orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Entry tags:

IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Who: Anyone, everyone? Aoba and Declan to start.
What: Destiny
When: After the House of Wolves, before The Taken King.
Where: Earth, The Last City, The Tower and beyond.
Warnings: Could be sorta zombie stuff (Hive), could be xenophilia? I dunno. Gen warnings, yo.

Earth. 700 years into the future, humanity is all but gone, huddled in a massive city in the mountains, surrounded by gargantuan walls and living in the shadow of the slumbering, perhaps dead, body of The Traveler. The massive being of benevolence and light that came to Earth bearing gifts of knowledge that would bring about the longest Golden Age in Terran history, hovering in geostationary orbit over The Last City of men, protecting what is left from The Darkness beyond with the remains of it's Light.

For those on Earth it is a well-known story. With The Traveler's dying breath it created Ghosts, fragments of living Light that in turn resurrected men and women across the galaxy, bringing to bear the Guardians, warriors to fight the Darkness. Earth and all the nearby planets are populated by humans, the Awoken, Exos and a variety of species of ever more distant origins, some less generous than others. The Guardians make their headquarters in a colossal spire at the edge of The Last City. There, in the Tower, the Vanguard and other factions of humanity work together to hold the line and fight the Darkness and every other threat to the known universe. The little understood Guardians rarely venture beyond the Tower, preferring the company of their brothers and sisters in arms, but all look to the Tower as a beacon of hope.

There is danger and adventure to be had; the likelihood of death and the possibility of rebirth. The future is uncertain, but all who walk in the Light know the Darkness is coming, and the wise life to the fullest.

[ Destiny Wiki ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Aoba managed a soft scoff there, eyes lowered as he stroked Ren's fur. "But that's the problem in the first place. The other me has all the instincts, apparently."

And then, relief. He'd been grilled enough, conceded the point, and was companionably shouldered out of the way, hazel going gold.

"And overthinking is basically his job description," added the lower tone and more relaxed speech of Desire as he reclaimed a chopstick and stabbed a maki roll. "Guess it just goes to show, sometimes you just gotta hear it from someone other than yourself."

"Hello hello," Mac grinned, wagging a brow garishly and poking a spicy bit of meat from Venus over the platter towards Desire.

"Fancy swap there. Mood-Swings-R-Us, double daily discount," the Warlock hummed to himself, tilting his head and looking Aoba over. It was his first time witnessing the difference. Without as much personal experience as Declan had, he couldn't say he noticed all that much, but then he was definitely very accustomed to tumultuous moods. His 'Dear Prince' was notoriously salty and sweet.

"Don't get all smug, though, acting like the other tactics aren't part of the problem, too. Flat out sweaty paw lusting isn't thinking with your head, it's thinking with your dick. You gotta find a good middle ground, man. If you legitimately want to go for broke, learn a little patience. Declan will come around if you give him time and try not to choke on his ideas of propriety. Not that I have any idea where that plays between the sheets, but he's got his ideals and no one should begrudge him those, when they're all about how much he cares about you."

"I gave it my best shot, okay?" Desire replied without offense, dismissively waving his free hand at the air while his chopsticks made a move on the offered bit of meat. "Middle ground only exists where we agree on something, and we're still working on that part. That's why his preferred tactic is to not say a damn thing until we figure ourself out, remember?"

Into his mouth went the meat, complete with a brief pause of appreciation for the unexpected heat of it. But Reason was finally doing a round of thinking in a less self-deprecating way, so Desire left him to it, taking on the role of 'protecting' him for a while by coming forward to resume facing Mac.

"The big guy treated me normally from the get-go. I'm smitten. I'll do anything he wants me to, as long as it's something."

"Then you should just decide what you want to do and do it with him. Well, I mean of course with his stipulation in place it all depends on how you want to do it, but his hitch has a real simple caveat: once it's done to him he's got no reason not to do it to you. I guess kinda like 'do unto others as you would have done unto you'? Something something, insert clever wisdom here. I'm not the Speaker, I don't know what's best, just what sounds like the path of least resistance. Otherwise you're probably just gonna have to accept the fate of a life of hand-jobs and sixty-nines," he shrugged, uttering a long-suffering sigh.

