#his line “its not my main concern. it's just a sub-concern”

[hintsofhoney]

His Favorite Meal

Pairing(s): Rhysand x F!Reader

Summary: Rhysand hears your dirty thoughts while you're at dinner with your friends. It goes as expected.

Square(s) Filled: free space for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Tags: 18+, smutty smut smut, oral sex (female receiving), light dom/sub dynamics, use of magic, p in v, unprotected sex, light spanking

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hi, I just finished A Court of Mist and Fury and this is my new hyperfixation now. Funnily enough, I wrote this before I got to any kinds of sex scenes between Rhys and Feyre, and when I did finally get to Chapter 55, I was impressed with myself for how close to canon I wrote this 🤣 Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

MAIN MASTERLIST

You can’t stop thinking about him, not for lack of trying.

Rhysand and his stupid dark hair and violet eyes and the way the word darling rolls off his tongue and makes your thighs clench. 

You would even let him take you here and now, if it meant that the thoughts of him would subside.

He raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, Mor and Az and Cassian too caught up in their own conversation to notice. 

Really? Right on this table? With everyone watching? he sends down the bond. 

You shoot him a cold glare. Get out of my head.

If you didn’t want me in it, Y/N, darling, I wouldn’t be.

He isn’t wrong. You both know it.

I can make them leave, if the table is truly where you’d like me to fuck you. Personally, I find the bed —

Shut up, and eat your dinner . If you had said it outloud, it would have been through gritted teeth.

Rhys cocks his head to the side, briefly taken aback by your bite, and then smiles. Careful, darling , you hear in your head, if I have to take you over my knee, I won’t be asking anyone to leave first.

You squeeze your thighs together at the threat, the heat building between them becoming uncomfortable. You’re desperate. You need him.

That bad, hm? he asks.

You watch as he takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving yours.

Say the word and they’re gone, or continue to torture yourself. Up to you.

The prick wanted you to ask for it. Beg for it. As if your thoughts hadn’t been enough.

That “prick” will not hesitate to punish you in front of our friends. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing. 

Please, Rhys , you give in. 

He smirks, taking another sip from his glass. Please, what?

You swallow your pride. Not that there’s much left of it. Please fuck me.

Please fuck you, where?

This ass— 

His eyebrows raise — your final warning — and it stops your thought dead in its tracks. You take a deep breath. 

Please fuck me on the table, Rhys.

He grins. All you had to do was ask.

You put your shield up for a brief second so you can mentally roll your eyes in peace. When it comes down, Az, Cassian, and Mor are getting up from their seats.

“We eat here,” Cassian reminds the both of you as he stands.

Rhys is looking at you with hungry eyes as he replies, “Who says I won’t be eating?”

“Eugh!” Mor groans, making her way towards the exit. “At least wait until I’m out of earshot.”

Cassian snorts before following her out, Azriel having been the first to leave. 

And now it’s just you and Rhys and the table between you.

You blink, and suddenly his face is inches from yours, leaning over you with his hands resting on your thighs as he smirks at your shaky breaths. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He places a curled pointer finger underneath your chin, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, letting out a low chuckle at how your mouth begins to open ever so slightly.

He leans in, his lips meeting yours with a gentleness that doesn’t quite match the lust in his eyes, and you know you’re in for a long night. It could be hours before you were going to feel the release you had been begging him for.

“As far as I’m concerned, I shouldn’t let you cum at all, considering the names I’ve been called,” he murmurs, as he kisses your way up your jaw line, down your neck. 

You whimper at the notion, at the thought of being left reeling, wanting, on the table. Right now, you can’t imagine anything worse. 

“That’s very dramatic,” he whispers, his voice lined with a teasing smile. You watch him drop to his knees in front of you, slowly pushing your long gown up to your thighs. “But if you truly cannot imagine anything worse, then I suppose I’ll give you what you want, my darling girl.” 

You tense at his words, at the way he grabs ahold of your leg and places it over his shoulder, at the way he licks his lips, as if he’s about to dig into his favorite meal. 

He stops. “Of course, I had forgotten,” he says, and there’s a flash of darkness before you find yourself lying on the table, with Rhys kneeling at the end of it. His hands are gripping the underside of your thighs, pushing them upwards and outwards. In one fell swoop, he rips off the black lace covering your core, baring you to him. “I eat my meals at the table.” 

You let your head fall onto the hard surface underneath you. Fuck .

“Oh, I plan to,” he replies, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh. “But I’m going to have my fun first.”

You swear his tongue has magic of its own with the way it moves between your folds, pulling short breaths from your lungs as he circles it around your clit, never staying in one spot long enough to grant you the release that you so badly crave. When he adds two fingers, your back arches off the table, and you whimper as you feel his magic pinning you down in response. 

“ Please , Rhys,” you practically sob, your thighs quaking as you try to remain still, trying to keep your orgasm at bay. 

“You’re not going to cum already, are you, darling?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question you can say ‘yes’ to. You know you’re his . You won’t cum until he tells you to. 

He chuckles at your thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises, his fingers curling inside you at just the right spot, and the combination of the two almost sends you over the edge. Almost. Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. You find yourself on the precipice of release too many times to count, having to take deep breaths to keep yourself grounded. Eventually, you accept this new tortured existence.

Very dramatic , Rhys teases.

You yelp as he stops his ministrations and pulls out of you too abruptly for your liking, standing up before pulling you to the edge of the table and flipping you over by your hips, your bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. It only takes seconds before he’s dragging his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you even further. You wiggle your ass — a silent plea — and he spanks it in return — an audible warning to be still that echoes through the dining hall. 

“Ow!” you whine, forcing your body to comply with his demand. 

Another smack, on the other cheek this time.

“Rhys!”

“Do I need to gag you? Or are you going to quit your whining?” 

Another hit, harder than the others. A test. You remain silent and still.

“Although I must admit… I do love watching your ass change colors.” You brace yourself for another hit that never comes. Instead, you get no warning as Rhys thrusts into you in one swift motion. “But I’ll save it for the next time you feel like mouthing off.”

You grip the edges of the table as he pounds into you, his hand coming to wrap around your shoulder for leverage, his cock filling you up, hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. Your moans are unsteady and never-ending, only interrupted by the expletives falling from your lips.

“Oh m-my —  fuck — Rhys!”

He smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you up off of the table, your back flush with his muscled, tattooed chest. You start to wonder when his shirt came off before you realize that his hands are holding your bare breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Magic has a number of uses — making clothes vanish off bodies being one of them. 

He continues to thrust into you as one of his hands makes its way down to your core, swollen and throbbing. When his skillful fingers find your clit, you throw your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you chant. You’re unsure of how much longer you can take it. Five agonizing seconds pass — then ten — and then —

“Go ahead, darling, I’m right behind you,” he orders, and you practically scream as your orgasm washes over you, as you feel his cock twitch inside you, filling you up. “Fuuuuck,” he rasps, his hands holding onto your hips now as you fall forward onto the table from exhaustion, letting the cold surface cool your skin. 

Moments later, Rhys collapses on top of you, holding himself up by his forearms, caging you in between them. He’s still inside you as he trails soft kisses from one shoulder blade to the other.

I love you , he sends down the bond, still catching his breath.

A tired smile creeps onto your lips. I love you, too.

[familyabolisher]

hi! im new to theory, as in (imo) hard, non-fiction books. when reading some, i realise I lose track of the points inside the book, so recently I have been (attempting) to make notes. however, im a complete amateur, and I don't know exactly how to. back in school, i used to just skim these type of books finding whatever was 'useful' ie. relevant to my assignment/essay/class discussion and would simply dismiss the rest. i dunno if it's just me but I feel like these books are overwhelmingly packed with information - and useful information at that! do you have any tips to organise points mentioned in these books without getting bogged down on details/focus shifting on one line of thinking? if not, it's completely fine. love your blog, and have a great day!

hey! i actually think the best thing you can do is to keep taking notes as you go, because in my experience that's the best way to keep track of information and the best way to identify discrepancies in the text. obviously this can make reading nonfiction a bit of a slog, but ime it's a lot better to have a thorough critical position on a handful of texts than to have skim-read and half-absorbed a lot of them; if you're reading in around the same subject area, it's also pretty likely that you'll gain greater familiarity with texts/scholars/arguments/points of reference over time, such that you won't need to keep writing down Every Little Thing.

i find that the best way to take notes is to identify the key argument(s) in a particular section and to break down the evidence being used to substantiate those arguments. so my notes often look something like:

[ARGUMENT]

sub-argument/supporting evidence

sub-argument/supporting evidence

sub-argument/supporting evidence

and so on. kind of like trying to reverse-engineer the essay/chapter plan that the author was working with.

imo, if you're just looking to get the gist of an argument, it's actually fine to just read the introduction and conclusion to a text. obviously this is not always the case, and if you're looking to seriously posit a position on one particular text then you ought to read the whole thing, but there's a lot of theoretical work which tends to set out the significant points of its argument(s) in the intro + conclusion and use the main body of text for detailing examples + evidence. in my experience, the best subject to get away with this in is lit theory - a lot of the central body of lit theory will be detailing application of the theoretical framework laid out at the start, which, whilst obviously helpful (in the same way that all explanatory/evidentiary content is obviously helpful), probably won't do much for you beyond giving you a greater sense of how applicable the theoretical framework in question actually is.

another way to make the process a little easier + more engaging for you could be to think about the sorts of questions you want to ask about the text in question. some of those could be:

what are my expectations for this text? what do i already know about this subject matter & the scholarship surrounding it, and how might i expect this text to respond to that?

what key things do i think a text of this nature must identify in order for me to consider it credible?

what am i looking to get out of this text? what am i interested in? what am i hoping it might clarify?

i think approaching nonfiction with a significant sense of a) what you might expect it to argue (and of course, a willingness to be proven wrong) and b) what you want to get out of it can be helpful in identifying which parts of it you want to prioritise. imo, it's better to think of nonfiction/theory texts as something you are engaging with to the ends of formulating a critical response, rather than a wall of information that you have to take in. hopefully this kind of approach lets you circumvent that concern about focus shifting - it still requires that you look at and think about everything, but the way in which you think about it & the material you deem helpful in articulating the response to the text ought to change a little.

i completely feel you though lol i find it incredibly difficult to keep track of information + arguments if i don't write it all down and i still don't 100% trust my opinions on nonfiction texts after the fact if i don't think i was thorough enough with my reading. i tried to read a physical copy of g. aloysius' nationalism without a nation in india the other month & whilst it was clearly so helpful & so thorough, i had to give up because i couldn't find a pdf online and i can't really take notes from physical copies. it's annoying but, like. it works!

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively ~ Education

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: the taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Devotion

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Steve and Belle had a wonderful honeymoon, visiting England, France and Italy for their honeymoon.  Steve made sure that Belle saw everything she wanted.  Belle made sure to keep Steve satisfied every night and morning.  They woke to each other’s touches and kisses, lazy sex in the mornings, passionate love in the evenings.  As they laid together the morning before their return home, Steve played with her fingers as they drew circles on his bare chest, the sheet covering his lower half.  “Ready to go home?” 

“No,” Belle replied from her position on her side, the sheet covering her chest but her bare legs out.  “Dunno how to be a wife so I’m a little nervous.”  

“Kinda glad you don’t, seeing how I’m your first for everything.” He picked up her fingers to kiss each pad.  

“Hmm, well Mr. Rogers, you don’t know anything about being a husband, so I think for the first time we are on the same playing field.”  

Steve chuckled.  “I guess you’re right.  So, tell me, what do you want to do?” 

Belle looked at him thoughtfully, “would it be wrong that I don’t want to go back to the school?” 

Steve looked shocked but then concerned.  “Why?  Is there a problem?” 

“No, its just.  It’s not my passion, amore. I don’t love it.”  

Steve understood that. When the shield lost it shine, so to speak, he moved on.  “So, what would you like to do?”  

“For now, learn to be a CEO’s wife.  Pepper and Natasha have informed me that there are a lot of things to learn, and I want to take the time to learn it before I do what I really want to do.”  

Steve was curious.  “I mean, sweet pea, you don’t have to stop your career to do that”.  

“I know but, Steve, you are an important person and I want to be helpful in that. When we settle, then I want…��� she hesitated.  

“Want what my love?  You can tell me.”  

“I want to see about opening a restaurant. A little café where I can cook and stuff.”  She bit her lip and looked away.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” Steve moved to cage her in. “I remember when you said it was your dream.” He began to kiss her neck and jawline, pulling the sheet away.  “I think I could help with that,” he whispered in her ear as he reached down to let a finger slide in her folds.  She mewled and her hips floated up. “Help with finding you a place.” He kissed lower on her chest. “Taste test. Marketing.” He tugged on one of her nipples. “I think it’s a great idea.” 

“Stevie, please.”  

“Are you distracted princess?  Tell me what you need. Because I love your idea.” He sank a finger in, and she moaned as he moved.  “I think it’s perfect.”  

“Sir, please!  Please!” 

“Please what, Isabella.”  

She looked up at her husband with big eyes.  She leaned up to him.  “I need you to fuck me as hard as you can, my king,” she whispered.  

Steve smirked.  “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my wife.”  He took away his hand and sat on his haunches.  He stroked his cock a few times with the hand covered in her juices. He then lifted her legs to be around his waist as he lined himself to her and pushed in to the hilt.  Belle moaned loudly, and Steve rutted into her slowly but deeply, hitting her spot with every stroke.  Belle grasped his forearms as she tried to ground herself from the intense pleasure. “Feel what you do to me love?” 

“God, yes, it feels so good.”  

Steve slowly dragged his cock in and out, loving how Belle felt around him. “So tight and warm.  My perfect little wife. My princess.”  He thrusted harder. “My queen.”  

“Stevie,” she moaned, getting close to releasing, knowing he wanted her to hang on.  “I can’t.”  

“Yes, you can my love.” He could feel her throbbing around him. He changed the angle of his body, grasping her hands in his, pinning them beside her head. “I love you. Hold on for me.”  

He watches a tear slide, the pure lust in her eye. “I can’t.  Need to… please my king, please.”  

Steve couldn’t stand it any longer. He rolled over, never leaving Belle, placing her on top of him.  “Let go Mrs. Rogers. Let go all over me. Let me feel you,” he grunted as he moved her hips.  

She finally reached the peak and cried out as she followed orders, releasing the most amazing orgasm of her life.  She fell forward as her body went limp and Steve cradled her as he continues to push up, finding his own end and slowing.  He held her close as her breathing calmed, pressing soft kisses to her head.  “I love you Mrs. Rogers.”  

He felt her smile against his neck.  “And I love you, Mr. Rogers,” she whispered, pressing her own kiss into his neck.  

New York in the Spring is supposed to be a magical time in the city.  Still cool enough to wear a coat but warm enough to enjoy fashion week at Bryant Park.  Which is exactly where Belle found herself, mere weeks after she arrived back from her honeymoon.  Having been introduced to other wives of the elite, a couple of them dragged her to this parade of clothes and lunch for the last couple of days. She sighed quietly, bored out of her mind.  

“That gown is simply stunning,” a woman with white hair and immaculate makeup stated as she sat front row next to Belle.  She looked over at Belle.  “You are new to the scene, correct?” 

“Yes, I suppose I am. Isabella Da-err Rogers.”  

“Ah yes, the new wife of Steve Rogers. My, my, your photos do not do you justice, my dear.”  

“Oh,” Belle blushed looking down.  “Thank you.”  

The woman inspected her. “Mrs. Miranda Presley,” she offered with her hand.  “Editor-in-Chief, Runway.”  

“I love Runway,” Belle replied. “Your wedding issue is where I saw my dress originally before I went to Klinefeld’s.  Been reading it for years, although I don’t feel like I have the look for some of the clothes.”  

Miranda glanced at her.  She noted that she was dressed in an Alexander McQueen dress and Manalo boots, a simple yet complimentary Yves Saint Laurent coat around her. “Darling, you have good taste. What is it you are looking for?” 

“Just someone to help with my styling.  Steve insists that I hire a stylist since I’ve been taking on more serious interest in my husband’s work and associates.”  

“Ah, a CEO’s wife.  Yes, well, here,” she handed Belle a business card.  “Call my office and have them arrange an appointment.  I have some names and I could run them by with Nigel, my fashion editor and make sure they are a right fit for you.”  She grasped her chin to turn her face.  “You have exquisite skin and with that eye color, well, you are stunning.”  

Belle blushed at the compliment.  Miranda Presley was not known for her kindness, and she understood that Miranda just wanted to be on the good side of one of the most powerful CEOs in the world.  “Thank you, Mrs. Presley.  I will be in touch.”  

“You don’t have an assistant?”  

“No, not yet. On the list of things to do.”  Belle offered a weak smile.  

“Hmm, well… Emily!”  A young woman standing in the back rushed forward.  “Make a note of available interns that Mrs. Rogers can use.”   

“Oh no, Mrs. Presley…” she was cut off with a look.  

The assistant merely nodded.  “Of course, Miranda.”  She walked away quickly.  

“You will learn, Mrs. Rogers, that whenever someone powerful does a favor, you accept without question.  Just like if I needed something from you.”  The show ended and they clapped as the designer made his way out.  “Pleasure to meet you.”  She rose and walked away with her team following her.  

“Ohmigod, was the Miranda Presley?” Chloe Barber asked. “You are so lucky!” 

“I guess so.”  

“You guess so?” Brandy Levinson snorted.  “Girl, she never speaks to anyone, ever. You have been anointed.”  

Belle held the role of her eyes and just smiled.  “Lunch? Right?” 

“Oh of course.” The girls were leading her out as another called out for her.  “Belle!” 

Belle groaned internally at the sound of the voice.  She rearranged her face into a smile.  “Ms. Carter, what a nice surprise.”  

“Same. But please call me Sharon.”  The blonde flicked her hair over her shoulder and gave a tiny wave to Clint, who had been waiting by the door.  

Belle really rolled her eyes at the gesture but then sweetly talked to her lunch companions.  “Would you ladies mind if I met you at the restaurant?”  

“Of course,” they both nodded quickly and gave air kisses to Belle.  As they left, Belle waited until they were out of earshot before turning back to Sharon.  

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” she said sarcastically.  She caught Clint with the corner of her eye, watching her.  

“Just wanted to know how you were doing, being married and all.  I mean, you did weasel your way into Steve’s life.” She took a sip of the champagne she was holding.  

“I did not weasel my way into anything.  Steve pursued me. I’m sure you don’t know what that feels like.” Belle narrowed her eyes. “From what he has told me, he used you to get where he wanted and then left you as soon as he was done with you.” She smirked at the blonde as her face twisted in anger.  

“Why you little…” Sharon reared her hand back.  

“Ah ah, careful Sharon, we are still amongst the public.” Belle laughed bitterly.  “Now if you’ll excuse me.”  She moved to leave.  Sharon clawed her hand on her arm to stop her.  

“You think you are so special.  Princess to the king.  Listen here, princess, you are nothing special.  Just the orphan of a group of people who no longer exist.”  

“I honestly have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.  Let me go.”  

Sharon smiled sadistically.  She studied Belle’s face.  “You really have no idea, don’t you?  No idea why you were almost taken, why your security was upped.  Why Steve left you for so long?” 

