#their friendship literally quakes my very existence

[thedragonagelesbian]

Once upon a time, Cyrus Hawke had taken great comfort in pain. Hurt was a kind of testimony-- on the battlefield, in the bedroom, evidence of his physical existence that he could bear witness to and thus discover, again and again and again, his place in the world, both literal and metaphorical.

But there was no solace in this, the fever drawn between his eyes down to the pit of his stomach, throbbing like an open wound, raw and festering and pulsing out to the blurry edges of his being. The tadpole writhed against his skull, its small wriggling form quaking with anticipation. Perhaps it danced in time with its six kin, a coordinated celebration of their metamorphosis, life exalting in the correctness of its evolution.

Their revelry had run afoul of the tea Cyrus usually brewed to help himself trance, spoiling it in his stomach before he could set his mind at ease. The memory of Lae'zel's dagger pressed to his throat wasn't helping anything either. Nothing would at this point, he supposed, slumped against the floor of the cavern and sweating out his last hours like a sick dog.

I could have stopped this, once.

He didn't know if that was true or not, but he had never missed the crackle of divine magic at his fingertips as much as he did then. Like sunshine after a storm burning away the fog, he had once been filled with such warmth. His very blood had run hot with miracles, and he could open himself up to the bodies of others, soothing their ailments.

What was he now?

A voice he had spent decades trying not to dwell on snaked through the aching delirium: You will never be anything more than my champion.

"That is not true," Cyrus hissed, loud enough to hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears, and when that wasn't enough to banish the doubt gnawing at his rib cage, he reached for the knife instead. Nestled by his side, small as it was, its hilt felt heavier than anything he could manage to lift now, but he took comfort in his white-knuckled grip through the leather of his glove.

Whatever certainty he had left, it was this: he would not wait for Lae'zel to end him in the morning. He would not leave his death in someone else's hands.

...Although if he were to leave it to anyone's, he trusted Lae'zel's the most. He knew singularity of purpose and duty and devotion more intimately than he knew anything else about himself. He also knew what that singularity had cost him. He wondered if Lae'zel would live long enough to realize it too.

He watched her sleeping restlessly at the far edge of the camp before, one by one, he took the rest of them in. The cleric of Shar, so convinced of the virtue of her suffering (which wide-eyed fool did that remind him of?). The vampire spawn whose body had not been his own in two hundred years, who could not remember what he looked like beforehand (should he have mentioned it? that he had also forgotten what he had looked like before magic had scarred his body?). The Hells-touched barbarian who had not known comfort or intimacy in a decade (an all-too familiar story). The wizard who had tried to show him the wonders and beauty of touching the Weave (maybe it hadn't been a ploy; maybe it had been a gesture toward mutual understanding. Toward friendship. What miserable irony to finally have friends again only to lose them now...)

And Wyll...

Wyll...

He had a harder time keeping up the facade in his sleep, tail lashing, tossing and turning and knocking his horns against the ground. As his vision began to swim, Cyrus watched him, wishing desperately to be able to take that pain away. For himself, for all of them, for Wyll especially, a man too good for a world that didn't deserve him as its hero.

I'll find you. The thought came to him slowly, pouring like hot molasses over sluggish and slowing synapses. My soul will travel to Avernus and find yours. I won't let you live out eternity there.

It would've been a good thought to end on... but the darkness that claimed Cyrus lasted only a moment. A heartbeat suspended in nothingness, and then light flooded his vision. Blinding and cold, like steel glinting in sunlight, it cut through the fever. He tried to blink the whiteness from his eyes, but all he saw were strands of color mingling with the brightness. Purple and gold and pink and silver shimmering in the void.

And a voice, distorted and distant but closer and clearer with every word: "I came just in time. You are transforming."

A gauntlet, a shimmer, a memory that was not his imposing itself on his mind, and as Cyrus sat up, he saw her: a tall and imperious woman dressed for battle, severe and familiar down to the frightening blue of her eyes.

"Meredith..."

Perhaps he should have known right away that the figure wasn't her. For all the care and detail in its facade, it didn't smile like her, and it had shifted back to give him room to breathe-- room, indeed, to throw up his hand. A gnarl of withered flesh across his palm stood between them in some meager defense.

The next morning, Cyrus would loathe that that was his first instinct. That he had cowered like some caught prey animal instead of bearing his talons and forcing this thing--memory, ghost, guardian--away from him.

"How...? What are you...?"

"Be at peace, Cyrus." A command uttered with softness and gentleness was still a command. "I saved you before." He reeled again as his mind flashed unbidden to the crash of the nautiloid, to the fall that should have left him little more than a smear of viscera against the beach. But something had caught him. She had caught him. How had she...? "And I'm here to save you again."

"No." His voice--a voice he owed to her--cracked. "I do not want to be saved by you."

[incorrect-riordanverse]

Tower of Nero Spoilers!!

Lester: I knew who I was. I was her dummy.

——

Meg: you’ll come back?

Lester: always. The sun always comes back.

Me:

[thefirstknife]

Help, I ran Garden of Salvation with some clan mates and i'm Experiencing Great Sadness about the Kentarch 3 again.

I haven't been following you since shadowkeep, and was wondering if you had some theories about what happened, because a lot is left unexplained, specifically about Lisbon-13's motivations. The story from Yardarm-4's perspective shows that something is influencing them before they accept power (stasis teaser?) from the darkness. Do you think they really had a choice? Do you think he was influenced in his decision to kill them? If so, why? As a test just for him? Presumably he's still out there somewhere, and I can't tell from the lorebooks whether Rekkana let him kill her first or not. I just feel so bad for them, they all loved each other. Yardarm probably took the power in the first place to help get them out safely. Do you think it'll ever get concluded? The whole lore series seems interestingly close to what happens with Shayura, just sort of in reverse.

Kentarch 3 fireteam and the whole story on the Garden of Salvation armour and the associated weapons and equipment is amazing and very interesting, I agree. I haven't talked about it before but it's a good thing to revisit every so often! I think there's still a lot we don't really understand, mostly due to not fully understanding the power of the Black Garden.

In short for the general audience, Kentarch 3 was a fireteam that consisted of Yardarm-4 (Titan), Rekkana (Warlock) and Lisbon-13 (Hunter). They went to explore the Black Garden at the behest of the Warlock order called the Cryptochrons which Rekkana was a part of. This order got exiled some time after Osiris for dabbling in prophecies. Cryptochrons were formed around a Oneiromantic Circle and led by a Sibyl (or multiple sibyls; or Sibyl was just a name of one member, it's unclear). Oneiromancy is the practice of interpreting dreams to predict the future and sibyls were ancient Greek female prophets and oracles.

I didn't think this would get long but it did so the rest under the cut:

The Cryptochron order continued operating after its exile and Rekkana received a prophecy from them that revolved around a fireteam learning about the Black Garden and retrieving from it a Vex relic of some sort. The relic is the exotic weapon Divinity and the lore tab on it details the prophecy they were chasing:

"And after any other Cryptochrons they learn of. But your path is more dangerous than most. The Circle has foreseen many fireteams following in your footsteps. You can find the knowledge the order seeks at the Tree."

"Can? Not will?" For the first time, Rekkana sounded concerned.

"The Circle has had limited success in piercing the veil that surrounds the Black Garden, so the order offers no certainties. They say that a group of Guardians will discover secrets about the origin of the Black Garden at the Tree. The Oneiromantic Circle foresees no reason why it will not be the Kentarch 3."

"Nor can I. But…?"

"There is another thread in the tapestry, entwined with this one. The Vex, or some fractal faction of them, worship or honor a… divinity there."

"The Black Heart? It was destroyed."

"Yes, but this is something different. An object. Something like a sacred relic. It is important to the Vex for reasons that we have not yet fathomed. The Circle has determined that it is dangerous—"

"A Vex weapon?"

"Perhaps," the Sybil sounded annoyed at the interruption. "Rekkana, the Circle concluded that it is a danger to you."

"To me? But then, why send me on this mission?"

"When the Circle dreamed of the object, you were beside it."

They agreed that, should they find this object, Lisbon should be the one to carry it. They did find it and he was indeed the one to carry it, as is shown later in another lore tab detailed below.

We know that Lisbon-13 killed the rest of his fireteam because they got corrupted by the Black Garden, something happened to their Ghosts (they all just dropped down and started losing their Light) and then turned on him. He was being hunted and he really had no choice. But he couldn't live with it. In Beyond Light, he's shown trying to kill his Ghost in order to stay permanently dead because he couldn't bear the burden of what he did to his fireteam, even though his actions were justified and he acted in self-defence.

But before he managed to do that, he was faced with his own doppleganger, just like the YW at the end of Shadowkeep. In the end, Lisbon didn't kill his Ghost because the doppleganger offered him power and Lisbon (presumably) chose to take it: his wish was simply to make himself forget about his fireteam (and Rekkana specifically, whom he loved). It's implied that he accepted and after that, we have no formal information what happened.

The outcome of what happened to Kentarch 3 is somewhat known, as detailed in this ship lore. The Vanguard knows Lisbon killed the other two, they're not sure when they lost their Ghosts and they have not found anyone's body, not even Lisbon's. But we know from the lore that came out after that Lisbon accepted the deal with his doppleganger and we have no idea what that entailed. Is he still in the Black Garden? Was he killed? Replaced? Just memory-wiped and sent back? Something else entirely? We'll explore at the end.

I'm pretty sure the voices they heard talking to them were also their own dopplegangers. And it's somewhat implied that they made some sort of a bargain and accepted "new powers" that came "from the wrong side." There's only one description of it:

Her fist glimmered and quaked with an unfamiliar power. She only had to release her grip, and that energy would rip through him, burning without fire.

That's Rekkana attacking Lisbon. It's never fully explained what it is, but it could very well be some sort of prototype Stasis in my opinion. Or some other Darkness power. Not sure why the Black Garden would give them this, which is why I think they simply harnessed the power of their dopplegangers. This is something that's been mentioned a few times in regards to Darkness: duplication. Same is present with the Taken as well (Taken psions duplicate). I mentioned the duplication theme being discussed in Clovis' journal before too.

Honestly, I can't make any definitive conclusion, but Kentarch 3 definitely found something horrifying in the Black Garden and fell to its influence. They also reference doing the puzzles to get Divinity, which they got and Lisbon used it to kill the other two.

Garden of Salvation raid ends with a Pyramid scale opening up and leading us down into the area with the Darkness statue. I think this could've easily been some sort of a lead into the future of Destiny and the powers of Darkness. Kentarch 3 may have accidentally received this power early on or were perhaps some sort of a test the Darkness did on Guardians before offering them Stasis for real.

It's an interesting story and yep, it does mirror Shayura's fireteam and how the story is told! Each member of the fireteam tells the same story from their own POV on armour for that class. I'll link all of them in order, roughly how I think it's best to read each POV:

Rekkana: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Yardarm-4: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Lisbon-13: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

I like how the armour follows the same name pattern: Righteousness, Exaltation, Transcendence, Ascendancy and Temptation.

Associated Garden of Salvation weapons also have some tidbits of lore that might help, namely:

Ancient Gospel Hand Cannon:

"These forces have existed forever, but only one of them speaks to us." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Sacred Provenance Pulse Rifle:

"These gifts were not made for us, but we were meant to have them." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Zealot's Reward Fusion Rifle:

"Why not use these gifts we've been given?" —Yardarm-4, Titan of the Kentarch 3

I would really like to learn more about them, and specifically Lisbon because he might be able to actually tell us what happened. He or his Ghost, Piri, who managed to survive last we've seen her. I think the Ghost might be able to give the most accurate version of events. It's interesting that Lisbon was very much against whatever power they received and that was the reason he abandoned his fireteam, which made the other two consider him a traitor to their friendship.