"Why can't Uldren be more like you? Tch. Man. Here I am, a fuckin' snack, and I get blanked. I'd let that man use me as a footstool just for a little recognition. I'd complain about how lucky Declan is except you guys are on the rocks right now, and that sounds about as bad."

“Pretty sure he’s plenty like me,” Desire pointed out, both off-hand and indifferent. It was actually kind of companionable, for him. He’d been watching the Sovs from behind Reason’s fronting too, after all. Arrogant, aggressive, watchful, and not afraid to make his opinions known. If he wasn’t giving Mac the time of day, it wasn’t out of playing hard to get.

Handjobs and sixty-nines, though. Mac said it with a degree of resignation, but Desire got a pleasantly warm flush at the thought of Declan doing either of those things with him, gazing off for a moment at nothing in particular. Either one would be a far cry more than the nothing they were currently getting.

“Well if it’s a matter of swapping with me going first, that’s easy,” he said with a distracted little grin, as much for himself (meaning Reason, who squirmed) as just as commentary. “Hard part’s just getting all of me to fess up. Least we got a couple days before our big guy comes back to think it through.”

Unless Declan did one of his check-in calls. Now that might be a trainwreck.

"If he were enough like you, I wouldn't have to pretend so mu--uh. Yeah man. Like you. Totally. I just gotta play like I'm not interested. Hard to get. Or like I found somethin' way better or whatever," the Warlock slid in correcting himself before he blasted his facade. Eyes rolled to the side, lips pursing in a silent whistling for a moment.

"Honestly guy, I think if you just ease Declan into a fair-share position, you can get him up to a place you like afterwards without any issue. He's already emotionally invested. He talks about you just plenty and not in uncertain terms. If he's avoiding the L-word for any reason, it's because he thinks it'll run you off. He's not a monk, though. He might not need or want sex in the more common tradition as you or I do, always having at least a tiny nugget in the back of our minds, but he's still a man. He still gets excited about things, or he wouldn't have come to me looking for help. That guy could be the next Buddha without trying, but he's human, too." Mac's eyes rolled, little flashes of lemon-lime flickering under mulberry lashes.

"I could be your Cyrano. Sort of. Not the best analogy, but it's the best I got. I mean I can map it out for you, the path of least resistance." He nodded, ticking off on his fingers.

"You know he has real feelings for you; nothing Declan says or does is guided by his penis since the idiot probably didn't even realize he had one before you started feeling him up. You know he's not expressly against intimacy with you; he's just got some weird hang-ups about what he's willing to do. The caveat there being he's probably willing to do literally anything, but his morals or whatever you wanna call it says he won't do anything that puts you in, shall we say, a more passive role, unless he 'submits' first. You're gonna have to get over whatever your feelings are there, he's like that because he respects you. If you don't want respect, then you're gonna end up like me. No one wants that."

A pause, tapping his chin before reaching out for a sip of water.

"And we all know Declan doesn't like lies at all, so he's pretty painfully honest or just says nothing. So line it up like dominoes. Go at him hard like usual, but go with guns loaded. So to speak. Ask him right up front if he's got feelings for you and what those feelings are. You'll have every confirmation you need with no more stupid misunderstandings. If you don't want to hear those answers, though, don't ask. Go on plugging your ears, but you wouldn't be in this position if you didn't already know the answer. He's head-over-heels for you. But best to hear it from him instead of me."

"When you know without a shadow of a doubt how he feels, then go for the rest. Y'all have your fun. You can do all your chaste hanky-panky with him, or if you wanna get really freaky-deaky, I imagine all it'll take is showing by doing. This is probably the only scenario in your life where your dick is literally the key to the lock. You probably don't even have to be good at it. You can be cheap and give him a poke and say you're done, then make him do all the work. He's dumb. He'll do it. Don't give me that look, you know I'm right."

Mac was surprisingly invested in the success of Declan’s potential love life, Desire mused, picking out some more of the remaining sushi to enjoy for himself. Sure, he tasted everything Reason did, but there was still a particular pleasure in doing ordinary things again after so long without. He listened to what Mac was saying still, but at this point the major arguments had already been driven home. Everything else was details upon details.