“How… how do you know about that?” 

“I know everything Mrs. Rogers. You should probably speak to your husband about things.  Why your parents were murdered. How your father died.  They are coming for you." She pulled Belle closer.  

“Hail HYDRA.”  

She let Belle go and walked away swiftly.  Clint saw the distress on Belle’s face and rushed over.  

“Belle?  Belle?” 

“Did you know?” she whispered.  

“Know what?” 

“Sharon.  Did you know she was here?” 

“No, I didn’t.  What did she say?” 

“She said to talk to Steve.  That not everything is as it seems.”  Belle looked at him.  “Where is he?” 

“He’s in his office.”  

“I want to see him.  Now.”  

Clint ushered her to the car.  As he drove, Belle got lost in her thoughts.  She knew her parents had been killed in a car accident but were they really murdered?  And her dad, how did he really die.  She had no idea.  How could she, Isabella Davis-Rogers, be the heir to anything when she had no family bar Steve and Bucky.  

“Belle? We’re here.”  

“Thanks Clint.”  She exited the car and went up to her husband’s office.  The elevator ride up felt like ages as she went up.  Questions kept adding up into her head. What didn’t she know?  What didn’t she understand?  The elevators signaled her arrival to Steve’s floor and Devon greeted her. 

“Hi Mrs. Rogers.  Did you need anything?”  

“I just wanted a word with him.  Is he busy?” 

“He’s with Mr. Barnes, Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Romanoff-Wilson.”  

“Perfect.  Can you ask him for just a moment of his time?” 

“Of course.  Would you like me to take your coat?” 

“No, its ok.”  Devon nodded as she entered the office.  She returned a moment later to beckon her inside.  She walked in to see her husband and their friends seated at his conference table.  “Hi.”  

“Hi sweet pea.” Steve went to kiss his wife.  She didn’t reciprocate and he frowned.  “Is everything alright?” 

“No, everything is not alright.”  She squared her shoulders.  “What does Sharon Carter know about me and my past that I don’t seem to know?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Why does Sharon think that I was kidnapped for a reason?  Why does she think I don’t know how my father died?  And why, she took a deep breath, is she saying Hail HYDRA to me?” 

“What? “Bucky breathed out.  

Belle took in all of their faces.  Now she was angry.  

“What don’t I know?” 

A/N: I'm sorry...

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

[p-receh]

Boboiboy Gentar!

...

...

Truthfully, I have a love and hate relationship with this arc. Mostly because this might be the last encounter of Adu Du and Probe on this universe? I'm gonna miss my beloved villain duo so much...

(ah... Another parallel with Sonic movie 3. Wtf Paramount and Monsta? Why you made my heart shattered back to back?😭😭)

But at the same time, Gentar arc is my least favorite arc of the season 2.

That's why I'm honestly not that hype during the show run. I just have to wait until all episodes are released. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait that long since this arc has four episodes. It's fitting for its short stories as well. No surprise there.

But what surprises me is that Monsta still manages to insert a sub-plot to bridge the gap between Gentar and Baraju's arc.

The show's newest strategy is to show off Gentar to the audience even before the arc was released. And you can see it from the pr tactics as well like this post I wrote before.

And it worked.

Essentially Gentar is the only fusion who's introduced earlier than the rest of the elemental and particularly also the first one who has a distinct personality from the rest of everyone else.

And that's my line over there.

Before anyone jumps to any conclusion, give me a minute to expand my reasons for this.

One of my biggest concerns in season 2 is how much Monsta wants to give a new power to a single character alone? At this rate, they might as well create new characters rather than pushing the existing characters to their limit.

I already wrote this topic before in my season 2 review and I honestly thought before reading Gentar, my view of fusion is:

1. It's an alternative way to use rather than straight-up to his unstable 3rd, and-

2. It's always used as an emergency technique.

But then Gentar comes in and twists anything I learned from him. He unexpectedly jumped in and turned the table all around with his traits and stuff.

But do I hate Gentar as an individual?

Of course not! >:(

I've said this before how much the resemblance between him and Chai from video game Hi-Fi Rush(link). And I love his magnetic mech power! His design and overall, also one of my fav MYS VA, Nur Fathiah Diaz, is slaying as Gentar (GO QUEEN!)

But if you guys like fusion characters, more power to you! Even though fusion characters aren't my cup of tea, I still love to read fanfics and fanarts.

We good? Alright, enough intro let's just jump straight to the main menu.

As always I will have a separate impression per episode. I put the list here and it will be updated after I finish uploading it.

Ep 1

Ep 2

Ep 3

Ep 4

[blackjackkent]

The building the fisherman sent us to is a large warehouse sitting right on the edge of the water.

Hm.

This oil-vs-blood thing is very strange. I'm still sticking with my theory that there's some fucked up Steel Watcher going around murdering people, but I don't think it's actually correct.

The warehouse is called Flymm Cargo, and its door is locked. Unlocking it reveals a bunch of dead goblins and some very, very angry worgs.

Not pictured, a number of local refugees who panicked when the fight started, which is super reasonable, and ran straight INTO the building and disappeared, which is not.

Not a terribly difficult fight. The worgs were named Gristle, Snarrrl, Rrrripper, Snapp, and Cuddleface(!), and stayed mostly grouped up so Minsc's AOE throw with Nyrulna did a lot of work. Also tried having him throw Boo into the fray for the first time; I'm not positive it had any tactical benefit but it was quite satisfying to see Boo squeaking his way through the air and slamming into an enemy.

Minsc also shouted "Buttkicking for goodness!" which brought my heart a lot of joy.

The combination of Hector, Karlach, and Minsc really makes for a juggernaut team comp (with Jaheira often alongside as a panther bc I am being a disappointment to Zen's guidance and making her go murder kitty all the time even though it's not optimal). XD

The warehouse seems to be otherwise abandoned except for the aforementioned dead goblins, who I assume owned the worgs. Hector was able to perceive a trapdoor under some cargo containers which seems to be the only likely path forward.

This at first led to what seemed like a fairly nondescript basement until I realized that it is lined with what appear to be prison cells. O.o Not sure what Flymm Cargo is hauling but it seems maybe a smidge concerning.

Thankfully there don't seem to be any people in any of the cells. (Or anything for that matter, except for one propaganda pamphlet about Gortash's new regime.) One small mystery solved, though - I now know where that "A Greasy, Smelly Climb Up..." area transition in the sewers would have led to:

Lovely. Thankfully we don't have to go that way; there's one other main door out of this area.

Hm. Machines that leak oil that looks like blood, perhaps?

Inside Machine Parts Storage we find:

Thieves' tools

Infernal iron (is there any point to carting this around anymore?)

Something called "G-Cube Lube"

Gross. Please tell me that's not what all the grease down in the sewers was.

Further on... I think we might have hit the jackpot.

...Is that a submarine? O.O

The area has one guard and is full of steaming pipes and cranking gears and seems very industrial compared to much of the city. There's a journal sitting on a desk in one corner:

Hm. First of all - Clockwork Escape Kayak is my new rock band name. Second - I'm assuming the "Cap" is the submarine, and I'm guessing to that it has something to do with the attack on Holli. What else around here would have made the sort of big wake that the fisherman was describing?

The journal is labeled "Redhammer's Journal" and the man by the sub is named "Redhammer the Deviser" so I'm guessing he's the man in charge.

"Oi, what's this? You ain't supposed to be down here, mate!"

Narrator: You spot a curious metal contraption - a submersible.

Hector has a few more intimidating/conflict-oriented dialogues here, but to start with he's just going to sate his own curiosity until the man tries to throw him out physically. "That submersible - why is it here? What is this place?"

"The only port in this whole bleedin' city that matters," the dwarf answers, unhelpfully. "Now why are you here? Did Gortash send you?"

As usual, Hector has no interest in lying, nor would he be much good at it. "You killed one of those servants of Umberlee," he says matter-of-factly. "Now they want you dead."

The dwarf raises an eyebrow - wary, but not afraid. "Oh yeah? And are you here to make good on that?"

Hector hesitates. Is he? Certainly he needs more information to know if he wants to kill this man in cold blood - his only true goals here are to impede Gortash's operation and to prevent any more innocent Umberlants from getting killed out in the water.

"I just want to know what happens in this port," he says firmly.

"Nothing without Lord Gortash's go-ahead," Redhammer says impatiently. "I transport whoever he needs taken to the Iron Throne. It's an underwater prison - most secure in the Realms. Lord Gortash keeps some Gondians there. Collateral to keep those working in the Steel Watch Foundry under control."

Hector's eyes widen. Oh, shit...

His brain starts working rapidly, parsing together a number of different facts all at once.

The Iron Throne - he knows from his own historical reading - is a name that goes back more than a century. Originally it belonged to a so-called merchant organization which orchestrated the iron crisis in Nashkel, a plan which was co-opted by the Bhaalspawn Sarevok in his attempted takeover of Baldur's Gate. How long has there been a prison named for it? Is it an official one, or a new one constructed under Gortash's leadership? Was the name a dark joke on Gortash's part? Or perhaps on Orin's?

And the Gondians...

He feels a flash of brutal vindication. He was right, and Wulbren was wrong. The Gondians are being coerced - their compatriots, or perhaps loved ones, being held imprisoned to secure their loyalty. To destroy the foundry wholesale would have been to kill trapped innocents.

And though he came here with the vague thought of assisting the Umberlants in their revenge, that thought has been replaced by another, far more important plan. Those prisoners need to be set free.

Not just because it is the right thing to do (though it is), but by doing so, they would destroy Gortash's leverage over the Gondians, and destroy the Foundry's support system. Having done that - it follows, theoretically at least - the Steel Watch will crumble, or at least be significantly weakened.

Hector feels a pulse of excitement starting to thud under his jaw - though his control holds, and none of it shows in his face. "You're going to take me to the Iron Throne," he says coolly. ""m getting the prisoners out."

The dwarf examines his impassive expression for a moment in silence, then shrugs. "I'll take you in," he agrees. Whether he is afraid of Hector's threat or simply doesn't give a shit is unclear; Hector supposes he'd take either. "But look-- there's some bad shit going down in there. You don't want to get involved. Neither did I, but it was them or me."

Hector opens his mouth to ask for clarification, but Redhammer turns away, shrugging him off. "I'll get Cap warmed up. Get in when you're ready."

-----

They all eye the little submersible rather warily as it starts to hum with power in the water.

"We are to go beneath the waves?" Minsc asks, some of his usual jovial humor missing from the question. "It is not that Minsc is afraid, you understand, but Boo does so very much dislike being wet..."

Hector smiles slightly. "I can't say I blame him, Minsc. On the bright side... this man is clearly as self-interested as they come, and therefore would likely not trust his own hide to that machine if it were not safe."

"The only true constant in the world," Jaheira murmurs dryly.

"Cheer up, Minsc," Karlach says with a grin from Hector's other side. She has been visibly excited to get a chance to talk to their new ranger companion whenever the opportunity presents, and this is no different; he can see the way her eyes are glowing with energy. "You heard what the dwarf said. It's an evil prison, and that means evil guards. You know what that means!"

Minsc brightens up at once and Boo, on his shoulder, gives a loud squeak. "You are right, my fiery friend! That is ever so many evil butts we may kick with both boots!"

[runawaycarouselhorse]

Have you done any watches of the pokemon arcs and talked about them? Someone I'm mutuals with discussed doing that for AG arc. I'm considering doing it for the DP arc since I still consider it my favorite arc in the franchise.

Aww, sorry, I was a child getting into fandom when AG was starting in Japan, social media was at its infancy too... i didn't even have a livejournal yet. I don't do full series rewatches either. But I am very fond of the Contest arc, Haruka/May and Masato/Max, the humour, and the warm and tropical colour palettes. I also adored the hoso specials (the Side Stories that got dubbed as Pokemon Chronicles, although the dubs for those were... infamously much worse than the TV series in script quality and accuracy), I used to downloa the specials and watch them in Japanese while slowly learning Japanese bit by bit because no subbing group took Pokemon seriously enough to sub it outside of banned episodes, specials, and movies...

It was a unique time, I think!

Rescue Ralts! Hurry, Masato!/Do I Hear a Ralts? remains one of the best episodes of the anime, period. The Wishing star of Seven Nights: Jirachi was my old favourite pokemon movie before Lucario!! I love that the dub kept KAORI's singing for May and part of Chiisaki Mono in Japanese.

AG is criminally underrated, despite introducing concepts popular in fandom, like Hadou/Aura. Satoshi apologizing to Lucario after seeing his memory of apparently being abandoned by Aaron was the turning point for me where I truly felt Satoshi mature as a person and become much kinder and more patient. He was so prone to fighting people, he was much more of a (pint-sized) hotblooded shounen protagonist before that, but I adore the all-loving hero he grew into. How he helped Hikozaru/Chimchar heal in DP, how patiently he dealt with both Shinji/Paul and Shootie/Trip being jerks to varying degrees compared to the way he was before (solution: run screaming and throw himself at whatever problem exists, fists flying), the growth I personally cared about was visible even in the first episode of BW! where he's annoyed or exasperated by what he encounters, but keeps his temper in check and just makes faces in disapproval, fff.

He can still, of course, fight those who deserve it, like Largo's bullies and Sauboh/Faba.

So, yeah, I loved AG! It also has one of the only battles to ever excite me (anyone who knows me, knows I HATE Pokemon battles, they make my eyes glaze over... it's just not interesting to me unless a fight has, like, swords or something—I really do watch Pokemon more for the cute friendship stories, ships*, and idealized humans living in harmony with nature and other non-human creatures setting)... it was Haruka VS Shuu in the kanto Grand Festival! I was literally on the edge of my seat. I loved seeing her surpass him and his little look of approval and smile before she went from concern to happily celebrating with Wakashamo/Combusken. They had a beautiful story arc going from him looking down on her (while gifting roses like he's harboring a secret crush, fff), to respecting her as an equal, even dropping the -kun honorific he used to use after her name, when he saw her as a kouhai/underclassman and himself as her senpai/upperclassman, and moved to calling her just "Haruka"... after she saved his life, I believe!

I feel like that was Pokemon's best written romance amongst th main characters, it didn't overtake her story arc, it added to it and she still had her goals outside of that, it only added to her growth and story. ^^ It was innocent and sweet.

I am convinced that "for Agehunto/Beautifly" line is how Satoshi saw through Kasumi/Misty's lie in the final series.

I also adore the episode were Haruka and Nyasu/Meowth go back in time and save a man's life and improve a whole town (?) by doing so. It was a fun, moving episode.

The dub harmed this a bit with music choices and voice acting, but from the look of things, people still found it quite emotional (I still vastly prefer the original, no contest!), so Arbok and Weezing's release episode. Interesting that poacher Ryo/Rico was one of the last criminals shown using a real world gun and modern day weapon... maybe also because it doesn't look familiar to a lot of people as a real firearm...

*I got into Pokemon and Sailor Moon via a Rocketshipping fanfic set in the Silver Millenium when I knew nothing of both series and was used to only reading Harry Potter fanfic as an 11 year old! The secret backstory, pffft. So I watched for TR. ^^

I used to review Best Wishes! episodes, the earliest reviews were on my livejournal ( http://inkedfeathers.livejournal.com ), later mini reviews were on my now deleted tumblr blogs, but some reblogs exist... some DP episodes too! BW! was my favourite.

[regarding-stories]

Hilarious, well-researched, dragging its feet: "My Dress-Up Darling"

When I picked this one off my watch list, I was a bit concerned. This was due to the vague synopsis Crunchyroll had provided - I couldn't tell whether this would be a romantic story or something of a fetish thing or what. Would it be overly dramatic, funny, light-hearted, no idea? Welp, no better way to know than diving in and finding out.

Wakana Gojou is a high-school first-year living with his grandfather, apprenticing with him to make hina dolls. He became deeply fascinated with the beauty of this work as a young boy and dedicates serious effort in learning the craft. An incident in his youth made him think that all the other children will think of him as weird for adoring dolls so much. He doesn't have any friends and spends lots of time honing his skills.

All of this changes when Marin Kitagawa comes into his life - a trendy beauty from his class. She finds out what he kept hidden so well from everybody else and her reaction is... pure delight! Because Marin wants to be a cosplayer and make her own costumes, but she lacks the skills, so she calls on Wakana to make her a costume to truly embody her favorite character.

(After this point I will drop spoilers, but I think all of that above was fair game because it's in episode 1.)

The lively and sociable Marin is of course the perfect counterpoint to the reclusive, devoted Wakana. She's bursting with so much genki and passion that she struggles with keeping the serious faces and poses needed for taking good cosplay in-character pictures because she's so damn happy about it. It's quite infectious.

The tongue is deep in the cheek

Wakana gets drawn into the cosplay world and begins to develop his own utter infatuation with it - with how to make a perfect outfit down to the smallest details, or how to do makeup. When he goes into creator mode, Marin becomes the canvas on which he projects art. At the same time he's also dealing with the fact that he's suddenly all the time involved with a lively, good-looking girl that isn't the least bit shy. It's a great setup.

One of the hilarious aspects of the story is the light it shines on many parts of otaku culture by being just a tad over the top with them. Her first outfit choice is based on a hypersexualized computer game named Saint ♡ Slippery's Academy for Girls - The Young Ladies of the Humiliation Club: Debauched Miracle Life 2, a game apparently featuring girls as BDSM subs just as a starting point. Adults overhearing the casual conversations the characters have about the game are deeply shocked, given that the intro scene features a character who can't stop ejaculating or a major plot arc in this "high school" game is the Spurts Festival.

Or take the light novel they draw a character from: It has a title spanning several lines, putting everything about the main plot/setup into the title. This shines a spotlight that even good Japanese works might have lousy or at least completely on-the-nose titles. (Seriously, even German movie titles have nothing on it!) After all, right now I'm reading the wonderful Higehiro: After Being Rejected, I Shaved and Took in a High School Runaway and have in the past talked about Cautious Hero: The Hero is Overpowered but Overly Cautious...

Where there is absolutely no tongue in-cheek is the absolutely wonderful depiction of the world of cosplay - the relation to the fans, the effort that goes into costumes, the growing industry behind it, the techniques and tricks, the resources, people who "crossplay" to a different gender... all is handled with great respect. I don't know much about cosplay, and I found this aspect of the anime and manga quite unique, and in many ways, educational.

It's actually a teenage love story?

Remember the title above this article? There's a reason why I said this show and manga drag their feet. I watched all of the wonderful season 1 and dove right into the manga after. And boy, is it indeed dragging its feet on the love story. And love it is!

Yes, Marin and Wakana become friends. Fast friends, people that spend lots and lots of time together. Marin is not in the least shy about her body around Wakana (we learn later that she also models as a part-time job)... until she realizes she has a crush on him. This is actually played funnily and wonderfully, and I find it very enjoyable.

This part of the story seems at least "on track" until the anime finishes, with things escalating in a love hotel that Marin booked as their "studio" backdrop mostly by accident. A rather believable series of events lead almost to a kiss as they are both dropped into a situation that gets all their hormones going, and yet it completely lacks the contrivance of "boys falling on girls" and similar anime tropes usually employed to bridge the physical distance. I loved it.

