#POW! Parade Of Wonders

[c-worldproductions]

This will be my 4th time walking with @otafest in @calgaryexpo’s Parade Of Wonders!

This year, I’m cosplaying Langa for it! Previously, I’ve cosplayed as anime Noctis, Noctis, and Silver in POW!.

❄️ Langa Hasegawa: me

📷 Photographer: bubz_tea (IG)

🗓️ Event: Anime Revolution 2022

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

Covenant- Chapter 4

Summary: With the five year anniversary of the attack on New York approaching, Odin and Fury come to the agreement that an arranged marriage between Asgard and Earth would show good faith toward all future interactions. When Odin refuses Jane’s candidacy, Agent Coulson is tasked with finding a suitable wife for the prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @icytrickster17 @mysteriouslyfriedjellyfish @lokislilkitten @justjoanne242 @amlocked @ddmariegirl @mags-04-blog @sharris8 @meepycheep @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @the-fantasy-loving-angel @jaidenhawke @smolvenger

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Thanks for coming along on this journey with me! Buckle up gang :D

28 days until the wedding

Ragna woke Claire far too early, when the sun was barely up. Didn’t people sleep in here? She wasn’t in a great mood from yesterday’s events, but hopefully today would be better.

Claire let herself be wrangled into a warm dress and riding boots. She thought it was an odd combo, but it was an improvement over the dress and corset from yesterday, so she put up little resistance. She dozed off while her hair was brushed, jerking awake when she snored loudly. Claire and her ladies shared a laugh at her expense, and Claire did her best to wake herself up with a splash of cold water before she had to leave.

When Ragna led her outside of the palace and a large paddock with horses came into view, the outfit began to make sense. The sprawling stable stood tall and dark before the high mountains and rolling fog in the distance.

“Good morning, dear,” Frigga greeted her as she entered the stable. “I trust you slept well.” She gave a small smile when Claire yawned.

“I did…” Claire replied as she rubbed her arms against the chill of the morning air. “So well that I want to sleep some more.”

“It’s a short lesson today, dear.” Frigga patted her on the arm as Loki entered the stable.

“Yesterday was meant to be a short lesson; look how that turned out,” he said sharply, glancing at Claire meaningfully. Claire rolled her eyes, annoyed by the reminder of their disastrous encounter the day before. Claire would never claim to be a skilled dancer, but somehow next to Loki’s graceful movements she’d looked like a newborn fawn, and he’d yet to let her forget it. “Good morning Mother.”

“Good morning Loki. Perhaps things would go more smoothly if one kept his temper in check?” Frigga suggested.

“Yeah, what she said.” Claire smirked. Loki scoffed, burning her with an ireful glare.

“It’s rather rude to interrupt conversations.” He scolded her.

“And it’s too early for you to be an ass.” Claire countered.

“Agreed,” Frigga said curtly. “I know how much you adore sniping with your intended, Loki, but I’m afraid I’ll be giving you little time for that today. We shall practice for the parade as quickly as possible and Loki and I must see the tailor immediately after.”

“Can’t wait.” Loki supplied sarcastically, smiling at Frigga cheekily when she glowered at him.

“Lady Claire, have you ever ridden before?” Frigga asked, pointedly ignoring her son’s good-natured attempt to make her smile. Claire shook her head.

“Only once when I was a kid,” She said. “I’ve avoided it ever since.”

“Wonderful,” Loki threw his hands up in aggravation. “Best inform the tailor, Mother, we’ll be here until nightfall.”

“Hush,” Frigga scolded Loki. “She doesn’t have to become an expert, she merely needs to learn what’s necessary for the parade. Everything else can come later.” She led them outside to the paddock, where a stable hand stood waiting for them. A horse the color of butterscotch pudding grazed at the far end of the enclosure, her flanks bespeckled with white splotches.

The stable hand bowed in greeting before trotting off to collect the horse. The horse whinnied, tossing its massive head about in agitation as the stable hand put the reins in place. The man spoke to the horse in a low voice as it stamped its powerful hooves, teasing it toward them with a few clicks of his tongue.

“Is now a bad time to mention I don’t like horses?” Claire asked, eyeing the incredibly tall horse being walked toward them warily. The horses long thin legs seemed to stretch on for miles, its silver mane whipping about as it shook its head.

“It’s just a mare,” Loki replied. “Barely ten hands high.”

“Yeah but see, the ground is safe. The ground can’t kill me.”

“That’s not very encouraging to the ground. It certainly could if it tried-”

“Loki-”

“Well it could,” Loki argued when Frigga chastised him. “Earthquakes, mudslides...it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. After all, mortals are exceedingly fragile.”

“Yeah but there are warning signs for those things. I’d be able to avoid them. A horse can just decide to kick you and in the next second you’re dead.”

“Then don’t antagonize the horse.” Claire rolled her eyes at Loki’s patronizing advice.

“Right, because it’s that simple.”

“It is, remarkably,” Loki replied as the stable hand reached them with the horse. “It gets easier with practice.”

“How long have you been riding?”

“Since I could walk, of course,” Loki said pompously. “Did you not have opportunity on Midgard?”

“My mom sent me to horse camp when I was twelve,” Claire replied, watching with trepidation as a stable hand brought the horse meant for her closer. “My horse threw me.”

“Embla is one of our more docile horses, she will do fine for your first time,” Frigga stepped between them to take the reins from the stable hand. “She will take her cues from you. Like in all things, you must be calm and confident. Come, say hello. She will not bite.”

“Are you sure about that?” Claire asked nervously as Embla chomped at the bit in her mouth. The butterscotch colored horse fixed its beady eyes on Claire and whuffled, and Claire pulled her hand back for fear of losing a finger.

“There is nothing to fear. Embla is curious, nothing more.”

“Okay, sure. What do I do?”

“Offer out your hand, just like that, so she may smell you,” Frigga coached. Embla whuffled at Claire’s hand, her soft lips tickling her skin. “Excellent. Now you may pet her, let her get comfortable with you.” Frigga encouraged. Still fearing she may lose her hand, Claire palmed the horses nose, the buttery soft skin warm and twitching with what Claire hoped was excitement. Claire stroked the horses muzzle, pulling back abruptly when Embla protested. A mighty hoof stomped the ground and Embla whinnied again, louder than the last time.

“What did I do?” Claire asked anxiously.

“She wants a treat,” Loki grinned. “She always does, don’t you?” he said smoothly, producing an apple as he stepped toward the horse. Smelling the treat, Embla began rooting for it, taking the apple from Loki’s outstretched hand with great big yellow teeth. Claire watched the horse chew the entire apple as Loki stroked her muzzle fondly. “She’s quite happy now. You can mount her.”

“I can what now?”

“Place your foot in the stirrup, my lady,” the stable hand said from beside Claire, his hands stroking Embla’s flank beside the saddle he’d just cinched into place. “Then step up, and swing your leg to the other side.”

“Right, sure,” Claire said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Easy peasy. If Annie Oakley can do it, I can do it.” she muttered, her knees feeling wobbly as she grabbed the horn of the saddle. “Wait, are there cowboys here?”

“What?”

“You know, herd cattle, train horses...what else do cowboys even do?” Claire trailed off. Instead of answering her question, Loki stepped around the horse before grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto the horse, setting her gently in the saddle.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked.

“I could have done it myself!” Claire argued.

“Is that so?” Loki asked dryly. “Ragnarok would likely have come and gone before you did.”

“Which is supposedly your fault, so…technically, you not letting me do things at MY pace is kind of speeding up the process of the whole universe exploding. So thanks for that.”

“Only the best for you, darling.” Loki said sarcastically.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have!” Claire gasped theatrically, bringing her hand to her chest. “If you keep lavishing me with such gifts I might think you actually like me.”

“Well we certainly can’t have that.” Loki sighed. He smacked the horse’s behind, making her rear up and take off at a gallop. Claire screamed and lunged forward, hugging the horse’s neck for dear life as it sped off. Embla raced toward the paddock fence, Claire bouncing with every pound of her hooves, and Claire suddenly began to worry Embla was going to jump the fence and take off with her. What if she fell off and broke her neck? What if it trampled her? She’d probably never walk again. She didn’t remember the last time she’d been this scared.

“Oh my god, stop, stop, stop!” she begged the horse, hugging the horse with her entire body when it reared back and came to a sudden stop.

“It’s alright, my lady, you can let go,” the stable hand who’d brought out the horse must have stopped the horse somehow. “I’ve got the reins now.” he assured her. Embla stomped her deadly hoof impatiently, as if to say ‘Get off me already!’

Claire looked around frantically, heart pounding in her throat as she realized the horse was indeed back under control.

“How do I get down?” she asked quietly, afraid to be too loud and spook the horse. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Swing your leg over, my lady, I will catch you,” the stable hand said. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“Okay,” Claire forced herself to loosen her grip on the horse’s mane, pausing when she’d sat up. “Wait, forward or backward?”

“Backward, my lady, so you’ll land facing the horse.”

“Okay, sure. I can do that,” Claire muttered to herself. “This is fine. It’s fine. It’s not like I’m sitting on a wild animal that could kill me with a single kick.” she managed to get down from the horse with the stable hand’s help, doing her best to straighten her dress.

“I see you managed to get off the horse!” Loki laughed. “Well done.”

“You…asshole!” Claire seethed as she marched on shaky legs toward him. “What the fuck is your problem!?” Without waiting for an answer, she punched him in the face, sending him stumbling back into the water trough. Claire was so mad she couldn’t even appreciate the sight of him falling into the water. “You could have killed me! You- You are just…unbelievable!” she yelled, turning away from him to see Frigga watching them with a concerned look on her face. Claire took a deep breath to calm her herself. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “Thank you for the lesson.” She gave her soon to be mother-in-law a small curtsy and walked into the stable. Frigga rounded on Loki with a stormy expression.

“What in the world could have possessed you to do that? Not just to an inexperienced rider but to your fiancée!” she scolded, storming to his side as he climbed out of the trough.

“I didn’t choose her.” Loki groused, paying no mind to Frigga as he touched his smarting cheek gingerly.

“Nonetheless, you are supposed to look after her; not try to kill her off before the wedding!” Frigga said sharply as Loki rubbed at his cheek. “I expected better from you.”

“This actually hurts,” Loki remarked softly, frowning when Frigga began to chortle. “It isn’t funny Mother.”

“Oh but it is!” Frigga cackled. “Loki, you must stop trying to goad her. Marriage is meant to be a partnership, not a skirmish. Go find her and apologize,” She reached up to cup his reddened cheek and gave another quiet snicker. “Go.” She said sternly when Loki frowned at her.

Loki entered the stable to search for Claire as instructed, stalling when he saw Claire seated on the bench outside his horses stall.

“What do you want?”

“I came to-”

“Please,” Claire scoffed. “We both know you’re not actually sorry. You’re here because your mom made you come.”

“I’m simply giving you a chance to gloat,” Loki spread out his arms so she could see the water still dripping from his form. “You got your revenge, mortal. Though if you had paid more attention to the lesson-” Loki ducked to escape a flying bucket.

“Stay the hell away from me!” Claire shouted across the stable. “Just leave me alone, you psycho!” she stormed out of the stable, slamming the door behind her. Loki scoffed as he put the bucket away. His horse huffed at him as he drew near, begging for treats as always.

“I’m not a psychopath,” he grumbled to himself. “It was a fun prank, was it not?” his horse shook its head, tail swishing in agitation. “I suppose you like her, do you?” Loki asked accusingly. The horse neighed enthusiastically, causing Loki to roll his eyes dramatically. “You would. Everyone does.”

26 days until the wedding

Claire hadn't seen Loki in a few days since the horse riding incident. She was still mad about it, but since she hadn't seen him, she hadn't been able to give him a piece of her mind. She glanced at the package she'd had delivered from home, wondering if she was taking things a bit too far. Screw that, he could have killed her! He deserved it.

“Ragna, will you deliver this to Prince Loki please?”

“Of course, my lady. Can I do anything else for you this eve?”

“No thank you. I'll head to bed in a bit. See you in the morning.”

“Good night my lady.” Ragna curtsied before taking the package and leaving Claire's quarters. Your turn, asshole. Claire finished her wine and headed to bed.

Across the palace, Ragna handed the parcel to Astrid at the door to Loki’s chambers. Astrid took the parcel inside, holding it aloft for the prince to see.

“This just arrived for you, Your Majesty. From your betrothed.”

“Thank you, Astrid.” Loki looked up from his book to see the older woman holding a parcel. She waited for him to set his book aside before handing it to him.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Do you require anything else for the day?”

“No, you may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“And you.” Loki replied absently as he turned the parcel over in his hands. It was not a large or heavy item, whatever it was. She'd wrapped it in thick brown paper, so he had no clues as to the contents Was this a sign of peace? He did feel guilty.

Mostly.

Well...enough.

Whatever it was, the parcel could wait til morning. Loki abandoned the box on his breakfast table, already thinking of what he'd have to break his fast the next morn.

The next morning Loki woke in a delightful mood. Astrid brought his favorite breakfast, his bath was delightful, and he had no boring meetings this day. He could do as he pleased. He regarded the unopened package from Claire as he ate, deciding he should open it before he began his day. He worked his fingernail beneath the seam of the neatly wrapped paper, tearing it slowly to reveal a small box with a message.

TO: Loki FROM: Claire

She'd even drawn a heart.

Loki rolled his eyes. The mortal was pathetic, but at least she had the sense to apologize for striking him. He opened the box, curious what her idea of an apology would contain.

“Ack!” Pink clouded his vision as the box practically exploded, spewing pink sparkles everywhere. Norns it was in his mouth! He spat out the flimsy paper, rage building in him. “What in Hel's name was that?!” He shouted. “Oh no. Oh, for Odin's sake!” The offending pink sparkles lay all over the table and his half-eaten breakfast, even on the floor and nearby wall. Loki scurried away from the table, a cloud of pink following after him like a shadow. “Damn her to Hel!” He shouted when he saw his reflection. He was coated in the pink sparkles of all sizes, from his hair to his waist. “Wait- is this-” he looked closer at the largest sparkles. They were- surely a woman would possess more class than this. He plucked a sparkle from his hair to inspect. It was a cock.

A pink, sparkly cock.

Claire sat in the feast hall enjoying breakfast when Loki burst in covered in garishly pink penis confetti. Claire barely contained her laughter as he glared around the great hall. His gaze darkened as it settled on her, striding determinedly across the room toward her.

“What in Hel's name is this?!” He demanded to know, slamming his large hands down on the table in front of her. “I have taken 3 baths and it will not come off.” He was indeed very sparkly today. The smaller particles of glitter coated his skin, giving him a shimmery complexion that reminded Claire of the laughable vampires in Twilight. Above his left eyebrow, a large, metallic pink dick was hanging on for its life.

“It's called glitter. It doesn't come off.” Don't look at the dick on his face, don't look at the dick on his face.

“Ever?” Bless his heart, he actually looked concerned.

“Ever,” Claire held her composure as the sparkly pink dick fell from Loki's eyebrow. “What's wrong? Did you not like it?”

“Like it?!” Loki scoffed. “My chambers are covered in this- this-” he growled. “I should make you clean it, groveling on your hands and knees like the peasant you are.” Ooooo, talk dirty to me baby.

“Are you upset about the color or the shape?” Claire asked, ignoring his threat and the heat gathering under her collar. “I thought you would like the dicks, considering you are one.”

“Mark my words, you little wretch. This is far from over,” Loki seethed, before spinning on his heel and storming out, leaving fragments of glittery hand prints behind on the table top. “What are you staring at?!” He bellowed from the hallway, startling the young women coming in to eat.

“Jesus Christ Claire,” Phil muttered from her right. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he could have killed me and he needs to know I'm not an easy target,” Claire replied calmly, clucking her tongue as she looked down at her plate. “Aw man, he got his dick in my eggs.”

“Ew,” Phil's nose scrunched up in disgust. “You can probably ask for new ones.”

“No way, I just got these. Besides, it's hardly the worst thing I've eaten. I'll just flick it off.”

Claire was shanghaied right after breakfast for a "family meeting", along with Phil. Odin and Frigga did not appear amused, but Thor burst into laughter when Claire walked in.

“She bested you at your own game, brother!” He guffawed, high-fiving Claire despite Phil shaking his head at them.

“This has gotten out of hand,” Odin spoke loudly over Thor. “Sit down.”

“Lady Claire, I realize you were upset by the incident at the stables. But is this not a touch extreme? What were you thinking?” Frigga asked with disappointment.

“Me?” Claire balked. “All I did was send some glitter.”

