#you guys have no idea how much the 7D means to me

[jellazticious]

Him: you better not be Vigijinka in the style of The 7D when I get there

Me, deadass:

[overlyimmersed]

HEY GUYS! LETS TALK ABOUT FAIRIES!

That are not? Fairies?

Ok, so it's clear that I like Fairies. And if you dig around my blog enough you'll find that it's not even just "Brittannian" Fairies. I also know way more about Never Fairies then you might expect and I do have some knowledge about irl fae legends.

So it may or may not be surprising that I am also interested in various ancient mythologies. Every one goes through a Greek gods phase in high school. Most people delve into ancient Egypt at some point. Things like that. Both me. But Also, Norse mythology.

I've been drawn into that a lot, coinciding with my obsession with 7DS. I'm not 100% sure why these things seem to run parallel with each other this way, but they do? So, it's pretty damn cool the 7DS mobile game has it's own take on the subject. Getting to experience both simultaneously is fun.

But...

The take is a little weird in places... I mean of course it is. It's not really unexpected for things to be a little odd. They turned enough of Arthurian legend on it's head that this is no surprise. If Merlin can be a girl, why not Thor, apparently? XD but that's obviously not what I'm on about.

See the only thing that actually...bothers? Me? Is the Alfr.

I have heard Norse myth all my life. I've known the basic realms and their inhabitants longer then I've actually been aware of knowing. And in all my years leading up to this game, I have never, a single time, heard the people of Alfheim called Fairies. They are always elves. So this...confused me significantly when it appeared in the game.

And of course I'm not going to argue with a Harlequin centric plotline, and I'm certainly not going to argue with an excuse to have Helbram hang around on screen. I just... think it's weird cuz I've never heard them referred to that way before?

And it's not as if it's inaccurate necessarily. I'm not a Norse expert. Very much not. It's just been a kind of ever-present and I think it's cool and fun. To look at the Alfr as fae makes as much sense as anything else and is acceptable. But Elves have usually been considered fae so that's kind of a circular point?

I don't exactly have a point. This isn't an argument or anything. It's just a very long-winded comment that it's weird to my brain to call the Alfr Fairies. And the context make it weirder still.

Only because in the context of 7DS we have a very solid idea of what a Fairy is. And the Alfr in this game... don't fit that bill. And I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to. The storyline for Alfheim feels... like it's intended to put Harlequin in an emotionally... offset position. Like they're so different that there's an uncanny feel, but he can't get over the name "Fairy" so he feels a certain responsibility for these people as The Fairy King.

Also Freya is a BIIIIIIITCH!! I hate her so much and she's not even pretty. And, like, that's a lame thing to say out of context. But the reason I bring her looks into it is because of the insane emphasis she places on physical appearance. She's so up her own ass about how beautiful she is and how only the most beautiful Alfr get to come with her and be special and like... she's frickin average, to my eyes, I don't know what she's on about... She also just...straight up calls Harlequin ugly, in his NORMAL form, so I just wanna beat on her dumb face...

[ssromanogers]

The Best Things Happen in the Dark

To: @theshieldass From: Terri ( @mylifeisloki )

Merry Christmas! I hope you like it! <33

Christmas Eve.

Natasha inwardly congratulated herself that she’d made it through the holiday in one piece. It wasn’t the music or the lights or the general cheer that got to her; it was the people. God, the holiday shoppers who were too focused on getting their grubby hands on as many gifts as possible to mind their manners and act like decent human beings got on her nerves long before she started groaning when Christmas carols started to play on the radio at work. People who insisted upon being unendingly happy every second of the day were right under that first group and closely followed by the ones who couldn’t find any joy in the season at all. Yeah, life sucks, but… chill out and cheer up a little bit.

In any case, it wasn’t as though Natasha had any family with which to spend Christmas Eve. She’d been invited to Christmas dinner at Clint and Laura’s house the next day, but the nighttime was all her. Since this was hardly the first Christmas she’d spent on her own, Natasha had a nice little routine. After her half-shift at work, she’d stop by the grocery store for a bottle of wine and pick up Chinese food on her way home. There, she would change into leggings and bundle up for a night in front of the television.

It was a night for movies. Natasha thought she might even splurge and make some popcorn for later.

In hindsight, maybe she should have known that something would go wrong. The day had been a really smooth one; no crazy people at work, she left on time, no wait at her favorite Chinese place… The universe had a way of evening out. Too many good things in a row was cause for suspicion.

And so, really… When the lights flickered and went out just seventeen minutes into Love Actually, Natasha shouldn’t have been surprised. The universe had a way of balancing the scales one way or another.

Swearing under her breath, she carefully set her food down so she could pull open her drapes and flood the room in moonlight, at least. Then came the candles; Natasha had exactly eight candles and four of them let off contrasting scents that were giving her one hell of a headache. With that in mind, she decided that she’d rather be cold than cold and in pain and only lit half. She wound up with two tapered candles on either side of the television and two vanilla scented candles on the coffee table in front of her. She hauled her comforter from her bedroom into the living room, doubled up on her socks, and slipped her gloves on so she could sip her wine and eat in (relative) peace.

It was fucking cold, though. There was no denying that.

Sometimes she supposed it was better to live with someone if only because it would have been nice to cuddle right about now. She supposed there was always tinder, right? But she didn’t like bringing strangers to her house and now that it was dark… Okay, so it wasn’t a good idea.

Natasha muddled her way through her food and downed her first glass of wine while she wondered whether or not she’d be able to sleep being this cold. It was seeping into her bones even with all the layers she had on; her Russian ancestors were probably turning in their graves. Without TV and knowing that she shouldn’t waste her phone battery now, she sank back into the couch and huffed a little.

So much for a nice Christmas Eve. What was she supposed to do now? Read by candlelight?

She was contemplating splurging on a hotel room for the night when she heard someone curse outside her door, pause, and then knock. Well, whoever it was—it had to be better than sitting alone pondering the meaning of life and the futility of trying to enjoy herself.

Natasha opened the door to find herself staring at the admittedly dimly lit face of her very handsome neighbor. She didn’t know his name and she wasn’t actually sure what floor he lived on, but he definitely lived in the building. She knew that he lived in the building because, on more than one occasion, she’d seen him return from his morning run looking sweaty and utterly fuckable.

“Hey there, um… this is gonna sound pathetic, but I have literally no candles and it doesn’t seem like many people are home.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Any chance you have some extra?”

She did, as a matter of fact. There were four discarded candles sitting in a cabinet in her kitchen just waiting to be burned and Natasha could be a good neighbor and hand them over so Steve had a chance of staying warm that night—- or she could do something even better.

“Sorry, I’ve only got a couple,” she lied smoothly. “But you’re welcome to come in.”

Natasha figured she could use the company and since her neighbor happened to look like something out of a magazine, she could do a lot worse. He didn’t even seem to be that much of an ass and she considered that one massive bonus. If he had a brain, she’d throw a party because she would have clearly hit the trifecta.

“Yeah?” He blinked in confusion. “You’re not busy? I don’t want to interrupt…”

“My evening of sitting and staring into the darkness? Don’t worry, you’re not.” She paused. “Unless you’ve got someone waiting for you to come back…”

“No, there’s no one waiting.” There was some hesitation on his part and Natasha figured he’d either beg off politely or make his way in without further question. “That’d be really nice. I’m sorry to intrude, I really should have candles.”

Natasha shrugged and stepped aside to let him in. “The night will pass faster if we’re not alone anyway.”

“Good point,” he agreed. “I’m Steve, by the way. I’m up in 7D.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Natasha.”

With introductions out of the way, Natasha closed the door behind him and they settled on the sofa. She wasn’t even shy about throwing a thick blanket over their legs to keep them warm. It didn’t look like Steve was wearing nearly enough; jeans and a hoodie weren’t enough to even with the gloves and scarf he’d put on as well. And then… well, they didn’t have many options.

“So,” he started. “Plans fall through, or are you always home on Christmas Eve?”

“I’m usually home,” she admitted. “But this blackout is really ruining my wine-and-Christmas-movie plans.” Natasha smiled. “What about you? No girlfriend to spend the holidays with?”

Steve’s smile was actually a little rueful and Natasha immediately wanted to know why. Had he lost his girlfriend recently? Bad breakup? Unexpected death? “No girlfriend,” he said quietly. “And no family.  I’ve got a few friends, but it feels rude to just barge in on their holidays, you know?”