The only bit that particularly got a reaction was at the end, where Desire did indeed give Mac something of a dry look. He couldn’t call him smart and perceptive and then just turn right back around and call him dumb again.

“He’s a lot of things, but he isn’t dumb,” Desire side-spoke around a mouthful, wiping spicy mayo off his lip with his thumb and sucking it clean. “And trust me, I’m plenty aware that he likes me. Speaking as this side of things, I’m not used to being liked, but I’m also not used to waiting for what I want. I hate waiting.”

Half hunched over his plate, Desire looked off to the side, idly thoughtful. “Either Reason’s bleeding into me a lot more than I’m bleeding into him, or Declan’s the first thing I’ve met worth waiting for.”

"No reason it can't be both," Mac pointed out, licking his fingertips clean and leaving the last of the food to Aoba.

"He's dumb about things, but not dumb in general, no. A little slow, maybe. Difficulty on the uptake sometimes," the Warlock pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat, observing Aoba idly.

"He likes all of you, though. He was very adamant that I understand you're a single person just with wildly variant opinions, and I am not - under any circumstances - to make assumptions about you as a person. I don't have much experience with you though so I'm just accepting everything at face value. That being said, no offense, but I like this side of you more, personally. I, however, am trash. Declan is not. I think you make him very nervous. Though only because you make him feel funny in his wee-wee," the Warlock dropped his tone and picked up a bit of baby talk at the end, clearly having fun at Declan's expense, but the man wasn't there so it could hardly be called bullying.

"I will take personal offense if you don't call me to girl-talk about the sex later. Just saying."

Mac used a lot of phrases and slang that Aoba didn’t inherently recognize, but the translation factor of being a Chosen One helped him out a lot there. Desire studied Mac’s luminous eyes, not because he was delving or even surface-reading him, but just because that kind of too-intense eye contact was his default.

He snorted a dryly amused sound. “Isn’t he your genetic cousin or something like that? Being interested in family’s sex life is kind of fucked up.”

And somehow, it was the friendliest comment Desire had made yet, his smile skewed in a way that passed no judgement, amused or not.

"Ha! Isn't it though? But we're distantly related. Like...distantly. Related in the way you're related to the Emperor of China because an ancestor of yours got fiddly with a farm girl during an invasion or something. We call each other cousins because we don't like being reminded of just how isolate it is to be a Guardian," Mac retorted with facts, arching a brow and returning that steady gold gaze without flinching. One prick to another.

"My life is a dry well, Aobz," he palled around with the other man's name, smirking in idle challenge. "Don't begrudge me my entertainment."

“What, because you’re pining after the royal asshole? Sucks to be you,” Desire snorted with a smirk, moving on the sushi that remained. He couldn’t be offended by the friendly mangling of his name, either, since it was still being called by a form of his name.

Desire considered for a moment that a few words from him could send that Uldren right to Mac for anything he wanted, if he could just get in range of him. At the meeting the Queen wanted to have with Aoba, maybe? Surely that would be a much better 'reward' for the Warlock than just confirmation as to whether his cousin was well hung or not.

The mental smack from Reason arrived just as expected, leaving him laughing quietly between bites.

"He's not that bad," Mac shrugged, looking off to the side and dismissing the topic. Raising a hand and waving to the server, he pointed at the table, indicating they were done, then gave a thumbs up at their nod. All taken out of his credit.

"You finished? Let's head back to my place. Well...my ship, anyways. I don't care for rooms and barracks. I prefer my little mobile paradise. Declan thought you might like to watch something a little exciting, but it causes him a lot of anxiety so he wanted me to take you while he was out," the Warlock leaned back even further, slouching into his seat and raising his hands to indicate handlebars.

"I race Sparrows professionally," he grinned, revving his imaginary vehicle before sitting up again. "I've got a circuit today. Come be my good luck charm? Or just chill on the Seeker."

“He’s not even here and he’s still planning my entertainment?” Desire remarked, before shoving the last piece of sushi into his mouth and—almost as an afterthought—holding open Ren’s carry-satchel. The Allmate, who had been tense but nevertheless remained on Aoba’s lap even when his aspects had swapped, nosed his way into it and freed Desire to stand.