“Wildly inappropriate glitter.” Phil offered quietly beside her.

“Thank you, that's very helpful,” Claire hissed. “But this is what gets me brought in for a heart-to-heart? Nearly getting thrown off a horse is fine, but sending dick confetti is crossing the line?”

“Lady Claire-”

“I know, I know, I should be acting more ladylike, but there seems to be a double standard here. Where was Loki's meeting? Did he get a talking-to?” Loki stiffened beside her. The girl had no idea the price he'd paid.

“Loki has already apologized-”

Foolish boy! Odin's words rang in Loki's ears. The Allfather's wrath still made Loki's back ache with each breath. He'd more than paid for his reckless behavior.

“Have you? I must have missed that,” Claire looked at Loki. “You do realize you could have killed me, don't you? Killed me, because of a prank. You seem pretty smart so it must have occurred to you.”

“I expect you to apologize.” Frigga said, her tone brooking no argument.

“I'm sorry the glitter wasn't green. How's that? I thought the pink was nice. It brings out your eyes.”

“Claire!”

“What? It's true. I'm not sorry I sent it and I don’t believe in saying things I don't mean, so I won't be apologizing.” Loki gave a quiet huff. The foolish mortal had no idea the wrath she courted. He almost respected her.

“Both of you will be confined to your chambers this day,” Odin decreed curtly. “Go.”

“Your appointments will be postponed until tomorrow. I expect far, far better behavior from the both of you moving forward.” Frigga admonished them as they left.

~~~~

Claire was more than happy to spend the rest of the day alone, stewing in her apartment. Regardless of what Frigga or Odin or whoever said, she didn’t feel guilty about sending the glitter. As far as she was concerned, Loki got off easy.

A knock on her door made her roll her eyes. Apparently being confined made it easier for people to swing by and annoy her. Snapping her book shut, Claire got up to answer the door.

Njord stood outside, looking more dour than ever.

“I’ve just been informed of your...shenanigans concerning His Majesty Prince Loki,” he sneered. “May I remind you that I personally selected you for this undertaking? You should be honored to even be breathing Asgardian air, not playing childish games.” Claire didn’t appreciate this uppity fucker on Earth and she sure as hell didn’t appreciate him now.

“My shenanigans were retaliation because Prince Loki could have killed me at the stables a few days ago. But surely you knew that,” she snarled. “I didn’t ask to come here-”

“You could have refused the offer. Gods know how much easier things would be if you had!” Njord barked. “You shall keep in mind that your poor behavior reflects upon me, and I shall not have a pathetic, lowly wretch like you ruin my good image.”

“You don’t give me orders. I outrank you now.”

“You outrank no one, mortal. You are nothing until you wed the prince, and even then it is debatable.”

“Look, buddy,” Claire snarled. “You have no right to talk to me that way. For whatever reason, you pulled me into this, you chose me. Deal with it,”she straightened to her full height, satisfaction filling her when he back away. “Now get the fuck away from me, and don’t come back.” The guard at her door sprang into action, unsheathing his sword and brandishing it in Njord’s direction as he blocked the open doorway with his body.

“Step away, sire.” Njord held up his hands, backing away.

“Remember my words, mortal.”

“Get bent, you little troll,” Claire called after him. The guard sheathed his sword and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my lady. If I may…”

“Absolutely.”

“The lord is known to have bad taste,” the guard said. “That is to say, he thinks himself superior when he is not.”

“Yeah, I got that. I thought he just didn’t like me.”

“He is unkind to everyone, my lady. My brother Agnar tells me many things.”

“I’m not surprised,” Claire muttered. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“You wish to know my name?” the guard asked in surprise. Claire shrugged.

“I’m going to be here for a while, so I should know, don’t you think?”

“As you wish, my lady,” the guard smiled, giving her a polite bow. “My name is Gunnar.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gunnar,” Claire extended her hand, holding it out until Gunnar took it with a look of confusion. “You shake it.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lady.” Gunnar graced her with a smile.

“I’m about to order a snack, do you want anything?” Claire asked. Gunnar withdrew his hand, falling back into his protective stance beside the door.

“I shouldn’t. I am on duty,” he said resolutely. “But I appreciate the thought, my lady.”

“Okay, no problem,” Claire replied. “But if you wanted a snack, what would it be? I should probably learn about all the snacks here, right?”

~~~~

25 days until the wedding

On Frigga’s insistence, Loki escorted Claire to the marketplace the following morning. Though he could practically feel himself being dragged to the gallows, he readied himself and set off to collect Claire from her rooms lest his mother drag him to meet his doom by the ear. Loki knew all too well that Frigga would do it, whether he was grown or not.

The guard at the door let him in when he arrived, announcing him as he strode inside. The two chaperones his mother had sent flanked him, their presence only announced by the swish of their skirts as they walked. Frigga brought up the rear of their small party, eager to put the ugliness of the past few days aside so that the engaged couple could begin to finally form a bond.

“Good morning, Your Majesties, my ladies,” Claire’s handmaiden Ragna greeted them with a curtsy. “My lady will be ready shortly if Your Majesty would like to wait.”

“I’m ready now, Ragna,” Claire announced as she entered the room. She drew Loki’s attention immediately, dressed in a sleeveless high-necked pale green gown with a simple silhouette. A silver band adorned her toned bicep, glinting in the soft morning light coming from the open windows. “Good morning.” she said amiably to Loki. She noted that he was distinctly glitter-free today, and she absently wondered how many baths it had taken to remove it all.

“Good morning.”

“My lady,” one of the chaperones interrupted primly. “It is customary that you use His Majesty’s title when addressing him.”

“Oh, right. Uh-”

“It is not necessary. We are simply visiting the market,” He rose to his feet gracefully. “Shall we?” Claire smiled in relief. This whole thing made her feel awkward. She and Loki had barely spoken except to argue during their limited interactions, but with just under a month until their wedding and their tense encounters only seeming to get worse, Frigga had declared it time for them to begin courting.

Claire thought the phrasing was odd considering they were definitely getting married, but she was grateful for the chance to get to know Loki better. Having dispensed her revenge with the glitter bomb, Claire was prepared to set her misgivings aside to at least try.

“Sounds good.”

~~~~

The marketplace was crowded despite the early hour. Vendors of all types shouted, hawking their wares to anyone who walked by. Women in ankle length dresses milled about, their baskets filled with unknown goods as they completed their shopping. Claire and Loki walked side by side, trailed by Frigga, who had carved out time from her busy schedule to watch over her son, as well as two of her ladies in waiting and a member of the palace guard.

At a stall selling sweets, Claire couldn’t resist the temptation and wanted to sample some of the offerings.

“I’m afraid your money is no good here.” Loki said apologetically as Claire dug for currency in her bag.

“Oh! Right, that makes sense. Is there somewhere I can exchange for the correct currency?” Claire asked.

“You could exchange it at the mint, I suppose, although…” Loki eyed the flimsy paper she held in her hand. “You might not get much.”

“Why not? What’s the exchange rate?”

“Exchange is made by weight, and that paper looks quite light.”

“By weight? You’re kidding.” Claire chuckled. “Wait, are you fucking with me?” she asked when Loki didn’t laugh along with her. Instead he smirked, his green eyes glittering with delight as he held her gaze.

“Not until we’re married, my lady.” His lewd promise caught her off guard and made her laugh, earning disapproving stares from the women watching over them.

“Nobody told me you were funny,” Claire giggled, ignoring the women. They could get stuffed. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” Loki said after a beat. “Do not worry about the money. Anything you need can be charged to my accounts.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to spend all your money.” Loki gave her a droll look that told her she’d never accomplish that particular goal. “Oh right, you’ve got money money.” she laughed nervously.

“I am royalty, remember? Do try to keep up, Lady Claire.” Claire rolled her eyes as they moved onto the next stall.

“Well how would I know what kind of money you have? I am fresh off the boat,” Claire joked. “I’m just not used to having that kind of luxury. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays very well, but...old habits and all that.”

“I can certainly appreciate your concern, but I promise you- I will always be able to accommodate your needs, material or otherwise.” Yet another lewd promise. Claire wanted to ask about the otherwise, but one of the chaperones came over to ask if she needed anything. Claire declined, as she’d brought all of her necessities and was in no danger of running out.

“Shall we move along?” Loki asked. They began to move again, passing florists, weavers, and leather workers. Claire lingered at the stall of a glass artisan, admiring a set of colored glass wind chimes. “If there is nothing you need, perhaps you will find something you like. Consider it a welcoming gift.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Claire smiled. “Where is your favorite place to go in the market?”

“There is a bookseller not far from here,” Loki suggested, grinning when Claire perked up. She let her fingers trail over the polished glass before she stepped away.

“I like books,” she smiled. “Lead the way.” Loki returned the smile easily, charmed by her enthusiasm. He offered her his arm, waiting for her to take it before steering them through the crowded street. Frigga and her handmaidens followed behind, discreetly watching their not-date from a distance.

The bookseller was a charming two-story corner lot with a stone facade. A wooden sign hung from a metal post above the door, the chain creaking as the sign moved in the light breeze. Loki opened the heavy wooden door, holding it open for her to step inside.

Stepping inside was like entering another dimension. Rows upon rows of high sturdy shelves filled the cavernous space. Vaulted ceilings of wood beams framed the room, which seemed to go on forever. Claire spied the top of an archway leading deeper into the shop, with more shelves visible beyond. Metal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, the multiple circles of candles casting more than enough light to navigate the walkways. A railing overlooked the main room, showing another maze of book shelves to be explored.

“What sort of books do you enjoy, Lady Claire?” Loki asked from behind her. Claire hesitated to answer, still drinking in the atmosphere. Somehow she didn’t think her usual fare of paranormal romance would be found here, much less accepted.

“Have you heard of Edgar Allan Poe?” she asked over her shoulder. Loki’s face brightened as he stepped deeper into the store to allow the women behind them to enter. Frigga and the women began to browse a nearby shelf. Loki steered Claire toward the opposite shelf with a hand on her lower back.

“I have, actually. I don’t believe we will find any of his work here. His stories are a bit grim, but I enjoy them all the same.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Claire pressed as they began to browse the stacks.

“Of course,” Loki grinned. “I quite enjoyed The Cask of Amontillado. It’s perfect in my opinion. Revenge, forcing your mortal enemy to face their own mortality…” he trailed off, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Forgive me, that was probably-”

“Not at all. That’s exactly what I liked about it,” Claire laughed. Loki looked relieved, a small smile gracing his features. He was kind of adorable when he wasn’t being a jerk. “What did you think of The Tell-Tale Heart?”

“Ah! It was...well,” Loki suddenly looked smaller, almost unsure of himself. “I understand how the protagonist feels, I shall say that.”

“I get it.”

“You do?” Loki asked skeptically, looking up from the book he’d pulled from the shelf.

“Of course,” Claire said. “My line of work isn’t always sunshine and roses. I’ve had to make calls that still get to me from time to time.”

“Forgive me, I was told of your experience as a soldier but it had not occurred to me that you would have taken life.” Loki mused, his jaw clenching when one of their chaperones interrupted.

“This is hardly appropriate conversation for a lady,” the woman scoffed, her voice the perfect blend of motherly disapproval and disappointment. “Murder! And reading!”

“As if that’s worse,” Claire whispered. Loki snickered beside her, making her laugh as well. “Not the literature!”

“Probably concerned about you getting ideas.” Loki muttered as the matron continued to scold them about their improper behavior.

“How terrible; a woman having thoughts of her own!”

“Outlandish,” Loki shook his head. “Would you like to see the upstairs?”

“Is the rainbow bridge multi-colored? Let’s go!” Claire took off at a fast clip, disappearing around a bookshelf. She came back a moment later looking sheepish. “I have no idea where I’m going. Why don’t you lead?” Loki snorted, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her to face the opposite direction. “Oh. Right.” Claire laughed when she saw the staircase leading up.

“You are perhaps the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m choosing to accept that as a compliment,” Claire said confidently. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Your Majesty-” their chaperone from earlier stopped them from leaving. “You cannot-”

“Oh will you cease?” Loki hissed. “We are in public, the chance of scandal is highly unlikely.”

“It is highly improper-”

“This is nonsense,” Loki scoffed angrily. “Madam, this is difficult enough without your constant harping-”

“Loki that is rude,” Frigga chided as she appeared from the other side of a different bookshelf. “I know I taught you better.”

“Mother, please,” Loki sighed. “You have asked us to get to know each other and we are trying. We might even succeed, but for your crones constantly picking apart our every interaction!”

“The girl must learn if she is to succeed, Your Majesty.”

“The girl is right here.” Claire added sullenly. Loki glanced at her apologetically.

“Making her doubt her every action is hardly the way to teach her,” Loki scoffed, glaring at the matron. “I understand we must have chaperones, but perhaps the constant correction could be less so? And to what point and purpose would we stand on ceremony when we are alone?”

“Lady Claire does need to learn, dearest.” Frigga said.

“Is that not the point of lessons?” Loki asked curtly.

“The lady’s lessons begin tomorrow.”

“Oh for Odin’s sake,” Loki growled. “We are going upstairs to peruse the books. Mother, control your crones or I shall enchant the staircase to make them fall.”

“Loki!”

“Rest assured, mother, nothing untoward will happen!” Loki said heatedly, urging Claire toward the stairs and following swiftly behind.

“Thanks.” Claire said once they were among the upstairs shelves.

“It is of no consequence. They are annoying.” Claire didn’t respond, but Loki heard her giggle.

“So I realized that I can’t actually read any of these books. Talk about a language barrier.” she grimaced.

“Would you like to see a trick?” Loki asked.

“Of course.”

“Pick a book.” Loki instructed, jutting his chin toward the rows of books. He trailed after Claire as she brushed her finger along the spines, settling on a thick leather-bound book with a hand-painted cover. She held it out to him, holding it along as he opened it and thumbed to the middle. Loki drew his hand across the open pages, altering the text of the book. Claire gaped as the words changed to English before her eyes.

“Kick ass,” she laughed. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Loki felt an odd stirring in his gut as Claire closed the book and hugged it to her chest. “Shall I give you a tour?”

“Yes please.”

~~~~

After a thorough tour of the upstairs, Claire and Loki had a stack of books each. Claire had learned that Loki was very well-read, so much so that he was familiar with many works from Earth. To her surprise, the prince had a fondness for poetry that matched her own.

They were having a spirited discussion of the works of Keats versus Frost as they went back downstairs to rejoin the others. Loki had tried to carry her books for her but Claire had stubbornly insisted on holding onto them.

“Hey Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Lady Claire?” one of the ladies chirped from where they stood. Her annoying throat clear reminded Claire of Dolores Umbridge.

“It’s fine. I don’t care if my betrothed doesn’t use my title every time she addresses me,” Loki brushed the woman off, looking over at Claire. “I apologize. What were you going to say?”

“It’s fine.” Claire shook her head. She could get a snack back at the palace.

“No, you were about to ask me something and you were interrupted,” he glared at the woman who’d piped up to correct her. “What was it?” Claire grinned, pleased that he had stood up for her.

“I was going to ask if we could get something to eat. We missed lunch.”

“So we did,” Loki smiled. He glanced at their stacks of books almost fondly. “There is somewhere nearby we could go, but it is hardly a venue fit for a princess.” Claire snorted, not caring in the slightest.

“Dude, I grew up poor in LA. My taste in cuisine isn’t exactly high brow.”

“As my lady wishes. Excuse me.” Loki acquiesced, striding away to find Frigga among the shelves. Her found her around the corner with the second lady in waiting.

“Hello mother.” it pleased him greatly to be able to see her in person again. Speaking with her double was not the same.

“Loki!” Frigga greeted him happily, filling him with warmth. “Darling, it is past lunch. We should return before we are late for our afternoon appointments.”

“Ah,” Loki had forgotten about their second visit to the tailor. “Mother, Claire has asked that we find something to eat. Since I kept her so late, it would be rude of me to return her to her chambers hungry.” The corners of Frigga’s mouth turned up, a hint of a smile betraying her pleasure at the budding bond that Loki and Claire seemed to be forming already.

“Quite right, but my ladies and I cannot stay.”

“That’s fine.” Loki replied swiftly.

“But you know you can’t go alone.”

“Mother-”

“It isn’t proper, Loki, you know this,” Frigga said gently. “Circumstances are what they are, but appearances must be kept.”

“Appearances are exhausting,” Loki rolled his eyes. “It would be much easier to get to know her without an audience.”

“I believe I saw Fandral-”

“Oh Gods, no! Don’t do that to me, Mother, please.”