Natasha nodded along in understanding. “I know. I’ve got Christmas dinner with my best friend and his family tomorrow, but it always feels like an intrusion even though they’re like family.”

“So you get it,” he chuckled softly. “You get it.”

Natasha refilled her glass of wine and offered Steve a sip since there was no way she was getting up for another glass and leaving the warm cocoon she’d created on the couch. He accepted; she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I guess we should be glad we’ve got each other tonight, then,” she suggested. “A little company.”

Steve smiled widely and handed the glass back to her. “Yeah, no doubt. I do feel like I oughta know you a little better if I’m gonna be sitting on your couch all night, though.”

If Natasha had her way, Steve would know her a whole lot better by the morning.

“There’s not much to know,” she shrugged. “Originally from Russia, came here when I was sixteen after my parents died, currently working as a secretary-slash-personal-slave for a guy with a massively huge ego who checks me out on the regular…” She trailed off and smirked a little. “Single.”

Steve chuckled. “That’s really cool, that you’re actually from Russia,” he mused. “And I’m sorry about your parents… and your job, I guess.”

“Don’t be. They died a long time ago and my job pays really well. Definitely worth the boss looking at my chest a few times a day. What about you?”

“Oh, right. So, born and raised in Brooklyn, went into the army right after high school, declared missing in action, coma for a couple of years, and now I do freelance illustration.” Steve paused for a moment and met her gaze. “Also single.”

Natasha pressed her lips together and nodded a few times. The cold was still seeping in regardless of the layers she was wearing, but she didn’t want to press her luck and ask for too much too fast. She had to feel him out first and make sure he would be cool with taking another step.

“So let’s see,” she said. “Handsome, nice to talk to, creative, fought for your country, and I haven’t caught you trying to look at my chest even once yet… What’s wrong with you?”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “I mean. How much time do you have?”

That answer actually intrigued her a little bit. Natasha had been teasing, but… well, what could be better than having a deep discussion with a total stranger in the middle of a blackout on Christmas Eve?

“All the time in the world.”

“Well, uh… You’ve heard of PTSD, right?”

Natasha nodded and Steve went on to explain that he’d basically been kept a prisoner behind enemy lines for some time. When he was finally recovered, he was in bad shape and they had to put him in a medically induced coma that they simply couldn’t risk taking him out of for some time. When all was said and done, he’d missed two full years of his life and had to start all over. He’d lost his men, his best friend, and the woman he’d fallen for during his basic training had gotten sick and passed away before he’d woken up. It was enough to leave anyone with nightmares.

“Plus I’m really stubborn. Sorry, I feel like I’ve been going on and on,” he huffed, shaking his head. “That’s probably enough for me.”

“You’re one hell of an interesting person.” Natasha hadn’t been expecting any of that and she pulled her legs up a little bit because, in the dark, she felt brave enough to tell him a secret of her own. “I have nightmares too,” she admitted. “Of the night my parents died. And a few things that happened afterward.” She glanced up at him. “How do you deal with them? What’s your deal?”

“I run,” he said. “What do you do?”

Natasha shrugged. “Dance, I guess. Or meditate. My ex was always real big on the meditation thing.”

“Doesn’t sound like my kind of guy.”

“He’s nice enough,” she said. “His heart was in the right place.”

“It’s kind of great that you’re on good terms. I feel like everyone hates all their exes these days.”

Natasha smiled. “It’s hard to hate a guy like him. If you knew him, you’d get it.” She shifted a little bit and unconsciously got closer. “Another one of my exes, though— he was a real asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. He was always very controlling, felt like he wanted me to be a trophy wife or something. And I mean, look at me. Do I look like the trophy wife type to you?”

“I feel like this is a trick question, but no. You really don’t.”

Natasha grinned. “Good call, because I’m not. Anyway, he basically flipped out when I said I was leaving and broke my arm. But I got back at him by sending a bunch of abusive texts from him to his mother. It was definitely worth all the name calling afterward.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “So basically I shouldn’t be messing with you?”

“You got that right.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t talked before now,” he said. “I’m kicking myself for never really saying hello.”

“Well, I feel like you’re always coming in from a run when I see you.” Natasha knew, as a matter of fact, because Steve was the stuff of wet dreams. “So you’re tired and everything. No offense taken.”

“Still.” Steve gave her a shy, boyish smile and Natasha had to still her beating heart because she was in danger of falling in love with a smile like that. “I wanted to. I mean, I wanted to say hello.”

Natasha tipped her head to the side. “How come you didn’t? I don’t bite.”

“Maybe not, but you’re kind of intimidating. In a good way. I guess I just didn’t know what to say and I know a lot of women don’t really like men just coming up to them, so…”

That was kind of adorable. So he hadn’t come up to her because he didn’t want to wind up being a statistic, and because he was kind of intimidated—but in a good way. “Then I guess it’s a good thing the lights went out,” she offered. Turning a relatively innocent gaze up to him again, Natasha went in for what she figured was the kill. “Are you still too intimidated to maybe get a little closer? It’s cold.”

Steve blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. “I think I can do that,” he said eventually. She watched as he lifted the blanket and scooted over until Natasha could lean over and rest against his side. “Can I just…?”

He put his arm around her shoulders and Natasha shivered once as she curled up beside him, her legs drawn way up to her chest and her arms huddled together. “That’s so much better,” she sighed.

“It is, you’re right,” he chuckled. She could feel the vibrations in his chest.

Natasha smirked. “You know,” she mused as she passed her wine over again. “If you’d said hello to me earlier than tonight, we might have been doing something else to stay warm.”

Steve choked on his current mouthful of wine and Natasha looked up at him, clearly amused. “You mean—“ She tipped her head to the side and he let out another soft laugh as he leaned forward to set the wine down on the coffee table. “You do mean that,” he mumbled.

“Try not to be too shocked,” she teased. “I don’t know how delicate your sensibilities are.”

“Not that delicate.”  Steve paused for a moment and studied her. “I mean. We could still…”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Well, well. Another surprise.”

“It’s practically a method of survival,” he said seriously. “We could freeze to death otherwise. We’re just doing what we can to make it through the night.”

Leaning a little closer, Natasha slid her hand over his stomach and inwardly celebrated the hard little bumps she found there. “It’s the intelligent thing to do,” she echoed. “Clearly.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Clearly.”

With that, he leaned down and silently asked permission before sealing their lips together. Natasha had to admit that the initial response she had was to lean right back into him and deepen the kiss if only because the warmth coming off of him was intoxicating at worst and absolutely divine at best. Eventually, he gently urged her to lie down and put some of his weight on top of her like the best blanket she could possibly imagine. Natasha’s arms went around his waist to pull him closer and she shivered a little as Steve’s lips dipped down to trace along the side of her neck to her throat.

With all the heavy breathing between them, it wasn’t surprising that they were heating up fairly quickly. Steve’s knee settled between her legs and all of a sudden, Natasha’s cheeks flushed with the most delicious warmth as she bucked her hips up against him. And it was strange, but now that they were sloppily grinding against one another under the thick blanket Steve made sure to keep over them, Natasha was more than willing to take her clothes off. It would be a little chilly, but just a little.

Steve’s shirt went first. She tore it off as fast as she could and tossed it aside as he laughed and told her she was trying to kill him. Of course, his nipples pebbled immediately and Natasha was quick to brush her thumbs over them; she did it again when he let out a filthy little moan in response. The sweater she was wearing came off next and left her in a thin chemise Steve ultimately decided to leave on—regardless of the fact that he latched onto a nipple through the material, much to Natasha’s amusement and delight.

It was a bit of a clumsy shuffle to get their pants off; in the end, Steve just shoved his jeans down and Natasha flipped onto her stomach so he could pull her leggings and panties down at one time. He was inside her before either of them was truly ready for it and Natasha’s moan was very nearly drowned out by Steve’s. But they found a rhythm quickly and Natasha arched her back as Steve pounded into her from behind, inching them up until Natasha was bent over the arm of the sofa and their blanket had fallen to the wayside.

After some time, Steve flipped her over again and tugged her leggings out of the way in favor of falling between her legs to press right back into her. Natasha keened and grabbed onto his hair, sinking her nails into his scalp as he found leverage and resumed his rhythm. Of course, she was about to protest and complain when Steve pulled out just seconds before her climax, but he recovered in a way that she never would have expected.

