News paradise Paradise Season 2 Trailer Brings the Post-Apocalyptic Series to the Surface We’re beyond the bunker now (but also still in the bunker, sometimes) By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 28, 2026 Credit: Disney/Anne Marie Fox Comment 0 Share New Share Credit: Disney/Anne Marie Fox Paradise, the Hulu series where a segment of humanity lives underground in an uncanny creepy version of a neighborhood after an apocalyptic event, is about a month away from its second season. In the lead-up to this season’s premiere, Hulu has gifted us a trailer. In it, we see Xavier (Sterling K. Brown) exploring the surface to find his wife, Teri (Enuka Okuma), after he discovered that life above ground was habitable. That information was something that Sinatra (Julianne Nicholson), the leader of the bunker folk, doesn’t want people to know. As Sinatra explains in today’s trailer, it has “never [been] just about the bunker.” What does that mean? We don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s not great! Here’s the logline for season two of Paradise, which sums things up nicely: Xavier searches for Teri out in the world and learns how people survived the three years since “The Day.” Back in Paradise, the social fabric frays and new secrets are uncovered about the city’s origins. In addition to Brown, Nicholson, and Okuma, Paradise stars Sarah Shahi, Nicole Brydon Bloom, Krys Marshall, Aliyah Mastin, Percy Daggs IV, and Charlie Evans, with recurring guest stars James Marsden, Shailene Woodley, Thomas Doherty, and Jon Beavers. We see Woodley, in fact, in this trailer as a surface dweller (as well as Marsden reprising his role as the President). Season two of Paradise premieres on Hulu on February 23, 2026. Check out the trailer below. [end-mark] The post <i>Paradise</i> Season 2 Trailer Brings the Post-Apocalyptic Series to the Surface appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts Young Adult Read an Excerpt From When I Was Death by Alexis Henderson A group of girls does Death incarnate’s bidding in this haunting speculative young adult novel. By Alexis Henderson | Published on January 28, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from When I Was Death, a new speculative young adult novel by Alexis Henderson, out from G.P. Putnam’s Sons on March 3. Roslyn isn’t herself anymore. It’s been a year since her sister, Adeline, died under mysterious circumstances, and Roslyn is still tormented by her absence. So when the elusive caravan of girls that Adeline spent her last summer with rolls back into town, Roslyn joins them to finally figure out what happened to her sister.Strange, beautiful, and intriguing, the girls are closed off from the world. And as it turns out, they’re brought together by a force more sinister than Roslyn’s nightmares could’ve conjured up: Death himself.Death has spared the girls from untimely endings, and to pay for their lives, the girls travel the country reaping souls on his behalf. Now Roslyn must decide if finding closure is worth the price of striking the same deal. The girls arrived on a bleak morning in May, eight months after my sister’s death. I first saw them through my bedroom window, three vehicles—a rust-eaten pickup truck, an old station wagon, and an Airstream RV—crawling down the street and around the bend of the cul-de-sac. There were three teenage girls sitting in the bed of the pickup truck, all of them staring at my house as though it were a landmark. I stared back, and I swore one of them—a pale girl with hair like fire—looked up at my window and smiled. But by the time I scrambled downstairs and burst through the front door, they were gone. I might’ve thought I’d dreamed them if not for the smell of diesel hanging like a ghost in the cool morning air. A few hours later, I left my house and walked down the sorry little main street of my hometown in Michigan. But calling it a town at all is generous. Towns are comprised of people, and once emptied of them, they lose their respective designations and become something else. The something else is what I walked through that day. Cracked streets licked with heat waves, a thin trickle of traffic passing by. The dusty storefronts of antique shops and jewelry stores that never had any customers. The remnants of a place that barely existed. I scanned the streets, half hoping to spot the girls who had driven past my house that morning, but they seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. It was a two-mile walk from my house to Conny’s Coney Dogs, the twenty-four-hour diner where I worked as a waitress. The diner’s owner and namesake, Conny—a tall, grave woman who smelled perpetually of patchouli and pot smoke—had hired me, probably out of pity, because I’d never waited a table in my life. By that time, the whole town knew about my sister and had closed ranks around my family the way small towns are supposed to when something tragic and terrible happens to one of their own. But Conny had offered something others hadn’t: distraction. In the long months that followed my sister’s death, she taught me the rhythms of the diner—how to flirt tips from begrudging patrons who had next to nothing in their pockets, how to anticipate their needs with no more than a passing glance. In the grimy staff bathroom, I gathered my curls into a fat braid, scrubbed at my armpits with hand soap and a soggy wad of paper towels (I’d slept through my alarm and hadn’t had the chance to shower) before changing into my uniform. It was a peach-pink dress—the color of a newborn baby’s flush—with snagged stockings and a paper-pale apron so small it didn’t cover much of anything. Once dressed, I pinned on my name tag just a few inches below my starched collar. It read RoslynVolk in smudged Sharpie, because Conny liked it when her servers introduced themselves by their first and last names. Something about the importance of family, of knowing where a person was from and, in her words, exactly what stuff they were made of. My sneakers squelched on the sticky tile floors as I carried steaming plates of pancakes and scrambled eggs, biscuits half submerged in gravy, and burnt triangles of toast to their respective tables. I refilled coffeepots and chatted with the regulars, trying my best to keep up with the breakfast rush. On a staticky TV screen above the bar, the news was playing, though the sound was partly drowned out by the clamor of the kitchen—pots and pans clattering, slabs of bacon sizzling on the grill, cooks shouting orders above the din. The headline of the day was a string of violent storms that had washed across the Midwest the night before, spawning a series of tornadoes, one of which flattened a small town in Ohio, claiming the lives of more than a dozen people. It was the first bad storm of the year, and the meteorologist predicted more would follow. There was a congressman on TV crying about the devastation when the girls entered the diner, the five of them streaming in single file. One of the girls wore a long fur-collared coat despite the thickening heat. Another swept past in a heavy peasant skirt paired with a cropped and pilled flannel shirt. A third wore heavy boots and ripped men’s jeans that looked like they were fished from the bowels of a Salvation Army bin and attacked with a razor. Buy the Book When I Was Death Alexis Henderson Buy Book When I Was Death Alexis Henderson Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget They were around my age, but they dressed the way sixth graders imagined themselves dressing at twenty, without the smothering supervision of their parents or the pressure of their peers. Their hair was wild, as if none of them owned a brush. And they were all pretty, but in the way that girls find each other pretty. Which is to say, unkempt and decidedly intimidating, like a boy’s idea of a dream girl gone ragged at the edges. I hoped they wouldn’t sit in my