“Fandral or the crones, Loki,” Frigga said sternly. “That is how it must be,” she patted his cheek fondly. “It is less than three weeks away.” Loki groaned like a petulant child, making Frigga smile. Her youngest son had always been the more dramatic of the two, and it comforted her to know that neither age nor time apart had changed that.

“Fine,” Loki snarled. “If Fandral’s presence is absolutely necessary, I will accept it. But I will stab him-”

“You will do no such thing.” Frigga replied, completely unphased by the threat.

“Yes I will,” Loki vowed. “I stabbed him when we were young and I’ll do it again.”

“You are still young, my darling,” Frigga said fondly, cupping his cheek to bring his line of sight back to hers. “There will be no stabbing.”

“But Mother-”

“Perhaps you would prefer the crones?”

“Ugh, no,” Loki groaned. “But what if he flirts with her? May I stab him then?”

“Fandral may be amorous, but he is not so stupid as to flirt with the future princess royal.”

“Are you certain, Mother? I’ve seen him flirt with drapery.” Loki said flatly. Frigga made a noise low in her throat, chewing her lower lip in a rare show of worry.

“Perhaps the crones would be better in that case. Lady Claire is far more attractive than drapery, wouldn’t you say?” she glanced to the side, drawing Loki’s attention to Claire as she stood by a window perusing a new book she had found. The sunlight behind her bathed her in a golden halo, the vision broken by the heavy book toppling to the ground and his future bride swearing as she dropped to her knees to get it. The crones descended immediately, scolding her up one side and down the other for everything from swearing to picking up her own book. Loki saw Claire roll her eyes as she made a show of getting back up to let the guard pick up the book, and the foreign fluttering in his belly started again.

“I swear to Bor if he so much as looks at her the wrong way I will end his entire bloodline.” Frigga sighed heavily, unsurprised by the threat but weary all the same.

“I would prefer if you did not, but at least try to be subtle if you must.”

“I was subtle last time!” Loki gasped in offense. “You only heard about it because Thor cannot keep a secret to save his life.” Frigga slapped at his arm, clucking her tongue disapprovingly.

“And what will your future wife think if you stab someone simply for talking to her?”

“Based on our limited interactions, I believe she may be doing the stabbing herself.” Loki said smugly. Frigga sighed again, wondering what nonsense she would be subjected to in the future.

“Norns help me.” she muttered to herself.

“Norns help Fandral,” Loki cackled. “I’ve changed my mind, Mother. I’ll greet the fool happily. Excuse me,” He left her side to sweep Claire away from the crones. “Have you decided which books you would like?”

“They all look interesting, but I can’t decide which one to get,” Claire replied. “Which one would you suggest?”

“Who said anything about deciding?” Loki asked. “Do you want them?”

“Well...yes.”

“Then you shall have them,” Loki said easily. “Have these charged to my accounts and bring this stack to Lady Claire’s chambers.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard escorting their party gathered the books from Claire and Loki and headed toward the front of the shop.

“Thank you.” Claire smiled.

“Of course,” Loki grinned back. “Now, we should get you something to eat before you perish.”

“It’s nowhere near that dire,” Claire laughed. “But yes, food is great.”

“My mother insists we still have chaperones, but-”

“More crones?”