Steve backed away and lifted her legs up over his shoulders, holding her up with both arms as he buried his face right between her thighs. Natasha had no choice but to cry out and hold on as he worked her right back up and far over the edge. She came with a shuddering cry and shivered as Steve let her back down, but she managed to rally in time to turn the tables and take a seat astride his hip so she could wrap her hand around his cock. He looked even better like this, she decided; by candlelight, she could see every movement of his chest and the way the shadows bounced off his solid jaw, not to mention the heavy weight of his length in her hand. Steve finally came with both arms raised to grab the arm of the couch behind him and Natasha grinned as she leaned down to kiss his chest as he came down from it.

She decided very quickly that laying on Steve’s chest was preferable to just sit on top of him and she shivered again as he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation. He also grabbed the blanket off the floor and tossed it over them because he was full service, apparently.

“You think we can stay like this the whole night?”

Steve’s laugh could be felt in the non-existent space between them. “I mean, I think we should move to the bedroom to sleep, but otherwise… yeah. Body heat and all.”

Natasha sighed and buried her nose right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “And a Merry Christmas to me,” she mumbled. “What are the chances you’ll carry me there?”

“Pretty high, once I catch my breath.”

They relaxed for a few minutes until the cold was getting to them all over again and a nice, warm bed was calling. Natasha wrapped whatever blankets she could reach around her shoulders and Steve got up, hitching his jeans up with one hand before scooping her right into his arms for a bridal carry into the bedroom. There, he set her down in their nest of blankets and disrobed as quickly as he could before diving in there alongside her.

“Y’know, I don’t do this with every stranger that comes knocking on my door,” Natasha whispered to him as she snuggled in close– for warmth and definitely not because of she actually kind of liked Steve and might just want him to stick around. “Just the handsome ones.” She smiled and Steve laughed as he leaned down for another kiss. That one felt a lot more intimate than the ones before; it was almost like there was a real spark between them.

Steve smiled as he pulled back again. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know that.” Natasha tangled their legs together and let her arm rest around his waist. “I kind of think you like it.”

Raising his eyebrows, Steve let out a low chuckle. “Maybe I do.”

The next morning, snow was falling outside and the lights were back on. Natasha pushed two of the blankets off them before curling right back into Steve’s chest for the time being. Fuck it, right? They didn’t have anyone but each other right now and she was going to take advantage of that while she could, meaning before he woke up and put a stop to it–

“Hey, it’s Christmas.” Steve sounded even sexier with his voice thick and full of sleep, but the sight of him rubbing his eyes with his hair all messed was worryingly sweet. “And it’s snowing!”

Natasha gave him a look. “Sure is. Plus the power’s back,” she informed him. “Lucky us.”

“Does that mean you have to get dressed right away, or…?”

She didn’t have to get dressed right away. In fact, she didn’t have to do anything right away. With that in mind, she shifted to lay on top of him and straddled his hips to get comfortable. “I’m thinking we need to go for round two,” she suggested in a low murmur. “How does that sound?”

Steve smirked and slid his hands over her back until he could grab her ass and squeeze. “It sounds perfect,” he answered. “Round two– and maybe even three.”

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Son Of Scheherazade, 14

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Originally I planned to have the priest and the enemies of this chapter played by Mickey-world villains, but, after being unable to think of them, decided to have some fun with short-lived hits Wander Over Yonder and The 7D. Hope I got them right, or as right as they would be in the roles they need to play.

This chapter's ridiculous plot was thought of years in advance because I am so easily influenced by gag-romance tropes in manga and I have a silly sense of humor. "Madeline" Mouse is the name of Mickey's cousin in a comic from long ago.

When I was younger I was told my name means Honeybee in Greek, or something. IDK if that's true, but there you have it.

Summary: In order to get the first piece of the map, Mickey and his friends must enter a contest... but not win? Can they survive Daisy's tricks, or will a darker force steal more than just a victory?

It took several days to reach the borders of Rumansy, and their arrival was a great relief to everyone. No matter how hard Mickey and the others begged and pleaded to Daisy for further information about the task before them, she refused to speak of it “too early”, because what fun would that be? On this particular day, full of bright sunshine and hot winds, Mickey was standing in the crow's nest, the area littered with maps and pens. Ever since Daisy had revealed the truth behind his parents' kidnapping, he had devoted all of his free time to studying every inch of every map the ship had. If they couldn't find the fourth piece of the mysterious map they were searching for, they had an entire world to look through but not enough time to do so. Often he stayed up late at night to study, trying to memorize layouts of towns and deciding which maps filled in the holes the others were missing.

During those nights, Minnie would stay in her lamp, hearing nothing but the gentle scratching of pen against paper. It was soothing and frustrating at the same time – she couldn't help him at all. Or rather the only way she could help him, her wishes, he refused to use.. It made her question her place on the ship, since everyone had their own roles. Mickey had done so much for her and for everyone he met, and no doubt he would continue to put the needs of others before his own. The night before they arrived at the city's edge, Minnie heard a quiet “thunk” outside of her lamp, and poofed out to see what it was.

Mickey had been bent over his work table, studying long into the night until exhaustion finally took over, and he passed out. His head lay on the table, snoring loudly and drooling slightly. Pluto, who had been sleeping around his master's chair, jerked his head up at the noise, and whined to see what had happened. Minnie sighed, and began to tug the blanket from his bed. She knew if she tried to move him to the bed, he would wake up and insist on resuming his work. As she draped the blanket over his shoulders, she silently made a vow – she would find a way to help him in Rumansy, no matter what it took or what indignities she suffered. She would be useful in one form or another, to him and to the others. She would help him sleep peacefully again.

Now in the day's light, she had those same thoughts as she stood on deck, gazing up at the crow's nest where Mickey was standing. Minnie would not let him work alone and suffer for her sake. It was her turn to work for his freedom and happiness. Though he was very high up, she could make out his features, and watched him as if he was the most fascinating subject the world had ever created. What kind of life did he have to make him this way? So kind and caring and smart and clever and handsome and -

“If you start singing a mushy song, I am gunna hurl.”

Minnie felt she jumped a foot up in the air when she heard Daisy's mocking voice behind her. “Why can't you ever do anything normally?!” To her growing mortification, the rest of the crew was with Daisy, wall of them now looking in different directions, whistling, pretending they hadn't noticed Minnie's lovesick staring.

Daisy waved the question away. “It's time to start planning for the next part of the quest. But I'm going to need his help, and yours, and Donald's!”

“Me?” Donald asked, confused but happy to participate.

Minnie wanted to be happy about this, but given Daisy's nature, she was wary about what this would entail. Mickey, for his part, noticed the crowd below and began to climb down as fast as he could. “I can see the city!” he called out as he raced downwards. “Daisy, will you finally tell us how to get the first part of the map? Where is it in Rumansy?”

Once Mickey was on solid ground, Daisy flipped her hair and twirled her pipe, ready to go into another storytelling spiel. Her snake rested comfortably on her head, hissing out a hello. “The city of Rumansy began as a small town without anything to really notice about it. As a result, they were poor as dirt and lacked any tourists. But one day, a runaway couple entered the city, begging for help. They were from warring tribes, yet they were desperately in love and refused to part. The town was touched by their passion and allowed them to stay. The story became so famous that the town suddenly became known as a romantic destination for honeymooners!”

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Horace groaned.

“In honor of this couple, the elders of Rumansy decided they would make their city the most romantic in all the land! And the best way to do it was to hold a contest every year to choose the most romantic couple in all the land! The prizes change each time, and people come from across the globe to prove they are the best couple to have ever...coupled! And one of those prizes is a piece of the map! They have no idea about its real origins. They just figure it's a collector's item.” She then held her pipe like a conductor's baton, getting into the final segments of the plan. “But we have to be precise! That prize only goes to the Runner-Up! Third place is a thousand gold pieces, second place is a paid vacation to the land of your choice, and first place is to star in a romance novel written by famed author Honeybee!”

Goofy raised his hand. “Who?”

“Eh, some hack author. Her editors do all the work, honestly. Bless them.”

Mickey was getting Horace's bad intuition. “Wait a minute...can't we just ask them for the piece of the map? You're not actually saying we have to enter this ridiculous contest?”

“They take this contest very seriously!” Daisy wagged a finger. “They won't hand it over just because you say 'pretty please'. No, the only way to get it is to enter and win! That's why you, Minnie, Donald and I are going to sign up and pretend to be couples.”

“What?” said Donald.

“What?” said Minnie.

“WHAT?!” said Mickey.

“Told you,” Horace added.

