It Runs In The Family (I Come By It Honestly)

January 9, 2022

There are a limited number of people Misty knows who will fully understand why she wants to punch something right now. Sure, Sami and Nat and Angy had been great, but…this is about family.

And her dad gets it, a good amount, but she doesn’t really want to blow up around her dad, who will probably be nice and reasonable about her response and overall will be a dad about the whole thing, which isn’t really what she’s looking for here. As for the rest of her family…well, for all of them, this is a much older and deeper wound than it is for Misty. And most of them, she thinks to herself, already probably knew.

Fortunately, she has more family than just that. The text she sends to Inge is borderline-worrying in its brevity and devoid of punctuation: *hey I need to talk about family stuff can we meet at the base*, no period.

Inge immediately responds with a meme of a small dog running, captioned "I AM ARRIVING."    A second texts pops up on Misty’s screen a few seconds after: *Actually, please be forgetting the Base plan. Let us be going to obtain cupcakes. I, as they say, am knowing a guy. We should be able to partake for free.*
A third text, a few seconds after that: *If you are wanting to be alone from the public we can be doing that as well of course, but it seems like we are going to be needing sugar for this mess.*

The suggestion of cupcakes gets responded to with an immediate *fuck yes, i also get free cupcakes at sweet nothings, lets go. You’re totally right about the sugar.* Misty has had dinner with her dad, of course, and Arthur had paid for Denny’s for the group, but does any of that mean she does not have room for cupcakes? No. Misty is ninety percent certain that eating so much you feel sick is a lie made up by parents.

She lets her dad know where she’s headed and then heads out of the house, hands in her pockets, digging her fingers into the leather lining of the vest through her gloves. This was the jacket, she remembers bitterly, that she was supposed to free Fenrir in. Back when that had been the plan.

Yeah, she needs cupcakes to deal with this.

It doesn’t take long before she’s seated at the corner table in Sweet Nothings that Atlanta always seems to point people to for emotional conversations, with four cupcakes in front of her, each a different flavor that Atlanta assured her would be good, not that MIsty had any doubts. She is considering her options to eat first when Inge arrives.

Inge makes a beeline for the counter as soon as she walks in. She’s on her crutches, but the fact that her cheeks haven’t gone darker blue implies she hovered here, rather than walked. Instead of getting in line at the register, she heads for the pick up area and raps on the counter three times. A brunette with a patch over one eye hands over a cupcake with a tin of a pinkish jam on the side. Inge speaks to them in a language Misty might recognize as a dialect of Old Norse for a moment, before receiving a second, identical cupcake. She hands them an old looking runestone in exchange. They complete a complicated looking handshake, and Inge finally turns to look at the rest of the store.

She spots Misty fairly quickly, and taps the tray she was just handed. It levitates behind her as she makes her way towards the table. “My apologies for the delay,” she says. “I was just needing to be picking up my usual, with an extra for you--though it appears you are not needing it?” She points to the jam. “If you would like, you should be trying the rose jam. The combination of rose and pistachio is a very pleasant flavor.” She pauses a moment, then asks “Is...everything...ah...is this Midgardian propaganda bad or is it Big Team bad?”

“I haven’t been here too long, you’re good,” Misty says, leaning back in her chair. She spares the jam a curious look—sounds fascinating, honestly, and she trusts Inge’s taste in food—but settles back into her general, sullen posture at the question, turning it over in her head for a minute.

“I dunno,” she says, starting to peel the wrapper from a cupcake with extreme prejudice. “Which of those would you put meeting Tyr under?”

Inge shrugs. He slathers jam on top of the cupcake frosting, then pulls off the bottom and puts it on the top like a cupcake sandwich. He takes a bite and says with his mouth full. “That is depending. Is he being a traitorous dick who betrays those who have only ever loved him with childlike innocence as in the Midgardian tales, or someone reasonable? I am assuming we’re leaning more towards the former but I don’t want to be overreacting.”

He takes another bite of cupcake. “That being saying, Grandmother is thinking he is pompous and overly righteous, so I admit to being negatively biased.”

Misty’s method of eating cupcakes is considerably less delicate; it’s closer to stuffing as much of it in her mouth as possible, and so it takes her a moment to swallow and be able to speak. “Okay, I *need* to meet your grandmother, because it sounds like she’s right about everything and I think she’s cool.” That said, her brow furrows again, the orange-red of her eyes dark and distant as she looks at the rest of her food.

“More the first--well. I don’t know, is the horrible thing. We--Nat and me and Angy and Sami--were heading to Avalon to help out with some stuff, right? And he was poking around there, and it really seems like he’s up to something there, but I don’t really get all of what that’s about yet.” She shakes her head, as if dismissing that part of the situation.