“No, which is possibly both a blessing and a curse. She insists my brothers friend Fandral accompanies us, as she and the crones have duties back at the palace.” Claire noted the snarl in his voice as he said the newcomers name, logging the detail away to study later. There was clearly a history there she needed to know about.

~~~~

Watching Fandral eat, all while he talked, drank, and flirted his way through the staff, Claire decided the scorn was well earned and maybe she didn’t need to know the full history between him and her future husband. Fandral was making the reason Loki disliked him rather obvious as he shared story after boastful story of his exploits rather than let the newly engaged couple get to know each other.

When her attempts to speak with Loki were interrupted a third time, Claire decided politeness was getting them nowhere.

“I helped defeat the destroyer, you know,” Fandral said pompously. “The weapon this one sent to your planet,” he added unnecessarily as he stuffed food in his mouth. “Has he told you about that yet?”

“No,” Claire replied. “But I knew. I was there.”

“You were?” Loki asked in surprise.

“Yeah, I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., dummy,” Claire laughed lightheartedly. “I was one of the first agents on the scene when Mjolnir touched down.”

“Is that so?” Fandral asked with awe. “So then you witnessed our glorious victory!”

“I witnessed your glorious retreat, you mean,” Claire corrected. Beside her, Loki choked on his ale before covering his laughter with a polite cough. “It was Thor that defeated the destroyer after you and your companions fell back to evacuate.”

“Well-I-we helped!” Fandral stammered, his face a scorching tomato red.

“You did, that’s true,” Claire nodded. “But I don’t think you can say you personally defeated the destroyer when Thor did eighty-five percent of the work.”

“Quite a strategic mind you have, Lady Claire. Clever,” Fandral replied with false cheer. He turned his gaze to her right, settling his ire on Loki. “Does it bother you to hear of your past losses, Loki?”

“Not at all,” Loki replied, his voice seductively calm. “A warrior is always open to criticism, so that he may improve for the future.” He and Fandral glared at each other across the table, the tension between them palpable.

Claire watched on as they continued to attempt to murder each other with their gazes, eyes bouncing back and forth with amusement. It was clear that Fandral wanted Loki to look bad, but Claire wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though she would be calling off the wedding to run off with Fandral. Maybe this needed further examination after all. Claire could only hope that if things came to blows, that someone brought her a drink refill first.

If it came to it, Claire would put her money on Loki. He’d been nothing but polite and kind on today’s outing, but the man clearly had buckets of rage and Fandral was an idiot. It might would be amusing to watch Loki bash his face in.

The tense spell did not end in violence, but was instead broken by a serving girl bearing a platter of some kind of raw fish. Claire perked up and leaned over to inspect it, but couldn’t quite identify it.

“It’s eel,” Loki said helpfully, bringing the dish closer to her. “It’s one of my favorites. Would you like some?”

“Awesome,” Claire said excitedly. “I haven’t had sushi in ages.”

“Your people consume raw fish?” Fandral asked with disbelief, his eyes wide as he watched Loki serve Claire then himself from the platter.

“Not all of us, but yes. It’s something of a delicacy. I’m guessing you don’t like it?”

“Why would I, it’s disgusting.” Fandral sneered, his lip curling in disgust as Claire savored the first piece.

It was so fresh. Claire was in heaven- not even the best sushi she’d had on Earth was this delicious.

“How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it?” Claire asked innocently. “Don’t tell me a strapping warrior such as yourself is afraid of a little fish?”

“Hardly,” Fandral scoffed, clearly offended by her tone. “To my knowledge only the Jotunn consumed fish raw. You know about them, I assume?”

Loki, who had been chuckling to himself throughout their exchange, stilled beside her. Another strike for Fandral.

“Is that your subtle way of asking if I know Loki’s heritage?” Claire asked tersely. She looked at the tense man beside her, putting a hand on top of his vambrace to reassure him. “It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me,” Fandral noted the contact with curiosity- touching the royal family simply wasn’t done, but the youngest prince detested being touched. Lady Claire had managed to commit two faux pas in one motion, the silly girl. And yet, to Fandral’s surprise, Loki made no move to disengage her. “What do I need to know?”

“There are several library books-”

“You’re the resident expert, are you?” Claire asked sharply. “I was asking Loki.” she looked over at him expectantly, giving him pause.

“Erm-”

“Ah, well-”

“Excuse me,” Claire spoke over Fandral, her patience at the breaking point. “You interrupted Loki,” she patted his arm as she looked back to him. “Go ahead.”

“I was simply going to say I don’t wish to talk about it, in present company or otherwise.”

“Okay,” Claire nodded, accepting his reply without question. Loki studied her as she returned to her eel. The woman confused him and Loki didn’t like it. Unknowns made him uncomfortable. Was she not going to pester him to speak? Was she not curious about the monster he truly was? This woman he was coming to know seemed incongruous with the wicked trickster who sent him pornographic glitter. “You don’t like people who are different, do you?” the venom in Claire’s voice drew Loki’s attention. Her ire was striking, and rather satisfying, as she made Fandral squirm under her steely gaze.

“And you do?” Fandral asked defensively.

“I know how alienating it can feel,” Claire replied. “Where I grew up, the Latinx and bipoc communities were the majority. I wasn’t exactly an outsider, but people who looked like me were pretty rare.” As if sensing he was outnumbered, Fandral made a quiet retreat and the rest of their meal passed without incident. Claire emerged from the restaurant certain that she shared Loki’s disdain for Fandral. As much as she wished to be rid of him, he still had to escort them back to the palace.

They traveled back through the marketplace, somehow even busier than it had been earlier. Loki looked on as Claire struggled to take it all in, wondering if her slender neck would withstand the constant back and forth as she took in all the sights around them. He slowed his pace to allow her more time, and giving them more distance between themselves and Fandral.

“Is this very different from your home?” he asked.

“I’ve been to places like this, when I would travel for work, but where I’m from markets like this weren’t very common. Most people do their shopping indoors at different places.” Loki’s nose wrinkled as he contemplated how annoying that much be. Claire thought it was cute.

“Why?” Loki asked. “I imagine it would be useful to have indoor markets in inclement weather, but...all the time? And the travel to different vendors- when one could be literally steps away!” he gestured toward the stalls to illustrate his point. “To what end?”

“Capitalism.” Claire said flatly.

“Capitalism?”

“Yeah,” Claire sighed with exasperation. “It sucks big ol’ donkey balls.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki gaped at her, laughter bubbling up in his chest despite him. He’d never heard a woman speak so crudely, and he was equally delighted and stunned. “That is...certainly an image I could do without.”

“It’s true!” Claire chirped loudly, drawing stares from passersby. “If you really want to know about it, I can explain it. Just know it’s an over-complicated, ugly system of economics that revolves around money.”

“How charming.”

“That’s one word for it.” Claire laughed, stopping short as she and Loki nearly ran into Fandral, who had stopped unexpectedly in front of them.

“I need to visit the armorer.” he announced suddenly, forcing them to change directions and head deeper in the marketplace and away from the palace. Despite wanting to be done with Fandral, Claire felt she and Loki were at least getting off to a good start and wanted to spend more time speaking with him.

The armorer was a unique vendor, as they had a building behind their outdoor stall. Inside, Claire could hear the clang of heavy hammer meeting metal and the flickering of flame. Thick black smoke poured from the chimney above, giving some relief from the unrelenting sun. Outside in the stall, the large rectangular tables were covered with knives and swords. Baskets of locks, keys, horseshoes, hinges and nails dotted the displays. On the back table beside the scattered armor and helmets, Claire spotted a spiked mace in the corner, and her fingers itched to test it out on Fandral’s face.

“This is so cool.” she remarked, turning her attention to the knives in front of her. As she was inspecting a set of throwing daggers, Fandral stepped up beside them.

“I have to go inside for a moment,” he said, as if they cared. “Don’t wander off.”

“Damn, that’s exactly what I was planning to do.” Claire replied sarcastically. The corners of Loki’s mouth turned up as his finger traced the pearl handles of a set of daggers appreciatively. He admired her wit.

“Lady Claire-”

“I was kidding! Just do what you do,” Fandral eyes her skeptically, staying in place. “We’re not five. We’ll be right here looking at knives.”

“That is what concerns me.” Fandral finally left them to run his dumb errand, leaving Claire and Loki alone for the first time since meeting. Well, except for the merchant standing nearby awkwardly.

“Hey,” Claire said quickly, getting Loki’s attention. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Whatever for?” Loki asked. “That is not the first time Fandral has been rude to me, nor will it be the last. I’m not a child. You’ve no need to apologize to me.”

“I know you’re not, I just meant- I could tell you were uncomfortable. He was a dick to bring it up.”

“’It’ being the fact that I’m a monster?”

“I didn’t say that.” Claire argued.

“But I’m sure you think it-”

“Whoa, buddy, lemme stop you right there. If I think something, you can be damn sure I’ll tell you. I understand there are things about you I don’t know, and yes I have questions, but I’m not going to be a dick about it like him,” Claire glanced toward the armorer’s shop to illustrate her point. “I’m trusting that as an adult, you will tell me when you’re ready.” Loki scoffed.

“Because you care so deeply for my feelings after a week?”

“Five thousand years is a long time,” Claire replied placidly. “No sense in starting off at each other’s throats,” she pulled her arm from his. “At least more than we already have. But message received. I won’t bring it up again,” she promised. “Now tell me about these knives.”

As the merchant stepped closer to display his wares, Loki watched on. Claire was well-acquainted with knives, he learned, watching her pepper the merchant with questions as she ran her thumb delicately along the cheek of the blade.

He wanted to see her use it.

The funny feeling in his stomach returned as he considered what he had learned about her in the short time they’d been acquainted. She was well-read (barring her erroneous appreciation for Frost), and appreciated similar cuisines. She was mischievous, as her trick with the glitter had shown.

“I regret my actions at the stables,” he found himself blurting. “I should not have been so careless.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” Claire replied bluntly. “If this is your attempt at getting an apology for the glitter, it’s not going to work. I can’t be guilted for something I don’t regret.” Loki huffed in amusement.

His future wife was bold as could be.

“I suppose I can admit it was...deserved.”

“Very well deserved,” Claire corrected him. “I see you managed to get most of it off.”

“Mostly, yes,” Loki agreed. “Although it lingers horribly.”

“That’s the point,” Claire turned her wolfish smile on him, making the funny feeling return with a vengeance. “I’m kind of sad I missed the explosion.”

“It was rather forceful,” Loki chuckled. “One of the pieces found its way into my mouth.”

She was a creature of beauty, the afternoon sun making her face glow as she threw her head back in loud, raucous laughter. Loki barely minded that she was laughing at him, the absurdity of it all beginning to make him laugh as well.

“That’s amazing. I regret nothing,” she said breathlessly as she collected herself. “Truce?” she requested as Fandral returned.

“Ready to go?”

Loki was beyond ready. He wanted to get away from this strange woman and the strange feelings she stirred in him.

20 days until the wedding

Apart from meals, Claire did not see Loki the day after their trip to the market. She was still digesting the hefty discoveries from the day, so it didn’t bother her. The man was odd, to say the least.

Odd, but thoughtful.

The books she had picked out had been waiting for her the following morning, wrapped with loving care by the bookseller. Atop the package had been a parcel of the sweets she had wanted to try, along with a note which read simply Truce.

Since she’d had nothing on her pre-wedding agenda for that morning, she had picked a book and a few pieces of candy to test out before stretching along the plush couch. The pink taffy-like candy was delicious, proving that pink candies were the best, even in space. The yellow however, had been spat out almost immediately. Claire enjoyed the tastes of banana and mayonnaise, but not together. Afraid to try the other candies, she’d set them aside for later snacking.

Lunch was uneventful except for catching up with her uncle. They exchanged excited whispers of what they had learned about life in Asgard before Claire had to meet the healer to prove she could in fact have Loki’s babies. The middle-aged looking woman who examined Claire answered her questions as though speaking to a child, all while asking her invasive questions about what she ate and the date of her last period and her last bowel movement.

Claire wasn’t sure why she needed to know about that, but answered anyway. She couldn’t exactly refuse.

She was dismissed promptly one hour after arriving, feeling as though her forehead bore a large stamp reading FERTILE AF as Ragna walked her back to her chambers. It was fucking degrading. She felt like nothing more than a glorified brood mare brought to stable to breed the next great racehorse, and as soon as she got back to her rooms she sank into a steaming bath in a sour mood.

The dress Ragna set out for her was beautiful, but Claire was still in a funk and felt more like a child playing dress up than a soon-to-be royal.

She didn’t see Loki during dinner, which was a small mercy because she was still angry at him, but the food- normally something shiny and novel- sat heavy and uneasy in her stomach.

She would kill for a burger and beer.

When she eventually went to bed later that night, she told herself it was a bad day and she was still adjusting. Things would get better.

She hoped.

19 days until the wedding

Phil’s experience in Asgard was much more peaceful than Claire’s. His rooms were elegant and classy, the staff he’d been assigned made his day even smoother than usual, and he was allowed mostly to do whatever he wished. He spent a great deal of time in the library, learning what he could about Asgard. Today however, the library had lost its appeal and Phil instead sought out answers.

“How is the wedding planning is going? I haven’t seen much of Claire the past few days.” Phil had hoped to find Frigga, but surprisingly had found Odin instead.

“Ah yes, she is rather busy with my wife Frigga and also Loki, if only intermittently. It is custom that newlyweds share a dance at the feast following the ceremony and they must meet to practice. It is-” Odin began to laugh. “If my wife is to be believed, despite their improved interactions, they still bicker like children.”

“I’m sure she and Loki are getting along wonderfully.” Phil said jokingly. He imagined they were rather unfriendly with one another, if their first meeting was any indication.

“Frigga tells me they bicker over the littlest things; quite passionately if she is to be believed. Just this morning she mentioned that Lady Claire lost her temper with Loki and struck him rather forcefully before storming off. Norns know what that boy did to get such a rise out of her,” Odin chuckled. “If I did not know better, I would say it’s almost as if they each enjoy antagonizing the other.”

“I figured as much. Claire can be very stubborn when she wants to be.”

“As can Loki. I suppose we must pray they don’t kill each other.”

“You don’t really think they would, do you?” Phil asked with concern.

“No. Loki is fully aware of the consequences that would befall him should any harm come to Claire. His freedom hinges upon their marriage succeeding. Should it fail, for whatever reason, he will return to his cell for the rest of his days.”

“That’s…comforting.” Phil said, tucking his hands in his pockets. Odin gave a bemused grin.

“I understand you are worried for Lady Claire, being her only family. We will see that all of her needs are met, and you may visit at any time should you wish.”

“Why is it that I can come and go as I please but Claire is only allowed to visit Earth once a year?”

“I only say that as a precaution. Given her soon-to-be elevated status, she could potentially be at risk from anyone wishing her harm. We wish to avoid that,” Odin explained. “That can always be changed later, depending on the response to the marriage on Midgard. I know it may seem as if we are keeping her from her home, but I assure you it is only for protection. This is why I allow you to come as you please; I do not wish you or Claire to feel isolated from one another in these challenging times. You are always welcome here, Son of Coul.”

“Thank you for that,” Phil smiled. “I’ll return to Earth after the wedding and bring Claire’s things as soon as I can.”

“As you wish.” Odin nodded.

“I assume Claire will be granted immortality after the wedding.”

“You are correct, however it must wait until later in the year.”

“Why the delay?” Phil asked accusingly.

“Peace, Son of Coul. I bear no ill will to my new daughter,” Odin soothed him. “It is merely because the crop is not ready.”

“The crop? Oh right, the apples.”

“Yes, the apples will not be ready until the autumn. Lady Claire will receive her own apple alongside everyone else,” Odin assured Phil. “Do not worry too much over her; we both know she is more than capable of fending for herself,” he chuckled. “I believe it is almost time for supper; would you care to walk with me?”

“Sure,” Phil said. “Do you think they are fighting?” he asked as they began to walk inside.

“I am sure they are,” Odin chuckled. “Perhaps they will keep us entertained with their bickering.”

Upon reaching the great hall, they were indeed greeted by the sight of Loki and Claire seated side by side, both glaring heatedly at the other. Odin and Phil parted; Odin taking his seat at the head of the table and Phil sitting on the opposite side of Claire.

“How are things?” he greeted his niece, only to receive a withering glare.

“Fabulous.” She grouched, thanking a servant as she brought them goblets of wine.

“You needn’t do that,” Loki muttered beside her. “It’s her job.”

“Well on Earth we thank the people that bring us things,” Claire answered. “Not all of us are pompous assholes.” Phil sighed beside her.

“Really Claire?” he chastised. “Can we have one night without fighting?”

“Yes, really.” Claire hissed as she began to sip her wine.

“Must you complain about everything?” Loki interjected. “I don’t believe you’ve uttered one sentence that has not been a complaint since you arrived.”

“That’s not true; calling you an asshole wasn’t a complaint. It was an observation.” Claire responded petulantly, taking another sip of her wine.

“You’re a brat.” Loki hissed.

“But a correct one. Big words, by the way, from the god they call Silvertongue. I’d have thought your vocabulary would be more expansive the way people carried on. How’s your leg?” Claire asked with false concern.

“Completely healed, thank you for asking.”

“That’s a shame! Though you know if you weren’t such an ass I wouldn’t have kicked you.”

“Perhaps if you would learn to not stomp on my feet my manners would improve.”

“That was one time!” Claire objected.

“No, it was several times!” Loki seethed. “Are you truly incapable of learning one simple dance?”

“Maybe I could if you didn’t drag me around at a million miles an hour! It’s called patience, you twat.”

“Claire, that’s enough! People are staring.” Phil reprimanded her roughly. Claire turned to glare at him, only to notice that he was right; the entire room was focused on her and Loki.

“Very mature, your niece.” Loki muttered in Phil’s direction.

“Shut up,” Claire seethed. “You’re no better.”

“At least I don’t go about kicking people in the shin.”

“You deserved it.”

“Silence, both of you,” Frigga snapped curtly. “This is no way to behave.”

“Yes Mother,” Loki replied ruefully, turning his attention to his plate with a sullen look on his face. He glared over at Claire; this was entirely her fault, the intolerable little brat. “Well done darling, you’ve managed to make dinner more interesting than it has been in years.” He complimented her sarcastically.

“Bite me mama’s boy; you started it.” Claire hissed. Beside her, Phil facepalmed as the engaged couple began bickering yet again.

“Woman!” Loki slammed his goblet down, sloshing blood red wine upon the crisp white tablecloth. He opened his mouth to hurl another insult at her, but Frigga caught him by the ear and pulled him to her.

“Loki, I have had it with your behavior. I raised you better than to speak to a woman like that. If you are unable to speak to your future wife with civility then do not speak at all,” She scolded him heatedly. “Apologize to her immediately.” Loki clenched his jaw, about to refuse when Frigga raised a brow warningly. He growled and turned to look at Claire, looking dainty and innocent as she pushed her food around her plate.

“I apologize for my rudeness.” He said sullenly. Claire looked over at him with benign interest, playing her part of the innocent victim well.

“Pardon?” she asked.

“You heard me.” Loki grouched.

“No, actually, I didn’t. Can you repeat that please?” Claire requested. Loki growled; the little nuisance was doing this intentionally. Damn her.

“Loki…” Frigga coached beside him. “Your bride-to-be did not hear you.”

“I said, I apologize!” Loki hissed loudly. “Did you hear me that time?” he asked arrogantly.

“Yes, thank you!” Claire chirped, smiling sweetly at him. Plague take her. Just when they’d started to improve their relationship, she began acting like a child again. Mercifully, they passed the rest of the meal without speaking, but there were occasional lingering glances.

Claire seemed agitated whenever he caught her staring, the tops of her cheeks turning a charming pink as she looked away.

He understood the feeling well, for he found it increasingly difficult not to stare at her.

[neonbitemarks]

🎧 - for cyrus and robbie?