Clarabelle pushed her husband aside to get up front. “Now hold on a minute! Doesn't it make much more sense for me and Horace to enter? We're actually married!”

“Noooooooo, you and the others should stay behind in case we need help. Besides, the way you two argue so much, I doubt they'd even know you were a real couple in the first place.” But anyone looking at Daisy's face could see she was lying through her teeth. No doubt the real answer was, “This is much funnier.”

“Well, I guess we do kind of argue a lot,” Horace began to agree.

“Horace! We do NOT argue a lot!” Clarabelle disagreed very loudly.

“Yes we do, woman, why won't you listen to me?!”

“I'M TELLING YOU WE NEVER ARGUE!”

“Daisy!” Mickey barked, interrupting Clarabelle and Horace, already losing his patience. “This is nuts! We're not going to lie to these people and pretend to be something we're not! There has to be another way to get the map!”

Minnie crossed her arms, sticking her nose up. “I concur with my Master, I won't do it.”

Donald nervously tugged at his collar. “I gotta say, if we're pirates, why don't we just steal the thing?”

Daisy evenly looked at her three pawns, seeing all the resistance, and then dramatically exhaled, pressing the back of her head to her forehead and turning away. “I see how it is...Well, if that's how you really feel about it, I guess it can't be helped. What was I thinking? I mean, I can see how dreadfully uncomfortable it would be for you guys to be together...Having to cuddle and coo, whisper sweet nothings, exchange long, passionate, really deep kisses...”

If one person could be played like a fiddle, Daisy played the trio like an orchestra.

“HANG ON,” Mickey interjected loudly and abruptly, his cheeks burning as he thought about the possibility of cuddling Minnie in his arms like a loving husband, “I mean, if it's for the sake of my parents, we should pull out the stops, r-right?”

“I AGREE,” Minnie added on just as loudly, blushing as she thought about the idea of having tender words whispered into Mickey's ear, “That is, if it's what my Master wishes, I have to go along with it, d-don't I?”

“I WANNA DO IT,” Donald finished, determined not to faint this time if Daisy kissed him again and again and again and again. “All for one and one for all! AHAHAHA!”

The rest of the crew stared at Daisy in awe at how easily she wrapped the others around her figure – well, not so much awe as it was fear. Yikes.

“Aw, I'm so glad we're all in agreement!” Daisy chirped, clasping her hands together. “Once we lay anchor, I'll go on ahead and sign us up while you three pack! The contest takes about three days, so make sure to get everything you need! Remember, we have to be good, but not too good.”

“You are a devil woman,” Clarabelle muttered under her breath.

“Gotta go pack!” Mickey repeated, practically skipping with glee at this plan which was to absolutely to save his parents and had nothing to do with the fact that he could hold Minnie's hands and not feel guilty about it. Minnie flounced after him, pleased that she could be of use to the crew and not that she could be in Mickey's arms without any repercussions. Donald, still lost in kissing thoughts, had to be dragged away by Panchito and Jose since he couldn't find the strength in his feet.

Goofy glanced down at Daisy, scratching his noggin under his bandanna. “Daisy...you're not planning something this time, are you? We really do need that piece of the map.”

Daisy put one hand over her heart and raised the other. “I give you my word, I plan for the four of us to pretend to be two couples. Nothing more, nothing less. Why, if we didn't win the map, I'd stop having fun.”

“That is exactly the opposite of reassuring,” Horace rolled his eyes. “We'll stick around town and learn what we can about this contest...but you gotta keep an eye on them! Keep Donald's powers under check, and don't let anyone find out what Minnie really is and who Mickey really is! The less headaches we get, the better!”

Daisy just smiled, working her pipe into her ponytail. “Fiddle-de-dee, such faith you have in me.”

Horace, Clarabelle, and Goofy had no choice but to go along with whatever Daisy was cooking, laying the anchor down so she could climb off and sign the foursome up. Clarabelle insisted with her husband they should still try to enter to watch over the young ones, but of course Horace argued against this, and they continued fighting over it well long after the chosen ones had left. Goofy, at least, tried to be optimistic about the whole thing. On its surface, the plan was relatively simple – given the way Mickey and Minnie felt about each other, “pretending” to be a couple would be amazingly easy. So how could Daisy possibly use that as a trick for her own entertainment?

~*~

An hour later, Mickey, Minnie, and Donald walked into the city of Rumansy with their heads held high and songs in their hearts. Their excitement was diminished a smidgen when they realized how overboard the city went with its theme – the buildings were heart shaped, guitars were being played at every corner, and the streets had carvings of very sappy poetry. Everyone wore shades of reds and pinks, with men carrying bouquets and women spraying perfume from the windows.

“Everyone here needs to seriously take it down a notch,” Donald stated when the trio had to wait to cross a street due to several couples tango-ing at once.

“Daisy wasn't kidding about the romance deal,” Mickey mused, scratching his cheek. Here was an entire city that was just as embarrassing as his parents. “I mean, I don't really know much about it myself...”

“Same here,” Donald admitted. “Shoot, what with the way Uncle...” he winced, still in the habit of calling the cruel old man his relative, “...Flintheart raised me, I never thought any woman would want me. So I never bothered learning how to get a girl. But maybe if we just act natural, we should be okay?”

“Donald is right,” Minnie said, walking closer to Mickey than normal. “We can't think too hard about this, or it'll be obvious we're faking. We should just do... whatever...feels right.” She met Mickey's eyes, and the two held the gaze for a second before shyly breaking away.

“I don't think you two have much to worry about.” Donald held back a snicker. For him, he wasn't sure what his feelings about Daisy were – the woman could be graceful and intelligent one moment, devious and underhanded the next. But he was in this to help his friend – more importantly, he was in this to get another amazing kiss. Homina homina homina.

The trio found Daisy on the steps of a church so massive it could rival many a royal palace. It was covered in white lace, but instead of hideous gargoyles it was adorned with smooching couples and winged cherubs, the stained glass windows depicting previous winners of the contest. On the steps of the church, Daisy was talking to a short man who was covered in orange hair from head to foot – although he did it keep it smooth and trim. He was nodding along to whatever Daisy was saying, occasionally wiping a tear from his eye and adjusting the long green hat on his head. It was an easy guess that this man worked for the contest.

Mickey stopped, feeling his heart racing. He swallowed, and made himself look at Minnie. “B-Before we do this, I... um... well... I don't want to do... anything you're not... you know... comfortable with...” He began to fidget, the pack on his shoulders shifting back and forth – Donald had packed light, with Minnie not packing anything, as her magic kept her clothes springtime fresh, but Mickey wanted to continue his studies, so his pack was bursting with maps. “That is... you can always tell me to stop, or... The map is important, but, you, you're important too, and I want you to, to, to remember what I said about... being unable to tell what's real, and what you're doing because of what you are...”

With each stammer and stutter, Mickey accidentally wormed his way further into Minnie's heart. She smiled without realizing it, playing with the rings on her fingers. “I know, I remember. But, perhaps... I might be more... comfortable... with some things than you might realize...”

“There he is!” Daisy suddenly called out, jarring their attention. “My beloved husband, my one and only! I can't believe we were apart for so long!” Donald's face flushed, and he could feel Mickey lightly nudging his chest with an elbow. Daisy began to run down the stairs, arms out. “My sweetie, my darling, my...”

But instead of jumping into Donald's open arms, she latched onto Mickey. “Myyy Mortimer~!”

Donald froze where he was, arms still out, trying to comprehend what just happened. Minnie's jaw dropped, her body shaking like a thousand rattle-snake tails. Mickey slowly, rigidly, dug his fingers into Daisy's shoulders and pulled her off. “What... Did... You... Do?”

“I signed us up, hubby-wubby-boo~!” Daisy bopped Mickey on the nose, enjoying each dose of horror she got from her so-called friends. “I told Father Wander here all about us! And when he heard our story, he knew we would be surefire winners!”

“Of course I know it!” The orange-colored man felt ready to sob all over again. “To think that a pair of forbidden couples would show up at our door... It's like destiny!” It was a good thing he began to pantomime the story himself, so he could miss the murderous glares being bestowed upon Daisy, and the delighted raspberry she blew back. “You, Mortimer, were arranged to be married but on the day of the wedding, you fell for the bride's sister, Donna! And not only that, but your servants, Madeline and Gladstone, also fell for each other! How amazing is that?”

