🔥 Al Ewing Guardians Of The Galaxy 2020 run. (or if not applicable any Ewing work that you want to talk about)
I haven't really seen enough people talk about the Ewing run to know what counts as a hot take regarding it. I'll say that as much as I like Ewing bringing back the element gun as a unique weapon rather than just giving Quill a standard laser-pistol, it kind of ended up feeling under-utilized, which is especially weird given how much the plot ended up revolving around it with the trapped Olympians.
Also, while I like trippy zodiac-hero Star Lord as a choice for where to bring the character, he never felt recognizable to me as any previous iteration of Quill. That's not such a bad thing, there's few characters with more inconsistent characterization in comics, and many runs I've loved have completely irreconcilable visions of the character. I like the Abnett and Lanning-era military bastard Quill, and I like Zdarsky's Grounded post-MCU silly everyman Quill, despite them absolutely being separate characters. But I would've liked something a bit more recognizable in Ewing's Quill, if only because he's done a good job of threading that kind of needle before—like in his work with Rocket.
for @murdockquills & @novasforce, who introduced me to cosmic marvel - thanks for letting me hitchhike in your milano to the triumphant finish line.
--
Love was a weakness.
That was what she’d always been taught. Love was something that made men fall apart, brought kingdoms down, watered intent to nothing, and dulled the blades of a half-decent assassin.
Relationships, if they could be called that, were just other weapons to wield. Gamora knew the best grooves to press to make people fall apart — good ways and bad. She had no qualms about using those points of access to her advantage, either.
Like now, lying here, between two men on whom she and everyone else staked the hopes of the universe, Gamora knew best how to kill them — or give them, as Peter called it, “la petty more”, which Gamora was fairly certain wasn’t the right phrase, but who was she to argue with someone she—
Cared for.
It was still hard to say it. Love came easier to Peter, to Richard, than it ever would for Gamora Zen-Whoberi Ben Titan. She’d believed that for many years as she ran her knives together; sharpened their edges, honed her own. She had watched them haunt each other; two ghosts orbiting an empty galaxy, and waited for them to come into alignment together.
Because she knew how to press. And she knew when to pull back.
It had been a few hours since they’d left the party. Her skin still glowed from the last release, mossy; warm and flushed. The ceiling overhead had a glass pane through which she could see the tall peaks and spires of buildings in the distance — but it also magnified the stars beyond.
Idly, agate fingers stroked flaxen hair, Peter dozing off; undignified and utterly beautiful against her stomach. Beside her opposite, his arm wound around Peter and Gamora both, Richard mumbled something about needing to check the scanners. He lolled his head back with a dazed and hazy little smile, and Gamora felt everything inside of her soften.
To a dulled blade.
Was that such a bad thing?
It hadn’t occurred to her that she could be anything other than the one to kill. The vibe, the men, anything else. She was designed to finish things. To tactically strategize exits in the form of eviscerations. If she wanted to, while they slept or dipped into the happy lull of the Lovers reunited, Gamora could’ve ended it. Snuffed out the sun, smothered the light. She knew, after all, their every flaw.
But love was, as it turned out, their greatest strength.
It could stay the hand of a murderer. Peter’s pleading expressions when she felt far away; when the Stones called out to her, or when memories of her so-called father kept her icy and isolated. Rich relenting long enough to lie in bed beside her for ten extra minutes when the universe was once again on the brink of destruction.
Just some unspoken thing.
She realized, more or less, that they’d said it of one another. Two war heroes nursing their wounds and afraid to show one another their scars for fear of…what, exactly? Oh right. Weakness, she supposed.
But love brought Peter Quill home. Love brought Richard Rider back. And love —
Love made the Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy want to finally, maybe, change careers.
To encourage life. And growth. And — she wasn’t sure what else. Her father waxed poetic about gardens. Gamora’s were just yards littered with bones piled high toward the heavens. But whatever it was, growth, or garden, or the opportunity to simply keep going - all Gamora knew was that she wanted more.
“I love you,” she said, quietly. Finally. She whipped that knife out of its hilt and brandished it with a simple flick of her tongue.
It didn’t hurt.
Her fingers threaded through Peter’s golden tresses, traced lines across Richard’s back. The stars twinkled down through the skylight, the city lavender and indigo above them, slowly being swallowed by the faintest of fogs. But no need to venture outside. No need to go beyond this room.
Everything they had was within reach. Not power, not violence — but the tender way in which Peter stretched and squeaked faintly, in which Richard groggily yawned and shoved his head a little more into Gamora’s shoulder like a burrowing thing. She smiled to herself, arms still wound around her boys, and exhaled at last.
She had grieved them. Together. Separately. She had cursed herself for not trying harder. Being or doing or saying more. Seeing them spiral, watching them die or disappear — helpless to stop any of it, anything at all —
But here they were. Peter, grinning up at her, beardy and golden as a blazing sun, bare and shining. He glowed a little when he wasn’t thinking about it, sometimes — not unlike how when he went down on Rich, Rich tended to blue blaze to life himself.
How strange, even still, to think of herself as anything other than a black hole that devoured life with the swing of her sword, the firing of a gun. Total decimation shouldn’t have a chance at something more.
But as Gamora had seen the face of Death, she had seen that of Life.
That face had slept beside her, or was peering up at her now. Surrounded by the softness of it, Gamora thought not of how hard she swung her sword, nor the force with which she once kicked a Brood back into its crumbling nest so hard the entirety of it imploded. No - strength, at times, was a tenderness - notching an arrow just so, keeping your grip just loose enough.
You couldn’t hold too tight to things like Peter, for example. Just enough. Couldn’t push Rich too far, or he’d just refuse to come back down. In her own way, she’d been trying all along to reel them in - to get them to realize something she, too, was only just starting to realize herself.
Peter was wriggling upright reluctantly as Rich slouched closer, his hand catching Peter’s cheek in a soft grip. They kissed over her, and Gamora almost laughed.
“Oh, that’s fine, don’t mind me--”
“I’m starving,” Peter exclaimed as they broke apart, eagerly looking between each of his loves. “What’s around that’s open?”
“Everything,” Rich laughed. “Anything. I think we were promised free takeout for life.”
“Pretty sure no one said that,” Gamora mock-frowned. It was easy to fall back into this - as Peter smooched her stomach and [to her horror] made her scrunch into a baffled little ball, which made Rich throw his head back and laugh -
This was their love.
This was their world.
This was not a sword, but a shield. Not a gun, but armor. Or perhaps all of them were the bullet - she the sighted rifle, Rich the force behind it, and Peter the hand to pull the trigger of the galaxy’s greatest power.
“Let’s get room service,” Gamora murmured, and, stretching, rolled over slightly to grab the nearest communicator. Peter’s lips graced her shoulder, and Rich lounged against Peter’s back, snuggling in again. His hand found her hip, tracing silvery lines where parts of her weren’t - human.
But all of her was, with them.
And all of this was love.
Strong enough to see them through to the not-so-bitter end.
i feel like we don't get nearly enough of rich being a very recognized figure in the galactic community, which he more than definitely is at this point, so this is the good content.