Send a 🎧 and I will put my music on shuffle, then write a starter based on a lyric from the first song that plays

And please put psilocybin in The mayor's morning coffee Just to see what kind of government we'd have if he was happy

Tiny Brush Parade - Pow Pow Family Band

"Ever wonder whether the world would be a better place if someone spiked all the people runnin' it with shrooms?"

[squirenonny]

What I Know

Hey everyone! We just got permission to post our full pieces from the @lancitozine​ ! Surplus sales go on sale tomorrow, September 7, and while physical copies and merch are very limited, the PDF is available until September 30th! If you haven’t got a copy yet and want to help us raise some more money for Hurricane Irma relief in Cuba and Puerto Rico, now’s your chance! You can find details in this post here.

What I Know Words: 5k Relationships: Keith & Lance, Lance & Team (gen) Summary: Post-season 4. When Shiro's injured just before a time-sensitive mission, the team calls Keith back from the Blade of Marmora to fly the Black Lion, only it's not Keith she chooses. It's Lance, and he's not sure if he's up to the task.

[Read it on AO3]

The Black Lion was a giant, even on the scale of the other lions, taller than Blue and broader than Yellow. Two years with Red might have skewed Lance’s perceptions, but he couldn’t help it; standing before the Black Lion he was seventeen again, ankle-deep in icy water in a cavern no other human had seen and overawed by the first glimpse of his future.

“Not too late to change your mind, you know,” Lance said with a feeble laugh. The Black Lion gave no answer, just went on staring at him with those achingly familiar gold eyes. In many ways, she was no different from Red or Blue. Same engineering, same controls.

Different heart, though. And there was an unsettling pressure in the air, like the whole castle was holding its breath. You? the expectant silence seemed to say. The Black Lion chose you?

Yeah. Lance was still coming to grips with that one himself.

“Lance?”

Lance stiffened, then turned toward Keith’s voice with the best smile he could manage. Keith had been in and out of Lance’s life since joining the Blade, often disappearing for weeks at a time on some mission or another. He always returned, though, sliding quietly back into the place carved out for him in the castle. He wore the red paladin armor now for the first time since he’d left, its white lines a stark contrast to his usual somber hues.

Lance found the sight oddly comforting, though it reinforced the echo of their younger selves. Keith and Lance, neck and neck. Keith and Lance, paladins of Voltron—both a little broken, a little lost. Both still searching for their place in the universe. They’d come so far in two years, but maybe not far enough.

“You made it,” Lance said when the silence had stretched too long.

“Of course I did.” Keith slowed, drumming his fingers on his helmet, which he held at his hip. His eyes went to the Black Lion. His lion. (Not that Keith owned Black. Not that Shiro owned her, even, but they both shared a bond with Black that Lance had no right to trample over.) “How’s Shiro?”

“Coran says he’ll pull through.” Lance had to turn away from Keith as he remembered the last battle. One minute everything had been going to plan. The next, Shiro was on the floor with a hole in his side. Lance shivered. “I was worried for a while, to be honest, but he’s stable now. We were hoping he’d be out in time for the ambush, but it looks like that’s not gonna happen.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Keith said. “He never did know how to take a break.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Keith chuckled, but then the silence returned, invisible hands rising up to strangle Lance. Should he say something? Black had only roared for him after they’d ended the call with Keith, so he probably didn’t even know why Lance was down here.

“Keith, hey.” Lance shot a look over his shoulder. “So… I dunno how to say this, but Black sort of… chose me.”

“Yeah. Allura told me.”

Lance bit his lip. “She… She did?”

Keith cocked his head to the side, searching Lance’s face. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Nothing, just…” Lance took a deep breath, then turned fully toward Keith. “I mean, this was sort of your thing. Flying Black.”

“For, like, two months.” Keith crossed his arms. “I was just filling in for Shiro anyway. I never wanted to take his place.”

“And I don’t want to take yours!” Lance pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. An old tension had crept into his bones, pulling tight beneath his skin like something inside him was trying to break out. “Maybe you should do this.”

Silence answered him. Lance felt the heat rising in his neck and resisted the urge to moan. It had been ages since he’d last felt like this—unsure of himself, unsure of his place on the team. Always measuring himself against his friends like this team was one big contest and he had to prove he was the best. He was past this.

He’d thought he was past this.

Keith laid a hand on his shoulder, hesitance keeping the touch light.

“Sorry,” Lance said, letting his hands fall to his side. “You don’t want to hear all this.”

Keith tilted his head to the side, his gaze piercing. Lance wondered what he saw when he looked at him. The showboater who’d declared them rivals? The paladin who’d been his right hand? Or someone else entirely? “The Black Lion wouldn’t choose anyone she didn’t feel was worthy to lead Voltron,” Keith said. “I respect her decision. You should, too.”

The words hit like a punch, driving the breath from Lance’s lungs. A lump rose in his throat, and he covered with a laugh. “What, so now we’re regifting advice? Is that what’s happening here?”

Keith shook his head, a smile breaking past his solemn expression. “Hey, they’re wise words. Better than anything I could come up with. You were always good at that, Lance. Finding the right words. And you were right.” Keith nodded toward the Black Lion. “She knows what she’s doing. Just trust her and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You will .” Keith’s smile turned wry. “You can’t possibly be as bad as I was.”

“You mean when you charged into a lion-scrambling hellscape and got us all lost with Lotor on our scent? No, I don’t think that’s on the agenda for today.” Lance bit down on a smile as Keith rolled his eyes, feigning offense.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Never split the party, man. That’s rule number one.” Lance jostled him with his shoulder. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re here. There’s no one else I’d rather have as my right hand man.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather follow.” Keith gave his shoulder a shove and settled his helmet into place. “Now let’s go rescue this prisoner.”

The plan was simple: Maulinda, a prominent rebel strategist, had been captured three weeks ago in a raid. She’d dropped off the grid, and Pidge and Matt had finally located her—just in time for Voltron to plan an ambush. She was being moved today to the heart of the Empire, the only prisoner on a high-security transport.

Hunk and Pidge had built a disruptor to temporarily disable the ship’s warp drives and force it to stop, like laying down spike strips on an intergalactic scale. While the Galra engineers tried to fix the engines, the paladins would swarm the ship and be in and out before the Galra knew what hit them.

In theory.

“We’re all set over here, Lance,” Pidge said. “The transport should be passing through in about five dobashes.”

“They’ll be pretty shaken up when the disruptor hits,” Hunk added. “Hopefully we can bust through their defenses and get to Maulinda before they scramble their fighters.”

Lance lowered himself behind Black’s controls, smiling smugly. “And then wham, bam, pow , and we’re back to the castle for our victory parade! Or milkshakes. We’ve gotta at least do milkshakes after this.”

Allura cracked a smile at that, but the atmosphere remained tense, four sets of eyes watching for the flash that would mark the start of battle. Unease curled in Lance’s gut. This wasn’t how things usually ran. The team was prone to pre-flight jitters—more so lately with the stakes climbing ever higher. It usually fell to Lance to lighten the mood during missions and keep anyone from fixating on potential disasters. A little thing, sure, but it had kept them sane this long, and it was something Lance was good at.

But everything felt off today. Maybe it was that Lance was too worried about the mission to strike the right tone. Maybe it was just that he sat in the Black Lion. You never saw Shiro goofing off on the job.

Lance adjusted his grip on the controls, breathing deeply. Right. If the team needed him to be a leader today, he would be a leader. He could do this. He could! It was just a matter of looking at this the way Shiro would.

“Okay,” Lance said, squaring his shoulders. “Deep breath everybody. They aren’t going to let Maulinda go without a fight—but we’re ready for this. Hunk and--” Lance faltered for just a moment. In the original plan, Hunk and Shiro had led the charge, tackling external defenses while Lance led the infiltration team. He supposed Keith would be taking his place inside, though—they needed Black’s firepower to defend their exit. “Hunk and I will make an opening for the rest of you. Pidge, you have the schematics?”

“Already sent copies to Keith and Allura,” she said.

“Perfect. Get to Maulinda and get out again as quick as you can.”

Pidge snapped a salute that felt just the slightest bit sarcastic, but Lance couldn’t complain. She’d heard the plan a dozen times by now—heck, she’d helped come up with it. Lance was just nervous, and when he got nervous, he started rambling.

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait. A new star appeared among the rest, then swelled to a brilliant wash of green. Lance squinted against the light, giving Black power. “Hunk!” he cried. “Now!”

The Yellow Lion surged forward at Black’s side, both of them hurtling toward the ambush point. Lance charged Black’s main laser, his thumb hovering over the trigger as he waited for a target to materialize. They’d been unable to discover the precise number of ships in the escort, but estimates put it in the realm of two dozen fighters with a couple of heavy hitters to back them up. Easy pickings for two of the Voltron Lions.

The light faded, racing outward from ship to ship in crackles of lime green electricity as the fleet drifted, momentarily stalled. Lance took a shot at the first fighter he spotted. It burst alight, flames dying in an instant, but Lance hardly noticed. The lightning continued to spread, the backdrop of stars warping as more ships joined the disorganized mass already filling Lance’s field of vision.

“That’s more than a few fighters,” Hunk said, pulling Yellow up short before he smashed his way into the heart of the Galra fleet.

Lance pulled back on Black’s controls in the next instant, strafing the fighters with his tail laser as he veered aside. His heart thudded against his ribs, and he tried to take in the size of the fleet—an honest-to-god fleet , not just a small escort. There had to be at least two hundred fighters, and a dozen larger, more heavily armed ships. All they needed now was a couple of battle cruisers, and they’d have the complete set.

“They must have known we would target the transport,” Allura said. “They increased security as a precaution.”

And of course Pidge and Hunk hadn’t had time to figure out a way to target only the transport with their disruptor. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, rushed as they were. So they’d pull a little escort force down with the transport. Big whoop.

“Quiznak,” Coran muttered. He and the castle-ship were waiting some distance back, out of the range of the immediate ambush. The lions were maneuverable enough to avoid the ships dropping out of hyperspace, but the castle was another story, and Shiro hadn’t wanted to risk a collision. “Should we pull back?”

“No,” Lance said. “Maulinda’s too important, and if we lose this chance we won’t get another one.”

The Red Lion passed Black, laser cannon glowing, and Lance felt a tug in his chest as she went. “I’ll stay out here with you,” Keith said. “We’ll just have to try to hold them off.”

He seemed not to notice the authority with which he’d spoken. Why should he? Keith had always been outspoken about his opinion, offering suggestions even when Shiro sat in Black’s cockpit. The weeks he’d spent as their leader and his experiences with the Blade had only cemented his air of authority. It would have been so easy to just go along with it. Lance had been ready to have Keith back in the Black Lion today; he’d been expecting it.

And yet…

A few of the ships’ lights flickered as they recovered from the ambush. The disruptor wouldn’t have knocked out their weapons or their maneuverability, just the warp drives, and even that only temporarily. The whole plan had hinged on a quick strike, in and out before the Galra rallied their forces.

That wasn’t going to work now, and just swapping Keith to the exterior team wouldn’t solve the issue.

“Keith, wait,” Lance said, thinking quickly. “Pidge—cloak.” She raised an eyebrow, but activated Green’s cloak without a word, her lion fading from view. “Good. Keith, you’ve done lots of infiltrations with the Blade, right?”

“Sure.” Keith frowned, Red drifting motionless about halfway between Lance and the enemy. “We’re helping out on the front lines more lately, but most of our work is still stealth-based.”

Lance nodded. “Perfect. Get to the Green Lion. Pidge, take him to the transport, then come help the rest of us with these fighters. Hunk, Allura, you’re with me.” He punched the engines, diving into the thick of battle and laying waste to half a dozen ships in the first onslaught. Hunk was right there with him, headbutting a ship taking aim at the Black Lion, and Allura joined them a moment later.

“I’ve got Keith,” Pidge said. “Heading for the transport now.” She hesitated for an instant, the silence punctuated by the flash of another fighter turning to space dust. “You sure you don’t want me in there with him?”

Doubt plucked at Lance’s nerves, but there was no time for second thoughts. “I’m sure. Look at this fleet, Pidge. They’re counting on stopping us out here. Security inside will be lax, especially if they think we’re all still out here.”

“So I can get to the prisoner and get her out without anyone noticing I’m there.” Keith leaned over the back of Pidge’s seat. “Good thinking. But I’m going to need more time if you want me to avoid patrols.”

Lance nodded. “I know. Fortunately for us, we’ve got a couple of geniuses on our team.” He pulled up as one of the heavy hitters opened fire on him, his stomach clenching at the close call. He’d gotten used to Red’s speed, and by comparison, Black dragged. It wasn’t so much different from flying Blue, but he had to stay focused. “Hunk, break away as soon as you can. We’ll need you to take out the transport’s warp drive before they get it back online. Without destroying the whole ship, if you can.”

Hunk scoffed, reversing Yellow’s thrusters so a cluster of fighters smashed against his shoulders. “‘If I can.’ Lance, I’ve studied every Imperial schematic I can get my hands on. I think I can take out one little warp core.”

Lance grinned. “That’s what I like to hear! Pidge—we’ll need you in the battle to keep up the illusion we’re all still out here, but more importantly, jam their comms. Don’t let them call for reinforcements.”

“Okay, but what about Red?” Pidge asked. “If we only have four lions in this fight, someone might notice something’s up.”

Lance and Keith locked eyes over the comms screen, smirking. How many times had the Red Lion launched herself to come to Keith’s aid? How many times had she done the same for Lance, even diving into the thick of battle to reach him? If Keith needed her to take on an army, she would find a way to do it.

“Don’t worry about Red, Pidge,” Keith said. “She can take care of herself.”

“If you say so.”

The castle-ship’s laser burned across the battlefield, blinding in its intensity, and tore through a destroyer’s shields. Lance rolled Black up and over it, picking off fighters that scattered before the attack.

“All right.” Keith summoned his bayard in his right hand and raised his Blade, in his left, toward the camera in salute. “I’m going in.”

“Good luck,” Lance said. “Hunk, that’s your cue. Allura? What do you say we knock some of these heavy hitters down a peg or two?”

Blue’s rumble of approval was audible over the comms, and Allura smiled. “Let’s go.”

The Yellow Lion split away from the pack just as Green charged in, hitting a destroyer hard before dropping her cloak and drawing a half dozen fighters into a chase. A burst of fire from Red cut the pursuit short.

“Told you,” Lance said, activating Black’s jaw blades and shearing off the barrel of a cannon so when it fired at the castle a second later its shot went wide. He fired twice from Black’s tail as he moved on, joining Allura, who froze the shield generator on the neighboring ship. In the next instant, she wheeled around and opened fire together with Lance, burning two gaping holes in the ship’s hull.

Keith grunted, swearing softly, and Lance twisted Black around in time to see the last spurts of flame emerge from the side of the transport.

“Engine’s down!” Hunk called. “And I didn’t destroy the ship, Lance. ”

“Never doubted you, buddy. Pidge?”

“Comms are jammed, but…”

“But?” Allura asked.

Pidge hummed, shooting down three more fighters in rapid succession. “They aren’t calling for reinforcements.”

Lance frowned. “Isn’t that what we wanted?”

“No, I mean—they aren’t even trying. We’re tearing through their escort, and they don’t care. It’s almost like--”

“Like they expected this,” Lance said, cursing. “Keith, how’s it going?”

“About as well as any infiltration,” Keith said, voice grainy as the comms amplified the sound to compensate for the roar of engines and lasers. “I’m getting close to the prison block, but I’m going to have to check each cell until I find the right one.”

Lance worried his lip, his forward momentum slowing as he surveyed the battlefield. Something wasn’t right here. The larger escort, the way they weren’t calling for help… “Everyone stay alert,” he said slowly.

“You think this is a trap?” Allura asked.

“I don’t know.” Lance drummed his fingers on Black’s controls. He was keenly aware of the others’ attention on him, waiting for an explanation, waiting for direction. But Lance didn’t know what he was expecting. Something bad, but what? He couldn’t shake the feeling that Shiro would have already figured it out. “Just keep moving, Keith. The sooner you have Maulinda, the better.”

“Copy that.”

For a few minutes, it continued in the same vein: Keith cautiously making his way through the interior of the ship, waiting painstaking seconds for patrols to pass, disabling cameras and alarms when he couldn’t bypass them; the rest of them methodically taking out the fleet in the air. Red fought, but she was slower and clumsier without her pilot. Could the Galra see that? Or would they just think Lance was having an off day?

Coran eliminated the last of the destroyers just as Keith reached his destination and reported in: two blocks of four cells each on opposite ends of a long corridor, one guard at each block’s door.

Keith dispatched both swiftly and silently, and Lance held his breath as he opened the first cell.

Stars bent out of alignment, smearing streaks of light across the sky.

Oh, no. Lance’s heart plummeted, his breath stagnating in his lungs as two battle cruisers appeared, spewing fighters and destroyers like swarms of hornets that converged on the lions, lasers lighting up the sky. The remnants of the transport’s escort broke away and regrouped with the reinforcements.

“Oh, god,” Hunk whispered. “Oh my god. Oh my god, guys! ”

A digital lock chirped, Keith’s breath hissing out. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Reinforcements,” Allura said.

“I thought we jammed their comms!”

“We did,” Pidge growled, the threat implicit in her words. She swerved to avoid a barrage of lasers, twisting so they hit the shield on Green’s back.

Lance was slower, and Black roared as lasers clipped her back leg. Red froze for a moment too long and took the full force of the attack, tumbling backward. Lance’s heart twinged as Hunk positioned Yellow in front of her.

This was bad. This was so bad. If Keith was here, they could form Voltron and get through this. If Shiro was here, he would have seen it coming and figured out a plan by now. He had a way of exuding confidence and calm, and not even an entire armada appearing from nowhere would have shaken him.

Yeah, well, Shiro’s not here right now.

Lance clenched his jaw, twisted out of the way of a laser, and shoved down the voice that kept trying to draw meaningless comparisons. Lance wasn’t Shiro, and he wasn’t going to pretend to be. He was Lance, and he was going to do this his way.

“Look, maybe they have us all figured out, maybe Zarkon’s got a dial-a-psychic on staff.” Lance’s tension loosened minutely as Hunk let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care. You know what I do know?”

“What?” Pidge asked.

“I know what we’re capable of. I know I’ve got the best team in the universe on my side, and if a couple of geniuses, the Blade’s best operative, and a kick-ass princess can’t handle this, then we must be in the wrong reality.”

Pidge laughed aloud at that, and the others chimed in with wordless affirmation. The Black Lion purred under Lance’s hands, untouchable as she tore through the Galra fleet.

“All right, Lance,” Allura said, keeping pace beside him. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Lance grinned. “Improvise. Keith, we’re done with stealth. Get Maulinda and get out of there as fast as you can. Pidge, send me over a copy of the transport ship’s schematics, then activate your cloak. Hit hard and fast and don’t let them get a fix on your location. I’m gonna need a couple aces up my sleeve.” Lance abandoned his lasers in favor of his jaw blade as a concentrated first wave of fighters approached, tearing themselves to ribbons as Black twirled between them. “Coran, keep those cruisers off us if you can, but prep a wormhole. We’re not going to have much of a window to get out of here. Hunk, Allura, let’s make like Hulk and smash.”

Keith snorted, Pidge whooped in delight, and Hunk quietly explained the Incredible Hulk to Allura even as he tucked Yellow’s head and punched a hole through the nearest destroyer. Lance’s own smile faded quickly as he cleared the area around him and laid a hand on Black’s console.

Please, he thought, straining for the quiet presence in the back of his head. Blue had caught him up in her ocean from the moment he stepped into her cockpit; Red had warmed to him quickly once he’d stopped overthinking things. Black had remained distant for the entirety of this battle, watching him. Evaluating.

He wanted to shrink back from her silent judgment, but he dug in his heels and rose to meet it. The Black Lion chose decisive people, people who were in control at all times; wasn’t that what Allura had said? Lance didn’t feel very in control now. He felt like he was in over his head. But he’d learned from Blue how to trust—to trust himself, to trust his team, to trust his lion—and he’d learned from Red to take risks. Put them together, and he came near enough to what a black paladin should be.