Donald wasn't sure which he found more offensive – being called a servant or being given such a stupid name. That's when the actual point of the story hit him, and he shakily pointed to Minnie. “So... me and her...?” He liked Minnie, yes, but as a sister! Minnie was equally distraught, but could not summon words, only gaping in dread as Daisy continued to snuggle up to Mickey.

Father Wander clapped. “You guys are all shoe-ins, and as our last entrants, we can finally begin the opening ceremony! Come on in!” He threw open the doors, revealing that within loud operatic music was being played, and headed inside.

Mickey spoke hotly through gritted teeth. “Daisy...Did you plan this from the start?”

“I said we'd be couples, I never said who'd be with who.” Daisy waggled her eyebrows, never losing the appearance of a venomous snake. “Why... is there someone you guys would rather be with?” She looked at them all, grinning.

Minnie made a choked noise in her throat, but that was all the answer Daisy would get. Mickey and Minnie were still way too emotionally compromised to actually admit what they felt, especially in front of the object of their desire, and Donald could feel his mortification rising at the thought of saying out loud, “Yes, I wanted you to kiss me again!” As such, no one said a word. “That's what I thought.” Daisy giggled, walking up the stairs with Mickey. “Cheer up, Mortimer! We're all happily in love!”

Mickey could feel his head throbbing. “And why, out of all names-”

“Oh, relax, the guy's still on the run from all those magical thefts, he's not going in public anytime soon. No way we'll get get any kind of mix-up.” It was difficult to tell if she knew this for a fact, given her All Seeing Eyes, or she was making an excuse for poking a hornet's nest. “Smiles, everyone!”

The only way Mickey could manage something close to a smile was imagining tying Daisy up and leaving her in the city while the crew made a getaway. As a result his smile was more demonic than charming. “I love you so much,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love you right now.” It was obvious what actual emotion Mickey was emphasizing.

With a sad exhale, Donald offered his hand to Minnie, unable to look at her for the moment due to embarrassment, which she did not find offensive. She weakly held his hand and followed their friends into the chapel, trying to put on struggling happy faces.

The interior of the entrance was filled to the brim with couples of all kinds. Some couldn't keep their hands off of each other, others were bickering loudly, and it occurred to Mickey then that perhaps some others would also be faking their romance. A thousand coins or a paid vacation were tempting prizes, after all. The inside of the church contained more silly statues of smooching and banners full of hearts. Father Wander's servants were prancing about, offering flower necklaces and singing poetry about each of the contestants. Mickey was finding it more difficult to keep on his smile, his anger still throbbing, and now growing into frustration. He had sworn to Minnie that he'd put his affections for her on hold until she was free, and he was going to keep his word. It had been the right thing to do, but also incredibly difficult – he wanted to treat her like a lover should be treated, to give life to the words in his head, to make her happy for every sad say she'd ever experienced. But now being in this place was like a belittling reminder of the lines he swore he wouldn't cross, no matter how much he wanted to.

Yet as he looked around at all the kissy faces and hearing silly pet names – this seemed almost to be more a mockery of romance than an actual celebration. As if these people knew what people in love were supposed to “look like”, but never bothered to try anything else. Mickey's parents were mushy, yes, but they didn't spend every waking moment babbling about each other. Sometimes their love could be felt with a simple smile when their spouse was having a bad day, or asking the chef to prepare their favorite food when one of them was ill.

Mickey's mind began to reel, somewhat cooling his anger without getting rid of it entirely – did he really know anything about love? He was certain about his feelings towards Minnie, but he'd been proven wrong about his instincts before. What a fine time to have doubts! Maybe if he hadn't been so busy daydreaming before he came to the chapel, he could've asked an actual expert on the subject, like Goofy or Horace. But in the end, did any of it matter?

Father Wander began clapping his hands, which stopped his servants so he could be heard. “Welcome, one and all, to the Annual Rumansy Romance Contest! It is such an honor to be here among so many loving people! Now that our last minute contestants have been signed up, we can finally get things rolling!” he then gestured to the foursome at the door, applauding wildly. “Give 'em a hand, everyone! Two pairs of forbidden lovers for the price of one! Aren't they just adorable?”

Daisy squeezed Mickey tightly, giggling like a shy schoolgirl. “Aw, honey, aren't they saying the nicest things about us?”

Mickey awkwardly patted Daisy on the head, trying to keep the real goal in mind. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He swallowed, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He could feel his insides trying to physically force down his anger, and ignore his worries, although both were proving to be difficult. Donald and Minnie were wearing a matching pair of nervous smiles, awkwardly waving. “I, uh... well! It's nice to meet all of you, sorta.” There was no reason to bad sport to his fellow contestants. Maybe some of them had been duped as well. “I hope we can all get along, and may the best couple win.”

“AND THAT WILL BE US!”

One of the small, wooden pews was knocked over, allowing the shouting enemies to use it as a makeshift pedestal for their greatness. A pair of humans stood side by side, copying each other's pose of a hand to their face. “There is simply no couple who love each other more than I, Hildy Gloom, and my fantastic husband, Grimwold Gloom, love each other!” She cackled and flipped her short, purple and pink hair around. The long-frilled dress around her neck and legs made her seem taller than she really was, like a violet lizard standing on its haunches.

“So the rest of you would be better off giving up and leaving here and now!” Her husband's laugh was no less devilish, though his contained a few extra honks, given his very large nose. His bright blue hair was nearly blinding, save for the white streak like a lightning bolt. He also dressed a bit more conservatively choosing a simple trench-coat with a pattern of stars in the corner. “We not only deserve first place, but second, third, and runner-up! You might as well save us all some time and hand them over now!”

The various couples uneasily looked at each other, unsure if they wanted to fight against a pair that was so downright rude. Father Wander held up his hands, chuckling nervously. “Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves...There's three days to prove who's the best, starting now! We have two assigned chambers, one for the men, and one for the women, so if you could all just-”

“Why should I have to share my room with a bunch of losers?” Hildy marched forward, leaning over Father Wander and making him back up. “I'll have all of these pathetic wanna-bes dropped out before you can say 'boo'! So hand over those prizes! I want them, I want them, I want them!”

Daisy whispered behind her hand, “See, there are people more annoying than I am.” This did not reassure Mickey about anything.

The murmur didn't go unnoticed, as Grimwold stomped his foot down. “You got something to say to us?” He then advanced toward Mickey and Daisy, sneering down at them. “You two think you could be more in love than we are? Get lost! The only ones winning are me and my Hildy-honey!”

Mickey's temper was reaching its limits for the day, fighting off the lid he'd so carefully placed on it minutes ago. “Look, we don't want any trouble. We all deserve a fair shot at winning the prizes, and it's not fair for you to push Father Wander around! We're not going anywhere, and you can't make us!”

“Who says I can't, pipsqueak?” Grim grabbed Mickey by the collar – Mickey felt a strange little pinch. “Do you even know who we are?”

“You literally just told us,” Daisy said under her breath, making no movement to help Mickey. But she didn't have to – a sudden, hard bolt of lightning struck the outside of the chapel, causing everyone to jump. After all, it'd been clear and sunny, so where did the lightning come from? Mickey glanced behind him, and saw Donald give a sheepish smile. He hadn't meant to summon it, but seeing his friend needlessly bullied had set him off. Minnie squeezed his hand in gratitude.

Grateful for the distraction, Father Wander tried to pick things up again. “As I was saying...we have rooms for men and women, so you can unpack and get yourselves psyched for the first part of the contest! Anyone who fails any part of the contest will kindly be asked to leave.” The “kindly” part was up to debate, seeing how his servants were holding up chains behind his back. If Mickey had to guess, the losers would be dragged away in them, which seemed extremely excessive. “We'll continue eliminating couples until we have our winners on day three! On that day, we have a super secret and super amazing way to tell who is the best couple in the whole wide world! Hurray for love!” He applauded, and this time everyone joined in, save for the sneering Glooms.

The frolicking servants began to lead the men and women away into separate, long red hallways. With the intense drama now over, Mickey put a hand to his chest, taking deep breaths. Now he could calm down, and get rid of that vicious temper. In, out, in, out, there was no reason to lose his cool. They would just play the game and try their best. As each pair began to be separated, Mickey shook Donald's hand. “Thanks for the save, pal.”

“You got it, Mickey,” he whispered, happy to have helped. “We're all in this together, all four of us. And don't you worry, Minnie and I have got this covered. We'll help you and each other.”

Minnie bowed her head respectfully. “I'll be in your hands, Donald, so I know I will be all right.”