Very intriguing lore story that could possibly be mentioned again in some form. Also as a brighter note, yes, Yardarm literally flew into the Black Garden with an entire ship and crash landed inside. On a less brighter note, we've never seen the remains of a ship in there (to be fair, Black Garden is huge) and it's somewhat implied that they entered through the Vex Gate on Mars which puts the timeline of when they got there into question. The Vex Gate on Mars that led into the Black Garden was destroyed in the Red War. The new gate showed up on the Moon in Shadowkeep (and you can't fly a ship into it because it's in a cave).

An additional note which answers certain things when it comes to Lisbon's fate that I hinted at before: in order to acquire the quest for Divinity, you have to go to the Moon to the Vex Gate for the first time. The gate will open up and a Vex mind will come out. This giant Vex minotaur is called Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. Upon killing this minotaur, you receive "Divine Fragmentation" quest. Details of the quest here. You pick up a Vex core that has strange readings coming from it and you have to decipher it by running it through various Vex technology. Once fully completed, you have to go into Garden of Salvation, do the Divinity puzzles and the weapon will drop from the extra chest at the end.

Why am I mentioning this? Well. Zeteon, Redemptive Mind drops a core that contains information about how to get Divinity. Lisbon was the member of the fireteam that held Divinity and used it to kill his fireteam. There's a quote from Lisbon on the weapon called Accrued Redemption:

"I should never have let it come to this. Now each arrow is a penance." —Lisbon-13, Hunter of the Kentarch 3

Divinity's perks are called Judgement and Penance.

Basically, I believe that whatever deal Lisbon accepted that made him forget his fireteam, free him from the suffering and redeem him ended with him being converted into Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. It's the reason why this Vex in particular had the pieces needed to construct Divinity again. Lisbon was the last person who had it. Becoming the bearer of parts needed for Divinity was both his Judgement and his Penance.

Final note because I love ancient languages being used for the names of things in Destiny: "Zeteon" most likely comes from Greek "zeteo" which means:

to seek, search after, look for

to inquire into, examine, consider

to strive for, desire, wish

Probably tied to Lisbon's search and desire for redemption for what he's done. I think that wraps up his fate quite nicely, although tragically.

[bytheangell]

My Love Is Older Than My Soul

(Read on AO3)

Soulmates can be a wonderful thing. For many, it’s the comfort that you’re not alone, that somewhere out there is someone else, someone made just for you. It’s a concept to latch onto during your darker days, to hold on to when everything else feels like it’s slipping out of reach, to ground you when the foundation of your world shifts and quakes. It’s something to live for if you haven’t found yours yet, and something to stay for if you have.

But the thing about soulmates is that not everyone meets theirs. There are millions of people in the world, and while it is firmly believed by most that soulmates are drawn to each other or intentionally put into one another’s paths by fate, it doesn’t always happen. Sometimes the universe is against you.

Magnus Bane certainly thinks the universe is against him when he finds out about the existence of soulmates shortly after he learns of his own immortality.

“I only get one soulmate?” Magnus balks, throwing his arms into the air dramatically.

“If you believe in that sort of thing, yes,” Ragnor confirms. Magnus stares incredulously up at the man who took him in to teach him more than just warlock magic, it seems.

“People get matching marks when it happens,” Magnus points out. “Kind of hard not to believe in that.”

Ragnor shrugs. “To each their own.”

“Do you have a soulmate?” Magnus asks, deflecting from his own mix of emotions on the subject by turning the focus away from himself.

“Not that I know of. And no, I’m not wasting my life ‘searching for true love’, either,” he adds quickly.

Magnus snorts out an undignified laugh. “Didn’t think so.”

Magnus figures this is about as much of a heart-to-heart as he’s going to get on the subject, so he leaves it there.

---

Magnus is a teenager when the first of his friends receive their soulmate mark. He’s happy for them, of course he is, but…

But.

“It isn’t fair!” Magnus shouts when he returns home, mostly for his own benefit. He knows that Ragnor doesn’t care about teenage romances but Magnus doesn’t care that Ragnor doesn’t care. He just needs to say it, and maybe then he’ll feel better. “What if I have to wait a hundred years? Two hundred? A thousand?”

“You might,” Ragnor says, his tone entirely neutral. “Unfortunately, that’s yet another burden of immortality... as if there weren’t enough already.”

Magnus is silent for a very long time. Then finally, quietly, so soft he’s surprised Ragnor hears it at all, manages to say what’s really bothering him. “What if I never find them?”

Forever is a long time. At least with mortals, if you never find your soulmate you only have to deal with it for a few decades. If Magnus misses his soulmate he’ll have to live with something missing literally forever.

“You might not,” Ragnor admits. This time there’s a softness in his tone that wasn’t there before. Sympathy. “It’s why I may seem so hardened against the idea. I’ve lived enough years to know that it does no good expecting something that may never happen.”

Magnus doesn’t want to sit around and wait for it, though. He wants to go out and find it - to travel the world and explore and meet people, to open himself up to friendships and love until he finds his soulmate.

So that’s exactly what he does.

---

It’s more difficult than he first imagines.

Magnus tries to be so open to meeting new people in his fear of accidentally missing ‘the one’ that it’s overwhelming. He overcommits and overextends himself day in and day out, both physically and emotionally. He loves a lot but loses more, and finds himself hurt again, and again, and again.

Since Ragnor is the one Magnus takes the majority of his troubles to, Ragnor is the first to call him out on it.

“You can’t go on like this forever, Magnus,” Ragnor says. “We may be immortal, but even immortals run out of light when we burn the candle at both ends for too long. You’re young. You’re meant to be enjoying life, not agonizing over every failed partner.”

“You’re right. Why even bother? I should just stop trying,” Magnus says, throwing himself down onto the sofa and closing his eyes. “It’s pointless anyway.”

To Magnus’ surprise, Ragnor doesn’t laugh and agree. Instead, his mentor grows quiet and still, and Magnus opens his eyes to see Ragnor looking down at him with genuine concern.

“As much as I’d like to agree,” Ragnor admits. “That doesn’t sound like the hopeless romantic I know.”

“You’re right about one bit - all my romances do seem hopeless lately,” Magnus mutters.

“I’m not saying to give up,” Ragnor amends. “In fact, I’d be rather worried about you if you did.”

Magnus fights the urge to make a sarcastic comment about Ragnor worrying about him because this is such a rare, genuine moment between them that he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“So what are you saying, then?” Magnus sighs.

“I have a friend who writes in a journal about all the things she wants to share with her soulmate one day. It’s horribly sappy, but potentially something you might take comfort in when you lose sight of why you think they’re worth waiting for.”

“That...” Magnus starts, trailing off in surprise. “Is actually a really good idea. Thanks.”

Magnus wants to do something more than a journal, and he wants it to be special. He wants it to mean something, not just to him, but eventually to his soulmate as well. Instead of rushing to pick something just for the sake of picking it he waits, and waits, and waits some more, until one day the perfect idea strikes him.

Magnus plants a tree.

It isn’t just any tree, however. It’s a sapling, a small Montezuma cypress that blends into the native landscaping of Madrid where he and Ragnor are currently living. It barely reaches his stomach when he stands beside it.

“I’m going to make sure you grow strong and healthy,” Magnus says aloud, infusing the soil and the tree itself with a bit of protective magic. “And when I forget why true love is worth waiting for, I’m going to come back here and remember the day I decided that love isn’t something I’m going to give up on. You and I are going to weather this out for as long as it takes to find my soulmate. And when I do find them I’m going to bring them here, and show them you - show them how deep my love for them runs.”

It may seem a bit unhinged to be talking to a tree, but it’s also a little nice, too.

Magnus, true to his word, makes frequent visits to his tree. No, not his tree, their tree. Because he hasn’t met his soulmate yet (and there’s a good chance they may not even exist yet) but the tree is just as much theirs as it is his. Magnus comes back to the tree when he meets someone new, hoping they’re the one. He returns when they aren’t and he’s suffering the disappointment of yet another heartbreak.

Magnus shows up on his best days and his worst, for years, and decades, and centuries.

---

Another thing about soulmates is that you don’t always know right away. The marks don’t appear when you first meet, or even when you first touch. They happen when you first know - when that person becomes something, someone to you.

When Magnus first feels that pull in the direction of one tall, dark, and handsome Shadowhunter, he has no way of knowing it’s going to be anything more than a harmless interest. Magnus forms a passing interest in many of the people he crosses paths with and flirts with even more than that. He’s grown a bit callous to the idea of finding his soulmate again, visiting his tree less and less, and expecting almost nothing from his passing flings. His relationships grow increasingly shallow and fleeting.

Deep down, Magnus is still the same hopeless romantic Ragnor first met. He simply refuses to acknowledge it at the moment, hiding behind his entourage at Pandemonium instead, burying himself in drunken flings and one-night stands.

He allows himself to think there might be something there with Alexander, to hope it might lead to some dates, a fling, maybe even a relationship for a little while. He feels a spark but has no reason to believe that it’s anything more or less than any previous persons of romantic interest.

That all changes the day the Shadowhunters bring Lucian to him for help.

The moment Alexander offers his strength to Magnus, Magnus knows. He feels the mark form on his chest, a burning sensation he’s been waiting for nearly his entire life.

Unfortunately, he can’t do anything about it with Lucian dying in front of him, or after when he doesn’t even have the energy to stand on his own… which is just fine when the alternative is sitting propped up against Alec, looking up at him in amazement.

This is it. This is him. This Shadowhunter selflessly offered his own strength to Magnus without a second thought and ended up giving Magnus so much more than he'd allowed himself to hope for recently.

At first, Magnus isn’t sure Alec feels the same, until he offers to stay after the others leave.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Magnus asks.

Alec hesitates, and for the first time, Magnus realizes that Alec could, potentially, say no.

And he does.

Alec insists there’s nothing there. That he might not be sure what he feels but it certainly isn’t love. Then Alec leaves.

Magnus isn’t sure what to do. All this time, all these years, literal centuries spent waiting for his soulmate, only for him to not want anything to do with Magnus. It’s not fair. It’s downright cruel.

At a loss for what the proper response to this sort of universe-sized betrayal should be, Magnus does the first thing that comes to his mind.

Magnus portals to his tree.

It’s the first of many times, reminding himself over and over again of the truth he clung to all these years: he has a soulmate, and they’re worth believing in. Alexander is worth believing in.

So Magnus tries again, and again, and again. And after each setback, he returns to the tree. His tree. Their tree.

It’s tall now, one of the oldest trees in the area with a thick, sturdy trunk and branches that hang down and provide shade against the early fall sunlight. Magnus retreats beneath them, leaning back against the trunk before sliding down it to sit on the ground.

It’s the day of Alec’s wedding and Magnus is out of time.

He isn’t sure how long he’s there, but it’s long enough that the sun has set before a voice reaches him. It’s Ragnor. Ragnor, who is absolutely dead, and yet somehow Magnus doesn’t find himself surprised to hear his oldest friend’s voice.

“Why are you here?”

“He doesn’t want me.” It hurts more than he anticipates to say the words aloud. “I finally found him. I’ve loved the idea of him for centuries and I think I could love him, too. But he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“You know that isn’t true.” Ragnor stands across from Magnus, facing him.

“He’s about to get married to someone else. I think that’s sending a pretty clear message.” Magnus laughs, but the sound is hollow. “It’s over.”

“It isn’t over yet.”

Magnus wants to argue - to scream and cry and insist that it is, that he’s waited with a heart full of love only to have it all ripped away from him instead of finally realized - but he doesn’t. Something stops him. Ragnor stops him.

“It isn’t over yet,” Ragnor repeats. “Remember why you planted this tree in the first place? It certainly wasn’t to be the place you gave up.”

He’s right. Magnus hates him for it most of the time, and even hates the memory of him for it a little now, but that doesn’t make Ragnor any less right.