The team is counting on us, he thought, falling in with Hunk and Allura and hitting the enemy hard. Their lions took hits in return, but they made progress—enough progress that the fleet seemed to have forgotten about Pidge and about the Red Lion, who had turned toward the transport ship at the same moment Keith’s comms feed roared with the sound of combat.

“I have Maulinda,” Keith called, “but security’s tight.” He grunted, pain entering his voice. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it back to the hangar where Pidge dropped me.”

Lance called up the schematics Pidge had sent him, stealing a glance at it as he tried to shake off a squadron on his tail. “Next left,” he said. “Nothing that way but cargo space, but you should be able to get close enough to the hull for Red to make her own entrance. Red Rover, Red Rover, send a giant ball of rage and lava right over.”

Keith laughed once, breathless, and Lance caught grins on his other friends’ faces—fleeting, to be sure, but better than the rictus of fear Lance’s attempt at humor chased away. He closed his eyes, reaching again for the Black Lion.

I’m not Shiro, Lance told her. I’m just doing what needs to be done. But I need your help. So please, for everyone’s sake.

Black’s purr blossomed into a roar, the sound settling in Lance’s chest. He opened his eyes as the Red Lion echoed the cry. Her thrusters flared bright, and she rocketed toward the transport. There was no time to call out a warning before she impacted, a laser blast preceding her by an instant. She buried herself to her haunches in the ship, and Keith cried out in surprise that turned quickly to delight.

“In!” he roared to Maulinda, and then to Lance, “I’m on my way.”

Lance smiled. “All right, guys, give me space.”

“What?” Allura cried. “Lance, there’s too many enemies. You can’t take them on your own!”

“I don’t have to,” Lance said. “The Black Lion is the head of Voltron. She was Zarkon’s lion, and Haggar would literally kill to get her hands on Shiro again. If they think they can capture us, they’re going to go for it. Keith, Pidge, they’re not expecting you. Find somewhere the defenses are thin and bust through. Hunk and Allura, go with them. Coran, we’re gonna need that wormhole.”

“What about you?” Pidge asked.

Lance hesitated for just an instant, reaching out to Black. In response, the lights on the dash began to glow, lighting the cockpit with a soft violet aura.

“Don’t worry about us,” Lance said. “Get out, and we’ll catch up.”

The Blue and Yellow Lions split off from Black, circling back toward the streak of red that marked Keith’s approach. A tempest raged in Lance’s blood as he forged ahead, cutting down ships with every racing heartbeat. For every ship that fell, two more appeared to take its place, closing in around him in a lattice of lasers and particle barriers. The light stung Lance’s eyes, but he spun, continuing to fight. The lion shuddered with every hit she took—Lance couldn’t have avoided them all in Red, and the plain fact was Black wasn’t as nimble. He just had to hold out long enough. Just long enough…

Hunk whooped and Pidge laughed, and Lance caught a flash of light at the edge of his screen as a wormhole blossomed beyond the battle.

“Lance!” Keith cried. “We’re through. Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!”

For a moment, all was still. The physical cockpit around Lance fell away. The battle faded to shadow and white noise. All around were stars, glimmering at the edges of his vision. He felt the Black Lion’s mind around him, timeless and steady and nebulous, stoking a warm flame in his chest.

The violet glow of the cockpit flashed once as Lance leaned hard on the thrusters, driving forward as Black’s wings burst alight. A destroyer loomed before him, the battle cruisers closing in on either side, but Lance didn’t blink, and he didn’t let up on the engines. He roared, together with Black, and the battle around him shifted . His vision blurred as Black’s speed doubled, then doubled again. They shot forward faster than the Black Lion should have been able to move, faster than he’d ever gone in Red, and phased through the wall of enemy ships.

He laughed as he came out the other side into open space, fleeting explosions reflected in the other lions’ hulls. They had gathered before the wormhole with the castle-ship, Hunk and Pidge cheering as Lance rejoined them. Together they plunged into the wormhole, chased by a few desperate lasers that vanished into the swirling chaos of the wormhole.

Lance didn’t start breathing again until the last laser winked out. His friends’ adrenaline-fueled cries resounded in the air, but he couldn’t make sense of them. They were alive. They’d made it out.

“Maulinda,” he said, breathless. “Keith, did you--”

“I am here,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Thank you, paladins.”

Lance smiled, pressing a shaking hand to the top of his helmet. “No need to thank us, Maulinda. Saving the day is kinda our thing.”

“Even if it was a little touch and go there for a while,” Hunk said.

“We pulled through.” Keith met Lance’s eyes, smiling broadly. “Thanks to Lance.”

Lance flushed, waving his hands in the air. “I didn’t--”

“Didn’t let the pressure get to you?” Pidge asked. “You’re right.”

“No! I just--”

“You handled yourself very well, Lance,” Allura said. “You should be proud.”

Lance spluttered a few more feeble protests, his face burning, before another voice silenced him altogether.

“You should listen to your team, Lance. They usually know what they’re talking about.”

“Shiro?” Lance squeaked. “What are--? Why--? When did you--?”

Shiro laughed, the sound bright and easy, and the castle’s visual feed popped up in the corner of Lance’s screen. Shiro stood on the bridge with Coran, dressed in his armor. “About five minutes ago. I made it to the bridge just about the time that second fleet showed up.”

“Wanted to take a shuttle and join the battle,” Coran added, slapping Shiro’s back. “I tried to talk him down, but he wasn’t hearing it. You know how he is.”

Shiro gave Coran a disgruntled look, but it faded to a smile as he turned back to the camera. “Fortunately, I didn’t have to do a thing. You guys were in good hands.”

There was a chorus of agreement from the others that quickly devolved into a loud, excited retelling of the battle for Shiro’s benefit. Lance let the others handle the storytelling as Black rumbled beneath his hands. It wasn’t Blue’s friendly encouragement or Red’s fierce enthusiasm, but something softer. Something that swelled in his chest as he led the team back to the hangars and emerged to a series of pats on the backs, thumbs up, and an exuberant hug from Hunk that lifted Lance off his feet.

But it was Shiro’s hand on his arm that settled beneath Lance’s skin like a warm glow.

“Thanks for taking care of them for me.”

Lance smiled back at him, and then at his team, who had gathered around Maulinda, Coran checking her for injuries, Hunk asking whether there was anything they could get for her. Keith stood apart from the group and, seeming to sense Lance’s gaze, turned and caught his eye.

“I told you,” Keith said. “Black knows what she’s doing.”

Lance looked up at her, smiling as she wrapped him in a wave of warm affection. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess she does.”

[230east]

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack feel to the level of his knees. Some loose boards laid upon the ties supporting the rails of the railway supplied a footing for him and his executioners -- two private soldiers of the Federal army, directed by a sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy sheriff. At a short remove upon the same temporary platform was an officer in the uniform of his rank, armed. He was a captain. A sentinel at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the position known as "support," that is to say, vertical in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest -- a formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect carriage of the body. It did not appear to be the duty of these two men to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that traversed it.

Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran straight away into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was lost to view. Doubtless there was an outpost farther along. The other bank of the stream was open ground -- a gentle slope topped with a stockade of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded the muzzle of a brass cannon commanding the bridge. Midway up the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators -- a single company of infantry in line, at "parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground, the barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed upon the stock. A lieutenant stood at the right of the line, the point of his sword upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his right. Excepting the group of four at the center of the bridge, not a man moved. The company faced the bridge, staring stonily, motionless. The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues to adorn the bridge. The captain stood with folded arms, silent, observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. Death is a dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him. In the code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of deference.

The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirty-five years of age. He was a civilian, if one might judge from his habit, which was that of a planter. His features were good -- a straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar of his well fitting frock coat. He wore a moustache and pointed beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp. Evidently this was no vulgar assassin. The liberal military code makes provision for hanging many kinds of persons, and gentlemen are not excluded.

The preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped aside and each drew away the plank upon which he had been standing. The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. These movements left the condemned man and the sergeant standing on the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties of the bridge. The end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not quite, reached a fourth. This plank had been held in place by the weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant. At a signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would tilt and the condemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement commended itself to his judgement as simple and effective. His face had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged. He looked a moment at his "unsteadfast footing," then let his gaze wander to the swirling water of the stream racing madly beneath his feet. A piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the current. How slowly it appeared to move! What a sluggish stream!

He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and children. The water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the soldiers, the piece of drift -- all had distracted him. And now he became conscious of a new disturbance. Striking through the thought of his dear ones was sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing quality. He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by -- it seemed both. Its recurrence was regular, but as slow as the tolling of a death knell. He awaited each new stroke with impatience and -- he knew not why -- apprehension. The intervals of silence grew progressively longer; the delays became maddening. With their greater infrequency the sounds increased in strength and sharpness. They hurt his ear like the trust of a knife; he feared he would shriek. What he heard was the ticking of his watch.

He unclosed his eyes and saw again the water below him. "If I could free my hands," he thought, "I might throw off the noose and spring into the stream. By diving I could evade the bullets and, swimming vigorously, reach the bank, take to the woods and get away home. My home, thank God, is as yet outside their lines; my wife and little ones are still beyond the invader's farthest advance."

As these thoughts, which have here to be set down in words, were flashed into the doomed man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded to the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside.

II

Peyton Fahrquhar was a well to do planter, of an old and highly respected Alabama family. Being a slave owner and like other slave owners a politician, he was naturally an original secessionist and ardently devoted to the Southern cause. Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from taking service with that gallant army which had fought the disastrous campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth, and he chafed under the inglorious restraint, longing for the release of his energies, the larger life of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. That opportunity, he felt, would come, as it comes to all in wartime. Meanwhile he did what he could. No service was too humble for him to perform in the aid of the South, no adventure to perilous for him to undertake if consistent with the character of a civilian who was at heart a soldier, and who in good faith and without too much qualification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war.

One evening while Fahrquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench near the entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the gate and asked for a drink of water. Mrs. Fahrquhar was only too happy to serve him with her own white hands. While she was fetching the water her husband approached the dusty horseman and inquired eagerly for news from the front.

"The Yanks are repairing the railroads," said the man, "and are getting ready for another advance. They have reached the Owl Creek bridge, put it in order and built a stockade on the north bank. The commandant has issued an order, which is posted everywhere, declaring that any civilian caught interfering with the railroad, its bridges, tunnels, or trains will be summarily hanged. I saw the order."

"How far is it to the Owl Creek bridge?" Fahrquhar asked.

"About thirty miles."

"Is there no force on this side of the creek?"

"Only a picket post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single sentinel at this end of the bridge."

"Suppose a man -- a civilian and student of hanging -- should elude the picket post and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said Fahrquhar, smiling, "what could he accomplish?"

The soldier reflected. "I was there a month ago," he replied. "I observed that the flood of last winter had lodged a great quantity of driftwood against the wooden pier at this end of the bridge. It is now dry and would burn like tinder."

The lady had now brought the water, which the soldier drank. He thanked her ceremoniously, bowed to her husband and rode away. An hour later, after nightfall, he repassed the plantation, going northward in the direction from which he had come. He was a Federal scout.

III

As Peyton Fahrquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. From this state he was awakened -- ages later, it seemed to him -- by the pain of a sharp pressure upon his throat, followed by a sense of suffocation. Keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber of his body and limbs. These pains appeared to flash along well defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fullness -- of congestion. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. There was no additional strangulation; the noose about his neck was already suffocating him and kept the water from his lungs. To die of hanging at the bottom of a river! -- the idea seemed to him ludicrous. He opened his eyes in the darkness and saw above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible! He was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimmer. Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface -- knew it with reluctance, for he was now very comfortable. "To be hanged and drowned," he thought, "that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No; I will not be shot; that is not fair."

He was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist apprised him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a juggler, without interest in the outcome. What splendid effort! -- what magnificent, what superhuman strength! Ah, that was a fine endeavor! Bravo! The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the noose at his neck. They tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, its undulations resembling those of a water snake. "Put it back, put it back!" He thought he shouted these words to his hands, for the undoing of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang that he had yet experienced. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire, his heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself out at his mouth. His whole body was racked and wrenched with an insupportable anguish! But his disobedient hands gave no heed to the command. They beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strokes, forcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great draught of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek!

He was now in full possession of his physical senses. They were, indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful disturbance of his organic system had so exalted and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. He felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf -- he saw the very insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant bodied flies, the gray spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig. He noted the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat -- all these made audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water.

He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the captain, the sergeant, the two privates, his executioners. They were in silhouette against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him. The captain had drawn his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque and horrible, their forms gigantic.

Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. He heard a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with his rifle at his shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the muzzle. The man in the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. He observed that it was a gray eye and remembered having read that gray eyes were keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one had missed.

A counter-swirl had caught Fahrquhar and turned him half round; he was again looking at the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound of a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears. Although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread significance of that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work. How coldly and pitilessly -- with what an even, calm intonation, presaging, and enforcing tranquility in the men -- with what accurately measured interval fell those cruel words:

"Company! . . . Attention! . . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready! . . . Aim! . . . Fire!"

Fahrquhar dived -- dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. Some of them touched him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing their descent. One lodged between his collar and neck; it was uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out.

As he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he had been a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther downstream -- nearer to safety. The soldiers had almost finished reloading; the metal ramrods flashed all at once in the sunshine as they were drawn from the barrels, turned in the air, and thrust into their sockets. The two sentinels fired again, independently and ineffectually.

The hunted man saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming vigorously with the current. His brain was as energetic as his arms and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning:

"The officer," he reasoned, "will not make that martinet's error a second time. It is as easy to dodge a volley as a single shot. He has probably already given the command to fire at will. God help me, I cannot dodge them all!"

An appalling splash within two yards of him was followed by a loud, rushing sound, DIMINUENDO, which seemed to travel back through the air to the fort and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to its deeps! A rising sheet of water curved over him, fell down upon him, blinded him, strangled him! The cannon had taken an hand in the game. As he shook his head free from the commotion of the smitten water he heard the deflected shot humming through the air ahead, and in an instant it was cracking and smashing the branches in the forest beyond.

"They will not do that again," he thought; "the next time they will use a charge of grape. I must keep my eye upon the gun; the smoke will apprise me -- the report arrives too late; it lags behind the missile. That is a good gun."

Suddenly he felt himself whirled round and round -- spinning like a top. The water, the banks, the forests, the now distant bridge, fort and men, all were commingled and blurred. Objects were represented by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks of color -- that was all he saw. He had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity of advance and gyration that made him giddy and sick. In few moments he was flung upon the gravel at the foot of the left bank of the stream -- the southern bank -- and behind a projecting point which concealed him from his enemies. The sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and he wept with delight. He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself in handfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. The trees upon the bank were giant garden plants; he noted a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled the fragrance of their blooms. A strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of AEolian harps. He had not wish to perfect his escape -- he was content to remain in that enchanting spot until retaken.

A whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high above his head roused him from his dream. The baffled cannoneer had fired him a random farewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged into the forest.

All that day he traveled, laying his course by the rounding sun. The forest seemed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even a woodman's road. He had not known that he lived in so wild a region. There was something uncanny in the revelation.