He wasn’t irritated by the notion. It was just more to show how concerned Declan was being for him in all of this. Reason felt self-conscious of Declan doing all the hard and dangerous labor, but Desire had no such misgivings. Maybe a little boredom at getting left out of what sounded like dangerous situations, but not enough to cause any kind of resentment.

“Sure, why not. How dangerous a race are we talking here?” Please tell him ‘very’.

"Very," Mac answered as if the universe aligned for Desire. "It's Guardians only. We die sometimes. It started out just as offensive and defensive Sparrow training, then we started doing it for entertainment. It makes a lot of money, and is a lot more enjoyable than doing the Crucible," the Guardian nodded, rising from his seat and waving Aoba along after him.

"I ride sponsor free, too, so I pocket all the profits. Some of us aren't as good at saving as Declan and have really expensive taste."

Whatever curiosity Reason had promptly recoiled, while Desire’s predictably sharpened. Looked like they were going to stay in their current configuration for a while longer, and Desire wasn’t complaining. More time up front for him, more time for ‘Aoba’ to think about what he was going to say to Declan overall.

“Fun and lucrative,” Desire confirmed he was paying attention. “Nice. I just might get nostalgic here.”

"Hey man, too bad you're not a Guardian. I'm looking to start a team, but I'm pretty picky. Declan is actually one of the best Sparrow racers I know, but he won't compete. He doesn't like Crucibles either, I'm sure you know. Me? I love winning."

“A man after my own heart,” Desire drawled, apparently confident enough to pseudo-flirt even with his affections for Declan firmly expressed. “The thing I did was closer to your Crucible, though. We call it Rhyme.”

Reason proved he hadn’t completely tuned out, at that. A wash of confusion came up from behind—and from a sharp look from Ren peeking out of the satchel, too.

Hey, Desire could only smirk towards those background thoughts. Just because you’ve forgotten a bunch of shit doesn’t mean I have. ...Or at least, I remember more than you do, anyway.

“I went by ‘Sly Blue’, then. Undefeated. Good times.”

"Rhyme? That doesn't sound like much of a Crucible game. Sounds like rap battles or something," Mac snorted, though he wasn't doubting Aoba had possibly done any fighting in the past. He really had nothing to gain by lying, since even if he did, it wasn't to the degree of the Crucible or SRL. Of course, nothing was; normal humans typically avoided putting their lives on the line for fun and profit.

"Sly Blue is a sweet handle, though. I'd come up with a cool name but I feel like naming myself makes it cheesy. Someday someone will coin something and I'll just go by that like some edgy badass. Life goals and all," the Warlock announced, tapping his temple and winking as they passed back out towards the docking bay and his ship.

"If you get bored and want someone to train with or anything, you can always hit me up if Declan is being a wet rag. There's a few Guardians, we all get together and do lighter stuff. Sometimes just silly things like...volleyball..." Mac gestured spiking a ball before skipping a few steps to close the distance to his ship, the bay door hissing open.

"That actually reminds me. You obviously have some issues being up front with Declan about things, but I would worry less about possibly hurting his feelings and more about being really honest with him. Even if you think it's harsh. It's way easier for him to swallow a hard truth than confusing silence or misguided attempts at softening deliveries that only end up causing misunderstandings because he interprets things wrong. I've known him since he was risen, so I've picked up some of his little...I dunno. Issues? But yeah...it goes back to him doing too much for you."

"Just be straight without getting angry and I think you'll have a way easier time communicating wants and needs. It's like...you know how he's kinda slow, right? I don't mean stupid, I'm being serious right now. Like...Takes things at his pace and thinks a lot more than some people about thinks that's usually kinda quick for them? When you get real direct with him, he can get a little anxious just 'cause it's a little heavy, but when you take away all the pretense and the fancy dancing around words and stuff, it's a lot easier for him to catch up and he tends to understand better. Sometimes, when you're just trying to be nice to him, you're making it harder for you both. Food for thought."

“So you want me to be patient, blunt, find a middle ground, and give him time. Shit,” Desire half groaned as he followed along, glancing one more time at the shimmering hull of Mac’s ship before they were stepping up inside of it. He put a hand up to the back of his neck, stretching it one way and then the other, but the tension he—Aoba—felt wasn’t one to be relieved so simply.