It takes Magnus no time at all to conjure the nicest suit from his wardrobe, magically style his hair and makeup, and portal himself to as close to the Institute as the wards will allow. When he slams open the door to the main hall he takes a deep breath to will his outward appearance into a state of calm determination, though he feels as if he’s shaking from the inside out with nerves.

Magnus stands in the middle of the aisle, his eyes locked with Alec’s in a silent question, a silent plea. I’ve waited my entire life for you. Choose me, love me. Give us a chance.

Magnus can see the moment something changes in Alec. There’s a flash of recognition that Magnus would know the look of anywhere as Alec brings a hand up to rest over the chest of his jacket. He felt it himself not too long ago, and he’s seen it time and time again on friends throughout the years.

This is Alec’s moment of realization.

Magnus isn’t sure if he imagines the feeling of their soulmate bond solidifying with the mutually accepted connection, growing stronger with every step Alexander takes down the aisle towards him now. All he knows is that when Alec’s lips press against his, when Magnus’ hands reach out to pull Alec closer, it feels like finally coming home after centuries of wandering.

“I’m sorry I tried to fight it,” Alec whispers when they finally pull back. They’re still close, and Magnus can feel the air of Alec’s breath against his cheek with the apology.

“It’s alright,” Magnus says. “You’re here now.”

---

A lot of things happen immediately following the almost-wedding, and none of them are good. From dealing with Maryse and Robert to the attack on Lydia and everything with Valentine and the Mortal Cup, it’s, well, a lot.

It’s worth it to be with Alexander. Alec is a good man, through and through. He makes mistakes, sure, but he’s quick to right them when he realizes, and even his worst offenses are done with the best of intentions. Magnus knows that Alec is someone he’d love, soulmate or not - it’s just nice to have that reassurance from the universe that he’s right about this one.

“Are you sure you want to deal with all this?” Alec asks Magnus one night. It’s late, well after midnight by the time Alec has a few seconds to spare for himself. Magnus appreciates that Alec chooses to spend them with him. “I know we’re soulmates but I’m sure you could find someone else to fall in love with, someone… easier to be with.”

Magnus frowns. “You’re not difficult to love, Alexander,” Magnus tells him. “Soulmates or not.”

Alec opens and closes his mouth once, then twice, before lapsing back into silence.

“Can I show you something?” Magnus asks, figuring now is as good a time as any. All things considered, it might be the best time.

���Sure,” Alec says, shifting slightly to sit up straighter, looking around as if that something will just be in Magnus’ loft. When Magnus stands and opens a portal Alec looks surprised but doesn’t hesitate to take Magnus’ hand and follow him through.

When they come out on the other side it’s in the early morning hours, with the first of the sun’s rays just beginning to shine over the horizon. Magnus looks up at the tree in front of them with immediate pride and fondness, temporarily forgetting that Alec doesn’t even know where they are, let alone why they’re here.

“I planted this tree centuries ago,” Magnus says. “ I planted it the first time I wanted to give up on the idea of soulmates and true love and ever finding the person meant for me in this world.”

Alec doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he takes a few steps forward towards the base of the tree while Magnus continues to speak.

“Every time I fell in love, or out of love, or simply wanted to remind myself that you were out there, somewhere, somewhen, waiting for me, I’d come here. It kept me going. The longer I had to wait, the taller and stronger it grew, just like the love I knew I’d one day have for my soulmate. For you.”

Alexander runs a hand down the bark of the tree, staring up into the depth of branches and leaves above. Magnus does the same, his eyes catching on the smellest bits of dawn breaking through the canopy overhead.

“You asked if I wanted to find an ‘easier’ love, but you’re my soul, Alexander. My love for you runs older than anything else. There’s nothing easier than loving you.”

There are tears in Alec’s eyes when he looks over at Magnus. “I’m not good at words like you are, but it feels the same for me. Once I stopped fighting it, falling for you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I love you, too, Magnus. And I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Magnus kisses Alec under their tree, soft and slow. They stay that way for seconds, minutes, hours - a moment suspended in time, full of hope, and held steady by centuries of love.

[qqueenofhades]

Thank you for your answer to my last ask! Just sort of carrying on from that, what do you think about how they should cover medieval queerness in a potential prequel? I read your post about the deep relationships between knights which was really interesting. I guess what I'm asking is what would "Period-typical Homophobia" for Nicky and Joe actually be? Thank you for educating us better than school does.

Okay, I’m gonna come in here with a Scorching Hot Take that may ruffle some feathers, but possibly... none?

If the point of including casual homophobia or homophobic references is literally just for the sake of evoking some supposed Medieval Bigotry for ~Le Atmosphere Of Dark Age, there is a) no point to it, and b) not much historical evidence either. People love to point out that we didn’t have the modern identity labels of “gay,” “lesbian,” “bisexual,” etc. in the olden days -- well, in that case, we don’t have modern homophobia either, or reactions to those behaviors in the same way. We don’t even have much textual evidence for how ordinary people (outside clerical/religious elites, who would be predisposed to disapprove, just like the religious right today) reacted to so-called “queerness” in their communities, and the circumstantial evidence we DO have suggested that it was far from any imagined universal experience of rejection and isolation. Besides, what we call “queer” due to fragile modern heteronormativty and toxic masculinity was actually intensely normal for medieval people.

One of the tiresome arguments that Straight Historians tend to use, when queer historians are arguing for a queer, romantic, or sexual relationship between two people of the same gender (usually men, because that’s who mostly appears in our sources), is that “friendship was a lot more romantic/intimate/emotional/physical in nature back then!!! They’re not gay They’re Just Pals!!” This is actually true, in that medieval men, far from this Iron Man No Homo No Emotions trope that (once again) we ourselves have come up with, were encouraged (as I wrote about in my gay knights post) to love each other almost, if not quite, beyond reason. There was so much crying, kissing, embracing, tender declarations of loyalty, etc (see: Is It Gay or Is It Feudalism?) Any of those behaviors would make the modern viewer go “lololol HOMOSEXUAL!!!”, but it’s not even always the case? The standards of physical affection, vows of devotion, and close emotional bonds even between platonic friends were just different, and while yes, there was a corresponding anxiety about this attachment turning sexual, the fact that it was considered as a worry in the first place shows you how intense these bonds could be. So while the modern viewer may see two men acting like that and go “oh no gay cooties,” this just wouldn’t raise any eyebrows at all to a medieval person, and hence they’re not going to come back with some dumb manufactured homophobic comment.

Next, in re Joe and Nicky specifically: I SORELY long for a scene in this imaginary prequel where after something romantic has happened between them for the first time, Nicky understandably freaks out a little and goes to confession. There is one other guy in front of him, and a bored priest who is not very good at his job. Guy In Front of Nicky (we’ll call him Guy) goes into the booth and kneels. Priest looks at him, doesn’t even ask. “Oh, is it sodomy again? Fine, seven days fasting bread and water, say two decades of the rosary, Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris -- ”

Waiting outside the booth, Nicky can hear this (since remember this priest is Bad at his Job and has apparently never met the concept of confessional confidentiality in his life) and sags in relief a little. Oh sodomy isn’t that bad, right, it’s a venial sin, no big --

“Father,” says Guy, “I confess that I have also consorted with a Saracen in search of a magical remedy.”

(We don’t gender the Saracen, because we don’t believe in supporting  stereotypes, and since it’s established Guy is into Kinky Stuff, you never know.)

Priest LOSES HIS SHIT.

“You WHAAAAAAAT? CONSORTING WITH A SARACEN FOR MAGIC!! THIS IS A TERRIBLE SIN!!! YOU NEED TO REPENT IMMEDIATELY!!!”

Cut back to Nicky. OH SHIT!!! Sodomy not bad, he could deal with that. Consorting with a Saracen?? OH SON YOU’RE DOOMED. SODOMY WITH A SARACEN??? OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO HELL!

Cue Nicky’s silent existential crisis Dying in the background while the priest lectures Guy to within an inch of his life. Finally, Guy decides fuck this priest (not like that, this is not Fleabag) and scuttles out. A thoroughly terrified Nicky thinks about following him, but since the priest has already seen him, he can’t flee. He goes into the booth and kneels down, Quaking.

“What have you come to confess, my son?”

Nicky.exe has stopped working.

“.....jealousy.”

You get the idea. And guess what? This would be COMPLETELY accurate, because if we were using, say, Burchard of Worms’ Decretum, an early 11th-century handbook advising priests what penalties to give to various sins, that’s basically how it’s treated. Sodomy is blown over briefly with the other venial sins as a certain amount of days fasting on bread and water, while Burchard is really, really worried about witchcraft, magic, non-Christian beliefs, and other such things. So again, really, what is “Period-Typical Homophobia?” We’ve already established that behavior between two men that would raise modern eyebrows would be absolutely nothing remarkable to a medieval person, while priests obviously don’t approve of sodomy, but they’re not that fussed by it either. (Unless you’re Peter the Chanter, who’s just a dick, but he is yet again one guy writing about one specific context, 12th-century Paris, and the fact that he’s complaining so much means that it’s obviously happening in reality.) Besides, the whole idea was that sodomy was the “unspeakable sin,” aka something people just didn’t mention or talk about, which is why it can be hard to track down reliable or unambiguous treatments of it. Obviously, queer erasure isn’t a surprise, but it doesn’t mean that these people didn’t exist; it just means that chroniclers, especially monastic chroniclers, didn’t write about it. So even if this is outright happening, i.e. Joe and Nicky’s romance and/or the number of other queer characters we will be sure to include for verisimilitude, there’s still no guarantee that anyone would even actually SAY something.

And besides: not every minute of history was filled with homophobia, just as not every minute was filled with filth, torture, misogyny, etc. There is actually no necessary reason to include it, especially in boring modern homophobia form, unless you’re trying to beat us over the head with Things Being Bad Back Then. Especially if we’re making a movie that honors and empowers queer people, who deserve a chance to escape into a lavish historically detailed gay romance with Joe and Nicky and not have to deal with bog-standard microaggression as a result. Because what I’ve laid out above is just as much (in fact more so) historically accurate, and MUCH more funny, interesting, authentic, and original.

(And thanks so much!! Another GREAT question.)

[daisylincs]

It's time to see what I can do! To test the limits and break through// no right no wrong no rules for meee// I'm freeeeeeeeee (and i was glad lincoln died)

*silence*

*utter, shocked silence*

Well, Birdie, I only have one thing to say to you --

Why Lincoln Campbell Shouldn't Have Died: A Small Essay By Lily [Redacted]

#1. It’s Lazy. There was all this fuss about how “heart-breaking” Lincoln’s death was, and how it was the most shocking choice, and I’m just like... really? Was it? Because frustrating as it is to me, it’s true that Lincoln didn’t have any significant relationships on the show aside from his with Daisy, and he also didn’t have the time/the writers didn’t invest the time to make him a character the audience could become really close to. 

And I don’t see how that’s a shocking choice at all? That’s just taking the easy way out of things. If they had really wanted to make a heart-breaking death, it would have been so much worse to choose literally anyone of the OG team.

Or, heaven forbid, not to make anyone die at all!! (Yes, I hate the Fallen Agent arc. Yes, that’s a conversation for another day.) But think about it: it would have been way more original, way more shocking, to have Lincoln not die, or find a super original/Fitzsimmons-esque way to get past the vision. It could’ve been way more shocking and ultimately satisfying if the whole team had worked together to avoid someone dying, and succeeded in avoiding that. It would have made excellent bonding.

And it wouldn’t have been lazy, because Lincoln staying alive would force him and Daisy to have some tough conversations, i.e. Hive and SHIELD and what’s next. It would also have meant an equal amount of tricky conversations with the rest of the team - especially surrounding the whole Hive debacle and methods used during it (*coughs in murder vests*). It would’ve actually been much harder than just having Lincoln die... and isn’t that what good storytelling is supposed to do? Make the harder choice for an ultimately far more satisfying resolution? 