section—groups of girls my age made me anxious—but the five of them did just that, occupying a small booth at the back of the diner, sitting crushed together hip-to-hip on the same side as if there wasn’t another empty bench right in front of them. I recognized the redhead immediately. She was the same fire-haired girl who I thought might’ve smiled at me that morning when the caravan drove past the house. Her bony hands were covered in faded stick-and-poke tattoos that looked like doodles drawn with pen, and she had wedding rings on every finger. She wore hoop earrings so large I could’ve slid one halfway up my arm, and she was impeccably dressed in wide-cut patchwork jeans and a lace top that looked like vintage lingerie with its vaguely cone-shaped bra cups. Sitting close beside the redhead was the youngest of the five— maybe thirteen, give or take a year. She fixed her brilliant blue eyes on me and smiled at my approach. She had downy blond hair and wore lipstick, cracked and smeared and bleeding at the edges of her mouth like she’d applied and reapplied it with a heavy hand several days prior. She slipped a vape pen from the pocket of her coat and held it like a cigarette, pinched between two knuckles. One of the older girls—she had dark eyes and hair the color of sand, which hung down her back in long microbraids—leaned across the table, snatched the vape pen from the blonde’s hand, and turned it off despite the younger girl’s protests. None of them were locals, of that much I was certain. My graduating class would be comprised of fewer than a dozen students. I could rattle off their names, first and last, and some of their parents’ too. These girls were newcomers, which was strange for a small town devoid of tourism where things never really changed. The young girl kept smiling at me, mouth wide and bloody from the lipstick. “I like your dress. I’ve been looking for one just like that for ages. Do they sell them here?” “Um… afraid not, b-but thank you?” I fumbled with my pen and notepad and nearly dropped both. “What would you like to drink?” “Pink lemonade,” said the girl. She kicked off her sandals, cork platforms with leather straps as thin as strings, and swapped them with the sneakers of the girl to her left. “They’re a better match. Don’t you think?” “Um, yeah. We don’t have pink lemonade. Is regular lemonade okay? It’s house made.” She bobbed her head. “Sounds good. You can just bring it by the pitcher, and we’d like coffee, or better yet, hot chocolate if you have it. And we’ll order the rest now too. Assuming you’re ready?” I nodded down at my notepad, my pen poised. Together, they ordered what seemed like half the menu—several stacks of pancakes, French toast, hash browns smothered with cheese and onions, six sunny-side up eggs, a plate of bacon, two chili dogs from the lunch menu, a ham and cheese omelet, as well as fresh fruit in a to-go box. “For Shiloh,” said a different, more sullen girl with a shifting gaze and the golden sliver of a nose ring pierced through her left nostril. Her hair was dark and cut in a ragged jaw-length bob, and her eyes were large and gray. Conny, overhearing their lengthy order, got suspicious and made the girls pay for the meal up front. An older girl with blunt black bangs and blue eyeshadow lifted a large purse that looked like a carpetbag and set it on the table with a heavy thud that made the silverware jump and clatter. From it, she produced several fistfuls of wrinkled bills (I put them in the pocket of my apron to count later) and a small mason jar filled with silver change. She slid it to Conny with a smile. “Keep the change.” Whenever I returned to their table, their conversation seemed to die into silence or abruptly change subjects. They were enviably self-contained and entirely unbothered despite the curious gazes of the other diners, particularly the male ones who watched them with rapt, too-sharp interest. The girls weren’t naive or otherwise oblivious to the attention they received. Nor were they distant in the heavy-lidded, theatrical way girls often are when they’re trying to appear pointedly aloof. They were merely… impassive. Perhaps they were too consumed by their own conversation. At times, their discussion grew so intense it appeared they were arguing about something. The same name kept coming up repeatedly; I’d hear it—a hot, hissing whisper—as I passed their table: Shiloh. The one the fruit was for. I watched them eat with furtive glances cast over my shoulder or from across the diner behind the bar. The redhead shoveled large forkfuls of French toast into her mouth as if this were the last meal she’d ever eat and she had only minutes left to finish it. Beside her sat the girl with the braids. I was tempted to call her the pretty one, because even among the girls she stood out as particularly stunning. Her skin was deep and dewy, utterly flawless, though she didn’t look like she was wearing any concealer. She had full lips and high cheekbones that would’ve been the envy of any model. I stared as she popped the yolks of all six eggs on her plate— one after the other—with the tip of a steak knife and watched the yellow bleed into the white with dead eyes before licking the blade clean. The blonde emptied a small ramekin of maple syrup into the dregs of her coffee and drank the sludgy remnants in a single gulp. “Slow down or you’ll choke,” said the older girl, the one with the powdery blue eyeshadow who’d paid for the food. When the youngest did, in fact, begin to choke just minutes later, the older girl patted her back until the coughing fit subsided. It was a strange and intimate gesture, so maternal and natural that I wondered for a moment if the two were family. But they couldn’t have looked any less alike. Different races—one white, the other Asian. Different hair. Different demeanor. All five girls had a distinct way of being. I didn’t know how to describe it exactly, but it was both familiar and distinctly unusual. They had a kind of confidence that came easily to them. The redhead kicked her feet out into the aisle that ran between tables, oblivious to the way she was taking up space. Bold in a way that boys are usually, and even then, only the most self-assured among them. The varsity athletes or that one overeager theater kid who lands all the lead roles in school plays. After the girls finished their feast, I brought them a copy of the receipt. I doubted they’d want it. They’d refused to accept their change and seemed to have no care for cost, but I wanted another excuse to return to their table—curiosity surmounting my initial anxiety—to examine them up close one more time. “Can I interest you in something else? Maybe some dessert?” “I’ll take a hot fudge sundae,” said the girl with the long braids. “No peanuts, with extra whip and maraschino cherries if you have them. And can you box it up so we can take it for the road?” I nodded and was leaving to make it when the youngest of the group, the little blond girl, called me back. “Do you like to swim?” “Sure,” I said. “I guess so.” The young one nodded to the blue-eyeshadow girl, whom I took to be the leader of this strange flock. She reached into the other girl’s carpetbag purse, found a pen, and scrawled an address on the back of the receipt I’d supplied them with, then folded it and put it into the pocket of my apron without asking whether or not I wanted it. “Tonight.” She slipped out of the booth. “Show up anytime after nine.” I made the sundae as the girls wolfed down their final bites of food. When I delivered it to the booth, they were already on their feet, laughing and talking among themselves. “See you tonight,” said the blonde. And then they were gone into the white brilliance of the day. Excerpted from When I Was Death, copyright © 2026 by Alexis Henderson. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>When I Was Death</i> by Alexis Henderson appeared first on Reactor.