What I don't love is how season 1 leaves us hanging. I then read the next three translated manga volumes (all there is until July). And I'm getting annoyed that there hasn't been any development since. It's as if that incident didn't happen - almost. The story is back in the jail the author designed to prevent things from happening. I guess if the cat was out of the bag too soon, this would remove a lot of tension from it. But come on - Wakana is so utterly clueless, there would be plenty of things to put after a first kiss or a confession for these two to navigate.

But so far, nothing happened.

Fridge Logic that cools down the love story

You know what fridge logic is? It's those gaps in the logic behind a story that you notice only after you disengage with a medium - like on your way from the couch to the fridge after watching a movie. And boy, this show has its fair share!

The basic setup between Wakana and Marin is that he is shy, has been raised by his grandfather (and therefore might have outdated standards on what is "inappropriate"), he definitely was sheltered and had no link to youth culture, his age peers, or even events in his area (come on, he never went to the local fireworks festival!!). Marin may be all genki, lively, sexy, but we seem to catch her in the time of her life - remember first year of high school, I think it's mentioned she's 15 - before dating entered her life for real. But that's only part of the setup.

The trauma of feeling ostracized about his passion for dolls and doll-making - and it not being what a boy "should" do - and his lack of friends has left Wakana with low self-esteem. In spite of how he feels about Marin, he cannot imagine that she would want him. Whenever people mention that they look good together or assume he's her boyfriend or ask if they are dating - after all, they have an awesome energy together - he goes into denial mode. Because Wakana thinks it would bother Marin. He can't even see that she actually wants him to consider the possibility.

Both of them are not helping. Wakana's denials are taken quite literally by Marin who thinks Wakana might not reciprocate her feelings. Marin in turn tries to flirt with and tease Wakana, but she always escapes into "just kidding" the moment it has even a chance to get serious. (She cannot own the boldness or the tease she puts forth, which is actually quite adorable as well.) This locks both of them into a stalemate because neither of them can make a move - either not contemplate it or not pull through with it.

After having finished Volume 8 I have to say this has become frustrating. Because the fridge logic is so apparent! Yes, Wakana essentially has nobody to talk about this, but Marin has friends. Friends that know about Wakana. Friends with an increasingly good impression of Wakana. Friends who think they actually would make a cute couple! There's nobody trying to get in between them out of jealousy. Nobody trying to mislead them.

All it would take for this to move forward is for Marin to confess her crush on Wakana to a friend because she cannot keep it in anymore, and that friend would set her head straight and say: "I think you need to make the first move. Wakana is too shy. He probably cannot even imagine that you want him. Have you any idea how out of his reach you must seem?" And things would go from there. There's no way a 15 year old girl can not spill the beans on this to a friend. (As long as she has friends, mkay.)

Missed opportunities

The other disappointing thing is that the story never makes use of or make explicit the other possible hindrance. His low self-esteem hinders Wakana. So does his childhood trauma. But he never seems to speak these out loud so anybody can engage him on them. Marin never gets a chance to say "Hey, you're wrong." Nor does his grandfather.

Even worse, it never makes use of a potential dramatic setup that the show naturally created. Marin is Wakana's only real friend, the channel for his passion. Can he actually risk all of that for the potential to be more to her? It's never even addressed or spoken out loud that risking losing Marin might seem losing everything he loves in one go. Now that's a high bar to clear, but I didn't find a hint of this rather natural development in the manga.

He learns valuable lessons - that there are people who will not think less of him because of his passions. That it can actually be cool to be skilled when most teenagers have barely any actual skills or all trained to acquire the same ones. He learns to lean on others, to not burn himself out or take on too much - and I appreciate his growth arc in this regard.

But if you make a damn romantic anime/manga, you need to get things moving at this point. And you can't act like both of them are utterly braindead. They both know they almost kissed. How can months pass after that without anything happening? That feels like The Simpsons continuity where everything resets after the episode ends. And I don't like that.

So, I'm bummed out having to wait until July and October to know how the story continues. I hope the show will get more episodes, it was a lot of fun. And I wouldn't be bummed out if I hadn't enjoyed it to begin with.

Now throw us a damn bone!

[jwood719]

"Where all my friends reside ha! ha!" notes "E.M.Q" on a picture postcard of the Ohio State Reformatory.

Peering through the gate down the front drive.

The Ohio State Reformatory, Mansfield, OH. Some History, and the Residence.

Guests were told on tour that the Ohio State Reformatory building may very well owe its extended existence to director Frank Darabont, who arrived in the nick of time to prevent the institution's destruction.

The south facade of the Ohio State Reformatory at Mansfield, OH.

Preparing to film an adaptation of Stephen King's novella "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption," six months of location scouting culminated with the Ohio Film Commission pleading the case to Darabont at a convention for the production to come to Mansfield, OH, about 60 miles southwest of Cleveland. The building (built between 1886 and 1910) had been constructed to serve as a place to bring wayward young men back to the straight-and-narrow, but by the 1970s had fallen into disrepair.

High-minded architecture (above and below) was considered part of the moral uplift project.

Budget concerns had the state shifting the focus from reform to straight-up incarceration, and as prison populations grew in Ohio, Mansfield's facility was switched during the 1960s away from reform to maximum security.

The looming walls and barred windows of the housing section.

Inmates sued and won against the state for deplorable conditions, and it was ruled that the state had to provide better. Ironically, more money was taken from the decrepit Mansfield building while a newer facility was built adjacent.

A hallway in the residential/administrative wing: as was customary when built, the warden and his family as well as most of the corrections officers lived on-site. Today, in addition to visitor services and offices, there is also the official Ohio penitentiary museum, a cafe, and the ubiquitous gift shop (I bought a pair of trays like they used in the mess hall scenes - because of course I did).

Stained glass transom light in the residence hallway.

So the story is, after the inmates were moved to the new facility, and after Ohio and Castle Rock Entertainment had swung a deal for filming within the Reformatory, there was an apparent goof in the chain of command; arriving by rental car after flying in from Hollywood, director Darabont showed up on the grounds just before state contractors were to begin swinging their wrecking balls. Darabont's stepping in at that moment halted the demolition, and allowed the filming to proceed.

The warden's dining room in the residence.

As the saying goes, the rest is (film) history. Utilizing many of the rooms around the residence as well as filming out on the yard, Darabont's The Shawshank Redemption is on many "best" lists. Locations in Mansfield and the surrounding Ohio countryside subbed-in for the surrounding Maine environment.

Reception area outside the office used for Warden Norton in the film.

Subsequent to the movie (which was not a "hit" upon release) there was still debate about keeping the old prison, but a local non-profit, the Mansfield Reformatory Preservation Society, organized itself and began to stir up interest (and funding) to restore what many had thought to be a relic and an eye-sore. Who would tour an old prison?! Turns out, quite a number of people do, all the more so as Shawshank's reputation grew.

The residence after restoration; as much as possible, the original materials are retained; the floor, for instance, is original throughout.

As with many old buildings under the auspices of non-profits, work is by and large volunteer and on-going, and depends on subscription and tour fee monies for funding projects. Chatting with a docent about the work, done by people with passion for their jobs in his estimation, he told me that the society has over a million dollars lined up to restore one cell wing to its condition circa 1940. I'll admit my eyes went wide thinking of all the layers of lead paint that would need to be abated to do that -- 'cause the peeling walls are a nightmare.

A typical scene: missing plaster and decaying paint in a washroom.

Looking back up the main drive.

What remains after filming is the main structure; the "yard," where once stood the workshops surrounded by a 25 foot-high wall and agricultural fields beyond, were razed when the new Mansfield facility was constructed. There are no photos allowed that depict the new facility, even if through a window.

The yard: north of the main building (highlighted above) in this undated aerial shot (Ohio History Connection collection).

As part of the reform movement, the young men were expected to take part in what today would be called vocational training (they built furniture, for instance) as well as arts (there was a band), and agriculture (the incarcerated grew most of their own food and any surplus was sold). Many went on to lead fairly good lives after getting the equivalent of a high school education, and the recidivism rate was reported to be something like 25% or less -- compared to 50% or worse for other institutions. Not bad for the first half of the 20th Century.

Photos: R. Jake Wood, 2024 unless otherwise noted.

The Ohio State Reformatory site.

Arty shot! Pass-through in the washroom.

[phantom-le6]

Episode Reviews - Star Trek: Voyager Season 6 (1 of 7)

Apologies to any regular readers out there for taking a while to sit down and get the next season of Voyager started reviewing-wise. There are a few reasons for this, but rather than bore you with those, let’s crack on and look at the first few episodes from the show’s sixth and penultimate season.

Episode 1: Equinox (Part 2)

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Following the events of Part 1, Seven has encrypted the codes accessing the Equinox warp controls, delaying the plan of Captain Ransome and his crew to murder another 63 aliens for fuel. After learning the Doctor in their sickbay is from Voyager, and erasing his ethical sub-routines as they did with their own EMH, they tell him to probe Seven's brain to obtain the codes, despite the fact this may permanently incapacitate her. During the Doctor's preparations, he idly sings "Oh My Darling, Clementine" in a duet with the partially incapacitated Seven, much dismaying Ransom as he suddenly sees her in more human terms.

 Janeway starts taking the objective of stopping Ransom to extremes. She orders torpedoes to be fired on the Equinox, nearly kills an Equinox crew member during an interrogation, tractor beams an Ankari ship to strong-arm their cooperation, and relieves Chakotay of duty when he questions her orders.

 Ransom starts to realize the error of his ways and orders the crew to return the Equinox to Voyager, but the remaining crew, except for Ensign Marla Gilmore, attempt to mutiny against this. As Voyager attacks, the mutineers fight back, the Equinox EMH supplying his shipmates with Voyager’s shield frequencies (having taken the Doctor’s place at the end of part 1).  However, with Gilmore's help, Ransom transports part of the crew, as well as the Doctor and Seven, back to Voyager, while the remaining mutineers are killed by the aliens. After transporting Gilmore to Voyager, Ransom stays behind, sacrificing himself to pilot the ship far enough away from Voyager to protect it from the resulting explosion.

 As Voyager resumes its journey home, Janeway reinstates Chakotay to Commander and strips the five surviving Equinox crew members of their ranks while integrating them with Voyager’s crew. Seven promises to help the Doctor secure his ethical sub-routines from being deleted in the future.

Review:

As good as this episode and its part 1 instalment from season 5 are, it is also justly criticised by Trek writer Ronald D Moore, who briefly joined the writers on Voyager following the end of Deep Space Nine.  Season 6 of Voyager was the first time since TNG season 5 that only one Star Trek show was on TV, so now this show was getting all the limelight and attention.  However, going by Moore’s comments, it wasn’t doing all it should with that spotlight. In part 2 of ‘Equinox’, Janeway starts losing her moral compass to get Ransom, while Ransom in turn begins to regain his, and the former situation creates a worse schism between Janeway and Chakotay than the one we saw back during the two-part episode ‘Scorpion’.

 According to Trek wiki site Memory Alpha, Ronald D Moore criticised the episode for both failing to explain the rationale behind these changes, and for resolving the Janeway-Chakotay schism too quickly and cleanly.  These are valid points, and it’s emblematic of the show as a whole relative to the metrics of good Trek.  All too often, episodes fail to be “about” anything, and while overall I prefer Voyager for its high level of autism-like characters, that doesn’t excuse a lack of substance.  Part 1 did give us a kind of “there but for the grace of being a main cast goes our crew”, but part 2 just seems to coast on this and throws in random drama until the action at the end.  Seven’s abduction doesn’t justify this, as Janeway barely voices much concern for her, and it’s not like Janeway ever learns that Seven’s life is on the line from the Equinox crew.  In turn, Janeway barely knows Ransom and Trek has known a fair few rogue officers at times within the ranks of Star Fleet.  That means Ransom betraying Janeway lacks the depth necessary to justify an Ahab-like pursuit of Ransom; Sisko and Eddington had that in Deep Space Nine, Chakotay had this with Seska in early Voyager episodes, but for Janeway and Ransom, it’s a hollow excuse for a vendetta.

 Ransom’s reasons for going the other way are also very thin.  Just because he sees Seven potentially suffering for his actions, that’s when he decides to have an attack of conscience?  Why do I get the feeling that if it was Tuvok, Neelix or anyone other than Seven, we’d never get this turn-around?  Probably because, as has been noted by Youtuber Jessie Gender, this is an episode from the Berman era, when Trek was handled by a sexist idiot that didn’t believe in Trek and just did a favour to the late Gene Roddenberry. Bottom line, this is a poor follow-up despite good acting and decent guest actors.  The show also fails to really follow through on the addition of the Equinox survivors to Voyager’s crew due to Berman’s myopic insistence on Trek as episodic television.  In the end, I give this episode only 5 out of 10.

Episode 2: Survival Instinct

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Voyager is docked at the Markonian Outpost Space Station, which has welcomed the wayward ship with open diplomatic arms, allowing the free exchange of gifts and ideas. While meeting several representatives of various species in the mess hall, a man approaches Seven of Nine and reveals a container of several Borg compenents from her original unimatrix, which she takes in trade. The sight stuns Seven and brings back memories from her past as a Borg. As the man walks away, it is revealed that he is in telepathic communication with two other guests aboard Voyager, colluding with them to penetrate the ship's security systems.

 With B'Elanna Torres' help, Seven examines the components but denies having experienced any feelings at the sight of them. After returning to her Borg alcove to regenerate, the man and his two accomplices enter the cargo bay, revealing themselves as former Borg drones. They attempt to inject Seven with nanoprobes but she detects their presence, stops the attack, and alerts security. The three are subdued and taken to sick bay. The Doctor determines that while they are former Borg, the process to remove their Borg implants was blundered, and they’ve apparently been left with a shared mental connection. When they awake, the three affirm their condition, stating that they were also part of Seven's unimatrix, and want to bring her into that connection to learn what happened some years ago when their Borg scout ship crashed on an uninhabited planet. Seven herself cannot recall the event, but agrees to link to the others temporarily to attempt to uncover it.

 Told in flashbacks through the episode, after the crash, the four survivors lost contact with the Borg collective and constructed a communication array to contact the Borg for rescue. As they waited, the other three began to feel some aspects of individuality. While the other three embraced this, Seven fought against it. When they realized the Borg were approaching, the other three attempted to flee, but Seven followed them and re-injected each with nanoprobes, neutralizing their individualistic tendencies and re-assimilating them into the Collective.  This created the mental link within the trio, and upon learning this in the present, they fall into a coma.

 The three former drones have only two options for recovery: return to the Borg so they can become drones again, or have the Doctor remove the affected implants, severing their connection to each other. However, this process would mean removing Borg implants their brains are dependent on, leaving them with only a month to live. The Doctor asks Seven for her opinion, and she consults Chakotay, who asks her what she would rather do: live as a Borg for a normal lifespan or as an individual for a month. Seven is visibly moved and tells the Doctor to remove the others' implants. The Doctor protests, saying that his objective should be to preserve life at all costs; however, Seven argues that, like herself, even the Doctor was once a "drone" of sorts (confined to the ship's Sickbay) and that he would resist any attempts to force him back to that state. The Doctor accepts this logic and removes the implants from the former drones. Lansor (the former Two of Nine) elects to explore the station for the remainder of his life; Marika (Three of Nine) accompanies Voyager on its journey; and P'Chan (Four of Nine) chooses to spend his remaining days on a nearby uninhabited planet.

Review:

Leave it to an American TV show to force characters into a “liberty or death” scenario.  This episode ends up feeling like a load of melodramatic tripe when it gets to that part, because aside from anything else, this is a sci-fi show that has previously show-cased that its title ship has various ways of putting people in suspended animation.  How about instead of having to choose between essentially life-limiting the ex-drones or handing them back to the Borg, they just put the trio into suspended animation for a later cure down the road?  Seriously, the plot of this episode come the last act is just pointless histrionics and, quite honestly, a let-down in Trek tradition.  How have we gone from someone like Kirk who didn’t believe in no-win scenarios to people who make the choice without even looking at alternatives?

 The one redeeming aspect of the episode is that it goes back to the idea of Seven being akin to someone being liberated from a cult.  In the flashbacks, we see she’s had a prior experience along the same lines as her original introduction to Voyager along with three other drones.  However, Seven’s reaction differs because she’s been assimilated by the Borg as a child instead of as an adult.  This left her without the means to function as an individual from a mental perspective, which is often why cults in real life would target young people wherever possible.  The earlier in life someone is indoctrinated into a given belief, the less likely they are to abandon it because they develop a dependence on that. Frankly, I think the episode would have done better chucking out the life-or-death medical stuff and focusing more on Seven reconciling with what being Borg did to her and the other drones through her.  Overall, I give this episode 6 out of 10.

Episode 3: Barge of the Bead

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

While returning from an away mission, B'Elanna Torres encounters interference from an ion storm which results in a concussion. Commander Chakotay finds a Klingon artifact lodged inside Torres' shuttlecraft, and Torres sees this emitting blood and hears voices speaking in the Klingon language. Since the USS Voyager is stranded in the Delta Quadrant, the ship is several thousand light-years away from Klingon-controlled space. Morale officer Neelix plans a celebration of the discovery of the object, since it’s a symbol of the Alpha Quadrant and thus Voyager’s home; Torres resists the proposal for a party. She consults with Lt. Tuvok, who believes her negative response to the object stems from her hatred of her Klingon heritage. Tuvok assaults Torres with a Bat'leth, saying she is not a true Klingon before dismissing her as dishonoured. While attending the festivities in the mess hall, Torres notices the Doctor and Seven of Nine singing Klingon drinking songs and Tom Paris eating Klingon cuisine. After witnessing several Klingon warriors killing the crew, she falls and finds herself aboard a boat. Torres discovers she is being transported to Gre'thor (the Klingon version of hell) on the Barge of the Dead, and that her mother Miral was placed aboard as a dishonoured soul.

 Torres awakes to find she has been in a coma the entire time. She had almost died from the accident in the ion storm. Chakotay believes Torres' encounter with her mother was a hallucination prompted from her near-death experience, but she believes that it was real. Torres believes her mother is being punished because of her daughter's dishonour, saying that she must return to the Barge of the Dead to rescue her. Captain Kathryn Janeway permits Torres to put herself in an induced coma, with the Doctor monitoring the procedure. After being placed in a coma, Torres successfully returns to the barge. She reunites with her mother, but they argue about whether or not she has truly embraced Klingon spirituality. Miral responds by telling her she does not understand what it truly means to be a Klingon, as B’Elanna plans to be revived before the barge reaches its destination, thereby cheating. After their conversation, Torres decides to take her mother's place on the barge; even though Miral resists the transference, she is allowed to move on to Sto-vo-kor (a part of the Klingon afterlife similar to the Norse Valhalla) while Torres is escorted into Gre'thor.

 She discovers that Voyager is her version of Gre'thor, and is confronted by alternate versions of the crew. Miral returns to explain that she cannot fully be released into Sto-vo-kor until Torres completes her journey. Tuvok attacks Torres again with a bat'leth, but she surrenders rather than fighting back. Miral identifies this as the first step in her path. She informs Torres that they will reunite either in Sto-vo-kor or when Torres returns home. Torres is resuscitated and embraced by Janeway.