Because choosing Lincoln to die makes it feel like that was his only purpose on the show, and I can’t help but rage against that. I know that’s how a lot of people actually do see Lincoln, and it just makes me so furious, because that’s actually such a disservice to his character?? He was so much more than just Daisy’s doomed boyfriend, and he could have been even more. Which brings me to my next point - 

#2. Wasted Opportunities. I’ll always believe that one of the biggest missed opportunities on the show was that we never got to see Lincoln properly bond with anyone on the team - it was like the writers started, but then decided he was going to die, and then went all, oh, RIP that. Which, honestly, is stupid - because they created this amazing character that had so much potential, and then decided to drop it just like that. 

And I mean, dammit!! Aside from Daisy, Lincoln had prime opportunities to bond with at least five other characters on the team - May, Coulson, Jemma, Fitz, and Mack, and that’s not even starting on the other Secret Warriors. 

He had a little bit of bonding with May when Lash/Andrew was still a thing - but then, whoops-a-daisy, unequivocally dropped. And like... Lincoln and May could’ve been such a good friendship?? Imagine May initially terrifying the living daylights out of Lincoln, but slowly seeing that he’s not actually that different to Daisy, and he makes her happy? And maybe inviting him to t’ai chi with her, to help control her powers? And him in turn helping give her some closure over Katya Belyakov/telling her that she really did make the only choice? They could’ve developed a mother/son bond just as beautiful as Daisy’s, if AoS had only tried. 

Then there’s Coulson. Daisy’s (basically) dad. We got to see a little bit of this, especially in the 3x14-15 era, but I would have loved to see even more of Coulson not-so-subtly threatening Lincoln, but grudgingly coming to accept him as a good agent (and, though he’d never admit it, kinda liking the guy.) Ugh, it could have been so funny and GOOD!!

Fitz and Jemma, to do them in a package deal, could also have been a GREAT BroTP with Lincoln if they had only actually developed it. I would have loved to see a) FitzSimmons initially distrusting Lincoln and being like “if you hurt Daisy...” and then eventually growing to bond with him over science and, well, adoring Daisy, b) a Lincoln-and-Simmons-specific friendship starting after Maveth, for example, Jemma can’t really be around her friends because they keep pitying her and trying to help and she doesn’t want that, so here’s someone new who’s nice and can also distract her with a common interest, and finally c) Lincoln and Fitz bonding over, oh, Daisy, and being ridiculously in love. Just. C’mon. It could’ve been WONDERFUL - and, just think about it, the picture of a Fitzsimmons-and-Lincoln triple alliance out-science-ing Daisy. FAB.

And Mack!! Someone who’s basically Daisy’s older brother, and, I do believe, another one for the Don’t-Hurt-Daisy pile. But Mack’s also very just, and an excellent judge of character, plus he was literally listening in on their first kiss, lmfao. So I think he’d be that “ugh AGAIN you two stop *eye roll*” big brother, but secretly be very happy for them. (I would’ve LOVED to see it, ahhhh.)

Then, of course, the Secret Warriors!! If anyone would listen, I could R A G E for days about how we only had one episode with the Secret Warriors, and that only barely before it all blew apart. But what snippets we had in that one episode!! Lincoln comforting Joey when he gets stressed before a mission. That’s canon. Now imagine Lincoln learning Spanish for both him and Elena (and so the three of them can fuck with Daisy.) And him encouraging them to follow Spanish traditions, because he picked up a lot of “traditions are important” culture from Afterlife. And, of course, them all going to Pride together to support Joey...

My point is just, there is so much MORE AoS could have done with Lincoln’s character, but especially his bonds with the other main cast. Instead of highlighting his relationship with Daisy, I would’ve preferred a lot more focus on his bonds with the rest of the gang. Because, most simply put, he’s a nice guy and loves Daisy - but that’s not all he is, and also, that love for Daisy would mean he WOULD go out of his way to bond with her family. (Point made.)

#3. It Conflicts With The S5 Time Paradox. During the Fallen Agent arc, all we’re hearing about is how time is fixed, and a death is inevitable. And then in season 5, we have the same thing with the time loop... except, they manage to break it then. We’re literally told, “there are many different futures.” And, cool. But, uh... that’s exactly what you guys didn’t say in season 3!!

Because someone saw a death, a death had to happen. My question is just: if the loop could have been broken in s5, why couldn’t the death have been avoided in s3?? It wouldn’t even have been that hard to make it still fit with the vision - Daisy can quake the controls to destroy them, then Lincoln pulls her out of the quinjet, but she leaves the jacket behind. Hive dies, but no-one else - and the best part is, that even still fulfils the original vision, because someone did die. Hive. Click boom.

And if I can figure that out, then, come on, surely AoS could have done so much better!! It just... really frustrates me, hrrrg.

#4. It Becomes A Plot Point To Hurt Daisy. We all like to joke about how much AoS hurts Daisy, but... this is extreme?? Like?? She only just went through probably the biggest trauma of her life, being freaking possessed, and now you want to make her lose someone she loves too? Cruel. 

The only real reason the Fallen Agent arc ever existed was, let’s be real, to force Daisy into that spiral of hurt and depression. And, like... she already had more than enough trauma just from Hive. Nobody would have blamed her for running away then - in fact, how very Daisy it would have been, leaving before she could hurt anyone else she loved.

And then, of course, we could have had Lincoln and the team working together to find her and bring her back, and, heyo, bonding!! It could also have been such a good point for Staticquake’s relationship, what with Lincoln helping Daisy recover after depression/withdrawal, because who better suited, and Daisy slowly forgiving herself and them becoming that much more of a deeply caring, solid ship.

So in short - though, 🙈🙈🙈, I suppose I should really say in long, because it would seem I am incapable of doing anything in a short fashion - I don't think anyone should be "glad" about Lincoln's death. If anything, we should all be FURIOUS, and super frustrated, because if he had only lived, there could have been so many excellent storylines, both bonding-wise and regarding THE ACTUAL PLOT (his powers could have been SO HELPFUL, just, argh). Lincoln Campbell should not have died, and I will stand by that till the day I die.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[pestopascal]

ask meme? Danny from fhr :griffin emoji:

thing here

omg ok

How I feel about this character

I really do like Danny (obviously) and I’m really interested in his backstory and how it weaves into the information of the east coast aspect of the devastation post-quakes, as well as the kind of implications of cuckoos being used to monitor closed communities.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Logan and Ricardo (lol) 

But seriously Sidestep and/or Ortega when written in a way that recognises and reflects on both the life experiences and maturity of the characters, as well as like… not making Danny out to be some basement dweller I’ve been in love with you this whole time because of that one poster in my room sort of thing. Like Danny is one of the most put together Rangers (on the surface at least) that we interact with. And it’s funny to joke about how he might’ve “read magazines” and whatever but like when you step back from the relationship at face value it’s kind of. There’s no real equal footing for anyone either way at the beginning. Like… if you can see that someone has put that in to make an effort to show the relationship development? I’m probably on board. 

Also depends on the Sidestep, too.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Like friendship? I would like to see Argent and Daniel kind of reconcile and reflect that the PR department fucked them both over. That they may never kind of have the friendship they could’ve, because of how they started out, but they can maybe get to some sort of level and understanding. 

But that also means Daniel letting Argent speak, which I’m also here for. I mean the dialogue kind of can be read as him believing her at the Gala for what happened at the beginning of Rebirth, so maybe there’s hope? But fingers crossed, otherwise I’ll do it myself.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I always imagined Daniel as a black man, but the image of him being some twinky white boy is really rampant, and it’s to the point where it’s literally the only interpretation of him, and it’s a straight up caricature. I don’t know if that means it also gives people a free pass to abuse his character, as well, because the treatment Daniel gets, especially from people with mlm sidesteps, is honestly terrifying. Also the idea of treating him like a baby because he’s the youngest fucks me off a lot, because people dismiss him very easily for it, or infantilise him. Daniel unfortunately became that kind of character in the game, and I really wish that people would take a step back and realise what they’re doing or how they’re treating him isn’t right, and is a reflection on themselves more than anything. Also that other people would speak up and tell people that enough is enough. It’s a culmination of fetishising and infantilising and excusing. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

That we could actually see the friendship between Sidestep and him develop, or cease to exist if you want to follow that path. He’s very prominent now, and I know Retribution demo hasn’t got much in it compared to the final piece, but there is this feeling of an aggressive rush to his scenes, like I hope that the game will let us allow Sidestep to slowly open up, as well as Daniel. 

[modernday-orpheus]

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them: Crimes of Grindelwald, A Review

This got pretty long really quick so i put it under a read more. Spoiler alert obviously but please enjoy!

Alright, let’s take it from the top. Grindlewald’s escape. For I second, I almost believed he was locked up. Then I saw the look the dude have him in the room where he was kept. I knew something sketchy was going on.

I’m,,, weak for Newt and his suspenders

Poor Queenie

She just wants to get married to Jacob LET MY GIRL LIVE

“I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you just thought it.”

Damn… These two caught me hard with the feels.

Newt! Holds! His! Want! In! His! Mouth!

He is soft

Did anyone else notice it was Cormac McLaggen’s relative who stood up for Dumbledore? Iconic.

Also!

Jude Law as Dumbledore? I’m living for it

On a related note

Johnny freaking Depp as Grindelwald is truly spectacular

Dumbledore as DADA teacher? Yes please more of that ASAP

I loved Lita! She’s my queen! she could probably crush me beneath her foot and I’d thank her tbh

Um,,, young Newt is the cutest 

I’m really happy we got a little more backstory for Newt and Lita’s friendship

Newt and Theseus, name a more iconic duo, I dare you. You can’t.

two words for you: baby Nifflers. never have i ever seen a cuter animal.

Queenie crying on the curb had me crying in the theater and you’re lying if you say it did’t break your heart just a little.

So is nobody going to talk about how Grindelwald, aka Wizard Hitler, showed them clips of WW2 as a reason to forrow him? No? Okay.

Credence is another Dumbledore, neat, cool, great, I think Grindelwald is lying. Hes a manipulative son of a bitch and I wouldnt be surprised.

So the ministry coming after Dumbledore for every possible reason has aways been a thing, even in the 20s? Great.

Newt’s connection with his beasts is precious, I love how much they trust him just automatically,

Pickett is so sweet

Pickett and Newt going for the button in the beginning of the movie!

Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s oath had me shook. 

We! Met! Nicholas! Flamel!

This whole movie had me quaking

When the Niffler came back with the little oath thingy i said, out loud, “ Yes! Good! That is a very good Niffler! 

Hello yes I need a Queenie redemption arc already

Poor Jacob, that sweet man probably blames himself for Queenie switching sides.

Newt showing Lita the Bowtruckles.

Tina “I can handle it” Goldstein

So are her and Newt together or...?

For their entire salamander eyes scene I was just murmuring “Please don’t say it, please don’t say it” over and over again as though Newt could hear me.

thEN SHE SAID IT

IT WAS SO CUTE SHE KNEW WHAT HE WAS TOO EMBARRASSED TO SAY AND INSTEAD OF BEING INSULTED SHE JUST SORT OF SMILED AND THAT WAS SO GOOD

“I’m not to supposed to say” A FULLY GROWN ASS MAN!!! WHO GAVE HIM THE GODS DAMN RIGHT TO BE SO FREAKING ADORABLE!!!!!

Credence just needs love

Nagini deserved more screen time

Also,,, Nagini used to be a person apparently?????

Grindelwald better cut the shit trying to manipulate Credence

“Oh Newt, you never did meet a monster you couldn’t love.”

Damn girl, just damn

We really got to see more of Newt’s character this time around and it was much more clear why he’s a Hufflepuff

“I don’t do sides."

"I've chosen my side."

He just has such a kind soul. He's not doing this because he has to, he was even given the chance to refuse, he's doing this out of the genuine belief that what's happening is wrong and things need to change. I love him so much.