By nightfall he was fatigued, footsore, famished. The thought of his wife and children urged him on. At last he found a road which led him in what he knew to be the right direction. It was as wide and straight as a city street, yet it seemed untraveled. No fields bordered it, no dwelling anywhere. Not so much as the barking of a dog suggested human habitation. The black bodies of the trees formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point, like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as he looked up through this rift in the wood, shone great golden stars looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange constellations. He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign significance. The wood on either side was full of singular noises, among which -- once, twice, and again -- he distinctly heard whispers in an unknown tongue.

His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen. He knew that it had a circle of black where the rope had bruised it. His eyes felt congested; he could no longer close them. His tongue was swollen with thirst; he relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from between his teeth into the cold air. How softly the turf had carpeted the untraveled avenue -- he could no longer feel the roadway beneath his feet!

Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene -- perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium. He stands at the gate of his own home. All is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. He must have traveled the entire night. As he pushes open the gate and passes up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of female garments; his wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from the veranda to meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile of ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how beautiful she is! He springs forwards with extended arms. As he is about to clasp her he feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of a cannon -- then all is darkness and silence!

Peyton Fahrquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.

[kayla1993-world]

Parade of Wonders officially kicks off Calgary Comic and Entertainment Expo

The POW Parade of Wonders was cancelled in downtown Calgary Friday morning because of heavy snowfall.

The parade started at 10:30 am to kick off the first Comic and Entertainment Expo the city has seen in three years.

However, a snowfall warning was issued for the city just after 10 am, forcing the organization to cancel the parade.

“Because of the large snowstorm in Calgary, and for the safety of everyone involved, we have made the tough decision to cancel the POW Parade of Wonders event this year,” Calgary Expo said on Twitter.

“Calgary Expo remains open and we have exceptional events continuing to happen today.”

Upwards of 10-15 cm of snow is expected to fall in around the city Friday morning before tapering off in the afternoon.

While the expo festivities got underway Thursday night, the colourful parade through downtown Calgary got the cosplay officially underway.

The Parade of Wonders is the cosplay parade celebrating all things pop culture and creativity.

The parade was expected to make its way down Stephen Avenue between 8 Street SW and Olympic Plaza.

The parade marshal was Jyoti Gondek. The Calgary Expo was cancelled in 2020 because of the COVID pandemic.

Stars at the event include William Shatner and John Cleese. “For me, it is about seeing the community come back together.”

“That, for me, is what is most important this weekend.” The tourism industry said the event at Stampede Park is a clear signal events are coming back.

“It is absolutely fantastic for our partners to see restaurants being full.”

Carson said an event like this is key to bringing back business and helping the economy recover.

“It is a lifeline for our industries.” The Calgary Expo runs until Sunday. For more information, visit the expo website.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

For the Playlist I have a jokey one, (from Sherlock’s pov) ‘Bottom’s gonna be on top’

[Nick Bottom]No more Mr. AnonymousNo more world that is Nick Bottom-lessMy name will be synonymous with being on the topI can see it nowI’m the cat’s meowIt’s a hit, pow!It’s gonna be great, gonna be greatEverywhere I goThey will love me soHail my nameOh, it’s gonna be great, gonna be great[Ensemble]Master Bottom, you’re such a wonderful writer[Nick]You really think so?[Ensemble]And your talent is talent beyond compare[Nick]Why thank you[Ensemble]You’re a star, you are, and you couldn’t be brighter[Nick]Now you’re just embarrassing me![Ensemble]You’re a real visionary[Nick]Thank you Jesus and Hail Mary![All]This Bottom’s gonna be on topThis Bottom’s gonna be on top[Nick]Man, I’m gonna sizzleMan, I’m gonna pop[All]And this Bottom’s gonna be on top[Nick]This is heaven sentFeeling confidentMoney well spentIt’s gonna be great, gonna be greatThrow a big paradePraises will be madeCompliments paidIt’s gonna be great, gonna be great[Bea]Me and baby are so eternally grateful[Nick]You’re who I’m doing it for[Bea]Thank you for our cottage in the woods[Nick]You deserve it![Nigel]If gratitude were a food I’d have a big plateful[Nick]Nice metaphor, bro[Nigel]You’re the greatestYou’re the man[Nick]I really shouldn’t say itBut yes I am![All]This Bottom’s gonna be on topThis Bottom’s gonna be on top[Nick]Once I get going, never gonna stop[All]Yeah, this Bottom’s gonna be on top[Renaissance Writers]We are the royalty of the Renaissance writersNow we’re handing down the crown to youYou were a nobody but overnight you’re someone better than the rest of usNow you are the best of us[Will]Not. So. Fast[Nick]Hello, Will. I knew you wouldn’t go down without a fight[Will]The top sir, nay, thou surely doth jestI say on my honour here I doth protest[Nick]YawnRhyming couplet? That is so 1580’s[Will]Oh yeah?Well[Will]If you want to make it to the topThen you’re gonna have to go through meCause on the top is where I liveAnd I will not be giving up that easilySo there[Nick]Oh man I have been waiting for this moment for so longI’m gonna enjoy it when I knock you off your perch[Will]Oh no you won’t[Nick]Oh yes I will[Will]Oh no you won’t[Nick]Oh yes I willWill:Oh no you won’t[Nick]Oh yes I will[Will]Oh no you won’tMy accomplishments are much more accomplished than yours[Nick]In your dreamsI am the best[Will]You can’t be the best because I am the bestI have written 12 plays and each one is a testament to my great skillI am the WillAnd I wrote the Taming of the Shrew and Richard III and Richard II and Henry’s IV, V, VIAnd Titus AndronicusAnd oh did I forget Romeo and Juliet[Nick]Well I have just written the thing that the critics are calling the greatest thing they’ve ever seenThe people are loving itCan’t get enough of itEveryone, even including the QueenShe recently invited me to her castle where she knighted meAnd privately she told me that you’re not any good, not any good, not any good, not any goodAnd she told me that all of your plays make her vomitAnd none of them’s as good as my musical Omelette[Will]Wait a minuteYou wrote Omelette?[Nick]Yes[Will]I never thought that I would meet my equalBut I concede that I’ve been bested by the bestMaybe we could partner on a sequel[Nick]Oh my, how the tide has turnedLet’s reviewWhat have we learnedSee, you were hereBut now we’ve swappedSo kiss this BottomI’m on the top[All]He’s on topHe’s on topWah-wah-wah-wahYeah this Bottom’s gonna be on top(Repeat)Yeah this Bottom’s gonna be on topYeah this Bottom’s gonna be on top[Nick - Dialogue]Bottom’s upYeah this Bottom’s gonna be on top

(Lyrics from Genius.com)

ASDLKFAHSDFKLAHSD NONNY OMG I AM DYING. This is FANTASTIC. 

Yes, this needs to be on my playlist, thank you so much for it XD

[lushscreamqueen]

HORRORS OF SPIDER ISLAND on The Schlocky Horror Picture Show

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Hello, good evening, and welcome to the Schlocky Horror Picture Show. I'm your host, Nigel Honeybone. Witness tonight, if you dare, a handful of girls enslaved by a diabolical human beast on an island where there is no way out! Watch him strangle his victims with his mammoth claws! One bite from a giant spider turns a man into the world's most hideous monster with a diabolical lust to kill, craving the blood of beautiful women! Shock upon shock, terror upon terror, in the blood-curdling, hair-raising, spine-chilling, Horrors Of Spider Island! And all that just from the poster art... BREAK: Dare to invade the beast's realm and prepare to witness things no human was ever meant to see...then after the ads we can get back to The Horrors Of Spider Island On The Schlocky Horror Picture Show. MIDDLE: Welcome back to the Schlocky Horror Picture Show and, well, I'm not exactly sure where to begin with The Horrors Of Spider Island. From the poor black and white photography, horrendous dubbing, low-grade production values, completely idiotic characters, stock footage padding, Z grade monster effects and sheer schlock factor, this movie is loaded with all the proper ingredients for a true cinematic train wreck. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I find it not only watchable but strangely, and dare I say disturbingly enthralling as it unfolds. It isn't just the sight of all that female flesh on parade. Sure, a couple of the girls are curvy and cute, but I don't really find them that attractive to look at, and just a few shots of these whiny, complaining broads stomping around the so-called "jungle" will pretty much cure even the worst case of girl trouble. And Babs! Wow, look out! That woman is almost Amazonesque. In some shots she looks beefier than Gary! I could almost hear the cabin creaking and shaking in despair as she clomps around inside. Don't get me wrong, I like a woman with more meat on her bones, but she sometimes looks like it was her that ate the flight crew. A few more days on the island and Spider-Gary might not have been the only one hunting down the survivors. The strange appeal of The Horrors Of Spider Island certainly isn't because of the monster, either. Spider-Gary has got to be one of the silliest monsters, in both execution and origin, to ever grace the silver screen. He looks more like a dog-faced boy than a spider-monster, and the finished product looks like one of those portraits of inbred royalty a few centuries back that were covered in hair from head to toe. It certainly doesn't remind me of a spider. He doesn't climb walls, sprout extra limbs or shoot webs out of his backside and his so-called rampage is about as thrilling and scary as the speed humps in a shopping centre parking lot. The poster artwork for the film really makes it out that once transformed, Gary became a veritable killing machine. Well, what kind of killing machine takes a three and a half-week break between kills? That's not a rampage, that's just an annoyance. Any interest generated by this film is not because of a riveting story with earnest characters. Most of the girls seem like carbon copies of one another and the plot is as about as exciting as an afternoon doing your taxes. Most of the women are portrayed as weak, incompetent, mostly useless and utterly unprepared to survive, while the film makes it clear that all the male characters are the leaders, saviors and clearheaded thinkers. The only problem is, these guys are still morons. Gary walks off by himself and gets bitten. Moron. Bob, knowing full well that there is something dangerous on the island responsible for at least two deaths, be it man or beast, still walks off alone so he can have a private tryst with Gladys. Moron. Joe is the only guy with some semblance of a brain, and naturally the film plays him up as being somewhat inexperienced with the ladies. While we're at it, let's talk about production values, or the complete lack thereof. This film just looks terrible. I don't know if it's because the film print hasn't aged very well, or if it's because the

cinematographer should have been shot for incompetence. Some scenes are entirely too dark, even in the infamous day-for-night shots used in times past, while other shots are almost blindingly bright. Continuity was a word that was evidently not in the vocabulary of the producers. A twin engine plane later has four engines, a dead woman is at first under then above the water level of a pond, and the sun seems to rise and set at the drop of a hat. However, by far the worst continuity error is the Spider-Gary make-up. It's apparent that all the close-ups of Spider-Gary were shot separately. This is evidenced by the fact that in nearly all of them, he is standing in a black void, as if shot in a dark studio. Still, in these close-ups his entire transformation can be seen, fur covered face, dagger-like teeth, hairy hands and long fingernails. Yet in all the location shots, it's obvious that the actor is only wearing the hairy hands and claws, but his head appears as normal as ever. True, this is hidden somewhat by the crappy lighting and use of shadows, but it can still be spotted. Since this was a Yugoslavian/West German production, when the film made it's way to American shores it had to be dubbed into English. Now, who out there honestly say that they have ever seen a foreign-language film with good dubbing? Sure, some films are better than others, but depending on the original language with which the film was shot, and how it differs from English, dub jobs can get pretty bad. Horrors Of Spider Island is no exception. At times it's just okay, while at other times it's horribly bad. Some of the girl's voices are just so bland that I wonder if the same woman provides the voices for all of them, a bit like Sylvia Anderson voicing most of the female parts in Gerry Anderson productions, they all start to sound like Lady Penelope. Still, despite these setbacks, there is an overall sense of unbelievable awe at the hokiness of it all that transcends the crappy building blocks and elevates the film, just ever so barely, to the level of fun bad movie making. In much the same way people stare morbidly at train or traffic accidents, this movie compels the viewer to keep watching, if only to see where the wreck is going to finally stop. Place your bets as we enter the second scarifying part of The Horrors Of Spider Island! CLOSING: Pow! The movie is over. No "The End," no end credits, just bang, like a slap in the face, the viewer is jolted back to reality. Or maybe I watched a badly edited dud copy. Horrors Of Spider Island leaves more unanswered questions than 2001: A Space Odyssey. What happened to the flight crew of the plane? Did they all die on impact or did some survive only to die later? Were there any other passengers other than Gary and the dancers? If so, what became of them? Gary and the gang were afloat in that raft for four days before they found the island. That would be more than enough time to dispose of any extraneous people draining their dwindling water supply. Where did those funky spiders come from, anyway? Were they just some previously unknown species that was native to that island, or did the local uranium deposits have anything to do with their far-out appearance? Enquiring minds want to know! Why didn't the professor turn into a monster when the spider got him? One bite and Gary becomes Spider-monster, but the Professor remains unchanged, other than being quite dead. Maybe he wasn't bitten? Perhaps the Spider just stuck him in the web and the poor old guy died before he could extricate himself. If so, how did that little spider, as big as it is, get a grown man off the floor and into such a perfectly spun web? Or maybe it was a gang of spiders that broke into the Professor's crib and whacked him? What the devil did Spider-Gary do for those twenty-five undocumented days? No one saw or heard a thing from him. He must have eaten something! Maybe he snacked on the Professor's corpse! Still, you'd think that at some point the ladies would have seen or heard something of his presence on the island. On

the other hand, maybe he spent the whole time cooped up in that hollow tree. Yes, that must be it. After being bitten by a funky spider and turning into a Wolfman clone, I'd hide out of sheer embarrassment, too. Still, he did manage to keep his trousers in near-pristine condition all that time. No doubt he dropped his dacks and wiped his backside with something when nature called. Hey, he may be a monster, but he still has standards! Anyway, just when you thought it was safe to go back to the Public Domain I shall return next week with another brain-bursting b-grader, so please join me as I again guide you through an atmosphere-filled excursion to the dark side of The Schlocky Horror Picture Show. Toodles!

by Lushscreamqueen

[theshadowofme]

Remembrance Day And Family History

Greetings all, I was planning on getting this out for Remembrance Day but was unable to as the internet is currently pooched in Antigua. It may have something to do with the 9 inches of rain that fell in the past 24 hours that was accompanied by some fantastic thunder and lightening. I decided however to delay till today until posting it.

Almost every year that I was in service, I marched in the Remembrance Day parades. I missed a few due to family and personal reasons, but it was important to me to pay homage to those that helped create our country and protect its freedom. I try to honour veterans all the time, but it seems in Canada, it is a losing battle to try and have the public recognize those that keep them safe and allow them to have the right to protest and do the things that they want.

Enough of the soapbox for now. What I really want to talk about today is the realization that PTSD has a bit of family history for me on both sides of the family. My grandfather on my dad’s side, Theodore “Ted” Crack, served in the New Zealand Second Expeditionary Force in World War 2. He was one of a very few Canadians to have fought in Africa.

The other family member that I can think of is Montague Moore, my great grandfather on my Mom’s side. Unfortunately I do not know much about him, as he was never really spoken of by my Grandpa other than to say, “The Major was a real bastard.” This was always somewhat shocking to me as I never really knew my Grandpa to carry that level of anger for anyone. From some of the stories that I heard from others, the Major was a real bastard and ran his house as if it was a military unit.

Where am I going with all of this. Well, I will start with Ted first. Ted at the age of 18 had the grand idea that he was going to run away from the family farm and go and see the world. He boarded a train and went to Vancouver, where he hopped on a ship and eventually ended up in New Zealand. At this point, WW II broke out and he was no longer able to continue on his journey as private citizens were not allowed to travel on ships anymore.

Ted worked a couple of jobs in New Zealand and eventually joined up with the military. Ted was shipped out to Africa and was captured in battle there. The Germans flew the POW’s to Italy and placed them in a camp in Northern Italy. At some point, the guards did not show up for shift change, and Ted made his escape, joining up with the Italian resistance. After Italy was repatriated, Ted made his way back to Canada and lived out his days in Chilliwack.

In stories from my father, Ted threw away all of his guns when he got home. Ted never hunted and my father had to teach himself all about hunting. The Ted that I remember was a very quiet and reserved man. When my brother and I were visiting, Ted would always go for a nap in the afternoon and us boys were always told that we had to be quiet around him as he didn’t like loud noises. Also, our favourite toys were not really allowed in the house. Of course, being boys, what were our favourite toys? GI Joe figures and all the wonderful accessories of guns, tanks, and other paraphernalia of war.

As a kid, being told to be quiet and to keep your favourite toys in a room and out of sight of Grandfather was a very weird and hard to understand thing. As an adult with PTSD, I can finally and horrifically understand why those were the rules in the house. On a lot of days with my own kids, when they are too loud or rambunctious, it sets me on edge and brings out hyper vigilance and cranks up the fight or flight responses.

As a parent with PTSD, it is hard to relate in a socially acceptable manner with your own kids. Some days, it is difficult or even impossible to muster the appropriate emotional responses to their successes and failures. To cheer them on when all you feel is numbness. To give them the attention they deserve when you are in the absolute pit of depression and anxiety.

As a child watching a parent go through this, I can not imagine what that is like. I can understand the confusion and unhappiness that child feels as I felt it with my Grandfather. The not being able to understand what is happening with your dad and why he has to be left alone today, when all the child wants is praise and a hug.

As for the Major, I don’t know if he ever went to war, but with him being a Major around the time of WW I, I can only assume that he did. This could have contributed to his ways of dealing with his kids, but I can only assume.

So in closing, I’ll state that with age and experience, I feel that I have a bit of an understanding as to why my grandfather was the way that he was. I can only hope that my own children will never have to experience this and can at some point gain their own understanding of why they were only ever able to experience the shadow of me and not who I was.

As always, a song. This is always a tough one for me to choose between as I have two favourite Remembrance Day songs if that was such a thing. My first has always been a good Canadian band, The Trews, with “Highway of Heros”, a song about Canadian casualties in the war in Afghanistan. However, that one has become very mainstream these days. So instead, I think I will go with “A Pittance of Time” by Terry Kelly. Terry decided to pen this song after watching a customer in a store insist that a cashier ring him through as the cashier was observing a minute of silence on Remembrance Day.

In respect of those who lost their lives fighting battles overseas, those that lost their lives fighting the battles at home, and last but not least, those that have lost themselves in the battle of their own mind, Lest We Forget.

[a-foxtography]

Veterans Day Motorcycle Tour of Memorials Part 1 November 11 is Veterans Day here and Armistice Day marking the end of World War 1. This year I crawled out of the Coyote den nestled in the foothills many miles/km's from anywhere and rode through some very cold temperatures and really bad fog for what felt like an eternity to meet up with members of the Combat Veterans Motorcycle Association Chpt 29-1. The four of us (Hershel, Grumpy, Chains, and Coyote) rode our bikes on a tour of some Veterans Memorials in the Willamette Valley. We each represented 4 branches of the US military; Army, Navy, Marines & Air Force. We visited the Korean War Memorial in Wilsonville, OR, the Albany, OR, Reverse Veterans Day Parade, The Memorial for the Yamhill County Soldiers of the World War (WW1) in McMinnville, OR, the Veterans Memorial Park in Cornelius, OR and lastly the brand new Veterans Memorial Park in North Plains, OR complete with a 100ft/30.5m flag pole which is directly adjacent to the recently designated POW/MIA Memorial Highway (Hwy26). The sun came out eventually and we had a fantastic ride and a really good time. Film pictures to be developed and posted later. A special thank you to the people and businesses of Linn County and Albany for their amazing Veterans Day Parade and North Plains for the significant efforts at building a wonderful new memorial. #vetswhoride #cvma #combatveteransmot orcycleassociation #cvmastore #vetshelpingvets #veteranshelpingveterans #motorcycletherapy #combatvets #combatveterans #usarmy #usmc #usnavy #usairforce #usarmyveterans #koreanwarmemorial #oregonkoreanwarmemorial #wilsonvilleoregon #linncountyoregon #albanyoregon #mcminnvilleoregon #yamhillcountyoregon #corneliusoregon #northplainsoregon #windtherapy #lgg8thinq (at Oregon Korean War Memorial) https://www.instagram.com/p/CHonAf8nmv9/?igshid=69jfua2ns6qp