News Brandon Sanderson Apple TV Acquires Adaptation Rights to Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn and The Stormlight Archive Sanderson will reportedly retain creative control over the adaptations By Matthew Byrd | Published on January 28, 2026 Photo: Brandon Sanderson/artist Sam Weber Comment 0 Share New Share Photo: Brandon Sanderson/artist Sam Weber Editor’s Note: An earlier version of this article incorrectly relayed a report that Apple TV acquired the rights to Brandon Sanderson’s entire Cosmere universe. We have since learned from Sanderson’s agent that Apple TV has only acquired adaptation rights for The Stormlight Archive and Mistborn books. This article has been updated to reflect that information. We apologize for the error and any confusion it may have caused. Apple TV has acquired the rights to Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn and The Stormlight Archive books in a massive deal that will see these two major entries in Sanderson’s Cosmere universe adapted into both TV series and movies. While there is currently no information available regarding the financial figures involved with the deal, unidentified sources informed The Hollywood Reporter that it is both lucrative and will reportedly allow Sanderson to retain an incredible amount of creative control over the associated adaptations. At present, it’s believed that Sanderson will be able to not just write and produce those adaptations but retain consultation rights and overall creative approval. If true, that would make this one of the more author-friendly adaptation deals of this size in recent memory. At present, it’s believed that The Stormlight Archive will be turned into a TV series which will be produced by Blue Marble. Meanwhile, the Mistborn novels will reportedly be adapted into feature films, though there are no additional details available about those movies at this time. Given the aforementioned specifics of this deal, you can expect Sanderson to be heavily involved in these early projects, though the exact extent of his creative involvement in these projects has not been confirmed. What makes these entries in the Cosmere universe worthy of such a major deal? Well, along with the fact that these books are absurdly popular best-sellers that have broken crowdfunding records, they’ve long been targeted as the potential “next big thing” in a post-Game of Thrones (well, mostly) media landscape where studios are still searching for fantasy franchises. The Cosmere universe may be united by the murder of a cosmic being whose death causes a mystical ripple effect, but the individual works that belong to that universe are quite varied and seemingly an ideal fit for film and TV adaptations. Actually, Reactor contributor Cole Rush previously argued that the Mistborn books would make an especially compelling series of films while the epic The Stormlight Archive series has enough characters, plotlines, and associated works to be the next great epic fantasy TV series. It seems that Apple agrees. We’ll keep you updated regarding any immediate developments regarding this deal, though the potential scope of this arrangement means we’ll likely be hearing about these adaptations for quite some time. [end-mark] The post Apple TV Acquires Adaptation Rights to Brandon Sanderson’s <i>Mistborn</i> and <i>The Stormlight Archive</i> appeared first on Reactor.

Books reading recommendations Five Stories Set During a Frozen Apocalypse Put away your snow shovel and get cozy with these five frigid tales… By Lorna Wallace | Published on January 29, 2026 Time of the Great Freeze cover art by Brinton Turkle Comment 13 Share New Share Time of the Great Freeze cover art by Brinton Turkle Speculative fiction writers have imagined countless different ways that the world could end—from fairly realistic options (such as nuclear war or a super flu) to rather more implausible scenarios (like zombies). But we’re in the depths of winter right now, here in the north, so I’ve been feeling drawn to stories set during a frozen apocalypse. Below are a couple of books, a short story, a movie, and a TV series which explore the possibility of a frozen Earth. The cause of the planet’s deep freeze is different in each of the stories—and one is an apocalyptic tale that is simply set during the winter months—but they all result in a stark, dangerously chilly landscape. “A Pail of Air” by Fritz Leiber (1951) The 10-year-old narrator of “A Pail of Air” lives a very sheltered life—literally. Along with his Pa, Ma, and younger Sis, he lives in a small shelter (essentially a glorified blanket fort) that they call the Nest. A few years earlier, the Earth was ripped out of its orbit and as it careened away from the heat of sun, the gasses in the atmosphere froze and fell to the ground in snowy layers. Every so often, one of the family members has to venture outside in protective gear to gather a bucket of oxygen to replenish the Nest’s air supply. It’s during one of these excursions that the boy sees a woman in a nearby building—something that surely isn’t possible, given that everyone on Earth is dead aside from his family. Despite the story’s short length, Fritz Leiber manages to craft a detailed picture of how such a catastrophic event could impact life on Earth—not only that, but he also manages to make a compelling philosophical case for why survival on such a cold and dead planet is worth fighting for.  Time of the Great Freeze by Robert Silverberg (1964) Time of the Great Freeze is set in 2650, which is a few hundred years after the Earth entered an ice age due to cosmic dust blocking out the sun. Millions of people sought refuge in purpose-built underground tunnels across the world, with the plan being to (hopefully) wait out the cold. But the passing centuries have led to these subterranean cities becoming increasingly insular, so when a group of New Yorkers detect that the temperature has risen slightly and suggest exploring the surface, they’re cast out as traitors. With far less preparation than expected, the group strikes out across the ice in the hope of making it to a similar city near London with which they’ve made radio contact. This is a pulpy and plot-driven adventure story at heart. The characters admittedly aren’t all that well differentiated or developed, but the real draw is the exploration of the frozen landscape itself and the encounters with people and animals that have managed to eke out an existence there. Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice (2018) The cause of the apocalypse isn’t known in Moon of the Crusted Snow, but whatever it was results in a power blackout. Although this apocalypse doesn’t lead to the planet freezing over, the story is set during the winter months in an Anishinaabe community in northern Canada, so there’s plenty of snow and ice. The First Nations community already lives at a distance from mainstream society so they’re shielded from some of the chaos that erupts down south—a glimpse of which the reader sees when two college students manage to return home. Although the community is in for a rough winter, they’re used to being intermittently cut off due to bad weather so they have some food and fuel stores. But that preparedness—paired with their remote location—makes them a target for outsiders. Moon of the Crusted Snow is a slow and contemplative read. But although the end of the world might not seem as imminent here as in other stories, there’s still plenty of tension to be found. Snowpiercer (2013) Snowpiercer currently exists in three formats: There’s the 1982 graphic novel written by Jacques Lob and illustrated by Jean-Marc Rochette, a 2013 film directed by Bong Joon Ho, and a TV series that ran from 2020 to 2024. My favorite version of this story is the movie, so that’s the one I’m going to focus on. The world is plunged into an ice age after an attempt to reverse climate change backfires. The only people left alive are on the Snowpiercer—a self-sustaining train that has been looping the globe for almost two decades. Although the train provides safety from the bitter cold outside, conditions onboard are far from perfect. While the wealthy passengers in the front carriages live a life of luxury, those in the back are forced to endure terrible conditions. This unfair system leads to a group of tail section passengers instigating a rebellion. Bong Joon Ho manages to pull off a genre juggling act with all of his films, and Snowpiercer is no exception. It’s full of thrilling post-apocalyptic action scenes, but it’s also a thoughtful examination of class politics. It features a deeply moving and horrifying monologue from revolt leader Curtis (Chris Evans), but there’s also weird humor thanks to Minister Mason (Tilda Swinton). The Eternaut (2025) Spanish-language TV series The Eternaut starts with a group of old friends playing cards and being interrupted by the sound of cars crashing outside. Not only has every car in sight come to a stop with their drivers dead at the wheel, but snow is falling—which isn’t at all common in Buenos Aires, in summer. Something is clearly going on, but anyone who steps outside to investigate keels over dead. After sheltering in place for a short time, main character Juan (Ricardo Darín) decides to risk the weird weather in a homemade protective suit in an attempt to rescue his daughter, Clara (Mora Fisz). But while venturing through the eerie city, Juan discovers that the snow is only half of the apocalyptic problem. The Eternaut is based on a comic book series from the ’50s that was written by Héctor Germán Oesterheld and illustrated by Francisco Solano López. I haven’t read the comics so I can’t speak to how the show fares as an adaptation, but I found both the setting and story compelling and plan to check out season 2 when it airs. I’m always on the lookout for frozen apocalypse stories, so if I’ve missed any of your favorites, please feel free to mention them in the comments. I’d love to add further recommendations to my to-be-read and to-be-watched lists![end-mark] The post Five Stories Set During a Frozen Apocalypse appeared first on Reactor.