I also loved that moment in the tower with Young Newt and Lita, it was such a good moment of two people who, although they don't quite understand each other, can exist in perfect harmony.

"There are no odd creatures, only blinkered people."

I literally am in love with this movie someone come yell with me about it in my dms

[pumpkins-s]

Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker

Read On AO3 Here

When Pidge is offered the spot as communications officer for the Kerberos Mission, to accompany her father, and her friend and former classmate Shiro, she’s expecting eight months of quiet, beautiful cosmos, ice samples, and—if she’s lucky—some broadcast signals to support her alien life theories.

She is not expecting to end up the prisoner of a fascistic race of alien cat-lizards hellbent on apparently reenacting the ugliest parts of the Roman empire, down to the massive enslavement and expansion effort and the gladiators as entertainment shtick.

But, if she’s going down, she figures she might as well go down swinging.

(Or, in which Pidge is the third Kerberos member, is decidedly not a damsel in distress who needs protection—thank you very much Shiro—is very much done with this crap, and fully intends to make it home to her little brother, no matter what it takes.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: platonic Pidge & Shiro, Pidge & Matt, Pidge & Sam Holt

Characters: Pidge, Shiro, Sam Holt, Matt Holt, Thace, Ulaz

Rating + Warnings: Rated Teen; trigger warnings include graphic violence, blood, combat, murder, and systematic transphobia on the part of the Galra. I recommend checking AO3, or in my author’s notes under the cut, for a more extensive list.

Stormbreaker was written for the @pidgebigbang, and is accompanied by art from @anime7otaku7artist7. 

Chapter 1: Willow

((Author’s Note: 

Hello, hello! Welcome to Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker, my fic for the Pidge Big Bang. Developing the concept and storyline for this fic was the work of months (even if I wrote 90% of it in the last two weeks before it was due shhhh), and I'm so pleased to finally be able to share it. I love Pidge and the friendship she holds with Shiro, and I really wanted a chance to explore that in a setting where they were closer to being peers, as well as what her relationship to Matt would be like if she were the older sibling, and hence that (+ my desire to just see Pidge kicking ass as a gladiator) is how Stormbreaker was born.

As always, music played a big part in my writing, and I'd like to take a moment to credit that: I wrote and outlined this fic largely to the work of Barns Courtney and Florence + The Machine, particularly his  The Attractions of Youth album and her How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful album, respectively, and the influence of both is definitely there in how the story turned out. The title of this fic was chosen as a nod to two songs that pushed the concept and development of Stormbreaker by leaps and bounds. Of Monster And Men's Winter Sound, and Florence + The Machine's My Boy Builds Coffins. And of course, I can't not mention the song that played the original inspiration for this fic: No Doubt's Just A Girl.

For your listening enjoyment while you read, there's also an actual playlist for this fic (with more than just those previously mentioned couple of artists in it, promise). You can find the tumblr post for it here, with art by the wonderful corpus--corvus, or jump straight to the Spotify or Youtube link.

Before you read, a final warning for the content -- this is a gladiator fic, boys & girls & nonbinary pals. That means violence, blood, injury (Shiro's probably an obvious indication but people do lose limbs), fight to the death scenarios, and murder. People die in this story, and not all of them necessarily deserve it, though rest assured Pidge and Shiro themselves stay (relatively) intact. There's also the presence of underage drinking in a flashback scene, some mentions of the sexual abuse and forced prostitution of slaves within the Empire, and swearing. So much fucking swearing. Additionally, while all relationships are written to be strictly platonic, Shiro and Pidge's longer friendship and view of each other as closer to peers does mean their friendship has an emotional intimacy that wouldn't necessarily be seen in their canon counterparts. They lean on each other for support, quite literally, so if any of that would be a personal squick to you for whatever reason, please look away now.

That's about it! Enormous thanks to the Pidge Big Bang mods for putting this all together, and to my artist, anime7otaku7artist7, for their phenomenal work. Their art is embedded in the story, and you can also find a link to it here.

Stormbreaker is split into eight sections, with the entirety already written out pre posting. Chapters range from about 4-10 thousand words, with the first one being the shortest. It will update every day until its completion (so long as everything with editing and posting goes smoothly on my end, at least. Here's hoping). Enjoy!))

(( Author’s Note [Cont.]:

Willow: Forsaken

The gorgeous title art opening this chapter, while not provided by my official artist for the Pidge Big Bang, is provided by the wonderful corpus--corvus, who put up with months of my ranting about Stormbreaker!Pidge, and generously provided me with both this title art, and coverart for this fic's playlist. Thank you Logan you're a peach.))

Oh I'm just a girl, living in captivity

Your rule of thumb

Make me worry some

Oh I'm just a girl, what's my destiny?

- "Just a Girl", No Doubt

“Careful,” is the first thing Pidge’s father says to her, and she sighs, blowing errant bangs out of her eyes—she knew she should have pinned them back when they were suiting up—as she steadies her arms and inches the ice sample out of the extraction drill.

“Yeah, Pidge, careful,” Shiro says with a grin she can only classify as shit-eating, leaning over the back of the drill with his forearms resting on top.

“I am careful,” she snaps, fully removing the sample and hefting it between her arms. The weight is less than that of Earthen ice of the same mass—which is expected, given the gravity on Kerberos is much lesser than that on Earth. It’s a lucky thing their suits are specially designed and weighted to model Earth’s gravity on their interior, Pidge wouldn’t want to be hopping and stumbling around like the astronauts of her grandparents’ generation.

She hands the sample over to her father carefully, his eyes bright as he studies it. “Extraordinary.”

Pidge glances over at Shiro, who is doing his best to look anything more than politely interested, and smirks. “What? Not impressed?”

Shiro looks down at her, and shrugs ungainly against the bulk of his suit. “You guys get…a little more excited about ice samples than I do. I understand their value, but it’s not exactly my area.”

“Yeah, yeah, motorboy.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “I get it, you’re only interested in things with an engine and that go really fast.”

“That’s—“ Shiro makes a face. “Ok, that’s only partially true. I also like…uh…” He trails off, brows furrowed, and Pidge grins. “…What do I like?” he finally asks, looking to Pidge in askance.

“Uh. Reading? Fixing Keith’s bike?” Pidge counts off on her fingers, squinting down at them. “That’s…you’re really bad at having non-work-related hobbies, dude.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh! Me!” Pidge holds up a third finger triumphantly. “You like me!”

Shiro groans. “You’re my best friend, that’s a given—“

“You know what I like?” Pidge says, and then continues on before Shiro has the chance to respond. “I’ll tell you what I like. Motherfucking aliens, that’s what I like, Shiro.”

“And here we go again—“

“And that—“ Pidge points at the ice sample, “could be the key to finally proving their existence, right Dad?”

“Well,” her father says, looking quietly amused as he shifts the sample in his hands. “We certainly can’t rule anything out, all the way out here. And I’d hardly complain if one of these ice samples wanted to come along and solve my life’s—“ There’s a rumble all around them, rock vibrating slightly beneath their feet, and he pauses. “…What was that?”

“Earthquake?” Pidge asks as another rumble starts up, stronger than the last.

“Kerberos-quake?” Shiro mutters behind her, and she turns to tell him just how terrible that was, before the strongest shake yet occurs, throwing her off balance, and she yelps, falling forward.

“Pidge!” She catches herself on Shiro’s outstretched arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She shakes her head, trying to dispel the hair blocking her vision and the vague sense of dizziness she feels. “We should get back to the—“ She stops, caught up in the feeling of something suddenly here, large and looming and right behind her, and slowly turns around as a ship comes into view.

For once, all her knowledge—all her calculations, her observations, her vast vocabulary, abandon her, and she is left with one thought, and one thought only.

That isn’t one of their ships.

“It can’t be…” She hears her father say, but it’s distant, muffled, as if he was underwater, and then all she can focus on is Shiro grabbing desperately at her arm, yanking her along.

“Run. Run!”

She runs.

It’s a rush of sudden sound, sudden movement that seems at odds with the serene stillness expected of space. All she can hear is the roaring noise of whatever is behind them, Shiro’s shouts, her own heavy breathing as she stumbles along in her suit, the previously steadying weight suddenly cumbersome.

There’s a sudden pull behind them, around them, everything lit up purple, and Pidge screams as her feet suddenly leave the ground, flying up into the void of black above them. She hears both of the others yell her name, and she reaches out blindly for something, anything—her father’s blurry form, the outstretched hand she knows is Shiro’s, only to find nothing.

Tractor beam, a detached, scientific part of her mind supplies for her. I’m the smallest, so it’s natural I’d be the first picked up.

Sure enough, one of them—she thinks her father—flies up a moment after, Shiro caught up off the ground last.

They’re both shouting in panic, and Pidge thinks she should be screaming, too. Might already be screaming, or perhaps she’s forgotten to altogether, it’s impossible to tell, right now. She is not in control of the motion of her own body, of her senses.

Debris off the ground, caught up in the beam with them, catches on the side of Shiro’s helmet, scraping along, and she can only pray it hasn’t knocked it loose, hasn’t stolen his oxygen, before another rock slams into her own head.

The last thing she hears as it all goes black is the sound of her own voice tapering off, dying in her throat like a person hanged, condemned and left to die.

…Oh, so she had been screaming.

The night Shiro gets offered the position of pilot for the Kerberos mission, Pidge drags him out drinking.

“Shots!” she announces loudly, placing them down on the bar, and Shiro winces. He’s the one person she knows who gets a headache just from being in a bar. Normally, Pidge would have sympathy, as prone to migraines brought on from stress and lack of sleep as she is, but over time she’s come to accept this is an inevitability of taking Shiro out anywhere fun that isn’t space or flight themed. Luckily, the more alcohol Shiro gets in him, the more he seems to forget about his headache, or his apathy towards bars in general—enough to be willing to repeat the same cycle of misery, ecstasy, and then mild hangovers, occasionally, every few weeks, at least.

“What are those?” He picks one up cautiously, sniffing at it. “Whiskey?”

“Mhmm,” Pidge hums happily, sliding into the stool next to his. “Good brand, too.”

“I think I’ll just order one of those fruity cocktails,” Shiro says with an air of quiet distaste, sliding the shot glass back across to Pidge.

“Weak.” She downs them both, hers first and then Shiro’s, slamming the second empty glass down to the background of his horrified face.

“I don’t know how you do that,” he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Drinking is just one of the many things they do together, but in very different ways. Shiro—perhaps still trying to live down the keg-stand days of his barely-twenties that Pidge remembers sneaking into at seventeen or so all too fondly—doesn’t like anything strong, anything that leaves too much of a burn behind. He finds his preferences in what is sweet, where the alcohol is masked by some more agreeable mix-in.

Pidge, meanwhile, relishes the burn. Chases the chemistry reacting in her own body, the poison her brain somehow just barely sustains, with fascination. Drinking is stupid, objectively. So naturally that only leads to the urge to categorize it, sample every flavor until she understands every urge and every predilection.

She watches Shiro order his cocktail in amusement, and waves her hand when the bartender looks to her. They both know how to take care of themselves—and each other, if they find it necessary. Shiro will sip his fruity drinks, and Pidge will knock back a couple shots before giving it a break and then nursing a beer or some watered down vodka-and-schnapps concoction for the rest of the night.

She’s an experimenter, not an idiot. If she takes it too far, makes herself too sick or poisons herself too permanently, she won’t be able to carry out the next test. She’s the extent of her own sample size, which means she has to make herself last.

“Remember when we were young,” she says languidly, swinging around on her stool and leaning on the bar, head tilting up to watch the ceiling, then Shiro. “And we’d party like the sun wouldn’t come up?”

“I remember going through a bottle of Advil every two months, yeah,” Shiro says dryly. “Besides you’re—I love the way you say that, when we were young. You’re not even legal to drink yet.”