“But right now, she's in my hands!” Daisy yanked Minnie away by the wrist, happy to ruin the tender moment. “See you boys later! You better prepare the sappiest lines you can imagine! I want to see maple syrup pouring out of your mouths!” With a harpy-like little laugh, she flounced away with a very reluctant Minnie.

“I'm afraid to say it can't get worse.” Mickey shook his head, following Donald to the men's chambers. He wondered what the first stage of the contest was, and how hard it would be to pass it. But until then, he could always study his maps.

The last couple to be separated were the Glooms, who had now taken to a corner and were watching their enemies disperse. Before they parted, Hildy held out her hand to her husband, smirking. “Did you get it, Grimmy-goo?”

“Easy as pie, Hildy-hoo.” He slipped it into her hand – a single black hair taken from Mickey's fur. “If what the Phantom Prince told us is right, this is our ticket to easy street. Work your magic. Literally.”

“Can do, babe.” She slid the hair into her neckline, hiding it underneath her clothes. “I'll need a day to perfect it, but before this contest is over, we'll know if he's the one we've been looking for. Then not only will we win, but we'll obtain ultimate power!”

“You are so pretty when you're evil.”

“You say the nicest things, sweetie!”

They exchanged a happy kiss before leaving their separate ways, determined to win in every sense of the word. No one suspected that this sappy yet bothersome pair was there for far more than coins and prizes. The Phantom Prince hadn't stopped with Pete in his search for suitable pawns. They wouldn't be the last obstacles in Mickey's way, but they were going to show him that there were things he could never hide no matter how hard he tried.

Grimwold stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked on with the rest of the men, his eyes staying on Mickey's back. He hadn't exactly been given all the details of the big plot at hand, but felt he didn't need them. What he had was enough. He was going to get his hands on the Son Of Scheherazade.

Or, as others called him, those who felt his mother was no hero and that his father was a monster... The Child Born Of Blood.

[marvelsexiles]

Marvel’s Exiles: Overture, Part 2

Travel through the Darkforce Dimension is infamously cold and, unsurprisingly, dark.  Her teeth gritted against the discomfort, Shard Bishop wondered briefly why she could not recall the journey to the mysterious prairie.  Had it been like this?  Disoriented, featureless and mind-numbingly cold?  With effort, Bishop could turn her head to the side, but she could not see anything in any direction.  It was like falling blindfolded, with the accompanying creepy sense that one might hit the ground at any moment.

The abrupt return of gravity and her consequent indelicate landing on solid ground alerted Bishop that she had arrived in normal space.  At first, it was not so different from the Darkforce: still dark, still bitterly cold.  Her feet and left hand were buried in snow, more than a foot deep.  She stood, rubbing her hands together to rid them of the clinging cold.  Removing her sunglasses, Bishop could make out her surroundings by starlight.  The terrain was rugged, with mountains jutting up into the sky all around.  Snow covered nearly every stretch and side she could see, glittering in the pale light from above.  She could also see her five fellow travellers nearby, retrieving their own bearings.

As Bishop began to contemplate what their next step might be, a sharp howl of wind cut down through their midst, impressing upon her the urgency of finding some protection from the frigid alpine weather.  As if in response to the TVA officer’s thoughts, Doctor Storm called out.

“Everyone over here!  Gather close!”

It took only moments for the others to comply with Storm’s command.  It occurred to Bishop to marvel at the ease with which she assumed a leadership role, and how willing the others-- Bishop included-- were to accept her instructions.  Johnny on the Spot was the last to arrive close, clutching his coat around him as he trudged through the knee-deep snow.  Abruptly, the wind cut to a muffled whine as a bubble of invisible force enclosed the group.

“Is anybody hurt?” asked Storm.  Receiving no replies in the affirmative, she continued. “Can anyone give us some heat?”

“A little,” answered Bishop, quickly.  “The starlight doesn’t give me much, but I should be able to keep us from freezing to death.”

“No sweats, I got it.”  It was the teenaged Madeleine Beaubier-Storm who spoke.  Hovering just above the level of the snow, she opened her hand and produced a foot-high fountain of multicolored flames.  Immediately, the air in the bubble began to warm, and Bishop felt a tingle of life enter her skin.

For a protracted moment, no one spoke, each regarding the others in the flickering light.  With a gloved hand, Johnny reached out into the night, surprised when his fingers stopped at the unseen wall.  The Juggernaut broke the silence.  “Should we be concerned about using up the oxygen in here?”

“I’ve left an aperture at the top of the dome.  It will be adequate for air exchange.” Doctor Storm replied.

“Invisible igloo.  Cool.”  If the teenager’s observation was intended as a pun, neither she nor her companions made any mention of it.  Madeleine gathered her knees close to her chest and hovered in a cannonball pose, keeping the hand with the spouting fireworks extended toward the middle of the group.

Rogue pushed her hood back onto her shoulders and ran a gloved hand through her hair.  “Can we take a few minutes to catch our breath?  I’m still trying to wrap my head around… any of this.”  Her voice was husky but carefully level, betraying little in the way of emotion.

Bishop instinctively looked to Susan Storm, who nodded pensively.  They stood in silence for a minute or more, enjoying the crackling heat of Madeleine’s polychromatic firework display.  Bishop pulled her 7D off of her bandolier and snapped it open.  She permitted herself a small sigh of relief: at least it was working again.  This iteration was not in its database, but that was no surprise.  The information on its small readouts could still prove helpful.

“We’re on Earth,” she announced to no one in particular.  “In the Himalayas, what’s probably China.  2016, by Mu Calendar.”

Doctor Storm stepped in close, craning her neck to look at the compact-sized computer.  “This device tells you that?”

Bishop handed it to her without a second thought.  “My seven-dimensional compass.  TVA standard issue.  Tells you where, when and in what iteration of what dimension you are--at least, the best estimate.”

Susan’s eyes flicked hungrily over the readouts on the small display, “Does it have information on this specific universe?”

“Afraid not.  There are thousands of worlds in our database, but compared to infinity…”

“...that’s essentially nothing.” the physicist concluded.  “Still, a very useful device.”

She handed the silver box back to Bishop, and nodded to the golden Tallus on her wrist.  “Do you have any idea how to use that one?”  Bishop could only shake her head, tight-lipped.  She returned the 7D to its hanger and examined the new ornament more closely.  Apart from glittering in the firelight, it gave away nothing.

Gathering her cloak beneath her, Rogue sat on the snow.  “Anyone else hoping this is just a bad dream?”

“I’ll say,” answered Johnny on the Spot.  He pointed a gloved finger at Bishop.  “Accordin’ to her, I’m about five thousand miles and... a hunnert and thirty years from where I had breakfast this mornin’.  I knew this world was fulla strange things, but this…” he concluded his statement with a low whistle.

“I think we’re all a little out of our element, here… with the possible exception of Officer Bishop,” Doctor Storm reminded them.  “I believe the first question we need to ask ourselves is whether we believe this ‘Timebroker’ at all.”

“It wouldn’t be unfathomable that someone could fake this whole thing,” contributed Stark.  “Mephisto… or Nightmare.”

“Mastermind… Mysterio…” continued Rogue, dully.

“But why strangers from alternate realities?” pressed Susan, undeterred.

“For all I know, you’re all figments in this fantasy, created to confuse me.”  There was an edge of annoyance in the Juggernaut’s voice that raised goosebumps on the back of Bishop’s neck.

“Same to you, big guy,” countered Madeleine with a smirk.

“Thinking solipsistically is unlikely to get us anywhere,” Storm addressed them both, affecting a placatory tone.  “As improbable as it may seem, I believe our best course is to trust the information of our senses and proceed on the assumption that all of this rea…”

The sound of Susan’s words was lost in a crackling hum as Bishop’s senses were commandeered.  Stuttering snippets of words, and flickers of images like changing too fast between telesensor channels washed over her mind.  “Wait… I-- I think the Tallus is trying to tell me something.”  Shard’s own voice seemed distant, but through her physical eyes she could see the others watching her with concern.  Squeezing her eyelids closed, she tried to focus on making sense of the jumbled perceptions.  Gradually, a message began to emerge, like a picture made up of hundreds of smaller pictures, like a conceptual symphony.  When she grasped the chord, with a sharp sense of relief, the images disappeared from Bishop’s senses.

“‘Take the Great Refuge to the moon.’  That’s what it said we have to do.”