Column Anime Spotlight Earthquakes, Magical Girls, and Modern Mythology: The Death of Minky Momo How one infamous episode led to the birth of a legend… By Leah Thomas | Published on January 29, 2026 Credit: Ashi Productions Comment 3 Share New Share Credit: Ashi Productions The day before I sat down to write this, an earthquake struck Tottori, in the region I called home for three years. At a magnitude of 6.2, it was large, but by no means devastating by Japanese standards. I messaged my friends in Yonago, and they sent reassurances alongside photos of broken dishes. “We are okay. It was very scary.”  Somewhere down the line, I chose a life that chases earthquakes. I lived in Taiwan, then California, and now Japan. However, I remain ill-prepared. I grew up in Michigan where tornado, fire, severe storm, and even shooting drills were commonplace, but I was in my mid-twenties putting on cosplay makeup for an anime convention in a Los Angeles apartment when a San Diegan friend told me that what I should be doing during an earthquake was not saying, “Oh my gosh, it’s still going?” but rather finding a sturdy doorframe to brace myself against. “Doorframes are the sturdiest places in most houses,” she told me, while the tremors rattled mascara tubes and wigs on a glass coffee table. “They taught us that in school.” Of course, students today are taught differently, as the doorframe theory has since been widely debunked. But at least she had some inkling of what to do. It occurred to me then that while I was well-versed in the myriad ways to get a car unstuck from snow or how to manage when an inevitable snow-effect blizzard knocked out our power and toilets and faucets stopped working, I would flail helplessly during a Big One. But truly, how much of disaster preparation is a delusion? I admire the cult classic film The Iron Giant for many reasons, including the film’s depiction of students watching a disaster prevention film about nuclear warfare. It’s a cutting satire of actual Duck and Cover videos released in the 1950s. A student is shown hiding under his desk when the bombs fall, and though the classroom is burned to a radioactive sizzle, his desk is unharmed! While this is useless advice when it comes to surviving a nuclear holocaust, friend, geophysicist, and fellow Reactor columnist Kali Wallace assures me that ducking and covering during earthquakes is sound advice, as most people are harmed due to falling objects. While a nuclear holocaust is arguably much more challenging catastrophe to contend with than an earthquake, even in the face of death, decisive action is preferable to panic. The only thing more reassuring than taking action is, perhaps, blaming something for the disasters. Scientific explanations aside, credit for disasters has long been given to gods or devils or the sins of many or karma. For my part, I believe the science, but enjoy the folklore, especially when it gets weird. On this front, unsurprisingly, Japan does not disappoint. A persistent folktale originating in the 17th century claims that earthquakes are not entirely natural disasters, but rather preternatural ones caused by the wriggling of Namazu, an enormous catfish who dwells beneath the earth. According to legend, Namazu has been held captive beneath a foundation stone at Kashima shrine in Ibaraki prefecture for centuries. Namazu becomes ornery sometimes and, if not properly guarded by the enshrined god Takemikazuchi, the big fish flings himself about and the earth trembles. (No tea, no shade, but Takemikazuchi must really be sleeping on the job, given that Japan’s Meteorological Society clocks in around 1,500 earthquakes annually.) Japan, which has one of the world’s most advanced earthquake detection systems, known globally as the EEW (Earthquake Early Warning), has toughened its responses after centuries of earthquakes wreaking havoc—but there are no preventative measures to be taken against the human imagination. Today, I am writing about a little anime girl who, since the ‘80s, has sometimes been blamed for earthquakes.  Birth of a Mythology: The Ballad of Minky Momo Credit: Ashi Productions Magical Princess Minky Momo, in many ways, was a pioneer in the mahou shoujo (magical girl) subgenre. Beginning in March of 1982, the series aired on TV Tokyo on Thursdays at 5:55 pm, an ideal timeslot to snag the attention of kids after school. Magical Princess Minky Momo is credited with being the first magical girl anime to incorporate animal mascots, which have since become a genre staple. Her transformation sequence, which paired music to her movements, was also groundbreaking, and the series is said to have directly inspired Creamy Mami (I know, I know, these names are… something), which maintains a devoted fanbase even today. Minky Momo is undeniably cute, if generic in appearance—pink hair, yellow ribbon, blue dress. She is not of Earth, but hails from a sky-kingdom known as Fenarinarsa; writer Takeshi Shuto adapted the mouthful of a place name from a musical he wrote in high school called The Man from Finalinasa, after realizing “Finalinasa” would be difficult for Japanese speakers to pronounce. Fenarinarsa is home to countless copyright-free fairy tale characters, and Momo and her three animal companions are directly inspired by Momotaro. Fenarinarsa is in danger because it can only remain in Earths’ orbit if people on Earth have hopes and dreams, which, erm, was surprisingly tough during the ‘80s bubble economy. So Minky Momo goes to Earth and, like Superman, moves in with a childless couple. From then on, she uses her magic powers to transform into a teenage version of herself that, à la Barbie, takes on different roles in order to solve life’s problems and bring happiness to human beings. She’ll be your vet, your hairdresser, your police officer, whatever you like! Schmaltzy? Yes. Typical of the subgenre? Yes, at that point in time. Harmless? Probably, and I am not one to disdain programming intended to motivate children to do good deeds. It is all too easy for the world to dismiss the things girls like as empty and worthless, and I do not doubt that its target audience found much to love about the anime, which had high-quality animation and a heroine worth admiring. Kids are not cynical, jaded old weebs like yours truly. Of course, inspiring little kids was not the real intention of the people paying for the show, and when Minky Momo merchandise failed to meet market goals, toy company Popy pulled sponsorship. When that happened, the show was destined for cancellation. The creative team behind Minky Momo accepted this defeat with a decided lack of grace. No, Minky Momo did not go quietly into that soft night. Instead, in a clear act of vengeance as petty as it is iconic, the show’s creators decided to murder Minky Momo. Her cause of death? An early, unforgettable example of Truck-kun. Minky Momo saves a child in the road, only for a truck full of toys to barrel right through her. Cut to a shot of her gravestone, complete with a funeral portrait. Credit: Ashi Productions In short? A lighthearted children’s TV program ran over its young protagonist and cut straight to the graveyard way back in 1983. Eat your heart out, Game of Thrones.  