“Shhh.” Pidge waves a hand. “Keep your voice down or you’ll get us kicked out. I worked hard on that I.D., Matt helped me pick the picture.”

“And what a great picture it is,” Shiro offers sarcastically, and Pidge levels a threatening eye at his drink. He pointedly moves it out of her reach, and after a moment, continues. “I still don’t get why you like bars so much. You’re you—I can barely get you out of your room to go to the dining hall.”

“Are you kidding me?” She waves a hand. “Bars are the one place where I can get social stimulus without having to actually talk to or acknowledge anyone beyond the wonderful person providing my drink. It’s an observational heaven. At the Garrison I actually have to make conversation.” She shudders, and Shiro snorts.

“…It still feels weird being out here, with your parents knowing where we go.”

“Joys of being second-gen American,” Pidge says proudly. “Just enough Italian left over where a twenty-one plus drinking age seems like the dumbest thing in the world.”

“I guess.” Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Still just feels weird when my commanding officer knows I go out drinking with his daughter.”

“Shiro, you practically live in our house. You’re in Matt’s elementary school graduation picture, for crying out loud. Bit late for worrying about that sort of thing.” Shiro winces, and Pidge laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Man. Kerberos. I can’t believe you’ll be locked up with only my dad and some poor communications officer for eight months.” She pauses, and at Shiro’s faintly proud, but still somber look, she grins. “Maybe I should suggest to Dad he bring his zero-gravity specialized Scrabble board along.”

“Oh god,” Shiro groans, dropping his face into his elbow against the bar. “Please, don’t.”

“Doing it,” Pidge says happily. After a long moment, she looks over to Shiro, curling her arms into a pillow on the bar for her to drop her head onto, sighing. “…It’ll be weird, without you here. It was going to be strange enough not having Dad around that long, but at least I’m used to him disappearing off for missions.” Shiro grunts morosely, and she hums. “Always got Matt, I suppose. And Mom. I’ll just spend more time around the house or something. Lucky we live so close.”

Shiro says nothing, stealing the discarded beer bottle of some other long-departed patron, and peeling habitually at the label in one of his little-seen nervous gestures. “It will be weird.” There’s silence again, and Pidge is just starting to wonder if she’s expected to say something, before he continues, quiet and unsure. “You know they haven’t decided on a communications officer yet. You could always…throw your hat in the ring. They’re already worried about team compatibility—with a mission this long, and this important—and everyone knows we work well together.”

“Me?” Pidge snorts. “Please. Even if I wanted to—and I’m not saying I do—they’d never take me. I’m still a cadet.”

“Only while you finish up the last of your engineering credits.” Shiro points out sullenly, still not meeting her eyes. “You’ve been an officially marked communications officer for the better part of a year at this point. And there’s no one better at the job.”

Pidge blinks, surprised at the blunt honesty in his tone. “…You…really want me to apply, don’t you?”

Shiro shrugs, glaring down at the decimated bottle label. “It’d just be—it’d feel weird without you, alright? Like something was missing.”

Almost unconsciously, Pidge reaches across, snatching up the balled-up wrapper, freeing it from Shiro’s wrath and contemplating it, as if it might suddenly give her an answer to this new puzzle.

Of course, looking for solutions in beer bottle wrappers is neither scientific nor logical, so Pidge isn’t very surprised when it offers her none.

“…I guess we do do most everything together, don’t we?” she offers softly. Shiro just shrugs again, avoiding both the answer and her eyes as he sits up and sips awkwardly at his drink. He doesn’t want to pressure her, to suggest her into something she doesn’t want to do. He also doesn’t want to go without her.

He’s always been stupidly good at expressly not talking about his worries, especially when he thinks he’s burdening someone else with them. Luckily for him, while Pidge is no feelings expert, she is a Shiro expert at this point, and very good at determining the logical end point to a problem.

“Yeah, okay,” she says unthinkingly. “Why not?” Shiro turns to look at her, still all kinds of conflicted mixed in with his hope, and she steals his drink easily, downing back the last of it, and when she slams it onto the bar next to the empty shot glasses, it sounds like a promise.

Kerberos. What could go wrong?

It’ll give her an amusing story to tell Matt when she gets rejected, at least.

…We come from a peaceful planet…

Pidge comes to with a quiet gasp and a rush of aching pain along her left temple. She startles just ever so slightly—everything blurry and her suit feeling far, far too heavy for either Kerberos or the conditions of their ship—before the weight of strong hands holding her arms behind her back, and Shiro’s muffled voice pleading somewhere off to her left, come to her attention, and she tenses, stills.

It doesn’t all come back so much in a rush as in a trickle of images, feeding into her brain like a lagging video on a bad connection as her quick, panicked breaths fog up the inside of her visor. The ship, the tractor beam, being dragged up and up and away from Shiro and her father, the sudden crunch of the rock against her skull, all sliding through her mind and clicking into place.

For the first time in a long, long time, Pidge feels true panic grip her, staring down into the abyss of the unknown. She’d come close, in their attempt to flee the inevitable on Kerberos, but had been too caught up in the immediacy of the situation. That was instinctive panic, raw and something close to animal.

This is a panic of exercised consideration. Of weighing up her circumstances and what little information she has available to her and ultimately coming up short—short of a plan, short of an idea, short of even a clue. She has no idea where she is—beyond somewhere she never was supposed to be—who has her, or what is going to happen.

Based on her position and her mode of capture, Pidge can only assume herself and the others are being held captives by a hostile extraterrestrial power. Which is not, she thinks a little hysterically, even remotely fucking close to something the Garrison had prepared them for.

For Pidge, sorting all this out amongst the overwhelmed screeching in her head and the dull throb of pain above her eyes that signals either an impending migraine or a concussion feels like the work of hours. But it must only be moments, because one second Shiro is talking, stammering out a few desperate phrases on their behalf, before there’s a shuffle of movement, and Shiro’s cut-off yelp of pain as something strikes him.

At that she does stir, almost involuntarily jerking against the hold on her to turn and observe, check on Shiro’s condition—he was speaking, which means at least he hadn’t sustained any major head injuries, surely. In response there’s a tightening of the grip on her arms, an increase on the weight pressing down on her back, a boot maybe, and she buckles instinctively, head bowing to the ground and her whole body going taut but unmoving.

Eventually, after some further exchanges of words she can’t muddle out in the confused space of her brain beyond the disbelieving fact that it’s definitely English, the grip holding Pidge shifts, moving as something like handcuffs with a rigid bar between them is shackled onto her wrists. Something takes hold of the bar, and begins to drag her backwards, assumedly out of the room. Rough sliding noises on her left and right are the only indication she has that the same is being done to her father and Shiro, she doesn’t dare look to confirm.

It’s not until they’re moving along some hallway, and the other dragging noises move past and ahead of her, that Pidge dares to tilt her head just slightly up, trying to catch sight of something beyond her own feet scraping along a metal floor.

She can only get glimpses, between long stretches of endless chrome and the shine of purple lighting coming from some undeterminable source. Flashes in windows of huge containment systems, layers upon layers of prisoners crammed into cages and moved about as if building blocks directed by a child. She sees whispers of floors upon floors of moving figures, all discernable only in the same shades of grey and purple, with splashes of red, outsizing any operation she’s ever seen at the Garrison.

She sees torture. She sees order. She sees cruelty. She sees control.

There’s the bark of voices above her head, and she yelps as she is dragged around a corner roughly, the quick turn putting a strain on her arms. But she doesn’t dare fight back, not at the risk of suffering the same fate as Shiro.

Observation is her greatest—her only strength, right now. She must do what she does best, as she does at officer meetings, in Garrison dining halls and classrooms, even in shitty, dim-lit desert town bars.

Pidge watches. She grasps at every piece of data, commits to memory every variable she can spot, and above it all she is left with only one question, buzzing in the back of her dizzied, overwhelmed mind.

Where the hell are we?

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

write me that good fwen fic tho

Guys I don’t care I’m so committed to this idea (that I have invented honestly with very little actual real-life support because that’s how I roll) that Dove Cameron is playing Gwen Stacy and man I am here for it. I am here for Gwen Stacy and Fitz joining forces to bring the team back from space and so…

True friendship is sending prompts for a ship/character that doesn’t exist. 

He starts keeping a countdown after a week, something he addsto every morning when he wakes up and walks into the motel’s bathroom to brushhis teeth and splash some water on his face. He studies his reflection and addsanother tick with dry-erase marker in the corner of the mirror: day eightwithout the team. Day ten. Day fifteen. Day twenty.

Every mark makes Fitz’s mouth go dry and a heaviness settleover his shoulders that he isn’t sure that he’s ever going to be able to shake.

Of course, that’s not entirely true, he reasons. He will beable to shake that heaviness when he stops being such a disappointment andfigures out how to bring the team back from…wherever they’ve gone to.

The problem, Fitz knows, is that he has literally no idea ofwhere they could have gone. And the universe, as large and multi-layered as itis, is a very large place to search. A needle in a haystack that stretches outinfinitely.

Fitz adds another mark to his calendar, tries to make himselflook presentable, and goes out into the world, marveling over the way it’schanged in the past twenty-three days. No one seems to realize it but him, ofcourse. Everyone he passes is going on with life as he assumes they alwayshave, unaware that his entire world has disappeared. His team, his friends. Allof them gone.

Every morning, he goes to the diner where he last saw them.Fitz plays the scene out endlessly in his head, over and over, searching forsomething he might have missed. First: breakfast, the plates spread out beforethem on the counter, the first hot meal he’d had in days. Second: the lightsgoing out, the place swarming with black-clothed figures with guns. Heremembers putting his hands up and then…

And then he was alone. When he opened his eyes again, when helooked around, when he tensed, ready to take on the threat, it was only him atthe counter and a handful of confused restaurant patrons and employees whocouldn’t seem to quite remember that there had been other people there at thecounter with Fitz.

The team had vanished into thin air. And he can’t figure outhow to get them back.

Fitz shakes his head at himself as he pushes the door open tothe diner, stepping inside, trying to swallow down the disappointment. Someoneelse should have been left behind; the team’s return and survival should dependon someone else. Someone better. Someone who can actually figure out what todo.

Fitz sits in his usual booth, always empty by chance, thoughit seems more and more like fate, and pulls his laptop out, watching as thescreen brightens with life.

“You again,” the waitress says when she sidles up to thebooth, sliding over an empty mug and filling it with a flourish. “You mightwant to try the Starbucks down the street. Better coffee.”

She’s been his waitress for the past several times he’s comein; Fitz figures that her shift lines up perfectly with the start of hisendlessly disappointing day. Her nametag says Gwen and she always wears herblonde hair back in a messy ponytail that always looks one good shake away fromcoming loose.

Fitz grunts a sort of thank you, a smile on his face as hetakes the coffee. “I like this place,” he tells her, though that’s pretty farfrom the truth. “Can I have-”

“The usual,” Gwen supplies for him without taking the pad outof her apron pocket. “Enrique is already on it.” She jabs her thumb over hershoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “You’re pretty predictable, you know.”

Fitz shrugs, sipping his coffee. It takes like tar mixed withdishwater, the way it always does. Gwen, or someone, leaves the pot on theburner for too long. Maybe he shouldtry the Starbucks.

Except the Starbucks isn’t where his friends up and vanishedfrom.

Gwen disappears to wipe the counters and talk to the handfulof other customers in the diner –there are never many- and reappears only todrop off his food and to fill his coffee mug. And all the while, Fitz searchesfor something he’s missed before.

He scours the news reports of mention of Quake, of mysteriousstrangers, of unexplained occurrences.

He checks hospital and prison intake records, looking forpeople making the team’s description, for patients or prisoners with memoryissues and unexplained backstories.

Fitz messages Jemma’s parents, a causal query so they won’tworry. He reaches out to Mack’s brother, tries to contact May’s father…whichdoesn’t work, of course. He even searches through the lowest bowels of theInternet, trying to see if people are talking about…anything.