What if Declan could talk to them both at once? It could probably be done. Reason didn’t remember what they were really capable of, and Desire hadn’t done much to enlighten him yet, but it was possible. Maybe Reason would feel more confident with backup.

And if Declan freaked out, well then…would that just have to count as a hard truth to swallow? They were one person, but divided. A dual singularity. He had to truly accept Aoba as he was, but it was Reason who’d had the bulk of interactions with him so far.

(And Reason, for one, recognized a moment's insecurity when he felt it.)

"Well...uh...yeah, actually. Substitute honest or straightforward for blunt and you've essentially described a healthy relationship. Not that I would know," Mac coughed softly and offered a very nonapologetic grin before leading Aoba through the cargo and into the ship proper.

The two Guardians could not have been more different.

While Declan's home and ships were utilitarian and spartan, at best, Mac's ship felt like a home, and a very well-lived in one, at that. It wasn't dirty by any stretch, though a bit cluttered, but the mess was clearly organized. Color exploded everywhere in myriad ways, from the massive bed in one of the quarters spied around the corner, covered in colorful fabrics, to the windchimes and mobiles made out of color flotsam and jetsam, there was little space in the ship that didn't have some form of decoration. Even the pilot and co-pilot seats were reupholstered with colored leather and cushioned with bright throw pillows. Books of various ages and types littered every available surface, and countless actually magical-looking artifacts were strewn about haphazardly.

Most notable were the actual live plants all over the place in various states of growth and bloom, colorful and light smelling, and the very well-read and dog-eared old paperback romance novels. The latter were most concentrated around the large bed in the bigger bunk room, a small pyramid of novels avalanching at one head corner of the bed. For all that Mac was the obviously more adventurous of the two Guardians, he was definitely not whimsical enough to turn off his gravity. The rabbit hole in Wonderland would be less disastrous.

"Make yourself at home!" Mac chirped happily, reaching under his mess table and tugging out a very worn but perfectly serviceable large beanbag, gesturing for Aoba to use it if he please. There was significantly more room on Mac's extravagant and indulgent ship. Of course his was a much newer model than anything Declan seemed to keep.

"Alright Cyclops, take us to Venus!" the Warlock barked, unbuckling the front of his armor as his Ghost drifted over to the ship's console and started maneuvering them out into the Reef.

"Speaking of healthy relationships, how are you doing juggling your mood-personality issues? Declan said something about headaches once. Modern science workin' for you?"

Hard to say if Aoba was surprised or not by the sudden immensity of color he found himself surrounded by. On one hand, given the sparse utilitarianism of Declan’s ship, it had seemed fairly reasonable that all ships should be as such on the inside. Nothing to fly around if the gravity went off, nothing to get in your way if you had to hurry from one spot to another. Mac’s ship, on the other hand, felt like walking into someone’s highly personalized home indeed. He was easily identified as a colorful personality, so it wouldn’t have been too surprising to see an actual on-the-ground house of his look this way on the inside, but a ship?

The books, though. More than enough that he wandered past had couples in intense embraces on their covers to give away an idea of their contents. Must have been where he got all his relationship-spewing advice from, huh? Since his own tastes were questionable and his experience was non-existent, or such his commentary implied.

He gave the offered beanbag a few experimental nudges with a foot, the Desire-side of him voicing their confusion in a form of what the fuck? Was it like a papasan chair but without the base? Aoba gave it a sit, and wasn’t as graceful about it as he would have liked, but found it comfortable enough once he was settled, if bizarre in all its squishy-crunchy noises.

Left to wonder yet again at how often and how much Declan had apparently been able to talk to Mac about Aoba, Desire grabbed one of those easily-accessible books with a raunchy cover and flipped it open at random.

“No more headaches,” he agreed idly, thumbing through pages and looking for the porny bits. “They were only me, after all, and now I get to actually come out and play.”

"Play," he parroted, though adding little bunny ear quotation marks in the air before he sloughed off his tunic and tossed it aside in his room, turning to corner so he was mostly out of sight. He didn't seem the least concerned about getting mostly naked with the door hanging open, working at changing his gear out for more race-appropriate attire. Which was to say, skin tight.