Review:

Working religion into Trek is one of the ultimate delicate operations in fiction writing.  Handle it right and you get a great Trek episode because it covers genuinely new ground in character development, maybe explores issues with real-life religions or otherwise delivers something of substance.  Handle it wrong and you just prove Roddenberry was right making future humanity in an optimistic future a very secularist concept. For me, this one went all wrong.  It’s one long riff on the same old things we already know about B’Elanna; anger issues, hates her Klingon side, blah blah blah. In theory, the near-death hallucination/religious experience she has should make the episode better, but frankly it doesn’t, because it comes close to basically saying “this religion is right about the afterlife”, and that’s never a good way to handle religion.

 When Trek has done religion right in the past, it’s either kept things firmly in the show’s real world, making the story all about belief without even suggesting the supernatural, or it’s provided a simultaneous scientific explanation, leaving it up to a given character to make a decision if what they felt was science or mysticism.  This episode, however, doesn’t lean enough on its science side.  It also fails to really explain what the heck B’Elanna is really going through at the end. Top-to-bottom, it’s an episode I think the show should just never have bothered with.  3 out of 10, next episode please.

Episode 4: Tinker Tailor Doctor Spy

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Doctor asks Captain Janeway to alter his program to allow him to captain the ship if an emergency occurs. Janeway refuses the request. Despite this, the Doctor alters his own sub-routines, allowing him to daydream, while Voyager is traveling through an apparently harmless nebula. Among other ego-fulfilling fantasies, the daydreams include one where he becomes the "Emergency Command Hologram" and defeats an attacking alien vessel using a fictional deadly photonic cannon. The Doctor finds that his daydreams are occurring when he doesn't want them to, a side effect of his faulty programming, and the crew disables the new routines.

 Meanwhile, undetected by Voyager, the crew of an observation ship of the Hierarchy has been monitoring Voyager's passage. As they have done with other ships that pass through the nebula, the Hierarchy determines whether there is any value on the ships, and if so, attacks them. Unable to scan Voyager via normal means, Hierarchy crewman Phlox instead uses a microscopic tunnelling scan. This latches onto the Doctor's program, allowing him to witness events experienced by the hologram, but these are actually the Doctor's fantasies. Phlox soon realizes his mistake, which the Hierarchy will severely punish as soon as it becomes known. The attack on Voyager for its anti-matter reserves already has been scheduled, so Phlox needs it to fail while appearing that what he reported was true.

 Phlox uses the tunnelling scan to reactivate the Doctor's daydreaming programs to allow him to communicate with the hologram. Phlox explains the situation to the Doctor, who in turn reports this to Janeway. As Voyager's crew becomes aware of the approaching Hierarchy ships, Janeway arranges for the deception to be complete, temporarily turning the Doctor into the Emergency Command Hologram. The Doctor, less confident in reality than his daydreams, is still able to bluff regarding use of the "photonic cannon" and the Hierarchy quickly retreats. Janeway commends the Doctor for his performance and arranges a team to evaluate the prospects of putting the hologram in charge of the ship under emergency situations.

Review:

Now this episode is actually a great episode, despite the unfortunate necessity of the Voyager crew having to invade the Doctor’s fantasies via the holodeck when his program goes awry.  It’s a rare occasion where Trek does comedy over action or something else and manages to do it well, yet at the same time also develop a character and explore an issue.  It’s interesting to see the Doctor exploring daydreams, because that’s a very human thing we all take for granted, and his fantasies are very relatable.  Whether it’s the action hero fantasy where the Doctor becomes the Emergency Command Hologram, or imagining the female crew members being attracted to him, the Doctor’s imaginings aren’t much different from those of most people in real life.

 As I say, the downside of the episode is the rest of the crew having to spy on his fantasies when the Doctor malfunctions. I’m glad they at least express some reluctance, especially since the Doctor is one of the show’s autism-like characters.  That autism-like quality in the Doctor is also why, even though I also see Seven as autism-like, my patience with her reaction to the Doctor’s fantasies is rather thin.  Ultimately, fantasies are a private thing, and frankly given the advancement of technology in Trek, I have to question why the crew even needed to put those fantasies on the holodeck.

 Yes, the Doctor fantasised about Seven coming onto him, and about sketching her in the nude, but ultimately, it was a fantasy. It was not a real event, ergo Seven doesn’t have much of a right to get annoyed about it.  This is why it’s a good thing human society isn’t telepathic; it’s bad enough watching the tabloid press in real life invade the privacy of the high-profile and then drumming up judgement from the public over perfectly legitimate, if not always well-understood, activities.  Imagine if we all showed the same lack of respect for privacy by tip-toeing through other people’s thoughts to see their private hopes, dreams and fears.  There’s a reason why in real life, most of us only reveal our innermost thoughts to close family, romantic partners and/or mental health professionals; we don’t want every Tom, Dick and Mary to know everything going on in our heads.

 Given this, I think someone should have taken five minutes to point all this out to Seven, or even better, I think the crew should have fixed the Doctor’s program without playing out the fantasies in the holodeck like a damn peep show.  However, it’s still the best overall Voyager episode of this round, and I give it 8 out of 10.

[chirpsythismorning]

☎️🎲 🤼‍♂️ ✈️🚪 ➡️ 🫀🎮⌛️

Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order

previous ⏪︎ now playing ⏩ next back to playlist

[brionysea]

soooo vale of shadows on mike's playlist

Type 6 and insane

this line made me wonder if they were talking about the enneagram personality types and if that one specifically applied to mike, so i looked it up and...

yes. i'm gonna take that as an immediate yes

like. these could literally be from the personality section of a mike wheeler wiki page

i'm lowkey convinced that the duffers must have looked at enneagram types when making these characters just like i do

and then there's this bit...

which, if the manifestation theory is true (which the rest of the song heavily supports but that's a different post), explains everything

They are often filled with a nameless anxiety and then try to find or create reasons why.

do you ever notice how much better mike is in situations where he has something to fight against? he's not drifting. he's solid. he has purpose, he has the necessary intelligence and strategic capabilities and leadership skills, he has constant opportunities to prove his own bravery and importance to the people whose opinions he values (and therefore himself)

in normal life, he flounders. he can't convince his parents to let them play their game for 20 more minutes. he doesn't have anything productive to channel his grief into. he avoids his friends. he caves in on himself

that's just an interesting contrast, isn't it?

the annual tragedy coming to hawkins every year also serves to make him feel more like the person he wants to be - a brave knight, fearlessly fighting against the forces of evil - and he can carry that reassurance with him back to the mundane, suburban life that never makes him feel anything but trapped and worthless

but it never sticks, because his insecurities keep getting ripped right back open again, so the monsters keep coming back

this exchange from "the source" (👀) is also particularly interesting in this new context

Mike: They're conspiring against me.

Will: That's what you're concerned about right now?

Mike: It's not my main concern. It's just a sub-concern.

the implication is that mike's being ridiculous for worrying about the made-up idea of max "corrupting" el, but wouldn't it be fucked up if the main problem that he's supposed to be worrying about was made up too? if he's been the titular source the whole time?

idk, i think about the character consequences of a reveal like this all the time. and how obvious it would be in hindsight

but back to enneagrams:

once they establish a trustworthy belief, they do not easily question it, nor do they want others to do so

and this just. makes me a little bit crazy. intelligent late-comer characters like robin and erica aren't allowed to work with mike when he's making those bizarre leaps in logic that match up perfectly with how the UD works and what its weaknesses are, because their tendency to ask smart person questions -> "hey, how the fuck does he know that?" -> the whole game falls apart (and crushes mike with guilt in the process)

seriously, imagine a research scene like the one robin had in the library with nancy, but with mike instead. there wouldn't be an "i don't know" response to what they're looking for, there would be a dead-on response that turns out to correlate exactly with the magic answer they find half an hour later - if they even need to do research in the first place, because mike tends to just make shit up on the spot that's immediately accepted as the show's lore. robin would find that so weird and she would not keep it to herself, especially if it's backed up by a million other instances of mike knowing things he shouldn't like he does every season

the lack of familiarity with mike and how he operates is exactly what would lead to those weird patterns being questioned, because there's no instinctive "well, that's just mike" response to fall back on like there is with the core cast

this paragraph pretty much single-handedly convinced me that the show will end when mike's internal world comes into balance (that or when he dies, which i do and don't like thinking about in equal measure)

think about it: if this whole thing has just been one teenager's insecurities unknowingly being brought to life so that he can beat them back with a stick, when will it stop? when will it end? when he gains the type of self confidence that naturally comes with growing up and growing into himself, or when they die with him

mike might be okay with his death in those circumstances, because he thinks everyone else will be better off without him on an objective level of "the horrors will leave my friends alone forever", but characters like dustin and will and lucas wouldn't let that happen in a million years, no matter what their reactions to mike creating the horrors otherwise are

this makes me even more convinced that the season 4 threat - the one that's the perfect opportunity to tell the internal voices that don't think you have what it takes to make it in the real world to go to hell, if you have the kind of danger-induced determination and self-belief that he does - came from, and was meant for, mike

it would be interesting to determine what level he's at each season, with 1 being the healthiest and 9 being the unhealthiest, but i can't wrap my head around it. if anyone else wants to, please go ahead!

[themousefromfantasyland]

Fairy Tale Laws: How Fairy Tales and their Worldbuilding work

Who follows me knows I'm mega into mythology and folklore. One of my favorite pieces of folklore and fantasy literature is the Fairy Tale. Since I was a child I was always draw to the magical world of Disney films and their darker literary counterparts.

I love fairy tales, yet in my opinion they continue to be one of the more misunderstood and neglected genres out there.

So, as a Disney fan and avid fairy tale reader, in this essay I show how the genre itself generally works and which principles rule their whimsical world

Fairy Tales, Myths and Fables

The thing that fairy tales, myths and fables have in common is that they all find their origins in the oral tradition.

They were fantastical tales, not told specifically for children but deeply enjoyed by them, that were transmitted through generations.

Both fairy tales and myths don't follow real world logic, instead following their own dream-like logic, in a sequence of weird and fantastical events, that are magical and intriguing to the listener, but essentially normal to the in-universe characters.

Often than not there aren't any explanations of why these events happen and their impact of those in-universe societies, they just happen. Animals talk, mythical creatures live along with human societies just fine, inanimated objects come to life, people seem to turn into animals all the time, etc, and nothing of that seem to ever change the status quo.

The thing that differentiate the fairy tale from the myth, is that the myth is supposed to have happened in our world, but in a far off past. They are supposed to explain how our world came to be, and they have a very strong religious importance. The fairy tale on the other hand is not supposed to be took seriously. It's a fun story that the older generation tell to the younger generation. It can pass deeply important life or religious values, but that's not their main point. They are fairy tales, not fables.

The point of the fable is to transmit a moral. The point of a fairy tale is to transport the listener into a fantastical journey.

Fairy Tales vs. Oral Stories

Although many folk stories became immortal fairy tales, not all fairy tales came from oral tradition. Actually, some can be traced back to specific authors.

The Little Mermaid, the Ugly Duckling and the Steadfast Tin Soldier are all considered immortal fairy tales, yet they were all created by famous danish writer Hans Christian Andersen. A lot of his stories are authoral, and all are considered true fairy tales.

The term "Fairy Tales" actually comes from the french "conte de fées" and was coined in the 17th century by Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baroness d'Aulnoy, the Madame d'Aulnoy, a french writer who wrote about a world where love and happiness came to heroines after overcoming great obstacles.

These stories arise from the Préciosité, a French literary style in the 17th century, from "les précieuses", intellectual, witty and educated women who frequented the salon of Catherine de Vivonne, marquise de Rambouillet. Themes presented in these stories are the ideals of feminine elegance, etiquette and courtly Platonic love, all hugely popular with female audiences, but scorned by men.

Telling fairy tales was a popular préciosité parlor game, and they should be told as if spontaneously, even though they all were carefully prepared. This style served as influence for Charles Perrault and Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.

Villeneuve herself was the original author of Beauty and the Beast, and although the story is heavily inspired by older legends like Cupid and Psyche, it still is an authoral story.

Even the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault, who were famous for being collectors of tales from oral tradition, gave their own twists and embellishments to their tales. For example, in many Cinderella tellings it's her mother's ghost who helps her. The Fairy Godmother is Perrault's invention.

So more than been just stories from the oral tradition, fairy tales as a literary genre are the reinvention of the old tropes found in the folk stories under a more sophisticated polish, for a new public.

Fairy Tale as a literary genre

In a way I consider the Fairy Tale a sibling genre to Magical Realism. As TV Tropes puts:

"In Magic Realism, events just happen, as in dreams. [...] Magical realism is a story that takes place in a realistic setting that is recognizable as the historical past or present. It overlaps with Mundane Fantastic. It has a connection to surrealism, dream logic, and poetry."

Both use a surreal, almost poetic internal logic with little to no explanation. Magical Realism is the occurrence of a fantastical event in a realistic setting, in a fusion between the mundane and the magical world.

Fairy Tales are similar because they often deal with very domestic topics and subjects. The protagonists often are normal people with very mundane goals. They don't want to save the world, they want to save themselves and their loved ones.

Cinderella and Snow White for example, are more concerned with escaping from their abusive families than being cultural or legendary heroes like in the myths. Hansel and Gretel are trying not to die from starvation, and Red Riding Hood is trying to visit her sick grandmother. Regardless of class status, these are people with their own problems that find in the fantastical events a escape from them, or a even worse danger.

This is not a universal rule, as some characters are more heroic and there's more in stake, but generally the heroes are domestic heroes and it's only their lives that are in stake.

The difference between the Magic Realism and the Fairy Tale, is that while in the Magic Realism you can easily point where the realistic setting ends and the magical one begins, the fairy tale goes even further, and the lines between the worlds are way more muddled.

Worldbuilding in Fairy Tales

Now, that's the most important part. Fairy Tales are a sub-genre to Fantasy, but while in the other genres the magic world is described in the minimal details, often with rich details about the in-universe cultures and their rules, the Fairy Tale maintain the magic world as vague as possible. That's because it uses what I call "soft-worldbuilding".

Part of the appeal of the fairy tale is to transport the reader in a fantastical journey, but in order to do that they use as little details possible, allowing the reader to try to fill in the gaps. That's in order to avoid the magic world of feeling too real or too close to reality. The reader needs to have a sense of wonder and intrigue, and if you started to describe your world in all its details, it will become too grounded, and the wonder and the intrigue will be lost.

Said that, you need some basic rules, otherwise everything will be incredibly incoherent. You reader needs to understand how the magic world works and their rules, but they also need to be slightly lost, discovering all the details along the way and be amazed by them, lost in a mystery that they will never find all the answers.

To illustrate this, look at the differences between the Middle-earth and Narnia. One is a standard fantasy world, the other is a fairy tale world. J.R.R. Tolkien drew inspiration from the epics, C.S. Lewis drew inspiration from fairy tales and childhood stories.

The Middle-earth is grounded on its own rules, with their own races, cultures, languages and myths. Narnia is a playground were everything magical is allowed. Greek mythology creatures? Okay. Roman gods? Okay. Father Christmas? Okay. Jesus? Of course!

One is worried about all the small details, the other wants everything as vague and simple as possible, as to ensure the wonder and the intrigue will never be lost the reader.

When you're dealing with a fairy tale world you have way more freedom than the standard fantasy world. You don't need to think too deeply in the details. You can use the Rule of Funny and the Rule of Cool as much as you want, as long as it's minimal consistent and coherent

Fairy Tale Laws

This are some basic rules and principles that I believe rule over the fairy tale genre

Establish rules of how the world works. Keep it consistent and coherent. That's your base

Not every fantastical event needs a deep explanation, and magic is not allowed as an universal explanation

Keep it simple. Don't worry too much about the small details.

You don't want your world to be too grounded in reality. A little escapism is key

Poetic logic and surrealism reigns

Have fun with all the weird and magical things that crowded your world. "Rule of Cool" and "Rule of Funny" reign

Never reveal too much to your reader. They need to constantly feel as if there is something more happening off the limits of your story

Domestic heroes (As Narnia and the old dragon slayer stories show, this is not an universal rule)

The overall tone can be darker and edgier, softer and lighter, or somewhere in the middle

[sub-hoshi-enthusiast]

Omg it's really been 1 whole year since I wrote Day Off hasn't it? :,) There is a good bit that I changed about it but I think it might've gotten a little spicier since the last time I wrote it so uh- (the little bonus things I added the first time around still apply, I just didn't rewrite them)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: sub!hoshi, fem!dom!reader, pegging, rough sex, dacryphilia, degradation, overstimulation, you call him my prince (and sometimes my slutty little prince), mistress kink

Day Off (2021 ver.)

Soonyoung let out another sigh as he sat upside down on the couch with his feet hanging over the back, trying to think of something to do with a pout on his face. If you had asked him yesterday, he would have a whole list of things to do, but since you got called into work earlier that morning all of his plans for the day had been canceled. His first day off in weeks and you weren’t even there to spend time with him. All of the boys knew it too since he would spam the group chat with frowny faces and crying emojis as he complained about you not being there every five minutes. Eventually, Jihoon got tired of it and kicked him out and told him he would invite him back when he stopped being a baby.

     He shot up as soon as he heard the door open, falling off the couch with a thud before jumping to his feet. A wide smile lit up his face as he heard your keys jingle when you threw them on the table by the door. He skipped over to the door, smile falling from his face when he saw you. You angrily threw your shoes to the floor as soon as you took them off, obviously upset about something.

     “Baby?” Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, the sight of him making you calm down, if only a little bit. “Are you alright?” The concern in his sweet gaze made you feel guilty for the thoughts that rushed through your head. He really was too sweet for you. The guilt you felt immediately washed away when your eyes drifted down to the shorts he had been wearing all day, showing off one of your favorite parts of his body; his thighs. All rationality left you as you swiftly grabbed your boyfriend by his waist as pushed him up against the nearby wall, kissing his lips with a bruising force. 

     Soonyoung’s eyes widened at your sudden show of affection, a deep blush coating his cheeks. The breath he took when you finally pulled away was stolen when you started to leave a trail of kisses down his neck. His breathing was shaky as he brought his arms up to rest around your shoulders, balling up the fabric of your shirt in his fists. His eyes fluttered and his mind grew hazy as you started to slowly grind your hips into his. He had originally planned on watching a movie with some cuddles when you got home, but he wasn't complaining. 

     "O-Oh! Bad d-day at work?" Soonyoung managed to get out between breathy moans and high pitched whimpers, face scrunching up in pleasure as you pressed him into the wall further. You only growled into his neck as a response. 

     "Jump." The command was simple but your boyfriend knew better than to take it lightly, especially if you were in a mood like this one. Wordlessly, he brought one of his legs up to rest on your hip before jumping up slightly, groaning as you pushed him further into the wall to better hold up his weight. A flood of whimpers and whines left him as he started to rut his hips against your stomach, making you smirk against his neck before biting down to leave another bruise on his once clear skin. Your nails dug into his thighs, leaving more marks that would cover him the next morning. 

     Your boyfriend tugged his shirt off and threw it to the side as your lips trailed down to his collarbones, making you giggle at his eagerness. Granted, you were just as eager, but he really was shameless with it. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth with a groan as you shifted from kissing down his chest to mouthing at his nipples. His back arched off the wall as the movement of his hips became erratic.