There’s nothing.

There’s never anything at all.

Because if there’s one thing Fitz has been good at recently,it’s disappointing his friends.

Finally, Fitz looks away from his computer, rubbing hisblurry eyes with the heel of his hand, glancing around the diner. The world isstuck in the weird window of time between breakfast and lunch and he’s the onlyperson in the diner aside from an older man, another regular, who sips coffeeand studies the newspaper every morning.

Across the diner, Fitz can see Gwen sitting in one of thebooths, headphones in, bobbing her head in time to whatever music she’slistening to. There are books spread open before her, science and chemistrytexts by the look of them, and she has her feet propped up on the bench seatacross from her.

She looks, for the first time, like someone that people wouldlook twice at.

Gwen lifts her head, meeting his gaze, lifting her hand tohim in a brief wave of acknowledgement. Fitz nods, turning his attention backto his laptop. It’s just as useless now as it was sixty seconds ago.

It’s almost a welcome relief when Gwen steps up to his booth,sliding into the seat opposite of where he’s sitting. Fitz sits up straighter,staring at her. It’s strange: she and the people who work at this diner are theonly people he’s interacted with in the past twenty-three days.

“So what are you always working on?” Gwen ask, tapping hislaptop. “Whatever it is, it always leaves you looking incredibly depressed.Though,” she reasons, “that could be the coffee.”

Fitz smiles, a half-smile, but it’s the best he can do. “Whatare you studying?” He asks rather than try to invent a way to respond to herquestion.

Gwen glances down at the bag sitting in the seat beside her,strap slipping off her shoulder. “Oh, Selvig and Foster’s theory onmulti-dimensional travel.” She flips her hand. “I’m working as a TA for Dr.Boothby this semester.”

Fitz sits up straighter in his seat, eyes widening. “Multi-dimensionaltravel,” he repeats, barely above a whisper.

Something he hasn’t considered before.

Now that Gwen has any idea the switch she’s just clicked intoplace. “We can’t exactly ignore the facts anymore,” she says, “not with whathappened in New York and with Thor and with-”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think about that before,” Fitzsays with a shake of his head.

Gwen’s brow furrows slightly. “Are you the type of person whousually thinks about multiple dimensions?”

“Gwen,” Fitz says, his smile genuine for the first time in twenty-threedays, “you’re a genius.”

“I’m sorry you’re only just now figuring this out,” Gwen sayswith a sigh. “That’s a little disappointing, honestly. I thought you would bemore impressed by my coffee-pouring abilities.”

Fitz pulls a notepad out of his bag, flipping it open to ablank page. He heads the page possiblemethods of travel and begins making notations underneath.

“Hypothetically, of course,” Gwen says, leaning forward, “youcould use a vehicle. Like the DeLorean.”

Without thinking, Fitz adds the word vehicle to the paper, his mind spinning too quickly to possiblyfilter through the idea at the moment.

“Or,” Gwen continues, “a doorway of some kind. You know, it’sopen on both sides so you can just step through and be somewhere else.”

Fitz’s hand stills and he swallows around the sudden lump inhis throat. A doorway.

The Monolith.

On the paper, he makes himself write portal instead.

“Are you writing a book or something?” Gwen asks him, tiltingher head so that her hair spills a little more out of her ponytail. “Orconsidering some multi-dimensional travel?”

Fitz looks up at her. “You’ve never noticed anything strangeabout this place, have you? Unexplained…objects? Or people?”

Gwen barks out a laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, of course.Everything about this place is strange. Have you seen the bathrooms?”

A pause. Both of them are silent. Gwen’s expression slowlybecomes more serious as her smile fades away. “You’re serious,” she decidesfinally. She studies him with renewed interest, brow furrowing. “What are youworking on?”

Fitz scoffs, shaking his head. “It would sound entirelyridiculous, I can assure you.”

“You know what’s ridiculous? Genetically engineered spidersgiving someone super powers,” Gwen tells him. “But the world is a crazy place. Trustme, I can handle ridiculous.”

Fitz hesitates, uncertain. He knows so little about Gwen; hisonly interactions with her have been at this diner, when she’s bringing himcoffee or his check. And yet…maybe what he’s been missing for thesetwenty-three days is another brain to pick, another head to put to the problem.

He’s always had Jemma, after all. Maybe he works better witha partner.

Fitz sighs, leaning back in his seat. “It’s a long story.”

Gwen shrugs. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

She reaches for his half-empty cup of coffee and takes a sip,fixing him with a stare as if to say well,what are you waiting for?

“Okay,” Fitz says with another sigh, “have you ever heard ofSHIELD?”

[clay-teeth]

Nemesis: how she’s the baddest b, and a big ol butch lesbian

okay so this write up is for the lovely @tenderdyke, an homage to her poetry <3. But share as much as you want! Stories are cool. Sorry this got really long

I’m gonna talk about my favorite greek goddess, Nemesis. Sound familiar? 

Foe? Downfall? Enemy? Ruin? Sounds terrible! 

WRONG. These are lies that have wormed their way into language, because men really, really hate it when they have consequences to their actions. So, if not for a mean woman who goes around ruining men, what is she? Fair. Nemesis is the ultimate representation in feminism, equality and fairness. But before we get there, lets get some background! As with all Greek myths, the facts get a little wobbly, especially with the origin stories. For the purpose of this rant (and it’s nothing more than that) I will be going by my own personal favorite hymns and myths, and I’ll try and provide a source where I can. 

According to most sources, Nemesis is the daughter of Nyx, the goddess of night. It’s fun to note that in Greek mythology (as opposed to christian mythology) night came first, and is the natural state of the world. Day is a mode of change, is an alternative. Other sources add that Erebus aided Nyx in birthing Nemesis. Erebus is the void. But it’s not really a void as in lack of stuff, he is the primordial deity. Is the the very notion of existence. He is the space where all things occupy. So, its easy to see the our lovely lady Nemesis was an old god, older than Zeus and the Olympians. Its easy to assume that the Greek poets thought of Nemesis as vital, natural, and important. In another myth, she is the daughter of Oceanus, the primordial sea the circumferences the earth. 

Let’s talk about her family. Nyx, goddess of night, is her mother. In Theogeny, her siblings include -The Moirai - The fates. They are synonymous with destiny. They are in charge of everything that makes up a person’s life. -The Keres - The Black Fates. beasts of death, but specifically violent death. They were the result of men’s violence towards one another -Oneiroi - Dreams -Eris - Discord, also equated with strife -Apate - Deceit -Philotes - Friendship -Geras - old age

Nemesis only bore 1 child, Helen. You’ve probably heard the story of Zeus as a swan. There are several sources that say the nemesis was the victim of Zeus. He turned himself into an innocent swan, and ran to nemesis pretending to need help. Nemesis cradled him, protected him, and fell asleep. He assaulted her, and she bore an egg. Mercury took it from her, and gave it to Lyda, and from that egg was Helen, the most beautiful to ever exist. 

Now as far as myths go, there’s pretty much only one myth where we get to see her actions (aside from her treatment of Zeus). Narcissus. Really common myth! Pompous dick-head and pretty-boy narcissus falls in love with his own reflection, where he withers and dies, as punishment doled out by Nemesis. What’d he do to deserve this? Echo, a nymph, was cursed by Hera for sleeping with her husband, Zeus (ah, that asshole again). Echo lied to Hera, and from then on Echo could only repeat the last thing she heard. But poor echo, she fell in love with Narcissus. Unable to communicate her love, she followed him around in hopes that he’d notice her. Instead he shunned her, saying he’d rather die than lay with her. 

Nemesis ached for echo, and sought to punish Narcissus. It’s been twisted that Nemesis forced Narcissus to stare at his own reflection, but that’s not true. She simply lured him to a pond and, too air headed to know the difference, fell in love with himself. Many other women approached Narcissus, but he shunned them, too, in favor of himself. He eventually died by his own hand, basically throwing a temper tantrum that physics wont allow him to fuck his own self. 

A few other notes: Nemesis was sometimes called Fortune. Neither good, nor bad fortune. She was also stunningly beautiful. Her mother was said to have been so beautiful that it made Zeus quake with fear. She gave birth to Helen, the most beautiful woman to ever be born. 

The romans, who we all know overtook greece and basically wrote their name on everything greece mad and pretended it was their own homework, renamed Nemesis to Invidia-Jealousy. Reading modern-day translations or interpretation of nemesis, they call her ruthless, vengeful, etc. All of the classic revivals describe her as wrathful, ruinous, etc. And honestly? I hate it. 

Now, this is completely my own interpretation, pretty much as is everything I write here, but if you are to look at Nemesis’ origin and family, her existence could be described as “given”. Natural. Inevitable. She existed before the earth, before man, before the gods. Her kin are things like life, death, dreams, friendship, and struggle. Her “punishments” weren’t really punishments, turns out Narcissus is just Like That. I think she is the divine force in the world to make sure things are fair. The ultimate anarcha babe, allowing men to fall victims to their own weaknesses, leveling the playing field.

Anyway here are some more fun things about her: she was widely celebrated across greece! Despite being mostly forgotten (men really don’t like being confronted about their problems, huh) she had several temples in different locations, including a festival in Athens. This is where her alternative name, Rhamnousia comes from - her temple at Rhamnous. She was also the adopted goddess of roman freedmen - slaves who were released from their bonds, and able to own property and function in society in full capacity. (Yet another part of history that points to her being the manifestation of fairness and deservedness, seeing how all men deserve freedom). 

She was never known to bear any children willingly, or lay with any man. She has olive skin, and (sometimes) short, dark (indigo) hair, and blue eyes.  (She’s a lesbian lets be real). She’s winged, and is frequently depicted with a flaming sword. Her most known themes are a crown of stags and small winged beings, to symbolize Nike (victory), and she’s frequently depicted carrying a scale, reins (sometimes later a steering wheel), a ruler, and an apple branch (a symbol of long life and good health. Yeah, totally, she’s just a big ol meanie, right?)

 Its to be noted that depictions of her with a sword are special, swords are the be-all-end-all symbol of power, and even Zeus wasn’t allowed to have a sword. Nemesis was extremely powerful, frequently described as literally unstoppable. The sword is double edged, a symbolism of balance. She is also depicted in a chariot pulled by female griffins-who are typically a masculine symbol. Many artists of the day use masculine imagery with her, for one, to show her power, and for two: because she’s the true nature of duality (also comes in to play with her sword, which is another masculine symbol). 

Idk that’s it for now! 

[olivereliott]

Watchlist: The Best Motorcycle Photographers, Part II

We’re often asked what the ‘EXIF’ in Bike EXIF means. If you don’t know, it stands for ‘Exchangeable Image File format,’ referring to the data a digital camera saves when it takes a snap.

Basically we care as much about photos as we do about motorcycles. Without good photos, Bike EXIF wouldn’t be half the site it is.

So for the second time, we’re profiling three motorcycle photographers to watch. Last time we featured Aaron Brimhall, Jun Song and David Marvier; today we’re chatting to Anthony Scott (USA), Devin Paisley (SA) and Mihail Jershov (UK)—guys who all excel in natural light environments.

ANTHONY SCOTT

Where are you based? Portland, Oregon. I’m originally from Birmingham, Alabama but moved to Portland in 2013 after getting out of the military.

What bike do you ride? I have a few, but my daily is my Harley-Davidson Springer. On special occasions I like to take out my race-inspired Honda CB550 (below) that I call #27—it’s part of a 27 bike series. Or #26, an RD400. I’ll be adding more to my special occasion list, as I’m currently working on #25 and #24.

Where do you get your inspiration? Truthfully I find inspiration in a lot of different things. The bikes that I’m building are a homage to the Moto GP legends and the vintage racing era, so I gather a lot of inspiration there. I just love the style of bikes back then and how they really captured the imagination of future generations. I feel like they gave us dreamers something really good to dream about.