“Are you alright?”  The Juggernaut’s millstone voice was soft with genuine concern.

“Yeah, fine, it’s fine now.  I’m sharp.  Rotten way to send a transmission, though.”  Bishop gingerly fingered the Tallus on her wrist.  Now it was as unresponsive and inscrutable as it had ever been.  The others were still watching her.  “Anyone know what it means?”

Susan Storm replied, “The term ‘Great Refuge’ likely refers to Attilan, the secret home of the Inhumans.  The directive to take it to the moon makes sense, as a similar event occurred in my world.”

“We have to take this place-- Attilan-- to the moon?” prodded Bishop.

“That’s kinda otherwise,” opined Madeleine.  She stretched out her legs and traded the job of producing a flame from her left hand to her right.  “In my world, Attilan’s been on the moon since, like, the eighties.”

“In mine the exodus occurred in 2004,” added Doctor Storm, pensively.

Johnny on the Spot swept the hat from his head.  Though the black dot that covered his face revealed no emotion, his voice registered pique.  “Can I just remind everyone that I have no goldurned idea what any of y’all are talking about?  If we’re supposed to be in this together, will y’all quit talking over me and fill me in?”

There was an exchange of abashed looks.  Doctor Storm took the initiative to speak.  “I apologize, Mister Ohnn.  We are in an unusual circumstance and I’m still struggling to make sense of it all myself.”

“There’s a lot we don’t know, Johnny,” joined Rogue, standing up and brushing snow from her legs.  “For instance, before we go rushing off to the moon or whatever, I’d like to know who this team is...what they can do.  The Timebroker’s little newsreel didn’t give us enough to put together any kind of strategy.”  She looked directly at Doctor Storm as she spoke.

Storm rose to the challenge.  “You want to know my powers.  Very well.  I can emit a kind of cosmic energy that bends light, effectively making myself or other people and objects invisible to most forms of visual detection.  I can also generate and manipulate solid shapes composed of force, such as the walls of this ‘invisible igloo.’”

“How long can you keep it up?” Rogue pressed her. “My precise endurance depends upon how much pressure I must exert.  Against a wind like this, a long time.  Perhaps a few hours, if I needed to.  Against the onslaught of a Hulk or a--” She paused, momentarily casting her gaze toward Stark. “--Colossus… Seconds.  A minute at most.  Any other questions?”  After a silence, “Very well, moving on.  Madeleine?”

The teenager rolled her eyes.  “Only my dad calls me that.  Just call me Maddie or Skyrocket.  Anglos never pronounce it right anyway.  Uh… I fly and throw fire.  Clearly.”

Maddie had a direct, unpretentious manner that Bishop liked.  The girl reminded her of her own brother.  And, Bishop thought to herself, the pyrotechnics that the she effortlessly produced from her open hand were beautiful… though Shard Bishop had always been a fan of light shows.  

“I’m a photokinetic,” Bishop offered, not waiting for her invitation.  Taking in, without surprise, the uncomprehending glances that the declaration elicited, she elaborated.  “I absorb energy from light and project it back in other forms.  Heat, sound, concussive force…”

Rogue indicated the silver bandolier across Bishop’s chest.  “Any more handy gizmos we should know about on that utility belt?”

“Besides the 7D?  A voice log recorder, a couple of flashbang grenades, a smoke bomb, and spare parts for my sidearm.  Which is, itself, a useful tool-- it’s specially made for me, and channels my energy output, so it doesn’t need a battery or ammunition.”  Bishop drew the long-barrelled energy pistol and held it flat on her open palm as illustration.

“Nothing that can transport through time or dimensions?”

Bishop sighed.  “No.  We have them at the TVA, but I didn’t have one on me when I got… unhinged.  I guess the Timebroker didn’t want us to have a way off this boat.”

“Figures.”  The mercenary shook her head, sucking silently on her teeth.  “What about you, cowboy?”

“Me?  I can toss out these spots.” He demonstrated by opening four circular portals in the air around the group.  They hung indifferently in midair, each a two-dimensional plane the size of a serving platter at a different angle relative to the ground.  Each was simply black, lacking any trace of color or the stereotypical swirling of an interdimensional portal. “By linin’ ‘em up on the other side, I can make things come out wherever I want.”  This, he illustrated by putting his right arm through the nearest portal, withdrawing it, and then plunging it in again.  Each time he did so, his hand and forearm emerged from a different one of the other portals.

“Neat trick,” mused Stark.  “It must kill at parties.”

Without response, Johnny withdrew his arm and closed the portals.  He faced the others blankly, his right heel digging idly in the snow.

“Can those portals only be used for short-range transportation, or can you go further?  Say, a few miles?”  Susan posed the question with the intense interest of both an experienced academic and an aspiring tactician. “Sure, but if’n I can’t see where I’m going, I’m liable to shoot pretty wide of my mark.”

She nodded, considering.  After a few moments of thoughtful silence, she turned to the Juggernaut.  “Stark?”

“Oh, well, I’m strong and just about invulnerable, and I wish you’d call me Tony.  My gauntlets and boots project repulsor beams which let me fly and can be used as weapons.  Oh, and my powers are enhanced by momentum-- once I get going, on the ground or in the air, next to nothing can stop me.”

Rogue’s eyes flashed and she almost stifled a snort.  “A flying Juggernaut?” “Your Juggernaut can’t fly?”  The industrialist seemed genuinely surprised.

“Nope.  Iron Man can, though.”

“Who?” “I’ll tell you later.”  The former X-Man smiled grimly to herself.  Bishop watched her without amusement. “That just leaves you, Rogue.” Rogue turned to Bishop and answered flatly “When I touch people, I take their powers and memories.  Just for a short time, unless I hold on too long, but that can… it doesn’t end well.”

Bishop pressed her.  “How long can you keep a power you’ve stolen?” “Safely?  Two, two and a half minutes.”

“And what happens to the people you touch?”

“They’re weakened, lose whatever power I take.  Sometimes they pass out for a little while.”  She paused, waiting for the interrogation to continue.  At Bishop’s silence, she added “I also have eidetic reflexes-- meaning that whatever I see someone do, I can do.”

“Stolen from Taskmaster, like the Timebroker said?  How is it you’ve managed to keep that ability so long?”  Had she been asked, Bishop would not have been able to say why she pursued the issue so acidly.  Her own voice reverberating off the invisible walls of the bubble sounded strange.

The mercenary’s steely gaze became molten and she advanced on the TVA officer “I held on too long.  Now his brain’s a cabbage and I’m stuck with his power and his memories for good.  You want to make something of it, Time Cop?”

Somehow her teammate’s sudden advance took Bishop by surprise.  She was certain that a fight had not been what she was looking for.  Susan intervened before the situation could degrade any further, breaking the eyeline between Bishop and Rogue with her own head.

“That’s enough,” she scolded.  “I’m sure we all recognize that we’re overwrought, but we needn’t indulge in the cliche of turning on one another.  Tone aside, Officer Bishop was asking questions that interested all of us.  We can address personal courtesy at another time, but for now are there any other pressing strategic questions?”

Maddie raised her free hand like a grade school student.  “I don’t know if this counts, but I have to go to the bathroom.”

Unclenching her jaw for the first time since Bishop had begun grilling her, Rogue turned away with a dry laugh.  “Can’t get much more pressing than that.” Even Susan allowed herself a tiny quirk of a smile.  “I suggest you find some cover and take care of your needs, Skyrocket.  Does anyone else require a... break before we set off?”

There were no responses to Doctor Storm’s inquiry.  Bishop suddenly felt a cutting wind in her back as the invisible force that had been shielding the group fell.  A small amount of snow that had been blown onto the wall itself scattered into the melting snow at their feet, and Madeleine Beaubier-Storm zipped off into the night like a dragonfly.  When the shield rose up again, Bishop instinctively began producing heat from the photonic energy she had accumulated in the colorful light from the teenager’s hands.  The air inside the bubble quickly began to warm up again.

There was a long silence.  Bishop self-consciously avoided watching Rogue, but found that she had nowhere better to set her eyes in the dim light.  Johnny’s eyes were utterly indiscernible, and Stark’s were scarcely better.  Doctor Storm was looking up at the stars through the invisible shield, to all appearances unconcerned with what her companions were thinking.  The scientist cleared her throat.

“In my world, Attilan was in the Himalayas for a time.  Unless anyone has another idea, I propose that we make our way to the location of my Attilan.  It seems probable that this world’s Attilan would be in the same place.  In any case, it’s as good a place as any to begin searching.  Any objections to that course?”