     "F-fuck- please mistress! Please just- just ruin me!" He cried out, tangling his fingers in your hair. You pulled away from his chest with a wet pop. A shiver went down his spine as you leaned to whisper in his ear.

      "Whatever my prince desires." With that, you brought your lips to his in another heated kiss as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom. Soonyoung moved his kisses down your neck as he unbuttoned your shirt, desperate to feel your skin against his. You threw him to the bed as soon as you reached the bedroom, reattaching your lips to his immediately. You pulled his pants and boxers off as you kissed him, both of you eager to get to the main event. 

     You ran your thumb over the tip of cock, making him whine loudly as you smeared his precum down his shaft. You were sure your neighbor's would have been able to hear him so to quiet him down you shoved your pointer and middle finger between his lips. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he tilted his head up, eagerly taking your fingers the rest of the way into his mouth. Drool seeped out the corner of his mouth as he sucked on your digits, moaning and whimpering around them. A giggle left your lips.

     "Look at you, so desperate you'd take my fingers down your throat. I bet you wish it was my cock I had in your mouth right now, don't you?" His cock twitched in your grasp as he moaned out a muffled "yes mistress" around your fingers.

"Oh, my poor baby. Do you want me to get my cock so you can wrap your pretty little lips around it and choke and gag on it like the filthy little cockslut you are?" Your eyes widened when you realized what you said. While you would punish him from time to time with overstimulation or edging, you said anything mean to him. You always made sure to praise him for being so good for you, and remind him how pretty he was. The pornographic moan he let out around your fingers at your words made you rethink those decisions. A wicked smirk crossed your face as you sped up the movement of your hand that was around his cock.

     "Oh? Is there something you're hiding from me my prince? Do you want mistress to be mean to you?" You asked, taking your fingers out of his mouth so he could answer. His face was beet red and he turned his head to the side to avoid eye contact as he slowly nodded his head. "Ah ah ah, use your words baby."

     "Y-yes! I-I- Ngh- I want m-mistress to treat me like a little s-slut!" You smirked at his answer as you suddenly let go of his cock. His head snapped over to you with a loud whimper, confusion clear in his gaze. A giggle left your lips as your hand traveled down to his hole. He let out a little gasp, relaxing back in the sheets again at the feeling of your thumb rubbing over his entrance. 

     "Well, if you're such a little whore I don't really have to waste my time stretching you out, do I? I bet you already fucked yourself open for me while I was gone." He whimpered, throwing his head to the side to bury it in the pillows beneath him. You scoffed at him, his silence speaking louder than words ever could. "Get on your hands and knees slut." He quickly did as told, practically shaking with excitement as he saw you grab one of your bigger strap-ons and a  bottle of lube. You slowly removed the rest of your clothes and adjusted the harness around your hips. After what felt like hours to him you finally kneeled behind him on the bed, massaging his ass as you admired his beauty. A small yelp shot from his lips when he felt a harsh slap to his ass, the slap ringing in his ears as he melted more into the sheets. 

     "Does my slutty little prince need something?" You asked with a smirk, teasingly grinding the lubed up dildo over his twitching hole. His eyes rolled back as he groaned into the pillow he had clutched to his chest.

      "Oh please mistress! Please please please please use your slutty little prince until he can't think of anyone but you! Fuck me like I'm just a cocksleeve for you to use whenever you want! Please mistress~" You swear your mind short circuited for a split second from the filthy words that left his lips.

     He bit his lip when he felt you line up the tip with his hole, his head going blank when you thrust the whole length inside of him at once. Once he was able to think clearly again, a chorus of moans and whimpers left him, like your own pretty little music box. Your pace was relentless as you thrusted into him as hard as you could, grabbing his hair to pull his head up to hear his moans more clearly. You decided to pull him up a little more to leave more bite marks and bruises to his already blotchy neck. 

     Soonyoung's tongue rolled out of his mouth, his drool leaking onto the mattress as the pleasure swallowed him whole. It was as if he had no control over his own body as it twitched and jerked under your rough touch. A drawn out whine left his lips when you suddenly pulled out of him, though the empty feeling didn't last long as you flipped him onto his back and thrusted into him again. His back arched so his chest was pressed to yours as the tears that had been building up finally spilled down his cheeks.

     Usually you would be teasing him with condescending words or slow your hips until he was begging you to go faster again but the only thing that could cross your mind in the moment was his body twitching underneath you, covered in his own cum. Soonyoung wasn't any better; unable to form full sentences, only the occasional "mistress" or "please" making its way into his cries for more. Even then, his words were slurred together and barely made any sense. His nails raked down your back, probably leaving some scars you'll have to deal with later, but the slight pain only made you dig your fingers more into his hips, leaving your own marks on him. 

     "M-mistress~ OH‐ c-cum- hah- fuck! C-cum- gonna- AH!" He wasn't able to complete his thought before his release covered his stomach, his body going limp. A low growl left your lips as you threw his leg over your shoulder, making him jolt beneath you whith a whimper as you hit his prostate dead on. His attempts to squirm away from you were useless as you continued your assault on his pulsating hole.

     "You can go one more time for me, can't you my prince? I want to milk you of everything you've got." He could only respond with a loud moan as he threw his head back, the pain of the overstimulation fading into an overwhelming pleasure. Tonight was gonna be longer than he had anticipated.

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket Manga Review , ch 102- 106

I thought abt skipping those chapters cuz the difference from the anime are’nt big & there’s hardly any tohru in them which I know where the great difference between anime & manga is. However, I like yuki & I was delighted to see the difference between manga yuki & anime yuki! Really, furuba anime makes so much focus on him & all, yet manages to miss the mark when it comes to his character. Yuki is such a prince “from a fairy tale but with trauma” in the anime which contradicts his vision of himself in canon as he said it IS fake, but in the manga he’s a real character with layers. 

A-Chapters 102 & 103/ se03, ep 3 ( A dynamic Yuki vs a prince):

Not much change in the plot from the anime, se03, ep 3, except few things I’ll highlight here:

MACHI: ch.102 is basically machi’s story that we saw in se03 ep 3 first half before the motoko part. but it’s fascinating how the anime handled it greatly & how the manga had its unique touch. The anime gave machi’s part its own color, mood & focus, while the manga excelled in the facial expressions.

YUKI: In ch. 102 & 103, Yuki in particular had many facial expressions in such a refreshing way different from the anime. In the anime, yuki emoted exclusively with kyo & kakeru in ways that you don’t need to hear his monologue to understand his thoughts, he was also allowed expressiveness with machi in the anime but with maintaining big doses of his princely aesthetics & mannerism cuz we see him from achi’s perspective. Ironic cuz she calls him imperfect but the anime gives him lots of shojo bubbles from her pov. In the manga, yuki is way more expressive with lots of characters!!! Even with the fanclub girls, he had funny expressions, & we see a cute scene of machi trying to cheer him up!

in the manga, yuki & machi both are given expressive features. Machi isn’t silent with her head down 95% of the time & yuki is is not living in his own head & is very dynamic with other characters as well, which makes him feel real.

Also, in the manga, yuki isn’t super skinny like the anime! I love how he fills his school uniform without it looking so baggy. In the manga, yuki looks like a grown teenager boy reaching his 17!!! In the anime, yuki looks the same all seasons.

In the anime, the clear body growth was exclusive to kyo in se02, during beach arc mainly cuz the plot required it as tohru kept commenting on kyo growing up physically & told Kazuma. So, the anime made huge effort to make kyo look grown physically. Also, in the anime, yuki is given a princely aura from se01 to 3 as his physical appearance & aesthetics remained the same minus his interaction with kakeru where you see glimpses of a more firm & free character. A peek into his soul perhaps?

B-Ch 104 -106, Anime, se3, ep 4. (Isuzu’s Arc closed, Akito’s begins!): 

I love the way the page transitioned from Isuzu’s hair at kureno’s feet to Haru’s entering akito’s room!

I love akito in this chapter/ep, not love her as in support her, no. lol. but love how this chapter/ep sheds light into her twisted mind. Great writing! The way Akito was shocked at kureno’s betrayal of saving Isuzu is why Akito’s growth from abuser to feeling guilt & repent is not satisfactory in the anime ( I’m yet to reach this part in the manga, so I’ll wait to see if it was handled differently). Akito was way more self-centered & concerned with her delusions to stop a bit & entertain the thought that isuzu was on the verge of death. This is a huge red flag. This is sth you can’t brush under tohru’s healing words of feeling similar to akito & akito finding “ true friendship” as a healthy replacement to her delusional “ together forever”.

-The core characters that the entire show/ story/ manga is built upon their views are tohru & akito. You can’t spend 2 seasons & a half faintly touching these characters’ pov & trauma, then give quick hasty focus, then hit them with “ healing growth”. Both tohru & akito needed more screen time/ spotlight to dwell into them cuz they’re fascinating characters!

This chapter the focus is on haru & isuzu, however, these two characters arc would pretty much be wrapped after this chapter/ep minus few cleaning here & there. Akito’s descending into darkness truly begins here. This is what should be followed & given much care!

I love how this line connects what seems like a sub-plot story to the main story of the original zodiacs!!! In the original story, the cat refused to be by the Ruler’s side & it was percieved as the cat betraying him & the others. All the rest of the animals must ALWAYS be on the Ruler/Akito side & not copy the Monster/Cat behavior. Excellent foreshadowing & a twist to kyo’s/ akito’s / kureno’s story! The cat was right all along, but it’s not abt right or wrong. It’s abt choosing sides. With us or against us. If you are not with us, you are the barbaric enemy/ monster. ( kinda similar to our real world issues & politics)

Side Notes:

I have nothing to say abt motoko except in a 13 ep core & major final season with thematic & plot focus, she really got her share. Out of all the content to cut. what logic? I can never understand..... Not hating, but truly bewildered & confused. Fan service? Gotta be. Wasting valuable screen time for a character with no effect on plot or characters or anything.. I mean if it was a 26 ep season, then okay... but the nope! lets chop chop core plot & give motoko an epic send off!

Maybe Motoko got pity love from the anime team? She wasnt given yuki’s love, so the decision maker whoever they are, gave her better emotional focus than the actual love interest (machi) has got! XD (again not hating, but amused! XD)

I love how furuba’s writing don’t need over-exaggerated drama at all. All the pain is in the writing. in the characters themselves. The anime only needed to focus on them & get rid of the theatrical display of emotions & forced fast paced & unrealistic timeline. sigh~

Still, I love how ep 4 was directed in the anime starting the 2nd part, it was given its own mood & colors.

I love that Haru didnt just find Isuzu in the streets right wawy but waited few days to meet her. It hammers the importance of pacing time in the manga, but I also understands why the anime needed to go directly to it seeing that as I said haru & isuzu are reaching the end of their arc here & they want to close the door behind their issues once & for all. lol.

Everthing else abt Machi story, haru & isuzu, akito & kureni, I have already said before in my weekly anime reviews when se03 was airing.

I peeked into ch. 107 first two pages!!!!! Tohru’s focus???? Is this the beginning of the weakly directed ep 6? YESS!!! I cant wait to read it next weekend! <3

[dutchdread]

Hello! I'm quite new in FFVII fandom and I have a doubt. Soldier Cloud doesn't remember he loved Tifa, right? Why? It's a confusing point and I'm finding contradictory opinions on the web. Thanks

Edit: I originally went into a lot of specifics for this post, but I just realized that since you're a newbie, your question might have been a bit more surface level than how I read it. I figured you were asking about how it's possible to forget a feeling, but you might have been asking about the mechanics behind his memory loss in general, so I'll give a quick answer concerning that first, then if you wanted a more in-depth answer, you can read on. Clouds memory loss is the result of three different parts: 1: Jenova cells. Cloud has been injected with Jenova cells, Jenova is able to read minds and adjust its host based on that. Jenova tricked the cetra by coming in the guise of their loved ones. She's a parasite, through Jenova Sephiroth is able to exert his will on those who share Jenova cells. Clouds persona was made up for a large part of memories that were read from Tifa. Had Cloud not received that specific input he would likely have become one of the black robed individuals, completely sub-subservient to Sephiroths will. 2: Mako poisoning. Cloud was drenched in Mako, Mako is made up out of condensed lifestream, which are the souls and memories of the dead. This basically jumbled up his own soul to where it became difficult for him to keep his own identity intact. This is similar to dying where your soul is mingled with the lifestream and you lose your individuality. Cloud had a weak sense of self and was therefore very susceptible to this effect. 3: Emotional trauma. Cloud is ashamed of his failures, he failed to protect Tifa as a kid, failed to join soldier, failed to save his mother, failed to save Nibleheim, failed to save Tifa AGAIN, and failed to save Zack. Cloud can't live with the past and set-up emotional barriers in order to protect himself from the truth of his past. Those are the three reasons in a nut-shell, for a more detailed explanation about how it's possible for Cloud to actually forget his feelings, read on. These are the kinds of things where a bit of interpretation and reading between the lines is unavoidable, there is not some kind of detailed guide on exactly what Soldier Cloud remembers and feels, but this is my informed opinion.

We run into a problem here where first we have to go through the tricky business of describing what love actually is. If you want my more detailed opinion on that, I recommend reading this post: "What is love, baby don't hurt me"

You said you're new to the fandom, so let me first warn you that I will go into spoilers about basically everything, so if you happen to only have played remake, I'd advise against continuing. What is important for this question is that one of the main things that distinguishes love from merely a physiological reaction is an intellectual understanding of who you are, who the other person is, what they mean to you, and why. Otherwise, love would be reduced just a chemical reaction in your body. If, for some reason, I were to totally forget about my brother, and were then to run into him would I still have an emotional reaction to him? Would I sub-consciously still know that this is someone who matters deeply to me? Or would he feel the same as a stranger? I can't confidently say one way or the other, nor do the real life working of love necessarily apply to a fictional setting, but I do know that my memories of him, and my conscious knowledge of what he means to me is at the very least an important part of the emotional experience. Lets break up your question into several parts to get some nuance, because you might be asking one of several things. 1: Why does soldier Cloud not remember that he used to have feelings for Tifa when he was a child. 2: Why does Cloud losing his memories also make him temporarily lose his current love for Tifa. Both of these questions have similar answers. The first thing to point out is that Clouds condition isn't "memory loss", memory loss is a part of it, but it's more like a symptom. The real problem is closer to repression. Cloud doesn't just "not remember" the past, he's repressing it. He's repressing who he was, and everything that might conflict with the fake persona he's built for himself. When he hears the word "Zack", it's not just a name he can't remember, no, his mind straight up refuses to even hear it. This is the first clue to why Cloud might not "remember his feelings", because if they don't fit the image he's trying to convey, he would repress them. But I think Cloud is, on some level, aware of his feelings. When he thinks Tifa gets injured, he panics, when someone flirts with Tifa, he gets jealous. He gives her the flower, he calls her beautiful. But if he were to act like a smitten village boy, that would definitely not fit the cool soldier façade he's putting on, so he's hiding those emotions from both the outside world, and himself. In my opinion we all put on some sort of mask when dealing with other people, although for the most of us it's not that intense, it's pretending to be happy when you're sad, keeping calm when really you're fuming, but for Cloud it's a bit different his façade is not just a mask he puts on for the world while he himself knows he's different in private, Cloud himself believes the lie. His mind will even lie to itself in order to protect himself from the truth. And the truth is very much entwined with his feelings concerning Tifa. All of his posturing, all of his failures, all of his inadequacies spring from those events in his childhood. So not only is Clouds mind repressing all the real memories of those times, causing Cloud to not realizing how important Tifa really is, but it's highly likely that it would even repress the memories of the feelings that caused all of it, along with the feelings themselves. I think most people can relate about having embarrassing childhood memories about stupid things we did to impress some girl or boy. And to recap the mechanics behind it, there are three main contributing factors. The first are the Jenova cells in his body, Jenova can read minds and shapeshift, and acts almost like a parasite taking over its host. This is the first and most important part of the actual mechanics of how Cloud lost his memories, and since this is a little more tangible than just normal human repression, it's not to be wondered at that the effects might be a bit more extreme and far-reaching than they would be if a person in our world was suffering from trauma induced memory repression. The second is the Mako

showers Cloud experienced. Mako is made from condensed lifestream, and contains the thoughts and feelings of the dead. When someone with a weak sense of self, like Cloud, is showered in Mako, it becomes easy to lose sight of who you really are in the maelstrom of thoughts and voices. This would very likely aid make your mind more malleable. The third is normal human psychology. Most stories have internal and external hurdles to overcome, when done correctly the external hurdles are in some way representative of the internal emotional struggles. The mechanics through which something happens represents some deeper, more human moral lesson or experience. In this case, while mechanically Clouds fake persona is created by the Jenova cells, narratively it is caused by his feelings of inadequacy, his fear of failure, and his desire to be someone he's not. That's the human story that is being told through swords and explosions. You have to look at these things together to really understand Clouds fake persona, the narrative purpose it serves, and as a result, why his relationship with Tifa would be one of the things that gets repressed. It's not the memories themselves that matter most, it's the emotions associated with them.

There is some irony here, Cloud originally wanted to be a soldier in order to get Tifa to notice him, but actually living out that "cool guy" persona requires him to not acknowledge those feelings, luckily for him, "soldier Cloud" isn't the version of Cloud that Tifa is interested in anyway.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Running with the Wolves

Summary:  After the events of Infinity War ripped her life to pieces, Queen In-Unga forges forward as sole ruler of Jotunheim, finding solace in the two orphaned wolf puppies she finds outside her sleigh.

AU in which Loki didn’t die at the beginning of Infinity War-- he accompanied Thor to Nidavellir, then to Wakanda, and died in the Snap alongside the Avengers.

Based on Frostbite by @maiden-of-asgard​

Word Count:  12,192

Pairing: Loki x Reader/Loki x In-Unga

Read it on Ao3

A/N: So let’s flashback to last summer. I had three obsessions: Avengers Endgame, A Song of Ice and Fire (which I was reading for the first time), and Frostbite by Maiden of Asgard. Those obsessions merged into a story that’s been swirling in my head ever since. I never thought I'd actually write it-- back then, I still wasn't fully comfortable with writing my own fanfiction, let alone writing fanfiction of someone else's fanfiction. But when Moa announced that she was going to be turning Frostbite into a physical book and would be accepting fan submissions, my dumbass brain went "i CaN dO tHaT."

This is the most I've struggled with writing a story ever. I've never written from the perspective of a character that wasn't my own, and I found that to much more difficult than I anticipated. Combine that with how the story I was trying to tell spanned over an overwhelming five years, my constant stress that I was ruining Moa’s characters, and the fact that I kept finding myself in "this-made-more-sense-in-my-head" territory and I started getting pretty frustrated. I had expected to be done by the end of June; when at the beginning of July I was only barely halfway finished, I kind of threw in the towel and said "forget it." I took a week off from writing to clear my head, and after a pep talk from my sister (thanks, JJ!) I decided I had to complete it. So here it is! Am I completely happy with the final product? No, but seeing as I never thought there'd be a final product, I'm proud of myself nonetheless.