“Anyway. He--well, at least he didn’t start the fight. He basically told us to go away and then I, uh.” She pauses. “Well, I told them who he was. What he’d done. Kinda got--well, I didn’t get in his face about it, he’s taller than you are. But I put it out there that he was--a liar and a traitor and had locked up my brother who’d done *nothing* wrong yet.” Her voice snaps at *nothing,* and she sucks in a deep breath.

“...and he said I was right.” She doesn’t want to look at Inge while she’s saying this. “He said--he said that my brother was his friend and he loved him dearly.” She shakes her head. “And Inge, I don’t think he was lying, and I *hate* it.”

“You and your family are invited to Harvest Festival,” Inge says absently, as she tries to process everything that was just said. She takes another bite of cupcake and chews for much longer than she really needs to.

“Well,” she says. “It is seeming as though all of Asgard is requiring Midgardian sensitivity training, and also therapy. It is also seeming as though I am needing to slap Odin directly in the face with my crutch. I do not like that the Asgardians are planning something that is unknowable both to you and Brenna, but I am not liking the fact that Justice himself has been moved so far off the path he is supposed to be walking that he is willing to make sacrifices that are not his to make. And I hate that he feels he is the victim in this situation.”

“I mean, he’s *Asgard’s* justice,” Misty points out, peeling the wrapper off the next cupcake with a vengeance. “This *is* the path he’s supposed to be walking.” Her voice is bitter. “Haven’t you listened to anything they say? This was always how it was supposed to go. Us versus them ‘till Nidhogg puts us all out of our misery.” She sets the cupcake down, uneaten, and then sighs and lets her head fall to the table next to it.

“Shit, I didn’t mean that. Don’t listen to me. I’m--I don’t actually think that. Anymore. Most of the time.” This is getting less and less convincing. “It’s just--I’m not sure Tyr thinks he’s a victim. He didn’t *sound* very sorry for himself. More like he was just stating facts. And he said--you’re gonna hate this, *I* hate this--he said all that about my brother, and then he said that he had to do it anyway, because the needs of the gods outweigh the needs of anyone else.” it’s easier to say it into the wooden surface of the table than into the open air.

Misty peers up at the table, over at Inge. “And like--what am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to say to that? It’s bullshit, it’s absolute bullshit, but he *believes* it! Or--or he *did* it, anyway, and does it matter *what* he believes at that point? How am--how are we supposed to get through to someone who would do that to his *friend?* Just because--what, because his dad and some old seer told him he had to? What the fuck is *wrong* with him?*”*

Misty cannot imagine a single outcome, a single world, where the needs of literally anyone would make her shackle *her* best friend. Hell, she can’t imagine one where the needs of anyone would stop her from getting Angy’s shackles off the first second she finds a way how to. She loves her dads, she really does, but if either of them tried to argue for that she’d simply ignore them.

…then again, Angy isn’t prophesied to kill any of Misty’s siblings.

The cupcake in Inge’s hand is starting to look a bit squished. He growls out a phrase in a language made of the whispers of wind through pine branches and the scent of rose bushes with more thorns than blooms. His eyes glint with the fire that runs in his veins, just as poison flows through Misty’s.

“He is willfully blind,” he says finally. “He is purposefully looking away from the truth of his actions, as are all of these so-called gods.” He puts the cupcake down when the wrapper starts smoking. “‘The needs of the gods outweigh the needs of anyone else,’ he is saying. ‘Odin is the All Father and the mouthpiece for the Norns and their unwavering truths,’ he is meaning. He is not understanding that Fate is as fluid as the runoff of mountains. It is rushing ever onward, seemingly unstoppable, but its course can be altered with little more than a well placed stone.”

Inge inhales deeply, then makes quick work of setting up his chair. He exhales deeply as he settles in and keys something into the ICEE maker, but he doesn’t strap his crutches to the side as he normally would. They remain tightly clutched in either hand, quivering with the force of his grasp. “Midgardians are calling them gods because they are being more powerful than their mortal ken. Somewhere in the thousands of years between that moment and this one, the Asgardians started to believe in their divinity. They started to believe their actions were righteous, because they are being in service to the greater good. They unleash judgment prior to offering trial, because they believe any judge who is not corrupt would rule in their favor. ‘Why not cut out the middle man?’ they think. And in the process they slaughter millions of innocents, and torture millions more.”

The ICEE machine lets out a ding so cheery as to be laughably incongruous with the topic of conversation. Inge grabs the beverage, and takes a long sip. As he sighs deeply in satisfaction, the red of the slushy glints on his fangs. Misty might remember that her brothers are not the only monsters meant to be vanquished when the Wolf eats the sun and the moon, or she might not. Either way she can tell that the only place where Inge would willingly parlay with any member of the Asgardian race aside from Brenna is the parking lot of a Denny’s.