Where Declan was a massive wall of muscle and aptly named a Titan, Mac was leaner and fit in a different way; no less healthy and generally attractive, but definitely softer and more compact. A Warlock indeed.

"Well, I'm glad Deck managed to help you suss out that much. If you need anything while you're hanging out with me, don't hesitate to ask, I don't mind flying you around. Unlike Declan, I don't fill my every waking hour with Guardian business. Well...not field work, anyways. So I've got the time." He paused, peeking his head around the corner to make sure Aoba was still there and heard him. When he caught sight of the man holding one of his books, he colored briefly, a little embarrassed by his hobby. It only lasted a second, though.

"I can't tell from here, but if that's Blackest Knight, It's like...chapter seven and the raunchy stuff starts. This heroine, Madeleine, discovers that the 'ruthless and heartless black knight' that was granted control of her village by the king is actually her childhood friend. Turns out there was a romantic drama with her sister and the guy when they were young, and it drove him out of the village. He swore he'd never love again and only takes women for fun and tosses them when he's done, the way Madeleine's sister did to him. But she needs to marry him in order to protect her younger brother from being killed by the local ruling baron who wants to force her to marry him and kill the brother so he inherits everything. So she goes to seduce the knight and finds out it's her friend. It gets pretty hot starting there. I like my porn with a good plot," he regales the other man, a few zipping sounds accompanying his talk as he suits up.

Well. The bunny ear quotes weren’t wrong.

Chapter seven. Desire flipped around to the indicated pages without a bit of self-consciousness for his motives being so easily read. Reason was a little what the heck at him, sure, but no big deal. With Ren let loose again and now padding around in a polite exploration of the space, Desire focused on the book because he was curious enough for it to be a thing to do.

He did end up arching a brow and leaning his head back, though, peering towards Mac’s door without real intent—but also no regret if he caught a view of any kind. Mostly he was just smirking in regards to Mac’s earlier demands for sexy details.

“You calling me a good plot, cockatoo?”

"Are you a real dog or a real person?" Mac asked as Ren padded past his room, peeking out at the spitz briefly before looking up at Aoba and grinning with a shrug.

"I mean, I might be. You're definitely a wrench in the perfectly running cogwork that was Declan's boring fuckin' life. Stop peeking. Perv," Mac flat-eyed Aoba, thrusting his hips around the doorway and grabbing the sturdy crotch of his racing leathers to make a vulgar gesture and prove he was clothed before returning to pulling clothes on. Desire did get a nice eyeful of bare blue torso, though. He was no marble statue like Declan, but he was more exotic; more like a strange flower. Or bird.

"Have you ever seen a cockatoo this handsome? I don't think so," he sniffed, walking out and leaning against the doorway, arm over his helmet. He was dressed in the royal family colors: stark white, rich purple, light ash gray, and a darker purple leather that was almost black and had flecks of some glittering, reflective material set into it. He definitely liked to stand out - and was determined to represent those that hardly paid him any mind. Desperate for acknowledgment, perhaps. Or just doing everything out of habit.

"I'm majestic, thanks."

“A majestic cockatoo,” Desire agreed in good humor, having honestly enjoyed the bit of a show he’d been given. It was a telling thing, however, that despite the aesthetic enjoyment, he didn’t really want to do anything with it. Instead he thought of Declan, pale and bare-chested and statuesque, and remained very well aware of what he really wanted.

It wasn’t as if he’d thrown Aoba at every opportunity that had come their way, back in their Sly Blue days when Reason had listened to him so much more, so the disinterest in itself wasn’t out of character. The difference was how someone else immediately came to mind as a comparison. Now that was something that had never happened before.

“And he,” he added with a brief point towards Ren and an ill-concealed smirk, “is a real Allmate. On the outside, anyway. On the inside he’s a mashup of tech from both our eras and some other things. Basically our own fluffy little ghost, right, pup?”

Ren looked over with the driest look a dog could give before turning his attention up to Mac. “My name is Ren,” he intoned with a brief wag of his tail. “On behalf of all of us, thank you for your hospitality, Macklemore.”

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