One last note (this a/n is obnoxious, I’m sorry): Moa, I did intend for this story to be a part of your Frostbite book, but I totally understand if you don't want to deal with it. It is disgustingly long, and I know that you said that the book is already huge. I won't be offended if you don't put it in-- I don't want to create more trouble for you.

Thanks for reading!

It was freezing.

That was saying something. Freezing was an adjective In-Unga had learned not to use lightly. Living on Jotunheim came with the acceptance that you would be existing in extreme sub-zero temperatures year round, warmth being an elusive gem found only in the recesses of furry coats or underneath thick blankets. In the years she had spent in the realm of the Frost Giants, In-Unga felt that she had come quite accustomed to the cold. It was something she was rather proud of—when Captain Rodgers had visited with Thor a few years back, he had joked that she must have taken some kind of super soldier serum herself in order to handle it so well. She had responded, beaming, that as long as she had Loki, she didn’t need anything else to keep her warm.

She had never really considered the truth to that statement.

Njal, her burly head guard, pulled his mount alongside hers. “The temperature is dropping, my queen,” he said. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable in your sleigh—”

“No.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly fine as I am.” Just for good measure, she added a queenly nod.

Njal seemed unconvinced, but he bowed his head just the same. “As you say, my queen.”

In-Unga exhaled, trying to ignore the white cloud that enveloped her when she did so. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay out here. She couldn’t see the skin of her hands under her mittens, but she was certain they were blue. Her face, as well. In fact, at the moment she probably looked more Jotun than Midgardian.

But she was determined to continue riding. Loki had always made a point of it, in the early days when his main concern was showcasing his strength. Now that he was gone, she needed to be strong for him, and for her people.

Those that were left.

Her eyes burned in warning, and so In-Unga shook her head and went back to thinking about how horribly freezing it was. The cold hurt less.

Býleistr had questioned her decision to tour the kingdom so late in the year. The weather would be awful, he said. Her people would understand if she waited until spring. In-Unga had argued that waiting brought its own danger: ignoring the far-away regions during such a tumultuous time would foster restlessness, and the last thing they needed on top of everything that had happened was a civil war.

What she couldn’t put into words was how she needed to get out. There were too many missing faces in Utgard, gaping holes in the tapestry of family she had woven around herself. The throne room was empty even when it was full. She couldn’t focus on mealtime conversations because her gaze kept drifting to the vacant seats where her Forest Twins should be sitting. Her bedroom had become a tomb.

She had to leave, before she drowned in the silence.

Shouts at the back of the party startled In-Unga out of her pity spiral. Members of her guard rushed down the line of sleighs, weapons drawn. Those that remained by her side closed in a tight wall around her.

“What’s happening?” she called to Njal. “Are we under attack?” That’s just what we need now. The forested wilderness that surrounded them provided cover to any would-be assailants. Here, they were sitting ducks.

The wind picked up again, ice cutting straight through her many layers, and this time In-Unga found she couldn’t control her shivering. Frozen sitting ducks.

Soon enough, the cries died down, and her guards came riding back.

“All is well, your majesty. It was only a vargr.”

In-Unga thought of Mánagarmr and shivered again. “A wolf?” she asked. “Is anyone injured?”

“No, my queen.” In-Unga didn’t know the name of the guard that spoke. He was a new member of her defense, one of the many who got an unexpected promotion when their superiors turned to dust. “It jumped out at the last sleigh and startled many, but it was small, and taken down rather easily.”

The mortal queen of Jotunheim frowned. “Why would a wolf attack a party this large?” she asked.

“I cannot say, my queen.”

“Your majesty,” Njal spoke. “Shall I give the order to continue?”

In-Unga shook her head. This didn’t make any sense. “No,” she said. “I want to see this wolf.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her that a giant’s version of a small wolf was bigger than a Clydesdale. The majestic animal now lay lifeless in the snow, the pure white of its fur sullied only by the crimson stain spreading from the spear in its neck. The soldier who brought it down was only too pleased to relay the story to his queen.

“It came tearing out of the woods like a beast from Hel,” he cried, waving his hands for dramatic effect, “Snarling and hissing and baring its teeth. Most of us were caught off guard, but I’ve always been quick with a spear, and so when it turned to me, I was ready for it—”

In-Unga nodded, only half listening. She scanned the treeline from which the wolf had appeared. It made no sense to her—what would cause the creature to attack unprovoked? Right now, with the trees casting crooked silhouettes and the wind whistling in her ears, it seemed like an omen.

But of what? She wondered uselessly. What else could go wrong?

A clump of snow caught her eye. For a moment, she couldn’t understand why—it looked no different than any other clump she had come across in her life. Completely ordinary, but… there was something…

Warmth.

It was warmer than the rest.

The realization shocked her a little. Sensing changes in temperature from afar had been one of the skills Loki had taught her (unsurprisingly, given his affinity for snakes), but she had thought she lost it, along with all her other magical abilities, when she lost her husband.

Better make a note of that.

“There’s something over there,” she said, pointing. “In the snow. Something alive.” She made her way off the road, her guards scrambling to maintain their positions around her.

Damn, it was cold. In-Unga knelt in the ice, biting back curses as the snow soaked through to her knees. Getting back on her mount was looking more and more impossible.

The clump whimpered.

She let out a small gasp when the fluffy puppy head popped out of the snow, blinking ice out of its eyes. It shook the glistening snow from its fur with a tiny whine. A petulant growl followed, and a second pup appeared, pushing its way in front of the first and baring its teeth.

“Oh!” In-Unga reached out cautiously, the cold already forgotten. The growling puppy yipped and she pulled her hand back. The other merely yawned.

Behind her, Njal cleared his throat. “My queen, perhaps you should back away. They are feral—”

“That was their mother,” In-Unga interrupted, looking back at the bleeding body on the side of the path. “She must have felt they were threatened by the caravan and attacked. And we killed her.” Although, even that seemed unlikely.  In-Unga eyed the wolf-killer where he stood over the body of his prey, animatedly retelling the story of his deed to a growing crowd. It was easy to picture him wandering off the trail and provoking the frightened mother. Her gaze darkened.

Njal shifted uncomfortably. “It is unfortunate, my queen, but at this point there’s nothing to be done. We should continue before the weather takes a turn for the worse.”

“We can’t just leave them to starve!” she cried. She reached out again. The growling puppy flinched but didn’t back away. Its sibling craned its neck to sniff her mitten, sneezing when it breathed in a noseful of fuzz. Puppies in the dead of winter. That’s got to mean something. “Look at them! They won’t survive without their mother.”

“I can give them a quick end, your Majesty, if it would ease your worries,” one of her guards spoke up. “It would be merciful—”

“No.” Her guards stiffened at the ice in her voice. The first puppy nuzzled into her hand, rubbing against her like a cat and letting out a contented sigh when she scratched the fur on its neck. The other slunk forward guardedly, curiosity seemingly cracking its tough guy exterior. To her surprise neither resisted when she scooped them into her arms.

“I’ll have no more killing today,” In-Unga said as she stood. “I’ll care for them myself.”

Huld seemed absolutely horrified when the mortal queen plopped the little balls of fur on the floor of the sleigh.

“My queen, they’re wild animals!” she cried.

In-Unga laughed as the first puppy attempted to burrow back into her coat pocket. “Yeah. Real wild.” Its head popped up at the sound of her voice, and for the first time, In-Unga noticed its eyes: one brown and one blue. “Why, you’re a little David Bowie wolf, aren’t you?” she cooed, scratching its pointed ear. The puppy licked her wrist happily.

Her maid wasn’t quite as pleased. “My queen!” she exclaimed, backing away as the other pup growled. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them, I suppose. Raise them as pets.” She left the Bowie wolf to rein in his brother. They were both so small—when she held them in her arms they could easily be mistaken for Earth dogs. In-Unga found herself recalling her first sleigh ride in Jotunheim, with Greip and Gjálp and Snowball the Not-Melrakki, how shocked the twins had been at the concept of Midgardians owning pets.

How many years ago was that? Five? Feels like a lifetime.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping Huld was too preoccupied with their new companions to smell her grief.

“Do we have anything for them to eat?” she asked with forced brightness. “Seal milk, or something?” Huld frowned, but obediently prepared a bowl of milk.

“They’re going to grow to be monsters,” she warned. “My queen, you saw Mánagarmr—”

“That’s right, I did,” In-Unga interrupted as her puppies began lapping up the dish. “And let me tell you, these guys are nothing like him.” The tough pup looked up with an offended growl. Laughing, she reached out to pet him. “Although this one thinks he is.”

The maid’s look of concern only deepened.

In-Unga sighed. “Don’t worry, Huld. Their mother wasn’t even that big. They won’t grow up to be Mánagarmr.” She cringed as she thought of the blood-splattered wolf lying in the snow. These puppies were so small, they had to have been born within the last month, after the Snap. Their poor mother survived the event that massacred half of every living being in the universe so she could give birth to her children, only to be stabbed to death by some hotshot with a stick. It was too cruel for words.

His hunger satisfied, the Bowie wolf paddled over to where In-Unga sat cross-legged on the floor and plopped down in her lap, grinning up at her with his multi-colored eyes.

“Awww!” In-Unga stroked his fur as he snuggled against her coat. “Huld, look at this! Isn’t he precious?”

Huld gave some non-descript reply, but In-Unga didn’t hear her. The second puppy was sniffing her boot, chewing on the sole with pearly teeth. “Come here, little guy.” He whined as she pulled him into her lap with his brother but didn’t try to escape. Quickly, they were both snoring.

In-Unga cradled them as the caravan trudged on, completely oblivious to the cold.

Her wolf pups quickly became the highlight of her entourage. At first In-Unga kept to leaving them with Huld while she met with the nobles on their various stops, hoping to spare them from the information overload of court, but they howled something terrible whenever she was out of sight, crying and chasing after her and giving poor Huld nightmares. Ultimately, the queen had two leashes fashioned out of leather, which they wore reluctantly in exchange for accompanying her everywhere she went. It certainly was a sight to behold—she had already looked rather ridiculous before, this tiny mortal woman encompassed by giants, and now here there were these two little fluffballs constantly nipping at her heels— but perhaps it just added to her effect.

They grew quickly. Within a week it seemed they had doubled in size, which In-Unga only realized when she nearly pulled a muscle trying to scoop them both up as she had done when she first found them. Their appetite grew with them. She was seriously concerned for a while that the caravan would run out of things with which to feed them until Njal pointed out one night that they were born hunters.

“Let them loose while we travel, my queen,” he said. “They’ll find food.”

In-Unga frowned. “You think they would come back?” she asked.

Her guard’s gaze traveled to Bowie, sprawled out on her lap fast asleep, his brother hunched protectively over her feet. “I don’t think you have to worry, your Majesty.”

She started taking them off the leash in the morning. At first, they’d only trot alongside her mount, too anxious to leave her side, but soon they were venturing off the trail for pockets of time, reappearing later with some bloodied creature dangling from their mouths. Birds, rodents, small animals—nothing was safe. Her little fur-babies were stone cold killers. She would’ve been lying if she said it wasn’t unnerving to see the little puppies she cuddled up with at night licking blood off their faces, but honestly their prowess was impressive. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when Brynjarr returned one day dragging some furry mammal twice as big as him.

Unlike his brother, Brynjarr had remained nameless for a large part of the journey. He had been bestowed with nicknames of all sorts—Hunter, Tough Guy, Mommy’s Little Fighter—but it wasn’t until they reached Márfjall that he got a proper name.

“That’s a warrior,” Hrossþjófr said to her while watching the two wrestle on the beach. “He needs a warrior’s name.”

In-Unga had been dreading this final stop, dreading having to walk down these hallways alone when the very walls of the castle screamed for Loki. She had resolved be strong, but just seeing Hross as they alighted, withered and wilted without Griep by his side, had been nearly enough to cause her to fall apart.

The wolves kept her together. Their childlike fascination with the crimson sands was almost enough to distract her from the other memories swirling around in the dark bay. In her few moments of free time, she’d take them down to the shore and laugh as they’d go tearing up the surf, Brynjarr barking menacingly at the ocean when the waves crashed too close to his feet, Bowie rolling around in the sand until his white coat was stained pink. Hross joined her often with his children, likely as desperate for a diversion as she was. They didn’t talk about the event. It was easier just to focus on the wolves.

Hross was endlessly impressed with their obedience. “How do you get them to do that?” he asked when they stopped what they were doing and came running at In-Unga’s whistle.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said as she attempted to dust off Bowie’s coat before he plopped down on top of her. Even though the two wolves were nearly at the height of her hips, Bowie still seemed to think he was a lap cat. “They just always do.”

Dagný shrieked and buried her face into her father’s chest when the wolves came too close, but her brother leaned forward, his eyes like saucers as he reached for Brynjarr with chubby hands.

“Woof,” he cried. “Woof.”

Hross pulled him away. “Dali, we don’t want to bother the vargr, now—"

“It’s okay,” In-Unga said. “Bryn, sit down so Dali can pet you.”

Brynjarr sank into the sand obediently. Dali gasped in delight as he ran his fingers through the wolf’s thick mane.

“Woof!” he cried again, happily. Hross and In-Unga laughed.

From her lap, Bowie whined for attention. She reached to scratch behind his ears.

“So devoted,” Hross mused. “I’ll have to add it to your song. ‘In-Unga, charmer of wolves.’”

The party arrived back at Utgard just as the winter freeze was beginning to thaw. There was an audible gasp from the crowd gathered when she exited her sleigh flanked by the two animals, but Býleistr only raised an eyebrow.

“There were rumors, but I supposed no one really believed them,” he told her as they walked in.

She smiled. “But you did?”

“Of course,” he said. “If there’s anyone on this planet stupid enough to mistake a vargr for a pet, it’s you.”

“I missed you too, Bý.”

Býleistr and the rest of her advisors tried to catch her up on all the business she had missed over dinner, but the very presence of her wolves was quick to derail any serious conversation.

“They’re so well behaved,” marveled a forest giant In-Unga probably should’ve known the name of. “How does one inspire such loyalty, your Majesty?”

In-Unga forced an artificial laugh. “They only stick around because they know I feed them.”

The wolves laid down at her feet, eyeing the meat on the table. She reached down to scratch Bowie’s back. She doubted the giant had meant anything by her question, but the way everyone was looking at Bowie and Brynjarr was reminding her of the way everyone had looked at her when she first arrived in Jotunheim with Loki, and it was stirring up emotions in her chest that she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

She thought of the golden collar she had worn for so many years, a sign of ownership that had turned into a display of loyalty. She had despised it at first, but by the end she had been proud to wear that collar.

Lokakona. Loki’s woman.

It was in a box under her bed, along with the knife he had given her after the Rann Steinar debacle and the wooden Yggdrasil pendent Griep had given her before her first trip to Asgard. In the days following the destruction of the stones, as the heavy truth that this was a nightmare she wasn’t going to wake up from sank in, In-Unga had collected everything that broke her to look at and stuffed them where she wouldn’t see them anymore.

It hadn’t helped much.

The nights were the worst. It was stupid, because she had lived alone for years before Jotunheim, but now the concept of sleeping by herself made her sick to her stomach. When everything had first happened, In-Unga had refused to even touch the bed. It was too big, too cold, too empty to even attempt sleep in it. She piled furs and blankets on top of the couch and laid there all night, haunted by missing faces and broken memories and outstretched hands that were just beyond her reach. By morning, she’d be curled up so tightly into herself that it hurt to sit straight during the day.

At first, it was just temporary. Wasn’t that what Agent Romanov said, when she finally got into contact with her? They’d find a way to reverse it. Once they were able to locate Tony Stark, they’d find a way. It would be okay. She’d just have to rule in Loki’s stead for a little bit, just like she had before. Keep his realm together for him until he came back. But a month later, she got another call. This time, Romanov’s voice held none of the steadfast determination that In-Unga had been clinging to so desperately. They were gone. The infinity stones, and the people too. It was over. They failed. She was so sorry.

Vaguely, In-Unga remembered asking if she could talk to her brother-in-law, the silence that followed as Romanov went looking for him, her apologetic tone when Thor refused to come to the phone. The next thing she knew she was in the courtyard, heavy snow pummeling her body as Býleistr dragged her back inside with an arm around her waist.

“Are you completely out of your mind?” he snapped. “You’ll freeze to death out there!”

She held up her hand, hazily noting that her skin looked an even darker blue than his.

It was soon after that In-Unga decided to tour the kingdom. The voice inside her head scolded her for the decision even as she attempted to provide political rationale. She was running away. Pushing her problems further down the road in a childish attempt to avoid the unavoidable. Loki would be disappointed in you.

But how could she rule a planet when she couldn’t even bring herself to sleep in her own bed?

So she had left for a few months, for better or worse, and now she was back. After dinner her wolves, obviously exhausted from the long journey, trotted into her old room without issue. Bowie plopped down on the floor and was asleep in seconds. Brynjarr, ever distrustful, made his cautious way around the room, sniffing at odds and ends and barking at items that seemed too suspicious. In-Unga stood in the doorway, watching. It was almost enough of a distraction. Almost. The room was untouched since the last time she had entered, so much so that it still reeked of Loki. The feeling was so strong that for a moment she didn’t trust herself to move.

She entered slowly, drinking in the memories. Loki’s desk, where she’d lean on top of him and read his paperwork over his shoulder, currently piled up with documents he was never going to review. The table across from empty fireplace, where on rare occasions they could have their meals when the only company they felt like entertaining was each other’s. The rug next to the fireplace, where they always seemed to end up after such occasions.

And there was the bed. Brynjarr rushed ahead of her as she made her way to the bedroom, seemingly intent on confirming its safety before allowing her access. In-Unga found herself laughing despite the ache in her chest.

“Does it meet your standards, Bryn?” she asked as he slipped under the bed and out again, sniffing every corner and examining every fur. Eventually, he laid down at the foot of the bed, satisfied.

In-Unga sat down next to him, stroking his ears as he rested his big head on her thighs. This was the last place she had seen Loki. Here, in this room, on this bed. They had been woken up in the middle of the night by a messenger at the door. Groaning, he had dragged himself out of bed to answer it, only to return shortly after considerably more alert.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily as he dressed. “Where you going?”

“Thor’s made a mess of things on Asgard,” he replied, pulling his tunic over his head. “He needs my help.”

“What?” The gravity of his tone woke her up quickly. “Wait, you’re leaving now? What happened?”

He leaned forward to kiss her. “It’s probably nothing. My brother is known to blow things out of proportion. I should be back within a few days.”

“Loki—”

He muffled her with another kiss. “Don’t worry, dröttning,” he whispered against her lips. “It will be fine. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Stay safe.”

And then he was gone.

For months, In-Unga wondered if there was something she should’ve done. Pulled him back into bed, forbidden him from walking through that door? “Stay here with me. Thor can handle it himself.” Would it have even changed anything? Loki had told her about Thanos—not a lot, but enough to understand that his influence stretched across galaxies. Would he still have collected the stones, regardless of whether she managed to keep Loki with her? She didn’t know which alternative was worse: the idea that there was something she could’ve done but didn’t, or the thought that she was so useless that Loki and the others were fated to die regardless of her actions.

