Yes we will figure something out as fast as we can for this <3 good idea, stay tuned!

To the Destiny 2 community, Thank you. As artists, our goal has always been to create worlds filled with wonder, mystery, beauty, and adventure. But what brings those worlds to life is you. You take our designs, our napkin sketches, our "wouldn't it be cool if..." ideas and transform them into something real. Your creativity, your passion, and your love for the game give our work purpose. We've always believed Destiny could be a place where expression is celebrated, where players can see themselves and each other in the worlds we build, where every Guardian can forge their own legend—and you proved it. Watching your Guardians grow, embrace new allies, take down bigger and badder bosses, solve mind-bending puzzles, dodge death traps, avoid Taken boopers, and overcome every Raid challenge we throw at you—all while looking incredible—has been a constant reminder of why this universe matters. You shaped it. You made it matter. You are the light of Destiny. With Monument of Triumph, we set out to create a series of love letters to Guardians, new and old. We shared a preview last week of armor inspired by early designs from the original Destiny but have also sprinkled some winks and nods throughout the rewards releasing tomorrow. We hope they feel like a small thank you for everything you’ve given us. From all of us on the Destiny 2 art team, thank you for supporting us, inspiring us, and continuing to bring this world to life in ways we could never have imagined. You give our art meaning. With gratitude, The Destiny 2 Art Team

Build your Monument of Triumph. Play new and updated content including Pantheon, Sparrow Racing League, Distortions, and new Triumph pursuits celebrating your Guardian’s journey across Destiny 2. New challenges, abilities, and rewards arrive for all Guardians on June 9, 2026. ⚪ bung.ie/destiny

Five words to send the entire D2 community into a frenzy:

The room we kept There is a room I have kept for ten years that does not exist in any house I have lived in. It has six chairs. It has a low hum underneath everything, six people breathing. It has a door that never quite closes, and a light by that door that none of us remember turning on, that none of us have ever thought to turn off. We come in on Tuesdays, mostly. Sometimes Fridays. Sometimes a Sunday afternoon when the week has been the kind of week that needs somewhere to go. We do not knock. We do not say hello. One of us says you ready? and the rest of us, wherever we are in our kitchens, our cars, our small rented lives, say yeah, I’m ready, and the room fills up the way a quiet house fills up when everyone gets home. I could not tell you half their last names. I could tell you how each of them breathes in the half-second before a jump. I could tell you whose dog is barking in the background tonight, whose kid just wandered in to say goodnight, whose marriage is good this month and whose is quieter than usual. I could tell you the exact pitch of the laugh that comes when I die first, which I do, often, and on purpose sometimes, because the laugh is worth more than the clear. One of them got married last spring. I was not there. He sent me a clip from the dance floor anyway. The DJ had stumbled into the song we used to play on raid-clear nights, and for half a second, in a rented tuxedo, he thought of me, and then he went back to his wife, which was exactly right, which was the whole point of all of it, the way the best things we build are the things that let us go back to the rest of our lives, lighter. There was a week I could not find any words. I logged on with nothing in my chest. One of them, I won’t say which, did not ask, did not push, did not try to fix. He just said “patrol?” and we walked nowhere for an hour and a half, shooting nothing that mattered, chasing small lights across a small moon, and somewhere between the silence and the stars I remembered I was a person who knew how to start a sentence. He never mentioned it again. That, too, was the whole point. The years did what years do. Babies arrived. Jobs ended. Parents got sick. Some of them got better. Some of them did not. We moved cities. We moved countries. We moved on, and then we moved back, the way people do, and whole seasons disappeared between resets, whole lives happened in the gap between one expansion and the next, and then one night, without warning, the mic would click on again and nobody would ask where you had been. They would just save you a spot in the fireteam. The lobby music would hum the same low hum. Your callout would arrive the same half-second late it always did, and I would know that voice the way I know my own name, the way I know the ceiling above my bed, the way I know the shape of my mother’s hands. It was never the loot, though we lied and said it was. It was never the lore, though we argued about it until two in the morning. It was never the perfect clear, though we chased it for months and never got it clean, or the title, or the gilded seal, or the gun we farmed for a hundred hours and put down two weeks later. It was the room. It was the door. It was the light by the door. It was the standing invitation, the chair pulled out, the small unspoken understanding that whenever you could make it back, for as long as you needed, there was somewhere you already belonged. Across a galaxy. Across a continent. Across a life none of us ever quite figured out how to live. Maybe that is the secret no one printed on the box. Maybe what we were really building all those Tuesdays, all those wipes, all those countdowns into the dark, was not a Guardian, or a clear, or a kill count, but a habit. A simple, stubborn habit of showing up for each other, again, in a world that does not always make that easy. A standing Tuesday. A standing promise. A standing love that never needed a name to know what it was.