Now, Shuto claims this gruesome ending was always on the table just in case funding was pulled, but come on. The murderous truck was full of toys. A statement was being made. …And then immediately retconned, because Popy reinstated funding to Minky Momo in order to sell a dragon-themed pair of scissors that they already had in production. Ashi Productions agreed to shoehorn a dragon character into the show. And so, within minutes of her death scene, Minky Momo was reincarnated as a human baby. Ashi must have been a real rollercoaster of an office environment in this era. The dragon character, called Kajira, was beloved by no one involved in production. His role was to bite and eat everything and repeatedly say only his own name, but mostly to sell those damn scissors. All of this makes for an amusing romp through weird ‘80s anime lore, and it isn’t hard to see the animators as punchy rebels in this scenario—at least until they doubled back. Animators are often overworked and unappreciated and have every right to protest. However, writing this piece has made me consider another perspective (I am a sentimental creature, and I will not apologize)… The scenario becomes much less funny when you consider the little girls at home who probably loved Minky Momo and her adventures and watched her death unfold onscreen in abject horror. The resentment animators rightfully felt (and still feel) toward their officious overlords aside, growing up is tough, man. I wonder if Minky Momo was to some Japanese kids what Artax from The NeverEnding Story was to so many Americans. Her death may have been a formative experience. I have written before about anime’s treatment of girls, both the good and the bad, but truck-kun doesn’t get the final word this time. Nor does the toy company, or the production company, or the show’s disturbing and unintended popularity among the burgeoning lolicon subculture at the time. Minky Momo’s legacy would continue on, albeit in odd and unexpected ways. Perhaps it was the weird dichotomy between innocence and adulthood that motivated audiences to see further darkness in the series. A show that ended so violently is probably more sinister than it appears, they reckoned… whatever the reasoning, someone, somewhere, observed a bizarre connection between episode 46, “The Day the Magic Died,” and the trembling of the earth, and a legend was born. The Curse of Minky Momo Credit: Ashi Productions Centuries after stories of catfish causing earthquakes became commonplace in Japan, the would-be final episode of Minky Momo aired, accompanied by a superimposed onscreen alert that an earthquake had struck the Kanto region. Viewers at the time joked that Minky Momo had used her magic to take revenge for her unjust demise. Once is a joke, but when the same coincidence happens twice, things start getting weird. Later that year, on May 26th, the 1983 Sea of Japan Earthquake devastated the Tohoku region when the resulting tsunami caused 104 deaths. This earthquake occurred within hours of the broadcast of “Don’t Say Goodbye,” the final episode of Minky Momo. It is probably here that the urban legend really began taking root. And the coincidences continued. During a rebroadcast of the series in 1989, an earthquake struck Aomori the day episode 46 aired. And then, in 1995, the Kobe earthquake, a truly catastrophic disaster, coincided with another rebroadcast of Minky Momo’s death. At least 5,000 people died, and the city of Kobe still bears the marks of its impact. I have met people who remember the quake and still shudder when recalling it.  I wonder if it was at this juncture that the discourse changed from, “Minky Momo is cursing us!” to “Minky Momo is trying to warn us!” Because all these curse allegations haven’t led to depictions of Minky Momo as a villain—if anything, she is seen as a girl fighting to defend the earth, even as her murder is seen as the cause of so much destruction. Japan is a nation that experiences multiple earthquakes a day, and I am not a superstitious person. But I am fascinated by the stories that shape our world, like so many horror and fantasy fans. The supernatural is compelling regardless of your belief in it—while I think the obvious answer to the Minky Momo/earthquake question is that correlation is not causation, at the same time, I love this legend for all kinds of reasons, not least of which is this: the senseless death of a little girl at the hands of her creator should not go unnoticed. This is true even for fictional little girls. The Birth of a Legend Credit: Ashi Productions What does it mean to mythologize a fictional character? The curse of Minky Momo reminds me of other modern characters that have been linked with tragedy. In 2014, two fourteen-year-old girls attempted to murder a friend as a sacrifice to the creepypasta character Slender Man. The man who murdered John Lennon cited The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield as an inspiration, the first of several instances in which the book was reportedly carried by disturbed individuals who committed acts of violence. I am never one to blame entertainment media for violence, to be clear—it’s much too slippery a slope, and far too big of a discussion to begin unpacking here. But the sway a fictional character can have on the human psyche is fascinating. I would argue that far more characters have provided positive inspiration throughout history. This is never as newsworthy as specific instances of violence or tragedy, of course, and feels like a more amorphous catch-all: Yes, kids are inspired by Peter Parker and Sailor Moon and Luffy, and we do not question that. We rarely seek reasons for goodness, but we always seek reasons for evil. But earthquakes and human beings are not the same. An earthquake’s tremors, even if caused by a grumpy catfish, are not selfish actions, but mindless seismic activity. It is fascinating that we continue to anthropomorphize forces of nature to this day, but pairing up the violent, uncontrollable shaking of the earth with an anime girl somehow feels especially human of us. I don’t believe in the curse, but I do admire its tenacity, and what it says about the power that stories have over our world. On this front, I want to end this with one more fact about Namazu. Despite the chaos he inflicts on Japan, the giant catfish is not actually seen as a villainous monster. In fact, he is viewed a little bit fondly by the public, and not only because he has cute whiskers. In the years before billionaires could flee on their private jets, earthquakes were a unique equalizer. Earthquakes were as devastating to the wealthy as they were for the poor; the wealthy, of course, had far more land and assets to lose. In the wake of a disaster, their wealth might be redistributed among the poor. This giant catfish has something in common with Robin Hood: Just as the tides of public opinion turned Minky Momo into a harbinger of a coming disaster rather than the cause, in the Edo period Namazu gradually came to be credited with decimating the ill-gotten gains of overbearing feudal lords. For all that the world is unfair to creatures both real and fictional, I find this tendency—to shift our perspective from fearing a curse to embracing a gift—a hopeful aspect of being human. Life is very unfair right now, and likely to remain that way. So I’ll cling to whatever peculiar justice stories have to offer for as long as the world allows art to exist.  Thanks for looking out for us, Momo.[end-mark] The post Earthquakes, Magical Girls, and Modern Mythology: The Death of Minky Momo appeared first on Reactor.