There was no immediate opposition to the idea.  “Good,” she continued.  “I was able to make out our latitude and longitude on Officer Bishop’s compass, and I remember the coordinates of Attilan from the times that I visited there with the Fantastic Four.  From that, all it takes is simple geometry to know that Attilan-- or at least, the location it occupied on my world-- is approximately five and a half nautical miles east by north… which, based on the location of the pole star, is that way.”

Bishop’s eyes followed Doctor Storm’s outstretched arm into the rugged mountains and the starlit night.  All at once, the thinness of the air at this altitude became oppressive and she sucked in a breath to stave off light-headedness.  She did not relish the idea of slogging six or seven miles through the snowy mountains.

“It seems to me that we’re working on the basis of a lot of assumptions,” Stark mused, “but, like you said, Doc… it’s as good a place as any to start looking.”

A flare of colored light just outside the bubble of invisible force informed the assemblage that Maddie had returned.  Bishop gritted her teeth, and the wind once again bit into her skin.

“Tony--” began Doctor Storm, her voice raised against the rushing wind.

“Yeah?” answered Rogue.  She caught herself just as Susan’s head snapped to face her.  The beginnings of a surprising blush darkened the mercenary’s cheeks.  “I-- never mind.  Go ahead.”

The Juggernaut interjected a placating voice into the momentary awkwardness. “What can I help you with, Doctor?”

“I’ve been thinking about how we can travel most efficiently under these conditions.  Would I be right in assuming that your mystic power protects you from this cold?”

Stark flashed another wide, toothy smile. “You certainly would.”

Scarcely a minute later, five of the conscripted companions were lifted into the night sky in another bubble of invisible force.  The bubble perched on top of the Juggernaut like a howdah, and rocketed with him as he was propelled forward by a burst of crimson fire from the heels of his boots.  Bishop pressed her hands and her forehead against the side of the bubble, and watched the landscape rush past in a dizzying blur.

The invisible wall warmed immediately under her touch, and for a moment she felt herself relax.  From somewhere in the sweeping chaos of her mind, the TVA officer emerged and began to parse the situation.  She was in an unknown iteration, cut off from her fellow officers and most of her tools.  That much, at least, had been covered by her training at the Authority.  The experience of being yoked to five complete strangers and a mission with disturbingly vague parameters was new, as was the curiously compelling agency that assigned the mission, but the essential principles of working in strange worlds and times were unchanged.  Plan ahead.  Practice discretion.  Support your partner… partners.  Complete the mission.  Deep breath, Bishop.  There’s nothing you can’t handle.

As if to give lie to her self-assurance, the landscape shook with a rumbling thrum so loud and deep as to be felt even in an isolated force bubble in mid-air.  Before the astonished eyes of the assembled superhumans, a colossal span of rock and snow rose from some hidden valley out of sight and hovered at the level of the highest mountain peak.  It betrayed no visual sign of the power that lifted it; only the incessant thrumming pressure that shook snow from the mountainsides.  On the upward face of the rock expanse stood a city, small but magnificent.  Its alien architecture had a beauty to rival the techno-skyscrapers Bishop’s own time.  The city hovered four seconds, maybe five, before streaking off toward the eastern sky at an incredible speed.

“Attilan!  Go after it, Juggernaut!  We must overtake it!”  Bishop seriously doubted that Stark could hear Doctor Storm’s shouted words.  She could barely hear them herself over the pounding hum of the city’s engines, and she didn’t have to contend with the wind or a wall of invisible force between them. In any case, he must have had the same idea, because he adjusted his course and, with a flashy burst from the soles of his feet, redoubled his speed.

“Guess I shouldn’t have taken that bathroom break!” Maddie Beaubier-Storm shouted, to no one in particular.  Below them, the rugged terrain passed by in a desperate blur.

Bishop could see the strain that creased Susan Storm’s face as she struggled to maintain their bubble of protection at the incredible speed.  Her dark eyes snapped back and forth between the physicist’s face and the flying city which did not appear to be getting any closer.  “We’ll never catch up to it,” she said out loud, though she did not expect anyone to hear her.

Bishop whirled.  “Johnny, can you get us in front of it?”

To his credit, the bandit was only momentarily surprised.  He tipped his hat back with one thumb and gazed inscrutably ahead.  “I reckon I can,” he called back.

With no further word or gesture from Johnny on the Spot, a circular portal stretched open in front of them, black on the black night.  Without hesitation, the Juggernaut plunged them into it, emerging a millisecond later to a view nearly identical, but notably lacking their vast quarry.  Bishop, Rogue and Skyrocket rushed to the back of the bubble to see the Great Refuge behind them and gaining.  Stark pitched upward and in a moment, the assemblage was over the streets of Attilan.

The Juggernaut landed in the street with sufficient delicacy as to make only a few small cracks in the stone, and the invisible howdah lowered itself to the ground before passing out of existence.  The sound of the engines was somehow less overwhelming in the city itself than it had been before, but the shriek of wind rushing through the buildings was nearly as disruptive.  The streets themselves appeared empty.

Doctor Storm caught Johnny on the Spot by his shoulders and shouted something that the others could not hear.  She pointed to a large, high window set in the largest tower at the center of the city.  Obligingly, a spot tall enough for any of them to walk through appeared over the street, and Susan waved to indicate they should pass through it.  Rogue was the first in, followed by Madeleine.  Bishop hesitated only a moment before following into the space-black portal.

The transition from the dark and roaring night to the comparatively silent tower room was abrupt and left Shard Bishop’s ears ringing.  She stepped away from the Darkforce spot and made an instinctive situation assessment of the room in which she found herself.  Including Skyrocket, Rogue, and herself, there were thirteen in the room.  Four she recognized as the Fantastic Four from her own world’s history:  Reed and Susan Richards, Jonathan Storm and Benjamin Grimm.  The other six, she reasoned, must be the denizens of this city, whom Doctor Storm had called Inhumans.  

They mostly looked human enough, excluding the pug the size of a DOVA shuttle.  Two seemed to be women, one statuesque with an impossible volume of bright red hair, the other young and bright, with blonde, close-cropped hair.  The three men were even more varied: one small and lean, his head shaved; another scaled all over like a reptile.  The final Inhuman was a tall and powerfully muscled man, sheathed head to toe in a shimmering black material.

As the last of her companions hurried through the portal, Bishop stepped forward, her empty hands held out from her sides.  “Everyone try and stay calm,” she said, her dark eyes seeking out contact with as many of the room’s occupants as she could manage, “We’re here to help.”

A few pairs of eyes turned to Bishop at the sound of her voice, but most were focused behind her, at the Juggernaut and, naturally, the second Invisible Woman.  Mister Fantastic’s neck craned forward a meter and he blinked his eyes heavily as if to clear them.  “Susan?  But… how?”

With a supercilious frown, Doctor Storm stepped forward.  “Calm yourself, Richards,” she chided.  “I’m not your Susan.”  She left the words hanging a little longer than a standard dramatic pause.  The walls of the wide room seemed to be made up entirely of windows and large banks of computers.  For this time in Earth’s history, the computers seemed well in advance of human technology and yet somehow terribly archaic, with spinning reels and innumerable blinking lights.  “We’ve come from another reality, and we’re only here to help you get this city to the moon,” Doctor Storm continued at last. “Then we’ll be gone.”

Reed Richards’ elastic eyes remained wide with wonderment, and for a moment the excitement of questions bubbling within his powerful brain was practically palpable.  All at once he caught himself.  “The moon?  We aren’t going to the moon.  Our destination is South America, the Andes mountain range.”

“It seems that someone has another idea.  Medusa, Black Bolt,” Doctor Storm addressed two of the Inhumans, the red-haired woman and the man in black, “we have been sent here to deliver Attilan to a new home on the moon.  I can give a little more explanation, but I suspect our time may be short, so I must ask you now: are you amenable to this?”

The red-haired woman looked to the man, but no words passed between them.  They watched each other carefully for several interminable seconds.  The silent gaze between them was interrupted by a sudden, violent quaking of the whole tower that threw most of them to the floor.  The computers that ringed the walls shrieked and sparked, and sections of lights began to flicker out.  The incessant hum of the engines, already far more muffled than it had been outside, spun down and stopped.  There was, for a time, the sickening sensation of falling.

Then Attilan crashed into the sea. To be continued...

[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.