[c-worldproductions]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Char | Riku | 🎮 kayaling (@c_worldproductions)

Otafest 2023 is technically my next con, but I’ll be walking with Otafest in Calgary Expo’s Parade Of Wonders as Ceremonial Robed Silver (Twisted Wonderland)!

[nymphadorathetemplar]

Some of my live reactions I wrote down while watching VLD S4

"remember purely intelligence gathering, do not engage" is that Keith? proly who else would you have to say that to (plus look how small he is compared to other two, also p sure I spotted his lil knife handle) I noticed other Marmorites have fanny packs does this mean it's a genetic instinct thing for Keith or he learned it from his mom or from dad who picked it up from mom or just a logical thing to do for those who think smart about being prepared aww Keith, need to be more sneaky dude, learn from Lance. But wonderful knife throw oh my gosh Keith, such good boy, poor boy struggling with Marmora protocol ooh boy tell him aww Shiro AWW Pidge, Lance! Please be more understanding pls don't make that face Keith can they not know about his BoM missions? oh they should, so why RAZZLE DAZZLE TIME! pfft drama queen "It's rigged to blow!" yep gotta be for sure now, this boy knows his bombs Regris... also nice parallelism from parade to mission gone wrong go Keith pls Coran "I said I don't want a lecture" oh no does he want to go grieve for Regris (and maybe blame himself? he did mention at least planting tracker fore leaving) yep Keith's da bomb boy oh poor dear you need to realise their importance of moral so you can better explain to them and they can finally understand you you tell her boy poor Shiro... imagine having to listen to your family suffer and you can't do a thing awww yissss! it had to be Shiro's mental state of mind that prevented himself "we have–... I have to take it" oh Keith Keith...no also this "catch phrase" says so much bout his thinking and personality "I can't tell you how much that means to me " screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee– *group hug* quiznakin dead I love you all! I love vld so much aww Pidge "Reunion" yas yas yas YOU STFU! you are the best nerd Pidge "hey Pidge?" Fuuuuuck (yeah fuck it at this point I'm straight up saying fuck) *sigh* feels oh dear Matt is also hot and cute, I'm Love (also is his voice  different? maybe just because he's not in terror or excitement thrill) srsly dude, easy money for info not your goods and you want to fight someone strong enough to get that security footage "auspicious occasion" need to integrate that into my vocab use for small things to makes them feel more important not just the eyes but yep no te-osh look at that girl go, saving countless lives and gaining alliances oh ho ho hacker Holts "most powerful processor" ahh wise Matt, truely a man after my heart no no no no no no no no no no no please be visiting a grave please be visiting a grave please no heart break (top 5 tragic anime death, I am so sorry I am trying not to break down over a character I've fallen so hard for) oh oh oh!!! thank you thank you thank you smart siblings so clever thank the ancients but srsly my heart, too much in a few minutes yay! Thank you thank you thank you!! "well I'm one of the paladins" smirk ahh Jinx holts "let's show em what the holts are made of" I love y'all so much bloody brilliant nerds okay okay okay cute pics but also Sheith/Broganes in background!?! Nice Holt backstory, now I’m itchin for Shiro and Keith’s so nice to know for sure how she got his glasses aaahhh ha hah! fuckin nerd such a heavy feels ep, wonderful can Haggar please realize and go back to her Honerva happy times "memory reminants deep to claw out" hmm you would know like Spirit Away radish god lift scene Hunks laugh! so pure very appropriate reaction Matt but also fuckin nerd (bet he loves anime, I would know) yes yes Lance the Allurance vibes!also a ruval has appeared? Alluraatt? Mallura? "wayward son" blasts Kansas nerdy siblings such pure excitement fuckin puns... Please Pidge may I marry your brother srsly great husbando material right there Alteans love for milkshakes and misunderstanding of them and Kaltenecker, too adorable oh That's an adorable expression Lotor hmm sad aw yeah Smirk™ no Narti please don't betray Lotor "what are we, animals" siblings, I love proud Hunk is such a good look haha he keeps trying even after he misses, like I would prefer to practice in private so so glad they got the video game working, knew the geniuses could do it hopefully it's Kova not Narti spying amazing smarties ah sibling like Lance & Pidge what where did they get second chair no pay attention this only happens when Lotor is involved aww Narti no oh ho ho Outlaw Lotor "The Voltron Show" amazing I hope it's kinda like the AtLA play RAZZLE DAZZLE! i miss keith (sorry I love him too much) "legend not documentary" LOL hahaha funny I just mentioned him "just act really moody" First Pidge now Coran, dude if two smartest people in the castle say so, it is law Keith is emo confirmed (also proof he is not an emotionless meanie) "holds bayard dashingly, oh" awwww Lancey living for the show so cute Coran. Coran please no no no don't take the suspicious drugs! no I thought of you as one of the wisest Stop! Leave Coran alone! your feelings are very validated but you do not need to continue for so long do you? you don't know his side I do not fancy this ep of putting Coran down aww Alfor fanboy Eww! No! look! the Purple alien who Lance winked at & ate Hunk's delicious food, dating a space cowboy (also can someone draw Keith or Lance or both in space cowboy gear) geez Coran that voice Thank you Rhys Lance is all about that life whaaaa okay that is an awesome performance Shiro is so acrobatic!? Look at Lance lovin it Go Go Power Rangers! cute Hunk Bii-Boh-Bi. oh my too cute Too good, Voltron on Ice stick signature signing "Loverboy Lance? It's perfect cause it's true" oh geez that is so lance but I also heard some Jeremy suave in that These nick names... amazing Shiro the Hero!! We've been saying that! Cuz it's true! aww I don't care for humerous hunk so much, being for comic relief sterotype but still cute cause it's Hunk "now put on this tight shirt and get out there" fuck. Coran knows his schist oh my lioness...pole dancing Lance Yes Please. Admire that muscle strength aww Coran please rest "except for you Shiro never you, you're our most popular character" Wow. writers tossin in that shade priorities Lance pfft that's obviously "get ready we're on in five" come on Lance oh I hope Keith saw part of their shows and is thinking fondly of his friends Varkon?!!? you think Plaxum was dreamily watching Lance? (ofc I ship it) *bii-boh-bi shurg* mood "help me bii-boh-bi, you're my only hope" wonderful bii-boh-bi, the true mvp I love this Voltron Show theme music aww I love you Coran but don't talk to Bii-boh-bi like that! ah fuck I just quietly squealed Keith to myself as an automatic reaction to seeing his face, I love him too much "Pidge and I can handle that" cute! (Punk!) "pow pow pow! easy peasy" I love you Shay! (Alluray!) aww Axca's trust for Lotor (ship? ship, I'm so sorry I love shipping) Rolo! Nyma! Beezer! daww Pidge holy crow Fandom totally predicted Matt being the smarts of Pidge with the humour & flirtiness of Lance oh what special window for the cute dog? they important or just reppin? ah I love Allura's leadership/inspirational speeches "no pressure" I feel ya Hunk Yass! Hunk smash! oh oh Female Galra Commander!! ahh cute doggie leading the charge!! "a third of the rebel forces have been decimated"...no war is truely sad "copy that we're in route" I'm still sad but Keithy! look it them so bad ass Aww yiss!! Keith is ready to pilot, gaze upon that beautiful smile of eagarness, such a precious boy *galra holding breath,sweating while hoppin away* pfffft same "see if the blades can use thier cannon to take down the sheild" woah. that voice. very nice voice also I love captain dog so much!? great thinking Allura! man they work so well as a team now, I love them so much. I've missed the full out transformation sequence aww no Zethrid, Ezor, especially Axca Keith to the rescue! smirky smirk™ woah! wicked Lotor "good" oh no oh no oh no no no, oh schist what's that mean!?!? "A new defender" who it be!?? nice sheild reflect the way I feel about Lotor is the way I feel about Yagami Light argh Zarkon actually made a wise decision ugh woah!! Lotor's determination is a match to Keith's! "awake Naxzela!" Oh shit wad up!? What she doin?? oh no please don't be a huge bomb/quintessence drainner Listen to Lance's instincts please Listen to Hunk oh good only looks like gravity field please please oh no look at Team Voltron go! come on bring on the magicalAllura No! Allura! Team! "are you okay?" Allurance!! hexamite!! Fuuuuck I hate when my bad predictions are right! Bloody bomb oh gosh oh gosh "10 solar systems" oh schist "Victory or Death is the Galra way. They never stop attacking " yes yes! exactly Keith put your galra culture thinking to good use! wow look at Keith being a great leader as soon as others don't pressure him You go Keith go be a great Leader when you need to, please recognize the greatness Shiro sees in you Look at Lance thinking awww his wonderful encouragement, this is why you are wonderful!! also great Allurance material right there! Magical girl Allura!! "Thank you Lance" "that was all You" I love them so much "What the ruggle is that?" new vocab "evasive manuvers" oh it's doggo captain coool I thought it might have been Axca "we're not going to make it" No! Please God no! Please! if this is a Keith Sacrifice, God Please No! This atmosphere I can't!!! Please No!! Don't you fucking dare make that face Keith!!!!! No!!!! aaaaaahhhhh please! No!! No!! No!! Stop making that face!! "Maybe not with our weapons" SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE– "Wait Keith what are you doing? Keith no!"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! S A M E!!!! Holy Crow!!!! Holy Crow!!! Holy Crow!!! Holy Fuckin Crow!!!! I can not Iliterally can not all these emotions so strong and in such a short time I  am dead thank you Lotor I love you so much female commanders

"I think it is time we had a discussion" oh yes please. So good. They finally get to meet each other's beautiful faces Also I hope Matt tells the team how Keith was about to SmAsH his FigHTer into the fLiPpiNg PArTicLe BArRiEr!! Can we see the team’s reaction? Please dreamworks A much more preferable "cliffhanger" compared to previous seasons Thank you for this break seeing as I've already been slain

[what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil]

*blows dust off my ancient YouTube playlist*

My time has come

Big Girls Don't Cry - Fergie

London Bridge - Fergie

Glamorous - Fergie

Fergalicious - Fergie ft. Will.i.Am

Clumsy - Fergie

Party People - Nelly ft. Fergie

Promiscuous - Nelly Furtado ft. Timberland

Shut Up - Black Eyed Peas

Where's the Love - Black Eyed Peas

Pump It - Black Eyed Peas

Boom Boom Pow - Black Eyed Peas

Meet Me Halfway - Black Eyed Peas

Don't Phunk With My Heart - lol guess

Numb - Linkin Park

In the End - Linkin Park

Wake Me Up Inside - Evanescence

Sweet Sacrifice - Evanescence

Call Me When You're Sober - Evanescence

Going Under - Evanescence

Pressure - Paramore

Decode - Paramore (don't judge me)

Misery Business - Paramore

Emergency - Paramore

Sugar We're Going Down - FoB

Thnks fr th Mmrs - FoB

I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic!at the Disco

Nine in the Afternoon - Panic!at the Disco

Helena - My Chemical Romance

Welcome to the Black Parade - My Chemical Romance

Miss Murder - AFI

Hold- Gyptian

No Letting Go - Wayne Wonder

Hate That I Love You - Rihanna ft. Neyo

So Sick - Neyo

I could literally go on forever but I won't torture you like that

P.S.

ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ⁱᵍⁿᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵉʳᵍⁱᵉ ⁱˢ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵈᵒᵐⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˡⁱˢᵗ.

"Songs I grew up on" challenge!

Tagging @what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil @indescribablybre @tyrils-star @kingliamsbitch @jaxsmutsuo @hi-im-a-salty-human-being and uh, any of my followers looking for some nostalgia!

A 2004 baby's playlist:

Rocketeer by Far East Movement

Down by Jay Sean

Hot n Cold by Katy Perry

Barbie Girl by aqua

Caramelldansen by Caramella Girls

Just Dance by Lady Gaga

Who let the Dogs out by Baha Men

Dynamite by Taio Cruz

Peanut Butter Jelly Time by Buckwheat Boyz

Party in the U.S.A by Miley Cyrus

tik tok by ke$ha (haha, kinda ironic now)

Replay by Iyaz

Locked out of Heaven by Bruno Mars

Hey Ya! by OutKast

Trouble by Taylor Swift

Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO

Girl on Fire by Alicia Keys

Crazy in Love by Beyonce

Honorable Mentions

The Reese's Puffs commercial rap (YES it counts.)

The Party Starts Now by DJ Cadence (Club Penguin, shutup it was a BOP--)

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss: O for the short-notice Convocations!

For some reason, no doubt, Huckleberry Hound and myself, closest of most unlikely buddies, have a fetish for coming up with ideas for what could be called Hanna-Barbera Convocations, featuring reunions of our Funsensically Funtastic brethren such as have graced your vidiot's lamps of Diogenes all this time. Preferably called on shortest possible notice, usually only a week prior; the element of surprise, you know.

And who among my fellow flicktoon comrades-in-arms could resist the very prospect of such an unlikely convocation in such venues as the most recent one, at the Minneapolis Aquatennial even? Such can get to be rather interesting excuses to come up with Convocation timing ... and to imagine the whole having started on a whim recalling the Truth or Consequences Fiesta down New Mexico way, back when a certain Ralph Edwards would bring over celebrities to the restyled hot-spring resort for a weekend's celebration; after all, it was Ralph Edwards who made possible the name change from Hot Springs to Truth or Consequences, after his radio, and later TV, game-show invention.

And wasn't it a wonderful conclave, a celebration even? No doubt the parade, on Saturday morning even, was a rather memorable one indeed--in fact, who can still recall the Cattanooga Cats' take on Ray Stevens' take on "Misty", and how the crowds were won over? Or the Skatebirds doing their hilarious skate-driven take on the Burly-Q standard "Night Train" which had the crowds laughing? Or the sheer humility of the Hair Bear Bunch in walkabout, posing for selfies galore? But there's plenty more, too numerous to mention....

Somehow, folks, the Aquatennial thing just came to Huck and I on a whim, in a phone call during the just-completed run with Crazy Claws of the South pushing Wisconsin Dells, I will have you know ... and while Aquatennial may be just four days now, be assured that a great time was had by all. No less by yours truly, whether it was walking around the Minneapolis Farmer's Market in the early morning hours, or having waffles and SPAM at the SPAM Breakfast Buffet, or even in walkabout in downtoen Minneapolis, where all things Aquatennial seem now to be concentrate ... what more could this cat ask for? (One especially memorable memory: At the Midnight Turkey Dinner on the very cusp of Aquatennial, Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy "themselves" were awe-struck at sensing my presence, and over roasted breast of Minnesota turkey, no less, we had quite the talk of old times, and of such hilarity as we had together, or so it seemed.)

Still, many ideas galore as to where we might head next for another of these confabs, these pow-wows, these sachems even ... but then again, I assume many of us will be at no less than the legendary Minnesota State Fair in their own right, yours truly included.  

[latenightcinephile]

#769: ‘The Great Escape’, dir. John Sturges, 1963.

Sturges’ film is a strange combination of faithful historical accuracy and some invention made up of thin air. That is to say that The Great Escape recreates in precise detail many parts of the prisoner of war camp from which the protagonists conduct their escape attempt, and yet many of the protagonists themselves are merged or, in the case of Steve McQueen’s character Virgil Hilts, are made up entirely. The real escape from Stalag Luft III had no Americans, no motorcycle jumps and about 150 more Canadians than the film depicts. In this respect, The Great Escape is the ideal for all films based on true events, in that the things that are unbelievable turn out to be mostly true, and the things that feel like they’re the most plausible (the plucky American ringleader) are invented. I was somehow surprised and not surprised at the same time to learn that the motorcycle jump was included at the behest of McQueen himself.

Despite this blend of fact and fiction, the film is actually quite enjoyable, even if its pacing is glacially slow at times. The tension in the second half, following the escape, is palpable, especially when our escapees move through a crowded train station towards an exit where identities are being checked. The chase scenes in this second half are done well, and give the sense of being hemmed in by European architecture.

Much of the power in this part of the film, though, comes from the actors’ performances in the scenes leading up to the escape. Even though we spend very little time with those who make up this ensemble cast, with the exception of McQueen and James Garner (as Robert Hendley), each of these actors brings enough minor detail that we get a sense of the lived life happening in the space beyond the film. Robert Desmond as the ‘tailor’ fills his performance with so much fussy precision about the type of counterfeit uniforms he is manufacturing that when we see the finished products later on, we’re drawn to inspect them ourselves, seeing details that can’t even be made out on the screen. By far the best at this is Donald Pleasance, the ‘forger’ Colin Blythe. Blythe’s eyesight deteriorates rapidly due to his work forging documents, and he attempts to bluff his way through the rest of the escape, going so far as to plant a pin on the floor and memorise where it is, so he can feign to see it from a distance. These little moments humanise the character in a way that makes it truly disappointing to see his escape thwarted, whereas when we watch the recapture of Hilts, he doesn’t seem to have any particular feeling about this event. McQueen’s performance isn’t bad, but he’s not given much beyond gritty determination to work with.

At this juncture, I want to look at Anthony Lane’s brief review of the film in the New Yorker in 2008. I think there’s a sentence here that indicates the major issue I had with the film, and why the stakes felt so low for a film where the antagonists are willing to shoot on sight. Lane observes that Sturges excised many of the more unpleasant features of the real event - the reprisals and violence and the unpleasant conditions of the stalag. “Still, how happy most of them seem,” Lane writes, justifying the Technicolor joyfulness by appealing to audience desires, much as the inclusion of an American protagonist was designed to do. “This is a Boys’ Own Tale, and, as boys, we wanted it, cleansed of horrors, for ourselves.”

The Great Escape is a film where a prisoner is shot while climbing a barbed-wire fence, and yet he lolls peaceably from the barbs until he is dragged down. Indeed, life in the stalag moves on almost as if he had never been there. Generally speaking, these characters do not respond to barbed-wire fences as many of us should. This is not the expected expression of a man who just rode a motorcycle into coils of the stuff:

“Whee! Again!”

The disinfected nature of the film that Lane refers to lowers the stakes of the escape and, if this film has anything approaching a fatal flaw, it’s that. Given how nice the camp seems to be; how well-fed the prisoners are and how easy it is to acquire items from outside, even when it’s abundantly apparent that giving POW camp prisoners a camera is probably not an innocent idea; how vibrant the colours in the film are; the escape sometimes seems like a good-hearted lark, like sneaking out after bedtime. By all accounts, the camp wasn’t a bad place to live as far as stalags went. But Sturges’ film goes to the extreme with this, and it made me wonder why the protagonists were so desperate to escape into an uncertain Europe. The war, rationally, couldn’t have gone on forever. If I could get a camera and all the jam I wanted and have Independence Day parades, I’d probably have stayed put just to see how long the good times lasted. Hilts’ recapture at the end of the film doesn’t seem to upset him, and he seems rather cheered by the stalag being much the same as how he left it. Perhaps he genuinely just wanted to see if escape was possible. In any event, he was one of the lucky ones - for fifty of the real-life escapees, it turned out there was more riding on their escape than there was for a fictional American.

[girlhoods]

milky berry thru to cinema doll

Milky Berry: What do you like most about Summer?

omg o wow following the pow wow trail w my family and watching everyone dance and seeing all the regalia and jus o wow ALSO the thunderstorms when it gets to fricken downpour and i wish i could b mad when my power goes out sometimes but i truly do NAWT care i jus love them………….

Happy Garden: What types of things would you plant in a garden?

a whole lot of lilies and roses and also some avacado for @cuntyrpt xx

Magical Étoile:  Favourite attraction at a carnival?

the horse races and the demolition derby herldkfjg

Toy Parade: What toys did you play with as a child?

a whole lot of barbies omg………… one time i made an entire barbie carnival in my basement bcos my house is a piece of shit and don’t got walls and got cement floors so i deadass used chalk to draw a parking lot and used a skipping rope and tied it across 2 poles and deadass jus made all these rides and stuff o wow

Holy Lantern: Describe the darker side to your personality.

how bout a big fat hell NOPE

Melody Doll: What types of music do you listen to?

deadass anything and everything #kween of music diversity xx

Wonder Party: Favourite type of tea?

honestly jus plain green tea :P

Glass Bottle of Tears: What, without fail, makes you cry?

omg the documentary we were children ;(

Cinema Doll: What makes a movie really enjoyable for you?

i fricken love alien movies idc if the acting/plot is SHIT i’ll watch anything 2 do w aliens i’m deadass watching dark skies rn herlsdjfg