Movies & TV Star Trek: Starfleet Academy Qapla’! — Star Trek: Starfleet Academy’s “Vox in Excelso” By Keith R.A. DeCandido | Published on January 29, 2026 Credit: Paramount+ Comment 67 Share New Share Credit: Paramount+ Well, it’s about damn time. While the Klingon Empire played a big role in Discovery’s first two seasons, when it was taking place in the twenty-third century, they were never even mentioned after they vaulted forward into the thirty-second at the top of the third season. Over the course of the final three seasons of Discovery, we learned the far-future fates of so many of Trek’s various alien species—Vulcans, Romulans, Trill, Andorians, Tellarites, Orions, and others in less detail, but at least knew they were still around—but nothing about the Klingons at all. The characters of Lura and Jay-Den in Starfleet Academy are the first we’ve heard of any Klingons in the thirty-second century, and we still didn’t get any notion of the status of the Klingon Empire. In “Vox in Excelso,” we finally get some information, and it’s heartbreaking. The Burn apparently completely destroyed the Klingon homeworld of Kronos. The Klingon Empire, which has been a superpower in the galaxy ever since we first saw them in the original series’ “Errand of Mercy” in 1967, is now a nomadic, broken people, refugees stumbling through the galaxy trying to survive. Jay-Den, we learn, lived on Krios (established as a Klingon colony in TNG’s “The Mind’s Eye”) with his parents and brother. In these days of the Klingon Diaspora, Klingons have clung even more firmly to their warrior ethos, and the importance of learning to hunt. The latter is particularly worth noting. Klingon proclivity for hunting was established in TNG’s “Birthright, Part II” (one of your humble reviewer’s favorite episodes), but as we saw it with the empire at its height, it was an indulgence, a sport. But for Jay-Den and his family, it’s a necessity to survive. The Klingons of the thirty-second century are also completely uninterested in accepting charity. Since the Burn was reversed, the Federation is finally in a position to help them, and at the top of this episode, a ship carrying a bunch of Klingon refugees has suffered catastrophic mechanical failure. But the Klingons aren’t interested in help. They want to fend for themselves. Back in DS9’s “The Way of the Warrior,” Sisko quoted Curzon Dax as saying that the only people who can handle Klingons are Klingons, and this episode embodies that observation. (Your humble reviewer established that Curzon said that after living through the Betreka Nebula Incident, an event referenced in that same DS9 episode, and which I explored in the novel The Art of the Impossible.) Credit: Paramount+ In fact, Ake employs that truism, as she reaches out to Obel, a now-very-old Klingon diplomat she has a pre-Burn history with, played with gusto by David Keeley, whose scenes with Holly Hunter are magnificent. The pair of them have an obvious and fond history, which appears to be at least partly sexual. It’s especially entertaining to watch them together, as Keeley has a foot of height on Hunter and that’s before you realize that Keeley is wearing big stompy Klingon boots and Hunter is, as it the character’s wont, barefoot in most of their scenes together. Obel, however, is unwilling to accept the Federation’s charity. There’s a world very much like Kronos called Faan Alpha that the Federation is willing to give to the Klingons, but they won’t accept it. Obel does, however, offer to find out if Jay-Den’s family was among those who died in the refugee ship disaster. (Why nobody ever brings up the Federation’s aid to the Klingon Empire after Praxis’ destruction in The Undiscovered Country, which is what led to the Federation-Klingon alliance, is left as an exercise for the viewer.) Because this is the series at a school, we have to have the cadets learning stuff, and the focus this time around is on a debating competition, run by the EMH. This causes two separate problems for Jay-Den. One is that he absolutely detests public speaking and tends to freeze up. The other is that he wishes his debate topic to be the Klingon Diaspora. The EMH is reluctant at first, but eventually agrees that the topicality of the subject because of the loss of the refugee ship is exactly why it should be discussed. We learn this week that Caleb is an expert debater, which, honestly, isn’t that much of a surprise, as being a fast talker would be a requirement for living on your own on the run from the age of six onward. At first he offers to partner with Jay-Den, but the Klingon views that charity with the same disdain that Obel does. Instead, Jay-Den winds up debating the point against Caleb. We also see Darem learning how to be a team player by aiding Jay-Den—though, of course, his primary goal is to assist in his hated roommate Caleb losing—by showing him some Khionian meditation techniques. Credit: Paramount+ Indeed, the notion of people helping each other while saving face is all over this episode. It’s writ small in Darem using sticking it to Caleb as an excuse for why he helps Jay-Den. It’s writ larger in Jay-Den’s backstory. Jay-Den’s desire to become a physician is at least in part due to watching his brother die from wounds that could be healed with Federation medicine. Or, indeed, any medicine better than what Klingons can provide for each other in the state they’re in. That same brother also wanted Jay-Den to pursue his dream—unlike their parents. When he goes on his first hunt, Jay-Den refuses to kill the bird he’s is chasing, as he does not wish to become a warrior. His father angrily grabs the bow and arrow and shoots at the bird in a rage, missing it by a mile. His parents then abandon him on Krios, leaving him to go to Starfleet Academy on his own. It takes a come-to-Kahless conversation between Jay-Den and Lura to make Jay-Den realize the truth there. Klingons in a rage don’t get careless—it focuses them. Klingons are used to rage, so if his father missed the bird, it means he did it on purpose. Again: charity through deceptive means that allows the person providing the charity to save face while still doing the service. Jay-Den’s father missed on purpose, under the cover of rage, and then departed, which not only respected Jay-Den’s wishes that the animal not be harmed, but also gave him the impetus to follow his dream and go to Starfleet Academy. But it also allowed his father to maintain his honor as a warrior. That scene also gives a bit of Lura’s backstory. Her parents were part of a group of free Jem’Hadar and Klingon warriors, who apparently wandered the galaxy beating each other up or something. I’m really hoping we learn more about that group, because it sounds like a fun bunch… In the end, Jay-Den is able to win the debate by passionately arguing that Klingons need to be allowed to be Klingons. That when they’ve lost everything, it’s even more important to hold onto what they can hold onto, in this case, their honor, and their spirit. And in the end, Ake and Vance are able to work out a way to show charity without forcing the Klingons to accept it as such. They summon Obel to Faan Alpha and declare the refugees to be trespassing in Federation space. Vance, in essence, declares war on the empire. What follows is a hilariously and deliberately lame-ass space battle in which weapons fire bounces off shields with no physical damage to the ships (at one point, a damage report is given as “shields at 95%,” which I’m fairly certain is the highest that number has ever been in a line of dialogue describing shield damage), in which no one is killed, and for which the awesome Klingon leitmotif from The Motion Picture is played on the soundtrack. After only a few minutes, Starfleet surrenders. Obel declares Faan Alpha to be the Klingons’ as spoils of war. Charity given. Face saved. As someone who has adored the Klingons since being blown away by Michael Ansara’s Kang and John Colicos’ Kor on the original series, and who has written a significant amount of Klingon fiction over the decades, I absolutely loved this episode. Writing the Klingons as a broken power and reduced to being refugees is a good choice, as it shows the negative consequences of the Burn to a people we’re invested in as viewers. And it also reminds us that just reversing the Burn isn’t the complete solution for everyone. One of the hallmarks of Star Trek has always been that the compassionate solution is preferred to the violent one. This is a lovely example of a solution that is both violent and compassionate—fitting for a story about Klingons, truly—and still embodying the hope for a better future that has been baked into Star Trek since the beginning.[end-mark] The post Qapla’! — <i>Star Trek: Starfleet Academy</i>’s “Vox in Excelso” appeared first on Reactor.

