#felshaxx

[stoshasaurus]

The BOYS and the BABY

the baby’s name is Rosalind (she/her)

brief tidbit I wrote on my server

[amazeingartist]

my ghostsoap before ghostsoap + me sketching felwinter with a different brush cause had a craving for it lol

[searsage]

"He's not well Shaxx..I'm under strict orders to keep visiters out..even the vanguard.." Saladin warned

"So it's true.." Shaxx breathed incredulously, there was a dangerous hysterical lilt to the warlord's voice..

"I was told… they were one in the same, the warmind and the Exo I met, is that true..?"

"I don't have those answers for you Shaxx…if your lucky you'll catch Ana before she hits orbit, ask her all you want, put that fire to rest and return to your watchful eye over your newlights…he..he can't answer those question for you.."

"He's in there, isnt he? Why is he hiding.. I want to see the warmind that slayed the iron lords.." The titan snapped impatiently, it was as if only half his words made it through the man's thick helmit, Saladin couldn't understand why the crucible vendor was so kayed up, but also feared it may escalate if he didn't get rid of the titan quickly.

"He's under observation, with strict orders to stay inside, he won't come out to meet you old friend, as I said no one goes in no one comes out.." Saladin grits,

Shaxx remained silent save for a tight sigh bellowing hot steam from the gaps inbetween tense man's helmet, the singular horn on his helmet shift as his gaze drifts back to the keep's doorway.

"I wanted to ask it..the warmind, if it knew his answer to my question, Felwinter…he never-.. No, I need to see it, I need to see him.." Shaxx mused darkly his words only solidifying his manic resolve.

But even then Saladin could feel the thirst for violence exuding from the furious titan, not that he ever had a good read on the impulsive warlord, nor could the Valus comprehend what was upsetting the man so deeply that he'd single handedly fight his way up the mountain to satify his curiosity.

What was lord Felwinter to him…?

Saladin's eyes widened as brief realisation washed over the older titan, but before Saladin could even open his mouth to inquire about the comment the titan starts pushing forward his shoulders squared in defiant determination, solar energy steaming in his bare scar covered palm, the cabal stand idle, knowing better then to interfere.

He'd made quite an impression at the foot of the peak…

"Stand down Shaxx, Your making a mistake.." Saladin warns his eyes nerrowing as he moved to block the men's warpath. His words however were lost on deaf ears, the stubbron warlord never listened, not during twilight gap and certainly not now..

Saladin's teeth grit in frustration..

On the outskirts of the keep's snow dusted grounds the empresse's legionaries watch on with silent intrigue as the last of the iron lords stands against the vanguard's warlord.

[texeoghea]

we need more felshaxx content

[mail-me-a-snail]

i colored it! i never realized how SMALL i drew felwinter until i colored this. whoops! he’ll beat your knees in, tho.

[stoshasaurus]

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.

[searsage]

does this.....this means FelShaxx ia still on the table haaaahhshsshdheg

[searsage]

Your assignment was to initiate a snowball fight in the square, not attempt first degree murder…"

The warmind pointed out cooly as Felwinter examined the ingloriously hard chunk of snow coverd ice, with intent optics.

"What? You think I'd throw this at someone? I've no interest in harming civilians…how resilient are titans you say?" The exo inquired darkly as he stared at the Vzdokhnut's store front.

"Felwinter, if you cannot initiate your assigned objective, I will not hesitate to-"

"Im on it..I'm just working out how to do this…" Felwinter grit out as the Exo awkwarldy grabbed a fistful of snow, the cold white material was wet and squishy, it weighed noticably more then earth's snow, yet much more easily merged together…

For a long moment he stared at the snow melting slowly in his hands, and as he studied the pristine frail microscopic crystals for some incredulously inane reason, Felwinter was griped by the sudden urge to taste the fluffy white substance, however Rasputin put a stop to the Exo's reckless train of thought as if he was still linked to the Felwinter's mind..

"Eroupa is comprised of 84% ice, and 16% organic matter, of that 84% at least 22% of that is comprised of nonindigenous bacterial pathogens, while 19% of the remaining 62% is contaminated by naturally occuring radiation…I am confident your inorganic organs may no doubt flush the poisoning easily from your system, however, there could be possible harm inflected on your lesser organs before any potentially harmful contaminants are efficiently purged, It would be unfortunate to have to replace them Siddhartha."

While the snow did look tantalizingly pure, the Exo dropped the scandalous melting snowball, he wouldn't test Resputin's readiness to replace his organics with superior upgrades, almost constantly he wondered why they colonize such a hell hole, the sheer idiocy was beyond Felwinter..

"Spring won't like this, she loves the damn snow, now all we have is this crap.." The Exo sneered as he envisioned Spring's dismay at not being able to play in the snow.

"I have scheduled an appointment, to have the two of you inoculated, however it has been post poned, until further notice you are not to let her engage with the snow of Europa"

"You dont have to tell me that, ill keep her safe."

"I dont doubt you would, now if you would, pick up the snow ball and hurl it at the closest target, think of it as…target practice, these are intruders and they are on my lawn, erradicate them" the warmimd commands way too comfortable with the malice that radiates from his reverse russian words.

Felwinter's optics nerrowed in on a group of innocent bystanders, two babbling warlocks refilling the festive sidewalk urns with solar energy as they bicker back and fourth with a hunter, who was warming their hands beside them.

Their public generosity did little to spare them, they were figuratively on his lawn and that wouldn't do…not at all.

"Rodger.." The Exo breathed as he grabbed a fist full of snow to form a renewed snowball, he wielded it as if it were a void garnade, and for a while his victims were none the wiser, at least not until the hunter perceptive as ever, took note of his approach and visably stiffened, not that it mattered because by the time his hand raised, they did a very hunter thing, dodging out of the way and to safety, leaving behind the two confused warlocks as oblivious sitting ducks.

Felwinter's artificial heart would have bled for them and the betrayal they faced, he would have considered sparing them if only he gave a damn.

Unfortunately they were not spring, Elsie or Osiris.

So no, he didn't give a single damn about hurling the snowy garnade into the face of one of his victims, they screeched on their way down as if shot by a double barrel shot gun…with really good range…their anguish..it felt liberating…

the other warlock had fallen over in the alarm, staring in horror at their obliterated fallen comrade, the terror in there eyes did not move the Exo as he slowly advanced on them, they scrabbled back begging for mercy but for all it was worth, it was pointless after he grabbed another handful.

But just as he was about to land the killing blow on his prey, Felwinter felt a impact followed closely by a shock of cold against his neck, his scarlet eyes slid to the side to fix the sly coward of a hunter with a leer that would scare the gun ammo off a cabal.