“Would you like one?” Inge asks, suddenly. He angles his ICEE towards Misty and continues, “sometimes I am finding it satisfying to imagine the sweet taste of cherry is the blood of imperialists. The corn syrup high in fructose, at least, is causing enough dopamine to forget the fact that one’s family is doomed to destruction at the hands of the people they love the most."

“Yeah, I’ll take one,” Misty says, because maybe it’s bitter and petty but she can absolutely get behind Inge on this one. “And…*yeah.* I mean…I came to all of this a lot later than you did. Not just like, age-wise, but…” She trails off, gathers herself. Tries again.

“When I was little, my dad didn’t tell me about--about Ragnarok. I got the stories of, you know, father and Thor working together, or clever tricks. I can see why he did it, because I was already different. So I didn’t--I didn’t *know.* And then one day I heard more of the story.”

Such a simple sentence, for such a staggering loss of innocence.  For a moment she is twelve again, the cold winds of Niflheim freezing even her, and she is learning that she is not safe. Even through the sweetness of the cupcake, her mouth feels bitter. She wonders, given their respective affinities, if Inge tastes ashes when his emotions are high; regardless, Inge is the only one who she feels safe being this bitter, this honest and true, with. Something in them is the same.

“So like, take that into account. I’m not just saying this to be…I dunno, on their side, which I’m not, or trying to take some stupid both-sides view of things. I just…I can’t not remember something, when Tyr says that Fenrir was his friend, when Odin--appears out of nowhere and says that there’s something wrong *in my nature.* And I know it’s stupid and reductive but--once, a long time ago, Odin and my father swore to be blood brothers.”

She takes in a breath, tries to articulate what she means by that.

“Maybe it was doomed from the start. Maybe. But at one point, Odin saw a way of existing alongside jotnar that wasn’t constant conflict. Saw it enough to swear to it, even if it was just one other person. There was another path, at one point, and then--then it wasn’t taken. And--I hope you’re right, about fate. I hope we can throw a stone and push things over--over to closer to that. That other path. The one where nobody heard the term Ragnarok and started taking actions to stop it from happening. The one where coexistence was an option. Not liking each other, necessarily, but--not *killing* each other. Not ending the world.”

“But,” she says, and then stops. This is the part she doesn’t tell people, not even her friends. Especially not her friends. But if anyone will understand… “But before I even knew what the stories were, before I’d ever heard of it, I dreamed about Ragnarok, Inge. I can feel it, when I don’t try very hard not to. It pulled me into Niflheim and to the rokkr, so I would be where I had to be. And sure, I left that time, but I don’t know if it will pull me again. I--I don’t know if I would exist if it wasn’t inevitable. When Father looked to divine my future before my birth, the only thing he got was mistletoe. *Baldr’s bane.*”

For the first time since mentioning Ragnarok, she looks up to try to meet Inge’s eyes. “Jormungandr says I’m naive for thinking I can end this without killing anyone. Hel wishes Ragnarok had happened last year. I don’t know what Fenrir thinks because I’ve never gotten to speak to him. And--and sure, I can see that the price isn’t worth it, that Ragnarok is--you know what it is. We’ll all be gone for the sake of one blaze of glory. But I wonder how long it’s going to take before I’m tired and angry and old and bitter like all of them, and I forget about you, and about--about everyone in Jotunheim who I don’t even know but will suffer for this, and about Halcyon which is Halcyon and will definitely be destroyed in the crossfire, and start to think that maybe it’s worth it after all. That *I* can judge *them* without trial, that any judge would stand in my corner unless they were blind, that if *I* didn’t get to have a family then why should *he--”*

She cuts herself off. She has not gotten loud, but her voice is ragged nonetheless, and her eyes are burning.

“I don’t want to be like him, Inge. Either of them. I don’t want to be like Odin. I don’t want to be like Tyr. I don’t want Ragnarok to be all that I am. But I look at where the stories say they started, and where their actions have put all of us now, and I don’t know if I have a choice.”

As Misty speaks, Inge’s grip on her crutches gets tighter and tighter until finally they snap under the weight of the knowledge that her sweet Auntie--this *child*--is to be made a martyr for a cause no one can fully understand, let alone believe in. She reaches out to pull Misty into a hug, ignoring for the moment the fact that this leads to her hanging half in Inge’s lap and half on the seat in what must be a very uncomfortable stretch She stays silent for a long moment, waiting for the tears to fall where they will or won’t (it still amazes her how easily some people are able to suppress their emotions. She has never had this particular skill, and knows that if she had tear ducts she would be a wreck right now).

Misty leans into the hug, clinging to Inge with gloved hands. She *does* have tear ducts, got that from the human side, and Inge’s shirt is going to be decidedly wet at the end of this. Inge’s hugs are, in Misty’s opinion, fantastic, no matter what weird contortions her spine has to do in order to keep some of her weight on the chair and off Inge. She doesn’t have any more words; they’ve all spilled out and she feels the tears wringing her out, leaving her quiet if not calm.