If you'd like to learn more about the Zyggy Starlight list I played on camera against @CardsWithM at World Premiere: Prague, I wrote a whole article about it! Thanks to @SilverContrails for helping with the quick turnaround on this one 💜 #fabtcg

By far my most played game of the last decade. It's finally over.

Metamorphosis and Premature Burial are off the Forbidden List for the first time since September 07 and 08 respectively. Both cards were barely pointed in Genesys, and Metamorphosis is already Semi-Limited in the OCG.

I'm closing out a chapter following 14 years of writing for tcgplayer professionally, and four years before that writing casually. 1000s of articles later: I'm now full time at tcgplayer! I won't be doing as much writing, but I'm involved with more content than ever before.

Our daughter, Rachel Corrie, was killed in 2003 in Gaza, while trying to protect a Palestinian home facing illegal destruction by the Israeli military. She was 23 years old. The massive, armored Caterpillar D-9 bulldozer that crushed her was operated by two Israeli soldiers and manufactured in the United States. It was the same type of militarized bulldozer that US presidents from George W. Bush through to Donald Trump have delivered to Israel. Today, as the destruction of Palestinian homes has only become more commonplace, not to mention the horror of Israel’s genocide, Senator Bernie Sanders will force a vote in the Senate to try to end this cycle of death by banning the transfer of D-9 bulldozers to Israel. We hope he will not take this stand alone. No policy can bring back those taken from us by these actions—children and other loved ones. But the Senate now has an opportunity to honor the memories of our daughter, other Americans, and thousands of Palestinian civilians killed, and to show that their deaths, and all the destruction, will no longer be condoned and funded. We hope those elected to represent us, the American people, understand the message that voting to block these D-9 bulldozers will send. This will not be a symbolic gesture, but a concrete step toward the protection of human life. thenation.com/article/politi…

You can't go wrong here but the Exodia one in particular is so unique

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It came to my attention that the White House used my voice to encourage violence in Iran. Doing so tacitly implicates Kazuki Takahashi’s most beloved contribution, which continues to inspire people to become who they are, and this was presented in a way far removed from the story he was telling. Takahashi died saving others. Yu-Gi-Oh! is universal, not political. It is disrespectful to present it in any other way.

An unarmed Iranian ship was invited, along with the U.S., to be part of an Indian Naval exercise, and its sailors paraded on land before the president. The U.S. at the last minute pulled out of the exercise and instead attacked the Iranian ship with a torpedo. Breaking with all norms of civilization and warfare, we then refused to rescue the drowning survivors. The Sri Lanka Navy was left to pull the dead bodies from the water. I am hard pressed to think of any other nation throughout history that would do something so cowardly and despicable. We are genuinely in a league of our own, and American media — mostly shrugging off the bombing of a girls school and acting as if carpet bombing Tehran is a normal military tactic — is deeply complicit.

168 girls aged 7-12. Victims of Operation Epstein Fury.

This is WILD and also I'm very jealous

I had the opportunity to write about Pokémon's most expensive (public) TCG sales! 30 cards for 30 years of the franchise:

A weird perks of being the same age as so many professionals: you have the shared history of collecting trading cards in the late 90s/early 00s I was talking to my dentist and hygienist about Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh today. They even pulled up tcgplayer on the monitor. Very surreal.