All you have to do is look around you and there is inspiration everywhere. For me, it always evolves and changes, so I let whatever I’m daydreaming about at the moment influence me the most. I just have to make sure I don’t stay stagnant. I’m always playing around with new business ideas, and ways to incorporate all of my loves and interests into one community hangout spot: everything from vintage cars, motorcycles, surfboards, and good faded denim. My search is still ongoing for a space to do all of this, but I’m excited to see what the future holds.

How did you get started in motorcycle photography? I stumbled upon photography a few years ago during a period in my life when I was really struggling with PTSD. My camera became an escape; something else that I could focus on that later helped me work through that time. I still remember like it was yesterday, seeing a feature on a Seaweed & Gravel build. The photos were so beautifully shot, and it was those photos that pushed me to want to learn more about motorcycle photography—any and all types.

My first camera was a Canon T2i that I purchased from a nice elderly couple on Craigslist. I quickly realized it was a lot harder than it looks to capture the type of images I’d seen many times before. But this just fueled me to get better and try harder. I’m still not sure how much better I’ve gotten, but the process brings me a lot of joy!

Are you a full-time photographer? I wish I could be a full time photographer, but I just do it as a hobby. 100% of my photography is done for free. I’m really just having fun, and I like helping others fulfill their dreams through photography.

So many people dream about having their bike featured on Bike EXIF and in print publications, something I can totally relate to. People have helped me out along the way, and I’m just trying to return the favor. I also feel that keeping it as a ‘just for fun’ hobby takes some of the pressure off (until it’s the first of the month and rent is due, then sometimes I re-think my strategy, ha!)

What equipment do you use? Canon EOS 5D Mark II body, Canon EOS 7D Mark II body, Canon EF 24-70mm f/2.8L lens, Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L lens and Canon EF 50mm f/1.2L lens. I also play around a little with a drone and a GoPro Hero 5.

Your favorite shooting location? This is a tough one, and totally depends on the purpose of the shoot and the bike itself. Some bikes call for a super gritty industrial spot, and others call for a wide-open field or nature-filled spot. You can also go somewhere more than once, and each time can be different depending on the weather, time of day, etc. If I really had to pick a favorite, it would be a good moody or foggy backdrop somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.

Your favorite subject matter? I recently started doing more portrait work and it has been my most fulfilling adventure yet. It’s challenging to capture a person just right, something natural and in the moment. Some of my other favorites are vintage custom bikes and vintage cars, hands down. I’m getting better at mixing all my interests together and that brings me a lot of joy.

Let’s talk postproduction—what’s your process? How do you feel about filters? Ah, the question we all fear. A lot of people have firm opinions on the use of filters. The camera will always capture my subject, but programs like Photoshop and Lightroom help me fine-tune my work as an artist. As an artist, we really have the freedom to take our photo wherever we want them to go.

I often find raw photos just as appealing as something that has been re-worked. It will always depend on each individual situation and shoot. Not all situations can be ideal (difficult lighting, distracting background), and that’s when postproduction comes handy. There can always be things that need cleaning up or enhancing, but I also want to make sure my photos feel realistic and not over-processed. Overall, my feelings are just to do what feels and looks best to you.

What about Instagram? I think Instagram is a great avenue to connect with others and share your passions, but you just can’t take it too seriously. Not everyone will be your biggest fan, and some of them will freely voice that. You just have to do what you love, and take it all with a grain of salt.

One day I might post a photo that I’m really proud of, and it will get zero love. The next I might throw up a photo that I casually snapped running around Portland, and it will blow up. It’s totally unpredictable. I’ve met some pretty incredible people through Instagram that I may not have met otherwise, and those opportunities and friendships are really cool.

Tell us about shooting Dirt Quake For the last few years I have had the opportunity to attend and photograph Dirt Quake USA. This past year I was asked by See See Motorcycles and Sideburn Magazine to be the official photographer. It blew my mind to have the chance to photograph, race, party, repeat with these two wonderful companies. They literally kill it every year. For months I was stoked, but the closer the date came I started to notice a pit at the bottom of my stomach. The pressure was on. Help was on the way, my younger sister flew in for moral support, which I think was just a guise to get a University Summer Break at her big brother’s expense (but I love her). My partner Melissa Bryan tried to assure me it would be fine and she would be there as well, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

The first day was a blistering 100+ degrees, no shade, fast track and fast times. It was a whirlwind. My body was sore in places I didn’t know existed. Unfortunately the pit in my stomach was still there. It was not until the next day when Hooligan Rider Jimmy Hill sent his Indian Scout and I caught him full frontal that it hit me. This is supposed to be fun dude, just enjoy yourself!

If you had one piece of advice for readers who like to shoot bikes, what would it be? Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, you’ll learn as you go. Everyone is going to have a different style, and that’s what makes each photographer and shoot so unique. My best advice, as clichéd as it may sound, is just have fun and spread good vibes. Oh, and Stay Enthused.

Enginethusiast Web | Instagram

DEVIN PAISLEY

Where are you based? The best motorcycling city in the world—Cape Town, South Africa.

What bike do you ride? I ride all the bikes. Jokes! I enjoy 250cc dual-sport bikes: I have a Yamaha TTR250 and a Honda XR250 Tornado that I ‘bought for my fiancé.’ I also have a Honda CX500 café and a Montesa Cota 349 project on the go.

Where do you get your inspiration? From the effect that motorcycles have on people. Motorcycling is contagious and once it’s in your bones… well, you know the rest. All sorts of bikes inspire me, but I love bikes with a story. In my eyes, a beat-up old thumper that has seen its fair share of action has as much character as a beautifully built custom bike.

How did you get started in motorcycle photography? I started riding in 2004 and I picked up my first decent camera in 2007 when traveling overseas. I guess as the two passions grew they found one another, helped along by my first attempt at a motorcycle business—Rebellian Custom Bikes. I was on the creative side and had to make our very average bikes look much better in photos.

Are you a full-time photographer? I also own and run a community motorcycle garage called the Woodstock Moto Co. in Cape Town. I started it three years ago as a place to store and work on my motorcycles, but it has evolved into a DIY motorcycle garage, café and general hangout that brings together people who are passionate about bikes. (Cue hipster comments on coffee and motorcycles).

Prior to this I had a brief stint trying to build bikes for money, and before that I worked as a model, which took me all over the world and exposed me to both photography and different motorcycle cultures.

What equipment do you use? I shoot on Nikon. My father was a photographer in the 70s and had a lot of old lenses lying around which fit straight on the new DSLRs. I keep it simple with primes—50mm, 85mm and 135mm. I also have a FujiFilm X100T as a pocket camera—what a great little snapper!

Your favorite shooting location? I’m spoiled in Cape Town. We have everything here—the ocean and mountains meet to create moto-heaven. Urban concrete jungle, perfect asphalt passes, dirt for days and everything in between. I try not to use the same location twice for a shoot—it gets tricky, but it forces me to keep exploring and keep finding gems.

Your favorite subject matter? Motorcycles, obviously! I enjoy telling stories through images. Whether that’s an off-road weekend adventure, or a motorcycle hoarder’s jam-packed garage, it’s the human emotions that I’m after. If I’m just shooting a bike the images need to make the viewer feel the emotions too.

Let’s talk postproduction—what’s your process? How do you feel about filters? I shoot in a way that keeps post to a minimum. I use Lightroom for editing and cataloging and only if I need to remove elements that are distracting to the viewer’s eye, I’ll use Photoshop. On set I only shoot natural light as it keeps equipment to a minimum and allows maximum flexibility.

Filters… hmm… I don’t really feel much about them other than cringe when some one goes way overboard. I guess I try to create my own style, which I then use as filters in my postproduction process.

What about Instagram? Hi my name is Devin, and I’m an addict. It’s an interesting topic and something I’ve been thinking of for quite a while. I am guilty of spending too much time on it and it is having a serious effect on my productivity. On the one hand the content being generated is inspirational and motivational—but on the dark side is it secretly makes you feel inadequate. I think that the next decade will be very interesting, looking at the psychological effects that social media has had on humans.

From a photography perspective it makes images so disposable, and it’s such a waste on such a small screen (I rock an iPhone 5). Images flash by in less than a second and people don’t have any concept of the amount work that goes into creating these visual feasts.

There’s another side of Instagram that is highly annoying—the stealing of images and the numerous accounts that re-post photographer’s work with out permission or credit. I’ve had some unbelievable conversations online with people who have no concept of image rights or respecting photographers. Don’t get me started on corporate brands sharing images without permission or compensation. Actually, never mind, apparently it’s good ‘exposure.’

Tell us about shooting the BMW R nineT Racer Wes from Bike EXIF is lucky enough to live in Cape Town too—so he’s always roping me in to do shoots. When he mentioned the R nineT rac… I interrupted him and said I was game. I like to be on set before the sun gets up to get that soft beautiful light and then shoot as it transitions to daylight. The morning of the R nineT Racer shoot I met Wes in the city and we were greeted by foggy and gloomy weather. Luckily, as we headed up to Table Mountain (Google it) we emerged from the fog onto the twisties.

I wanted to capture the bike in motion, as the shape of the bike just oozes speed, so we spent a lot of time on the panning shots (I always shoot real motion and don’t add blur in post). I also shoot from the hip while riding—but this can be dangerous and I’ve had a few close calls. The shoot took around two hours, but as photographers know, selection and editing takes much longer. This was shot on my old tank, a Nikon D700 with the following lenses: 18-35mm, 50mm f1.8, 85mm f1.8 and 135mm f2.

If you had one piece of advice for readers who like to shoot bikes, what would it be? Learn the rule of thirds, composition is critical, move around to find the sweet spot. Nail that and you’ll get banger shots, even with your phone.

Devin Paisley Web | Instagram

MIHAIL JERSHOV

Where are you based? London, UK, but I’m originally from Riga, Latvia.

What bike do you ride? I used to own a really cute, but gutless, 1979 Honda CG125, but I sold it and am currently working on getting my full license.

Where do you get your inspiration? I’m really inspired by work of some great photographers like Aaron Brimhall and Laurent Nivalle. I love the way they manage to capture the excitement of riding and make you want to be that person from the photograph.

How did you get started in motorcycle photography? Back in 2014 when I shot my first motorcycle event—DGR London—I got approached by people from Triumph, who wanted to use some of my images for their social media. This was a great incentive to get into more exciting events within the emerging custom motorcycle culture. The guys at The Bike Shed have also been a great inspiration and showed strong support.

Are you a full-time photographer? I work as a jewelry photographer for a company in London when I’m not shooting bikes.

What equipment do you use? Canon 6D DSLR.

Your favorite shooting location? I really love the combination of beautiful landscapes and pretty motorcycles, but to be honest, I don’t have one particular favorite location, I’m trying to make the most of what’s available. Good weather usually helps a lot.

Your favorite subject matter to shoot? It’s always inspiring to shoot someone doing what they genuinely love. So, motorcycles being ridden in their natural habitat must be it.

Let’s talk postproduction—what’s your process? How do you feel about filters? I use Adobe Camera Raw with some custom presets. I’m really picky about my colors.

What about Instagram? Love it to bits! Give me a follow at @mjstudio_uk.

Tell us about shooting Wheels and Waves This year’s Wheels and Waves was my third one so far, and it just never disappoints. If there is a perfect working holiday, for me it’s Wheels and Waves. You get the amazing landscape and architecture of the Basque country combined with thousands of amazing custom bikes rolling in from all over Europe, and sometimes much further. It’s always a real treat for me to shoot there.

If you had one piece of advice for readers who like to shoot bikes, what would it be? Find the imagery that inspires you, then get out there and shoot! You’ll get better if you’re persistent.

Mihail Jershov Web | Facebook | Instagram

Header image: Enduro Fun In Latvia, 2016, by Mihail Jershov.