Finally, when the silence feels a bit less thick Inge says, “You will never be like Tyr or like Odin. Your heart is good and *kind,* and even in the blaze of your fury you are not one to be forgetting this. You have just said it after all. Even when you are at your most furious, you are thinking about your family. About your fathers, and your siblings. You are angry not simply for your own sake, but on behalf of those who cannot be anymore, and this is very powerful.”

She sighs. “I wish I could be giving you assurances about how you can avoid your fate simply by choosing it. But I am coming at this from the perspective of a being no longer stuck in that web. My grandmother lived out her destined path, and left the rest of us free from the Norns’ will. This leaves me free to choose in a way that has been stolen from you long ago by people much older and far less wise. That being said, I am choosing now--whatever it is I can be doing, I will do to help you find the fate that is the one in which you are being happy. My *galdr* is at your disposal, and I am sure the rest of your family will be willing to help as well. Perhaps I can even be asking Aggie for advice--they are a *völva* in training. There may be more interpretations to the fate tied to your name than we may be seeing at the moment.”

She pauses for breath. “Uncle Jormungandr and Auntie Hel may be right. It may be best in the long run to let this all run its course. But for my sake, for the sake of my people, and most importantly for *your* sake I am refusing to see things that way. But regardless, the most important thing is that you are not being alone. We are all here to offer our guidance and assistance no matter what path you tread.”

Misty pulls back after a moment, wiping her eyes to look up at Inge with uncharacteristic solemnity.

“Thank you, Inge. I--that means a lot, really. The help, and just being here, and offering to figure out other ways to get through this--thank you. I don’t--I don’t really know what I’m going to do next.” She sighs, and then raises her chin and sits up straighter, the steel usually in her spine returning. Who is she if she backs down from a challenge, after all? Especially one where she has such support as this?

“But it’s good to know that it’s not gonna be alone. I’ve got you, and I’ve got the team--and they don’t always get it in the same way but that doesn’t mean they’re not on my side, you know? Angy and Nat and Sami were all willing to fight Tyr for what he said even without me. And Brenna’s taken my side over Odin’s.” *That’s* still unbelievable. “But, uh. It…it means a lot from you specifically, too. Because you’re family. And…I mean, I know the others--my siblings--I know they care about me. But sometimes it feels like I’m on their side, but they’re not on mine. And that…”

She breathes out a long sigh. “I get it. Of course I do. But it’s nice to hear someone say they think what I want to do is possible.” She doesn’t disengage from the hug, but extracts an arm to grab one of the remaining cupcakes. “Coming here was a good idea. Comfort food. Good hugs. You have good ideas.” She means the idea to come here, but also not just that. The idea of coming to Midgard in the first place, so they could meet. The idea of instigating their first conversation months ago. The idea of telling Misty that she thinks Misty has a future that isn’t only doom. She doesn’t know, quite, how to say all of that with her mouth in a way that makes sense, but it’s all true.

Inge smiles. “Thanks to you as well, for making the choice to come here and making the choice to ask for help in the first place. You are doing more for yourself than you think, Auntie.” He reaches into his rune bag and pulls out a stone. “This rune, eihwaz, is representing the eternal strength of natural forces--the strength that is currently residing in you. Keep it with you, and you will be reminded of this strength when you are needing to be. In the meantime, I have been meaning to call Grandmother. Would you like to be joining me? Perhaps we can be weaponizing her into making your siblings be nice to you?”

Misty takes the rune carefully, slipping it into her pocket. She’ll find some better way to store it later, because--well, because it is a gift from Inge, and because she knows the power in these runes even if it’s always been difficult for her to reach, and because she has no doubt that it will, in fact, be there when she needs it.

“Thanks. I’ll take care of it.” She thinks about Inge’s offer for a moment, and then manages a snort. “I’m not going to go tattling to their mother just because my siblings believe in the inevitability of fate, though. They have been very kind to me, in their way. I think they’re just trying to get me to brace myself.” Her shrug is lopsided but her smile is genuine, if small. “I can’t fault them for caring. Wouldn’t want to even if I could. But…I think I’d like to be on that call a lot, actually.”

“Ah, this is fair, though honestly I was mostly hoping to make Grandmother aware of her children’s presence on Midgard in a way that will not lead to her coming here. Let us hope she decides to leave them be,” Inge says with a laugh. She pops the last of her cupcake into her mouth, then looks down at her crutches with a frown. The pieces of wood start to slowly fuse back together. As soon as they’re connected to each other, Inge straps them to the side of her chair with a nod. “Well, there is being no time like the present, right? Let’s go introduce you to your stepmother.”