeks, tilting his chin up just enough before she crashed back into him.

  This kiss was different. Hungrier. Unstoppable.

  Their mouths parted, breathless- heat shooting through every inch of her as her tongue met his. Slow at first. Gentle.

  Then heavier. Deeper. Desperate.

  The Drifter inhaled sharply- his teeth scraping against her lip, their tongues pressing together, chasing more- all thoughts of personal space long gone as his hands trailed up her spine. 

  Her fingers tightened against his cheeks, pulling closer, stealing more as her legs pressed into his sides. 

  The Drifter groaned again, the sound vibrating against her lips as their teeth collided. He held her too tight, too hard, like he needed to feel every inch of her pressed against him.

  They were so close, so lost, so tangled together- and then they slipped. 

  The Drifter fell backwards, instinctively gripping Eris tighter as she tumbled with him, breathless and still clutching his face as they landed with a heavy thud on the wood floor, limbs tangled and breath stolen 

 The Drifter blinked, looking up at her, and then- he laughed, his face red and his smile wide.

  “Guess we got a little carried away, huh?” he asked as his eyes slipped lower, studying her beautifully swollen, red lips. 

  His breath hitched. 

  He did that. 

  He was the reason this strong, impassioned, badass woman was out of breath, cheeks flushed, lips bruised, staring down at him- so full of awe it nearly undid him.

  “Perhaps so,” she murmured, masking her flustered state in the only way she knew- by pulling him closer. 

  She slipped her hands back into his hair, her fingers threading through the dark strands as she leaned in, just a little closer.

  “I didn't mind none…” he groused, still watching her mouth.

  “Nor did I,” she replied.

  And with that, she put her lips back to his, taking in every taste and movement as he curled his arms tight around her, as if he'd never let go.

[rogueofart]

A Drifteris fanfic I spent all day on... intimate, tender, and full of trust 🌕🐀 Hope y'all like it! And please like and reblog as well! 

BEYOND WORDS

  A soft tap at the door tore Eris from her thoughts. 

  She looked up from the countless papers scattered across her table. The room was dark, the only light coming from a few scattered candles and the faint glow of the moon shining in from the window.

  The door opened before Eris had even attempted to get up, only getting so far as to scoot her chair in the direction of the door before the Drifter stepped inside.

  “Drifter?” Eris called out, her voice low and scratchy from lack of sleep.

  “Hey, Eris…” he greeted her gently, closing the door and stepping towards her. “What're you doin’ up?” 

  “I may ask you the same thing.” She returned. “Along with the demand of why you are in my apartment with no invitation.”

  “Fair enough,” he laughed. “If I'm bein' honest… I was havin’ a hard time sleepin’, and something in me just felt like I oughta pay you a visit, see how your holdin' up.” 

  “How did you know I would still be awake?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Just had a feeling.” 

  “Hmm… intuition? Or perhaps happenstance?” She speculated.

  “Heh, well, either way it was right.” He dropped to his knees at the foot of her chair. “Why are you still up working instead of taking some much deserved time to rest?” 

  Eris's gaze moved from the Drifter's caring face, to the messy table beside them. Her eyes glazed over the books and papers scattered across the surface.

  “I suppose I too found sleep far from me this night.” She eventually replied, still staring at the table.

  A moment of silence passed, then she felt it. A touch. A squeeze. Soft. Comforting. 

  Her heart skipped a beat as she looked down, and there it was, the Drifter's palm resting on her thigh, his gaze locked on her face.

  “I'm here, Eris.” He murmured, his voice raw with honesty.

  “Thank you.” She breathed out.

  For a moment they sat like that, silence surrounding them as the Drifter gently stroked her, starting at the inner thigh then working outward. Then slowly making his way back in. Then back out. He was aware of how vulnerable this whole situation was, how delicate it was meant to be treated. 

  The Drifter hesitated, his gaze flicking upward and searching her expression, asking a question without words. He sucked in a deep breath and leaned in, and then- a kiss. The gentle press of his lips to the inner portion of her thigh. 

  Soft. Delicate. Vulnerable.

  Eris stiffened, shocked- she wasn't used to this- being touched like this, being kissed like this, being loved the way he loves her. Trusted the way he trusts her. She stopped herself from pushing away, from ending a moment that she both desperately wished for, and was terrified to pursue in.

  She wants this. She needs this.

  Eris inhaled sharply, barely audible, but the Drifter noticed. He froze momentarily, but when she didn't push him away, he continued.

  His lips brushed against the soft fabric, the warmth of her skin seeping through the delicate barrier. He hummed quietly, inhaling a shaky breath through his nose as his lips traced across the most tender spots of her thighs, each touch full of reverence and trust.

  Eris exhaled softly, the tension in her shoulders and thighs melting away. Her legs shifted- a quiet surrender, a silent acknowledgement of trust. She hadn't realized how rigidly she had been holding herself- how much she had been resisting the softness of touch. But now, in this moment, it was all she wanted- the pressure of his lips against her thighs, the steady grip of his hands, each kiss steeped in trust and understanding. This was all she wanted.

  When the Drifter finally stopped, he didn't pull away. Instead, he rested his forehead against her thigh, an acknowledgment of trust. 

  Eris exhaled softly, threading her fingers through his hair, taking in the warmth and the quiet intimacy of the moment. She had not expected her night to go this way. She had never expected to be touched and kissed in such a vulnerable location, and to have willingly allowed it. But she did, and now she was smiling down at the man she loved most, nestled against her, his hands resting gently on her hips. In his presence she felt cherished. She felt trusted. She felt true joy.

  She traced her fingers down his arms, across his shoulders. She leaned forward, her body enveloping his, holding him close, grounding him in her warmth. His fingers traced slow, adoring patterns along her hamstrings.

  And so they remained- wrapped in gentle warmth, in quiet understanding, and in the mutual trust they shared with one another.

[rogueofart]

Not going to be tired to say those two are my Roman Empire

Request done for @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese!!

This was also super fun to draw! Thanks so much Mooncheese, and now onto @myobsidianhope's request! 💚

🌕🐀

[rogueofart]

brother, gambit has been on a "form of hiatus" for years now, internet explorer type shit

i havent even gotten the title yet (bad at invading, even with the easiest methods + never played with gambit weapons only) gotta do this quick now

:( don't do this to me Bungie pls

[rogueofart]

Talk to a guy for THIRTY SECONDS & Cayde is waving flags around about it-

[rogueofart]

the drifter // twitter 

[rogueofart]

It's finished! Requested by @ionegirl-art, this was super fun to draw 💚

Now on to @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese's request! :)