Brynjarr whined, sitting up taller so he could lick the tears off her cheeks. She buried her face in his fluffy neck.

“I miss him, Bryn,” she sobbed. “I miss him so much.”

He followed her into bed that night. It was a bit surprising—Brynjarr normally wasn’t one for bedtime cuddles, that was Bowie’s thing—but not all together unwelcome. In-Unga was a little more concerned about the bed—on all fours her wolves were now taller than her, and significantly heavier. But it seemed to hold together alright, minus a few creaks, and honestly, the comforting weight of Bryn’s head on her stomach was worth a damaged bedframe if it came down to it. Slowly, she drifted off to the sound of his breathing.

Court was sparse these days.

In-Unga had become so accustomed to the looming hallway being packed with faces that seeing it half-empty kindled even more anxiety in her chest. The faces that were there seemed anxious as well—although In-Unga was rather certain their apprehension came more from the massive wolves at her feet than the vacancies in the room. Bowie and Brynjarr were still for the most part, but they were always ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Everything was threatening to them. If someone addressed her with a less than respectful tone, if someone tried too come to near to the throne, they were on their feet, teeth bared and growling. In-Unga found it hard to take them seriously. Bowie was a big sweetie who liked belly rubs and snuggling next to the fire, and whenever Bryn growled, she could only picture the tiny little fluff ball she found in the snow trying to be intimidating. But they certainly succeeded in unnerving the court, a little too much perhaps.

“Maybe I should have them wait outside next time,” she wondered aloud to Býleistr after a civilian who had come to petition the queen had been so frightened he was unable to string together a coherent sentence.

“No, most certainly not,” he countered. “They give you an extra sense of authority. The Queen already controls the Casket, now the vargrs bow to her command—it’s a powerful statement, and Jotuns respect power.”

“I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m ruling through fear.”

Býleistr scoffed. “If your subjects don’t fear you to some extent, then you’re doing something wrong. Besides,” he added, “they should be fearful of your wolves.”

He was probably right. In-Unga trusted Njal and his men with her life, but she knew that if there was any sign of danger it would be the wolves who acted first. Bryn and Bowie accompanied her everywhere, flanking her like a set of furry bodyguards. It was especially odd given how large they had grown—they had long been towering over her, and now were approaching Býleistr’s height. Thankfully, Utgard had high ceilings.

With time, the palace became more accustomed to their presence. In-Unga liked to think that seeing her so at ease with them had begun to rub off on her subjects. If she ever had free time during the day, she’d take the two outside to run around and play in the snow. It wasn’t nearly as spacious as the beaches at Márfjall, but they had enough room to wrestle and cavort around. A crowd usually gathered when she played fetch with an old stick of wood she had picked up while still on the road, watching cautiously with wide eyes. She felt rather like a zookeeper putting on a show in an exhibit.

And if you look here, boys and girls, we have an overgrown doggo in his natural habitat.

It had also become a well-known fact that Bowie and Brynjarr slept in In-Unga’s bed with her. She wasn’t quite sure how this had become a well-known fact—perhaps those in charge of washing her bedding had taken note of the clumps of white fur tangled in the blankets—but Huld told her that this fact was seen as quite impressive to the other servants.

“It’s brave,” she said. “To leave yourself vulnerable to such beasts every night.”

In-Unga laughed humorlessly from where she sat hunched over at the desk. It had been a rough day. “At least they’re impressed. I’m pretty sure Loki’s glaring daggers down at me for letting animals sleep in his bed.” She had meant to make a joke, but there was a familiar lump building in her throat that she couldn’t quite swallow.

Hesitantly, Huld reached out to touch her forearm. “He’d love them,” she said. “He loved anything that made you happy.”

Maybe that was so. But In-Unga was still pretty certain that he’d be pissed—if not for the constantly shedding vargrs taking over his bedroom, then definitely for the stupid ideas that they spawned.

“Alright,” In-Unga said, drawing a line in the air from her chest to the ground. “Lie down.”

The two wolves sunk into the snow obediently, though not without confusion. They clearly expected playtime when she brought them outside, as did the growing crowd of faces at the palace gate. She sighed. This was one time where she’d rather not have an audience, but she didn’t feel right having them dispersed.

“Have I mentioned that this is a terrible idea?” Býleistr drawled from behind her.

“You have, as a matter of fact,” she replied, rubbing Bowie’s neck. He sighed contently, multicolored eyes slipping closed. “I’m still not listening to you.”

“It was worth a try.”

It was Hross who had put the idea in her head, when he had come to visit a month or two ago. Even after he returned to Márfjall, she couldn’t stop imagining what it might be like to ride one of her wolves like a horse.

“Just picture it!” he had said excitedly. “Queen In-Unga, riding into battle alone atop a vargr, casket in hand—”

Býleistr had interrupted to inquire under what circumstances would the kingdom become so inept as to send their mortal queen into battle alone, but In-Unga was sold.

Although, looking at it now, mounting didn’t seem as simple as Hross had made it out to be.

“Okay,” she murmured to Bowie as she made her way around his body. “I’m going to get on your back, buddy. Don’t freak out.” She grabbed a clump of fur on his back—even with him laying down, she had to reach a bit—and tried to pull herself up.

Key word being tried.

“No—what are you doing?” she cried as Bowie stood up with her still hanging off his side. “Bowie, sit down!”

The wolf yawned.

“Oh my,” Býleistr was doing his best to sound disinterested, but she could hear the suppressed laugher hiding under his voice. “Do you need a push?”

“Shut up.” She leveraged herself against the wolf, trying to wriggle her way to a sitting position. Bowie suddenly decided to obey her earlier command and plopped his bottom on the ground, the movement throwing her off enough to tumble into the snow.

“Oof!”

Bowie grinned at her.

Býleistr’s laugh rang out across the ice.

“I take it back,” he said. “That was well worth it. Now, have you had enough of this nonsense, my Queen, or might we go back inside?”

In-Unga was already back on her feet. “Do whatever you want, Býleistr. I’m not finished yet.”

This time, she went to Brynjarr. He was still lying down, despite all the ruckus.

“Okay,” she murmured, scratching his ear. “Take 2.”

Bowie whined. In-Unga turned around to see him lying down with his head between his paws, eyes wide and repentant. “Oh, hush!” she said, rolling her eyes. “You had your chance.”

Pulling herself on to Brynjarr’s back was surprisingly easy, likely because he actually listened to her when she told him to stay still. It took her a minute to get situated and comfortable, seated in a position where she didn’t feel like she was immediately going to slip off. She wondered if she should have a saddle made. But she felt like that would be too complicated—they’d have to get measurements from the wolves since no such saddle had ever been made before (to her knowledge, at least), all the while working on the assumption that Bryn and Bowie would even wear such a contraption.

Besides, she told herself, Daenerys Targaryen rides her dragons bareback without problem, right?

Yes. That was definitely the type of logic she needed to live her life by.

In-Unga clutched his fur as tightly as she could. “Okay, Bryn,” she said, tapping his neck. “Up!”

The wolf rose to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion that nearly sent her sprawling again. Oh boy. She tightened the grip of her legs around his sides. If I die today, blame George R.R. Martin.

She was high. Extremely high. Geez, she had to be at least ten feet in the air! Since when had her babies gotten this big?

Býleistr cleared his throat. “So,” he said, looking up at her (Býleistr had to look up at her!), “Are you just going to sit up there all day or do you plan on doing something? Because if not I would like to remind you that—”

“Hold your horses, Bý.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

In-Unga ignored him. She leaned forward to flatten herself against Brynjarr’s back. “Okay buddy,” she whispered, tapping his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He started off slowly, a fact for which she was exceedingly thankful. He crept ahead almost as if he was tiptoeing, so soft that she barely felt his feet on the ground, a far cry from the clodding she was used to with the wooly rhinos. He wandered around in a circle, continually looking back to check if she was still there.

“Good boy.”

They continued riding in a circle for a while. It wasn’t anything grand, and it was certainly a far cry from Hrossþjófr’s vision of her galloping into battle, but there was still something thrilling about being atop such a powerful creature. In-Unga didn’t have any delusions about being in control—she knew damn well the moment Brynjarr decided he had had enough he’d plop down in the snow and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it—but the illusion of control was enough to make her feel unbelievably powerful.

“Look at me, Býleistr!” she called. “Aren’t you impressed?”

“Exceedingly,” he said dryly. “Are you finished? Remember, we do have things to accomplish today.”

In-Unga frowned. Býleistr was right, of course—she was the Queen of Jotunheim, she couldn’t just spend the entire day playing with her wolves. But on the flip side, she was the Queen of Jotunheim—if she wanted to spend the entire day playing with her wolves, who could stop her?

Just as she was beginning to favor postponing her next few meetings on account of essential wolf training, Bowie rose to his feet.

She sighed. “Bowie, what did I tell you—” The wolf wasn’t listening. He knelt close to the ground, muscles tense as he eyed something in the distance. Brynjarr turned around abruptly, In-Unga grabbing at his mane to maintain her balance. He too tensed, staring unblinkingly into the snow.

She squinted into the distance. At first, she couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but the tiniest movement of white fur soon gave it away. A kanína. They were smaller, rodent-like creatures that lived all over the place, not unlike the rabbits she knew from Earth. Their meat was extremely tough, practically inedible to giants and mortals alike, but her wolves loved to hunt them.

Uh oh.

“I think I’m going to get down now,” she said, patting Brynjarr’s neck. “You can chance down that furball once I’m on the ground. Lie down.” Bryn didn’t move. Oh dear.

She tried again, more authoritatively. “Brynjarr, lie down! Brynjarr—” She cut herself off with a very unqueenly shriek as the kanína bolted, the wolves bolting after it.

All In-Unga could do was hold on for dear life. The wind smacked her face as they picked up speed, whistling so loudly in her ears that she could only barely hear Býleistr shouting her name. The landscape flashed by in a blur of color.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

“Bryn!” she screamed. “Bryn, stop!”

It was like riding a giant rocking horse running at the speed of light. Straightening up was out of the question, so she flattened herself against Brynjarr’s body and tried to sway with his movements. To the left, she could barely make out Bowie running alongside them, leaping so far that it looked like he was flying above the snow.

Just breath. Focus on breathing. Don’t think about how much it’ll hurt if you fall. Just focus on breathing.

Although… it wasn’t that bad. The longer she held on, feeling the vibration of their paws travel up her spine, the more her panic began to fade. She pushed up a little, risking a glance over her shoulder at the distant dot that was Býleistr. Shit. They were going fast.

Exhilaration flooded her body. This is what Hross had been talking about!

In-Unga, Charmer of Wolves

For a moment, she felt like a superhero.

When she hooted, the wolves howled with her. The kanína was still running in front of them, scrambling to stay ahead, but its time was up: Bowie pounced and had the poor rodent dangling in his mouth in a second, snapping its neck like it was nothing. They slowed down, Bowie stopping completely to grin at her with his prize. Look at me, Mom! Aren’t you proud of me?

In-Unga laughed. “Good boy.”

Trotting back to Býleistr was slightly less thrill-inducing now that she could actually see where they were going without getting pelted in the face with wind. In-Unga made a mental note to have a pair of goggles made for any future wolf-runs.

“So what do you think?” she asked, grinning down at her brother-in-law.

Býleistr gaped at her. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I still haven’t learned to just expect this madness from you.”

She snickered.

After that, wolf rides became a part of In-Unga’s daily routine. Every afternoon she’d climb onto Bryn’s back and take off into the snow for about an hour, flying across the countryside with only her wolves for company. That last detail drove Býleistr mad.

“You are the single most important individual on this planet,” he snapped at her one day. “And, if you’ll excuse my saying so, likely the most vulnerable as well. You need to take a guard with you.”

“I can take care of myself, Bý,” she replied nonchalantly from where she sat with Bowie in front of the fireplace. “You should understand that as much as anyone. Besides, the wolves will take care of me.” Bowie looked up with a grin, thumping his tail against the stone floor in enthusiastic agreement. Býleistr rolled his eyes.

“And when you go flying off their back while they’re running at full speed? How will they protect you then?” He shook his head. “I’d doubt they’d even notice you were missing.”

“That will never happen,” she said stubbornly. “I’d never fall off, and they’d never leave me behind.”

It was easy to sound fearless while bathed in the warmth of the fire, but there were moments where In-Unga was a little less sure of herself (although she’d stab herself before admitting such to the prince). The landscape around Utgard was high and rocky, and although her furry companions were sure footed, she often found herself swallowing her heart as they scampered up craggy ledges.

Still, every hair-raising experience she survived increased her confidence in her abilities as a wolf-back rider and encouraged her to go farther. She taught Brynjarr to understand her commands just by the way she shifted her weight on his back. Luckily, he picked it up easily— trying to yell instructions with the wind blasting in her face got old very quickly.

Bowie took a little while longer, but they got there eventually. He wasn’t as much of a fan of having In-Unga on his back, but he also wasn’t a fan of being left out, and weeks of watching his brother get all the attention for carrying the queen wore him down. Soon enough, she could ride him as well as Bryn.

They tended to keep to the rocks on their journeys. Running through the caves would have been a lot easier, as well as less windy, but the caverns that Loki had carried her through when she first arrived on Jotunheim were haunted by ghosts of memories In-Unga couldn’t bring herself to face. Instead, she stuck to sights less sacred: mountainous cliffs and jutting rocks that Bryn and Bowie loved to race each other around, places so far off the beaten path that there was no chance of stray flashbacks popping up to punch her in the gut.

Sometimes, on the way back from the palace, she’d ride through town. It was a risk, of course, but then again when was anything not? She always wanted to laugh at the crowd that gathered whenever she came through, at the way her people’s eyes would bulge at seeing the giant wolves plodding down the road completely unphased. They would whisper amongst themselves, just as they did that first time she came to the marketplace with Griep, but the words were slightly different.

In-Unga. Vargdröttning.

Usually, she made a point of stopping at some small vendor and purchasing something— a dagger, a blanket, a piece of jewelry— the item didn’t really matter to her. She just liked interacting with her people, asking them about their families, checking up on their wellbeing. With everything that had gone wrong in the past few years, she felt that was the least she could do. That too was reminiscent her trip with Griep. So much had changed since then, and yet still so much was the same. Back then, the Jotuns hadn’t known what to make of a mortal wandering through life on Utgard as if she belonged there. In-Unga got the feeling that they still weren’t sure what to make of her now, but they treated her with respect and grace and that was all she could ever hope for.

Some of the changes hurt. The absence of her Forest Twins was an ache she carried with her everywhere she went. In-Unga had never really realized how deeply she depended on them both until they were gone. Now, without them, she missed them everywhere. At the table during meals. In the throne room when she held court. Just walking through the halls—it was such a silly, stupid thing, but she felt naked making her way through the palace alone even now, a couple years after she lost them.

Most times during her afternoon ride, she’d dismount at the top of some mountain and let Bowie and Brynjarr hunt for a bit. She’d find a rock to sit on, sheltered from the wind, and make a list of all the things she wanted to tell them. How she had been trying to teach Huld to play gin rummy, but Bowie ate half the deck. How Hross had written that Dagný had finally said her first word: daddy. How Býleistr was all pissed off because Bryn had somehow gotten into his greenhouse while In-Unga had let them out to hunt and knocked over some important plants from Alfheim.

Griep would have gotten a kick out of that last one: in the months before everything went wrong, Gjálp had been spending a suspicious amount of time in Býleistr’s greenhouse, something her sister and In-Unga had been relentlessly teasing her about. You know, payback for all the teasing she had doled out over the years. She had been getting pretty annoyed about it.

“I don’t know what the two of you have gotten in your heads,” she had scowled. “Prince Býleistr was simply showing off his imported aster flowers. They only bloom for a short period of time—”

“Riiight,” In-Unga said, smirking. “That’s definitely what he’s been showing you.”

Gjálp sputtered, scandalized, while Griep exploded into a fit of very uncharacteristic giggles.

On her rock in the middle of the snow, In-Unga giggled too. It was nice, having these quick little moments where she could almost trick herself into thinking that everything was fine. They were fleeting though. By the time her wolves returned to her, a few minutes later, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

She missed them so much.

But with everything that had changed in the past few years, everything that had been uprooted and ripped to shreds, at least there remained one constant in her life.

Periods still sucked Hel.

Regardless, In-Unga always tried to carry on with her day as usual. She was the queen, after all—she couldn’t be seen as weak. So, she’d hold court like everything was normal, sit up straight on the throne and pretend she didn’t feel like someone was wringing out her insides like wet laundry. If the giants around her noticed the stench of blood (which of course they did), they knew better than to bring it up.

But today had just been too much. Meetings heaped on top of meetings, every new face bearing a different demand or a different complaint, every new conversation only exacerbating the ache in her head and the knots in her stomach. By noon, she called it a day.

In bed, burrowed into her nest of blankets, In-Unga existed in the frustrating in-between: too tired to be fully awake, but too uncomfortable to drift off to sleep. She buried her face in her pillow and cursed the blizzard outside. It seems periods always worsened with the cold.

From the doorframe, Bowie whined. Brynjarr had easily accepted the reality that there would be no afternoon run today, instead electing to pass out at the foot of the bed, but his brother did not give up so easily. If In-Unga hadn’t felt so awful, she would’ve laughed at him—the doorway to her bedroom was far too narrow for the giant wolf. He was just barely managing to squeeze through.

He whined again.

She groaned. “Can’t play with you right now, buddy.”

Rolling over, she nestled deeper under the covers, seeking protection against the biting cold. It was a useless attempt. She never seemed to be able to get warm anymore.

Bowie padded over to her bedside, his claws drumming on the floor making him sound like some sort of depressed tap dancer. He snuffled at her hair.

“Go away, Bowie,” she muttered when he pressed his clammy nose to her forehead. She pushed his giant head away halfheartedly. “Lie down with Bryn.”

Suddenly, the whole bed dipped, and the giant wolf was attempting to snuggle his way into to her blankets.

“Bow—” she tried to push him away again, with even less effort than before. “You’re too big!” But with a final push, he nuzzled under her blankets next to her, grinning widely and smacking her face with a mouthful of doggy breath. In-Unga winced.

“Such an attention hog,” she groaned, even as she reached to scratch the fur under his chin. “You don’t even care that I’m trying to rest, do you?” He snuggled closer, sighing in contentment when In-Unga shifted so that she was resting her head on his fluffy neck rather than her pillow.

“Yes, you’re a good boy. I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” She heaved a sigh of her own. “Do you know what my small council said to me, first thing when I sat down?”

He cocked his head. In-Unga took that as a sign to continue.

“They think I should get married. Remarried.” She swallowed bitterly. “They said it would help ‘maintain my legitimacy as queen.’ As if I’m not already fucking legitimate!” She smacked the mattress with her palm, glaring at her wolf. “Do you know the shit I went through to get to this point?”

Bowie whined.

“Right, of course you don’t,” she apologized. “You weren’t born yet. But take my word for it, it was a lot.”

On the floor, Brynjarr shifted in his sleep. In-Unga continued.

“And then there’s the whole subject of heirs. ‘Your Majesty, since you failed to have a child to King Loki before he died, you have no one to advance your lineage’—yes I’m well aware of that!” she shouted at the ceiling, blinking the steaming tears from her eyes. “I’m reminded of that fact every damn day of my life! I don’t need you to tell me!”