Movies & TV Bridgerton Bridgerton Season 4 Gives Class Struggle a Cinderella Sheen It’s still Bridgerton, but questions of class division power its fourth season By Lacy Baugher Milas | Published on January 29, 2026 Image credit: Liam Daniel/Netflix Comment 0 Share New Share Image credit: Liam Daniel/Netflix Four seasons in, Netflix’s Bridgerton has a formula that works. Known for its steamy romances, candy-colored costumes, and effortlessly diverse Regency setting that’s anything but traditional, it’s a historical drama with a thoroughly contemporary feel. This isn’t a criticism, by the way—the show is delightfully fun escapism that manages to remain true to the swoony spirit of its source material even as it updates the saga of the sprawling family at its center for a modern audience. And in season four, the show pulls off its greatest trick yet, reimagining one of its most problematic stories in a way that often feels richer and more engaging than the original.  Based on the third book in Julia Quinn’s megapopular romance series, season four backtracks to tell the story of Benedict (Luke Thompson), the Bridgerton family’s artistic and free-spirited second son, who has not always fit in with his more marriage and family-minded siblings. Previous seasons of the show have touched on his frequently Bohemian lifestyle, his love of painting, and his hedonistic sexual pursuits with both women and men. Perhaps it was always inevitable that Benedict’s story—and the romance at its center—would not follow a conventional path.  Rather than a simple friends-to-lovers romance or a fake relationship that turns real, Benedict’s story takes many of its narrative cues from Cinderella, featuring everything from a glamorous transformation and a hidden identity to a wicked stepmother and a misplaced (and personally identifying) fashion item left behind at a party. The season begins with a masquerade ball, and much of that fairytale feel lingers throughout the four episodes of Volume 1 (all of which were available for review). But underneath the masks and mistaken identities, Bridgerton season four is really a story about class. And it is through the introduction of Benedict’s love interest Sophie Baek (Yerin Ha) that the show is forced to confront, in some small ways at least, some of the most uncomfortable elements of its own premise.  Don’t get me wrong, this is still Bridgerton. The housemaids and shopgirls who quietly make the town run don’t suddenly unionize. The upper-class elites aren’t miraculously agitating for a minimum wage or fair housing laws. There are still lines the show won’t cross. And maybe this means the bar is in Hell, but it still feels important that the show is at long last acknowledging the stories of those who live outside the privileged world that the Bridgertons and their friends inhabit. Sophie, you see, is a maid. She’s not genteely impoverished or down on her luck; she’s a servant who performs manual labor, precisely the kind of character who has haunted the edges of Bridgerton’s previous seasons but never really directly taken part. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but Sophie is great. Image: Liam Daniel/Netflix Resourceful, intelligent, and kind, she never lets her difficult personal situation—an orphan with a stepmother who resents her and no future to speak of—make her cruel, cynical, or incapable of embracing joy. Her unabashed delight at simply being allowed to attend the Bridgerton masquerade is infectious, her honesty and complete lack of guile refreshing in a world where performance and presentation often carry more weight than truth. She’s a heroine whose happiness is easy to root for, so much so that no matter how you may feel about Benedict as a potential life partner, you’ll find yourself hoping these crazy kids can work it out, if only because Sophie wants it to so badly. It’s easy to see why this character has long been such a fan favorite, even if the book in which she is introduced is… well, let’s just call it problematic at best.  Bridgerton has always played a bit fast and loose with its source material. The show has both race and genderbent major characters (including Sophie herself). It’s moved the order of various narrative events around to suit its own purpose. And sometimes, it’s even made them up out of whole cloth. That season two love triangle between Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley), her sister Edwina (Charithra Chandran), and Anthony Bridgerton (Jonathan Bailey)? Doesn’t happen in the books. The revelation that Penelope Featherington (Nicola Coughlan) is actually Lady Whistledown? Happens much earlier in the show than on the page. Your mileage may, and likely will, vary on how well all of these changes, reorderings, replacements, and expansions have played out onscreen. Sometimes it turned out really well. And sometimes… not so much.  In the case of Benedict, the show has genuinely put in the work to make the shifts in his character feel earned. The early episodes of season four lean into the idea of Benedict as a rake, highlighting his multiple sexual partners, disdain for the rules of polite society, and resentment toward the man-of-the-family role he’s being forced to assume while Anthony is in India. But he’s also portrayed as someone who is deeply lonely and unsure, convinced that he’ll never find a woman who can accept all the disparate and frequently conflicting identities that make him who he is. He’s been uniquely positioned to both find—and accept—a love that colors outside the boundaries established by aristocratic society and to appreciate Sopie’s particular brand of authenticity. Yes, it helps that their initial meeting essentially occurs Love is Blind-style, when neither really knows who the other is, but the masquerade also gives them both the freedom to be their truest selves—that is, after all, the whole point of a disguise. Thompson and Ha have a warm, genuine chemistry together, and their banter is easy and fun. This first half of the season definitely prioritizes yearning over sexual tension, as Benedict works to track down his mysterious masquerade dance partner and grows closer to Sophie-as-herself after rescuing her from a dangerous situation at a country party without realizing that the two are the same person. But this season largely belongs to Ha, who steals almost every scene she is in from her first moments onscreen—even when we as the audience don’t know who she is. Deftly shifting between determined grit, wistful joy, and desperate yearning, her Sophie is a woman made of many layers, and who has seen more than her fair share of struggle without allowing it to make her cynical or cruel.  But Sophie and Benedict are not season four’s only story. Much like last season, this outing has a much more deliberate ensemble feel, with multiple secondary plots and supporting characters getting considerable screentime in ways. Penelope and Eloise are drawn into Benedict’s hunt for the mysterious Lady in Silver, and his purported willingness to (maybe?) finally marry puts him at the center of the ton’s social season (and Queen Charlotte’s interest). We also get to see the early days of John and Francesca’s marriage, witness Hyacinth chomp at the bit for her own debut, and watch as Violet and Lady Danbury take tentative steps into chasing dreams tied to their own futures rather than that of their loved ones. In many ways, though Netflix split the show’s fourth outing into two volumes for some inscrutable reason, it still feels like the series’s most complete and well-balanced. Yes, its primary story is still Benedict’s, but his emotional journey is just one piece of a larger narrative whole. With half the season to go, it’s impossible to tell how Bridgerton’s decision to acknowledge that class exists in their candy-coated fairytale world will ultimately play out. But Sophie’s story offers a perspective we haven’t really seen before, and helps open up a corner of the Bridgerton universe that feels altogether new. Image: Liam Daniel/Netflix The Mondriches, after all, were business owners before their son inherited a title, and regularly hobnobbed with various members of the aristocratic elite. Sophie, for her part, is threatened with violence, penury, and homelessness over the course of these initial episodes as she loses her job, is forced to sell her belongings to survive, and endures sexual harassment in the name of keeping a roof over her head. While Bridgerton certainly has a… let’s just call it an idealistic view of the camaraderie amongst the downstairs employees of Grosvenor Square, the show doesn’t shy away from acknowledging how hard they work or how central the roles they play are when it comes to facilitating the lives of leisure the Bridgertons and others like them enjoy. It’s a new sort of self-awareness for this show, but one it deserves no small amount of credit for. Perhaps most importantly, the season makes a valiant effort to explore questions of class outside of Sophie’s storyline. We meet more downstairs workers than ever before in the space of these episodes, and a major subplot involves many of the ton’s most popular household servants and ladies’ maids advocating for better working conditions and higher pay. It’s far from perfect—no matter how much we love it, a show like Bridgerton is never going to have the capacity to do the complexities of these issues justice—but the fact that it’s at least taking the issue seriously (something we can’t really say for the book this season is based on) is worth a great deal. Here’s hoping season four can stick the landing in its back half.[end-mark] The post <i>Bridgerton</i> Season 4 Gives Class Struggle a Cinderella Sheen appeared first on Reactor.

News Outlander War Is Coming in the Trailer for the Final Season of Outlander But also books, and tiny little glasses By Molly Templeton | Published on January 29, 2026 Photo: Starz Comment 0 Share New Share Photo: Starz The seventh season of Outlander, as Reactor reviewer Natalie Zutter wrote, got “delightfully weird.” There was a very wild cliffhanger! About maybe-not-so-dead characters! Or, as the official mini-synopsis with this new season eight trailer so mildly puts it, “a haunting cliffhanger left fans questioning the true fate of Claire and Jamie’s first daughter, Faith.” That’s so vague. So very, very vague. The twist shocked even the actors, as they discussed in an interview that ran shortly after the season seven finale. “It’s a great cliffhanger — one that I think book and non-book fans are going to be surprised by,” said Sam Heughan (who plays Jamie Fraser). But what does it mean? You’ll have to watch and find out, one assumes. This trailer gets one of those awkward, goofy introductions where the stars present it to you, and then it’s all in on drama, including a prediction about Jamie Fraser’s possibly impending death. There is a lot of hugging and some very nervous children. Here’s the synopsis: Jamie and Claire soon find the war has followed them home to Fraser’s Ridge, now a thriving settlement that has grown and flourished in their absence. With new arrivals and changes made during their years away, the Frasers are confronted with the question of what they are willing to sacrifice for the place they call home and, more importantly, what they would sacrifice to stay together. While the Frasers keep a united front against outside intruders, family secrets finally coming to light threaten to tear them apart from the inside. Although they’ve left the war for America’s freedom behind, their fight for Fraser’s Ridge has only just begun. This last season also has a new title sequence, with a version of “The Skye Boat Song” performed by Annie Lennox. Outlander, which is based on the novels by Diana Gabaldon, stars Caitríona Balfe as Claire Fraser, Sam Heughan as Jamie Fraser, Sophie Skelton as Brianna MacKenzie, Richard Rankin as Roger MacKenzie, John Bell as Young Ian Murray, David Berry as Lord John Grey, Charles Vandervaart as William Ransom, Izzy Meikle-Small as Rachel Murray, Lauren Lyle as Marsali Fraser, and César Domboy as Fergus Fraser. The final season premieres on Starz on March 6th, with subsequent episodes releasing weekly on Fridays.[end-mark] The post War Is Coming in the Trailer for the Final Season of <i>Outlander</i> appeared first on Reactor.