Her nose was running. She wiped it angrily with the heel of her hand. They had been trying to have a baby, her and Loki. After years of pushing it off, waiting for things to stabilize, they had finally felt ready. Loki had told her not to be frustrated if she didn’t get pregnant right away.

“Our biologies are fundamentally different. It may take some time.” They had been in bed, tangled up in each other under the cover of darkness. In-Unga could still feel his breath in her hair when he leaned down to kiss her head. “Don’t worry, dröttning. We’re in no rush.”

He had gotten called away a few months later, her womb still empty.

“They had a whole list of men they thought would be suitable,” she muttered to Bowie, blocking out memories that hurt too much to touch. “They had organized it all and everything. I felt like the Bachelorette. Totally ridiculous! And they had the audacity to look at me like I was the crazy one!”

The way they had stared at her, when she categorically refused to even consider their proposition. “But my queen, don’t you want to have children?”

Yes. Yes she did. She wanted to have children whose ebony hair matched their father’s, who carried both his intelligence and his mischievous streak within them. She wanted to see her husband’s eyes light up when they learned a new magic trick, wanted to laugh at the regal King of Jotunheim crawling around the room on his hands and knees with his toddler giggling on his back. She wanted to cradle her baby and smile at its sleeping face in awe, wondering at the perfect mix of her and the man she loved so much, a mix that could exist with no one else.

Yes, she wanted to have children. Loki’s children.

In-Unga ran her fingers through Bowie’s fur. “He’s not coming back,” she whispered. “I know that. I’ve made my peace with it. But I can’t pretend that it’s okay. I can’t just… replace him.”

Bowie licked her cheek with a tongue the size of her entire face. In-Unga sputtered, snorting. “Ugh… thanks buddy.” He nodded, moving to rest his head on her stomach so she could scratch his ears. She stroked his long fur absentmindedly. The wolves were the closest thing to children she was ever going to have. She was at peace with that too. Her advisors may not understand, but they didn’t have to. She had done so much for her kingdom. They could give her this.

And so time marched on. Winter turned to spring, spring to summer, then back to winter again, over and over as if nothing had ever happened.

It was a quiet night in her quarters when things changed.

In-Unga was skimming over a document by the fire, having abandoned the desk in favor of the furry rug, a warm blanket, and her wolf-pillows. Bryn’s eyes were fluttering. Bowie was already fast asleep, sighing contently. Behind them, Huld softly cleaned up the remnants of the late dinner she had eaten alone in her room. Save for the crackling of the flames, the room was silent.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the lines of script. The flickering light was almost hypnotic—In-Unga leaned against Bowie’s back to rest her eyes for a moment and found herself unable to sit back up.

She yawned. Probably time to call it a night. Still, she felt so nice here—her bed would be large and cold, and she’d have to get up and walk all the way to the next room to even get there…

In-Unga was just beginning to doze off completely when the high-pitched beep nearly scared her out of her skin.

The wolves were on their feet immediately, knocking her out of her reverie and barking so loudly the room shook. The beeping continued, shrill and ear-piercing, and In-Unga cursed under her breath as she pulled herself up.

I live in a damn circus.

Huld was standing at the table, hands over her ears and red eyes trained on the corner of the room. “Your majesty!” she cried. “It’s the thing!”

In-Unga followed her gaze to the telephone-like communicator Tony Stark had created for them, back when everything was nice and happy and Thor had convinced everyone it was a good idea for Jotunheim to have some method of contact with the Avengers. For the first time in five years, it was flashing red.

She made her way across the room in a fog. The last time it rang… that call had broken her. Broken everything. Told her that the hopeless mess her life had turned into would be here to stay, and that she would have to clean it up alone. In-Unga hadn’t touched the device since. What could Earth’s Mightiest Heroes possibly have to say to her now?

Still, it couldn’t be worse than last time, could it?

In-Unga hushed the wolves, who fell silent at her command, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Agent Romanov’s sharp voice said her Midgardian name. “How have you been?”

“Alright, I guess, considering everything,” she answered cautiously. Somehow, she doubted that after half a decade the assassin had just decided to phone for a social call. “Is everything okay?”

She was right. “We’re working on something,” Agent Romanov said. “We’re not positive how everything’s going to turn out, but at the moment, things are looking good. I thought you should know, just in case things get crazy.”

In-Unga frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Snap,” she said. She inhaled softly. “We think we can bring everyone back.”

In-Unga’s heart stopped.

For a moment, she just stood there, barely comprehending her words.

We can bring everyone back.

Romanov said her name again. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “Are—are you serious? You going—how is that even possible? You said before—without the stones—”

“I know,” the assassin said. “We still need them. But Stark’s come up with something that would allow us to retrieve them before they were destroyed. We’ve planned out where they are across the timeline, the easiest times and places for us to access them—”

“Wait.” In-Unga’s head was spinning. “Retrieve them before they were destroyed?” She had to be misunderstanding. Surely Romanov wasn’t suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting. “How is that possible? Unless you have a—”

“Time machine?” There was a wry smile to Romanov’s voice. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, but like I said, Stark’s come up with something,” she continued. “I know it sounds insane, but we’ve proven it works—we ran a test with Barton, and Lang basically did it unintentionally for five years—”

“Lang?” In-Unga asked weakly.

“You don’t know him. But my point is it’s possible.”

It’s possible.

“Time travel,” she said. “That’s what’s happening? I haven’t gone crazy, you’re actually telling me you can time travel?”

“Well, you did marry the guy who attacked New York, so I can’t say you’re not crazy,” Romanov said. In-Unga was so overwhelmed that the poor attempt at humor didn’t even bother her. “But yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

They’re going to bring them back. In-Unga was shaking. Loki, Griep, Gjálp… they’re going to bring them back!

“When is this happening? How is this going to happen? Is there something I can do?” The questions tumbled out faster than she had time to think.

“We’re going out tomorrow. Technically speaking, everything will only take a few minutes, so we should have the stones by then.”

In-Unga gasped. “That soon?”

“Yeah. We’re not sure exactly how they’ll work once we have them, but Thanos was able to wipe out half the universe just by snapping his fingers, so we’re guessing it’s not that difficult.”

“So, everyone could be back tomorrow!” The shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a surge of pure elation. The wolves, sensing her excitement, began barking again. “Hey, shut up! Both of you!”

Romanov laughed. “I didn’t know you had dogs.”

“It’s a fairly new development.” So new that Loki and the Twins never got to meet them. Her eyes were stinging. “Tomorrow?”

“Hopefully, yes,” In-Unga had never known Romonov to sound so excited. “That’s why I wanted to get into contact with you. We’re not sure how this will work, what kind of widespread effects it can might cause. I thought you deserved a heads up.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Will you let me know when you get back with the stones?”

“Sure thing.”

“Well…” In-Unga wondered if she was dreaming, if she was going to wake up and curse her stupid brain for letting her hope for a moment. But this was real. This was happening. “Good luck!” she said into the receiver, pulse thrumming.

She could hear the smile in Romanov’s voice. “Thanks. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

In-Unga set the receiver down in a daze. When she turned, both her wolves and her maid were staring at her with eyes so wide it was practically comical.

“Huld,” she said quietly. “Get Býleistr in here, would you?”

She spent the next day huddled next to the communicator, anxiously tapping her feet on the stone floor.

Býleistr had been willing to hold court in her place today, but he had been less inclined to share her eager optimism.

“The past has already been written, In-Unga,” he said softly. “That’s not something anyone can change.”

“But there’s a chance they might,” she cried. She pushed the hair out of her face. “A chance. That’s more than we’ve had for the last five years!”

“Getting your hopes up will only cause yourself more pain when they fail. You’ll be grieving all over again—"

“I never stopped grieving,” she whispered. Her eyes were damp again as she looked back up at Býleistr. He sighed.

“I hope it works,” he said. “I do. It’s just—” he cut himself off, shaking his head and abruptly standing up to leave. “Goodnight, your Majesty.”

Behind her, the wolves paced back and forth, whining softly as they picked up on her nervous energy. In-Unga couldn’t tear her eyes away from the phone. Had they left yet? Was everything going to plan? She let out a worried breath. If only there was something she could do. Something besides just sitting here and feeling useless.

By the afternoon Romanov still had not called and In-Unga had completely chewed through her bottom lip. She should have heard something by now. She was certain of it. Hadn’t Romanov said that it was only supposed to take a few minutes?

Huld brought her lunch at around noon. In-Unga left it on the table untouched. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Bowie was scratching at the floor. The sound of his nails dragging across the stone put her even more on edge than she was already, but he ignored her when she told him to stop. In the corner, Byrnjarr growled softly.

Her room was warmer than usual. She found herself shrugging off the blanket she usually kept draped across her shoulders in her quarters and letting it fall to the floor. Out of nowhere, she felt confused. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Everything was happening at once. It was overwhelming—so overwhelming. She couldn’t think— wait.

These aren’t my feelings.

In-Unga shot up so quickly she knocked her chair over. Bowie and Bryn were on their feet in less than a second, bouncing around and barking at the top of their lungs. With shaking hands, she reached for her neck, for what had become nothing more than an old scar these past five years. At the brush of her fingertips, sparks shot through her skin.

Her gasp melted into messy sobs. “Loki.”

Outside, people were shouting, voices blending together into an amorphous blob of noise. Someone pounded at her door.

“Your Majesty!” Njal shouted. “Your Majesty, something is happening—”

They’re back. They’re all back…

In-Unga barged through her door without a word to her guards, dashing down the hallways at lightning speed with Brynjarr and Bowie trotting at her heels. There were people everywhere—servants, nobles, people gasping, people embracing, people running through the halls like maniacs like her—In-Unga ignored all of them. She flung herself down the stairs with her wolves still behind her.

The room she was rushing to hadn’t been touched in five years. She had felt stupid, giving that order, but having someone else move in was admitting that they were gone forever, and she couldn’t do that.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

In-Unga was completely out of breath by the time she flung open the door. The woman standing in the middle of room looked up as she pressed her fingers to her temple, red eyes furrowed in a frown.

“In-Unga,” she asked. “What is—”

Gjálp didn’t have time to finish before In-Unga crashed into her in a bear hug, bawling.

She sputtered. “In-Unga—”

“You’re back!” In-Unga sobbed. “You’re back! You’re back!”

Gjálp returned the embrace tentatively. “What is happening? What—Norns!” She stiffened, yanking In-Unga backwards. The mortal queen turned to find that Bryn and Bowie had followed her into the room and were now looming over the couch with all the intimidation of a pair of overexcited Labradors.

“Oh no, it’s fine—” In-Unga hiccupped, finding words astonishingly difficult to control in the moment. “Mine. They’re mine. Don’t worry! Uh—lie down!” Thankfully, they obeyed without an issue, their tales flying around like propellers. “See?” She gulped, turning back to Gjálp. She gripped her wrist, just to remind herself that this was real, and she wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re back,” she whispered again, hoarsely.

“You keep saying that,” Gjálp said, still frowning suspiciously at the wolves. “What happened? Where am I back from?”

In-Unga let out a wet laugh. “You were gone. He got the stones and took out everyone—half of everyone, half of everyone everywhere,” she laughed again, because it suddenly sounded funny saying out loud with Gjálp staring down at her like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Your Majesty.”

They both jumped at the unfamiliar voice behind them. In-Unga turned to find herself face to face with a man—a human man, with a goatee and red cloak, standing in the middle of a ring of fire. In a second, the wolves had flanked her, teeth bared and growling.

Shit, I guess I have lost my mind.

Gjálp was the first to find her voice. “Who—what—how did you get in here?”

The man ignored her. “Your Majesty,” he said, facing In-Unga. “I am Dr. Stephen Strange of New York.”

The name vaguely stirred something in her memory. “You died in the Snap,” she said. “You were with Mr. Stark.”

Dr. Strange nodded. “The effects of the Snap may have been reversed, but this isn’t over yet.”  He fixed her with a solemn stare. “Your husband needs your help.”

Somehow, she had known he was going to say that. A wave of resolution washed over her. Standing straight, she wiped her cheeks. “What do you need me to do?”

The smoke was stifling. Strange had said it was a war zone, but In-Unga hadn’t expected for even the upstate sky to be blackened with debris. She had been to this compound before, years ago with Thor and Loki. It had felt a bit like stepping into the future, with the manicured lawns and the crisp white doors that whooshed as the slid open automatically. It had been nothing like the scorched wasteland flaring before her. The smoke was so thick she could barely make out the looming warships hovering over the skyline.

The dark warriors lined the horizon, a mass of limbs extending far beyond her range of sight. In-Unga squared her shoulders as she road through the portal. She could see him, standing in the middle of all this destruction, the golden light of the portals casting shadows on his purple skin. For so long, he had been faceless to her, the untouchable enemy who she had never seen but whose name she fell asleep cursing every night. And yet here he was in the flesh, living, breathing, vulnerable.

Thanos.

Brynjarr howled. From her perch atop his back, In-Unga felt the vibration in every part of her body. Bowie joined in, his usually mournful cries dark and full of promise. The sound mixed with the battle cries from portals down the line, words chanted in languages she didn’t speak, but in sentiment she understood perfectly.

You took everything. Now we’re taking it back.

The Jotuns behind her understood too. With deep voices, they answered the cries with chants of their own, shouts crescendoing with every individual rushing through the portal. Utgard had been in such chaos that she hadn’t expected anyone to rally to her call, but vengeance was a powerful motivator. She had stood on the balcony and told her people that the one responsible for their suffering was out there, still struggling to once again rip their loved ones from their arms, and just like that, her armies mobilized.

Now here she was, Queen In-Unga of Jotunheim, facing down the enemy atop a howling vargr, her soldiers armed and ready behind her. She felt strangely calm.

I’m bringing Loki home.

He was here somewhere. Even if Strange hadn’t told her how he had been resurrected on the plains of Wakanda with the other fallen warriors, she would have known. She felt his steely resolve as he prepared for battle, let it swirl and mix with hers across the battlefield.

This is it.

When Thor shouted, she screamed with him. And then they were all running. The appeal of two nine-foot-tall wolves in combat was quickly apparent: her babies tore through alien fighters like rare steaks. Brynjarr didn’t even need to be directed; he seemed to know exactly where to go, when to duck, when to tackle. Bowie cleared a way through the chaos, trampling everyone in his path.

They zig-zagged across the battleground, In-Unga pressed tightly into Bryn’s fur to avoid shooting darts of light and projectiles flying through the air every which way, no clue who was shooting them. A roar consumed the land, built from rallying cries and death shrieks, guns shooting and bones cracking, and in the midst of all this pandemonium, she found him.

Loki threw his blades with a catlike grace, completely surrounded and yet completely in control, as if he had never left.

“Bryn!” she steered him left, and he understood instantly. Snarling, the wolves rushed the scene. Loki whipped around in shock, In-Unga barely registering his fleeting moment of confusion as she felt the thud of alien bodies crushed on the ground. When Loki called out her name she found she could barely breathe.

“Down!” she choked at Brynjarr. She slid off his back to unsteady legs and managed to hold back her tears until she threw her arms around her husband.

The battle faded away. She sobbed on his shoulder, drinking in the scent she thought she’d never experience again, relishing the way he gripped her so tightly she felt as though she might break. She clutched at him too, afraid that if she let go he’d disintegrate through her fingers. He whispered her name against her hair, that soft baritone she thought she’d never hear ever again, and she held him even closer.

He was the one to pull away first, cupping her cheek in his palm as he wiped her teardrops with his palm. His green eyes held her in their stare.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

In­-Unga exhaled, the tiniest laugh. Less than an hour ago he had been dead, and he was worried about her?

“Yeah,” she murmured. It was a tiny breath under the rage of battle, but somehow, she knew he heard. “I am now.”

…

“Come on, you scaredy-cat, it’s fine,” In-Unga laughed from atop Bowie on the beach at Márfjall.

“I’m not scared, just concerned.” Loki stood on the ground besides Brynjarr, the two sizing each other up suspiciously. For the most part, her husband and her wolves had been getting along well—at least, well enough. Bowie was still bitter that his place in In-Unga’s bed had been taken from him, and Bryn was untrusting by nature, but it was getting better. Loki still didn’t understand how creatures that showed such savagery on the battlefield could be so cuddly at home.

“Look, if I can do it without a problem, you certainly can manage.” Bowie whined as he shifted his weight between his feet, anxious to sprint down the red sand. She rubbed his neck and fixed Loki with a pointed stare.

He shook his head, smiling uneasily. “You’ve had five years of practice, love.”

“Yeah, which I never would’ve got if I hadn’t gotten on first.” She turned back to the small group watching behind them. “Give me some help here!”

Griep frowned, holding Dagný in her arms. “I don’t know, In-Unga. I don’t think vargrs are meant to carry people.”

“I thought you liked animals—”

“It’s a giant vargr—”

“Now, my precious ice-heart” Hross said, intertwining his fingers with hers. “In-Unga has proved time and time again that there are those more than capable of riding a wolf. Both myself and Prince Býleistr can attest to that.”

Býleistr chuckled. “She fell off the first time she tried.”

“No, no!” In-Unga whipped back to Loki. “That was on Bowie, because Bowie likes to be difficult.  Brynjarr has never given me a problem, which is why you’re going to try riding him.” Bowie gave an offended snort.

“I still can’t believe you can tell them apart,” Gjálp said. “They look exactly the same, smell exactly the same—”

“I told you, Bowie is the one with two different colored eyes!”

“But when you can’t see their eyes—”

Dali pulled at Hrossþjófr’s free arm. “Wanna ride wolf!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” In-Unga groaned. “Loki, get on the damn wolf before I give your spot to a toddler.”

Loki huffed indignantly, but he pulled himself over Bryn’s back and into a sitting position. “Happy, wife?”

“Ecstatic,” she tried to maintain her stern, but the sight of him balancing haphazardly on the back of her wolf made it hard not to grin like an idiot. “Now, tell him to get up.”

“Get up, wolf,” he said emotionlessly.

Brynjarr looked at her in exasperation. Are you kidding me with this guy?

In-Unga sighed. “Tell him nicely.”

He through his hands in the air. “It’s a wolf!”

“Loki…”

“Fine.” He looked back down at Bryn. “Get up wolf, please.”

Behind them, Hross was cackling uncontrollably. In-Unga rolled her eyes. “I think that’s the best he’s gonna do Bryn,” she said. “Come on, up, up!”

Brynjarr grunted, but still hopped to his feet far more quickly than usual. Loki gasped as he struggled to right his balance. She pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle her giggles.

Loki scowled. “I hear you snickering over there. This is why I didn’t want to do this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “You’re doing great, sweetie!”

He glared.

Oh, if looks could kill.

“Now what?” he asked sourly.

She leaned forward, clicking her tongue. “Now, you hold on, and try to keep up.”

“What—” Loki was cut off with a cry as the two wolves took off down the rusty beach. In-Unga laughed as they rode alongside each other, Loki clinging desperately to Bryn’s fur. His startled expression morphed into something more sinister when he noticed her amusement.

“I’m going to get you for this!” he yelled over the wind.

She grinned. “You better!”

In-Unga wouldn’t have it any other way.