News God of War Ólafur Darri Ólafsson Will Be Thor in God of War TV Series The actor’s previous credits include playing Mr. Drummond on Severance By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 29, 2026 Ólafsson photo Credit: Jónatan Grétarsson; Thor imagery courtesy of Sony Interactive Entertainment Comment 0 Share New Share Ólafsson photo Credit: Jónatan Grétarsson; Thor imagery courtesy of Sony Interactive Entertainment Casting for the adaptation of the popular video game franchise God of War is heating up. Earlier this month we found out that Ryan Hurst (who actually voices Thor in the video game) will play one of the leads, Kratos, and that Max Parker was on board to play Heimdall, the watchman of Asgard. Today, we got the news that Ólafur Darri Ólafsson will take on the role of Thor.The God of War television series will be based on 2018’s God of War and its sequel, God of War: Ragnarok. In those games, the character of Thor is a rather specific take on the Norse god. Here’s the official description of Ólafsson’s character: The God of Thunder is a mountain of a man who has weathered many a battle in his time but whose actions in a war fought long ago now haunt his waking hours. Once the loyal soldier of Asgard and his father’s right-hand man, Thor is now but a shadow of his former self as he drowns himself in alcohol and tries not to think of the price he paid. Keeping his wife and children at arm’s length has only deepened his isolation, but the power (and danger) of the God of Thunder is still there just beneath the surface. If you’ve watched the second season of Severance, you’re familiar with Ólafsson; the actor played Mr. Drummond, the intimidating Lumon executive who monitored many parts of the severed floors, including the company’s commitment to goat sacrifice. His other credits include The Meg, Somebody Somewhere, and Trapped. The God of War series, which has already been greenlit for two seasons, is currently in pre-production in Vancouver. It has Ronald D. Moore as showrunner, and comes from Sony Pictures Television and Amazon MGM Studios. No news yet on when it will go into production, much less premiere on Prime Video. [end-mark] The post Ólafur Darri Ólafsson Will Be Thor in <i>God of War</i> TV Series appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts Horror Read an Excerpt From The Bone Queen by Will Shindler A mother’s search for her missing daughter battles against the shadows of a historic, dangerous legend. By Will Shindler | Published on January 29, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from The Bone Queen, a new horror-thriller by Will Shindler publishing with Minotaur Books on February 3. Single mother Jenna arrives on the tranquil shores of Athelsea fueled by the desperate hope to find Chloe, her teenage daughter who’s disappeared from their London home. She has no idea why—all she knows is that Chloe had changed in the previous two weeks, haunted by something, or someone, and the ferry ticket here is the only clue she has.As she explores the village and interacts with the locals, Jenna soon realizes a macabre secret is being hidden in plain sight. A dark legend of a vengeful woman called the Bone Queen is spoken of in hushed tones amongst the villagers, some of whom are frantically trying to suppress the tale that has long terrorized their lives.As Jenna starts to learn more about the Bone Queen and her previous victims, the village’s grip on reality begins to loosen and no one can say for sure who, or what, is responsible for the deaths and disappearances on Athelsea. Suffering from what she can no longer distinguish between paranoid hallucinations or real manifestations, Jenna must act quickly before Chloe is next…The Bone Queen has left her mark, and one day she’ll collect. Prologue The rain lashes across her face like a whip. She’s running into the night and even the trees feel like they’re conspiring against her, their gnarled branches twisting like the interlocked fingers of old men. These woods are dense, and she has no idea which direction to even head for. All she knows is her pursuer is gaining ground and what’s ahead can’t be worse than what’s behind. The earth beneath is wet and leafy and she can taste the salt on her lips from the sea which is rolling and roaring somewhere close. Panic forces her to quicken her pace. Her Nikes, bought with such pride in another time and place, are coming apart and she stumbles on a root sending her tumbling. For a second, she remains down, feeling the stitch in her chest mercifully subside a little. She considers staying put—hiding in the shadows. Then she hears it—hears her—that hint of cold laughter caught on the night air and knows it’s not an option. With a whimper, she forces herself back up onto her feet and starts running again. She tries to imagine a road on the other side of the trees and that thought gives her renewed hope. In her mind’s eye, she sees a car with its headlights cutting through the darkness like laser beams. A kind stranger leaning across to open the passenger door. An escape back to a world she should never have left, to people she should never have hurt. Behind her the urgent rush of her pursuer is getting louder, wood snapping underfoot as it scrabbles after her. If she’s caught, there won’t be any mercy shown. The tears streaming down her face are a distraction. The only thing that matters is getting away and she’s starting to lose faith that it’s even possible now—that the reach of what’s chasing her is too long. It feels like these woods have been waiting for her all her life and that this is where everything surely ends. She skids on some moss and crashes against something hard. There’s immediate sharp pain in her side. Something’s cut through her jeans into her thigh. She sees a huge fallen branch, jagged spikes of wood jutting out of it randomly, cloaked by the darkness. Swearing under her breath she reaches down and can feel the blood leaking through her fingers. She can’t stop herself from crying out—more in despair than pain. That’s a mistake and she knows it straight away. She hears it stop, imagines its head turning now, craning to listen before changing direction. There’s a pitter-patter as the rain begins to get heavier. Just as it has for the last week it quickly starts pounding down, the noise increasing with a rumble. She takes advantage of it and begins moving again. There’s a bank in front and she hauls herself up and over with a desperate heave. The woods seem to be thinning out now but everything’s a blur. She’s not sure what’s on the other side of these trees but is hoping for a break. Something, anything. Buy the Book The Bone Queen Will Shindler Buy Book The Bone Queen Will Shindler Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget She finds herself on open ground and runs raggedly across the long grass, but not fast enough. And then her heart stops as it dawns on her where she is. There’s a short, battered fence in the middle distance, and on the other side of it she can hear the sea pounding against the rock face far below. There’s sheer terror now as she realizes there’s nowhere left for her to run, and she turns to face what’s coming. It’s her—of course it is. The thing she’s been running from for so long, and everything seems to coalesce at that moment. All she can hear now is a roaring in her ears and the cold seems to go right through her. The rain is sheeting down and the terrible cowled figure slowly, jerkily, raises an arm and holds it out towards her accusingly. Her nerve breaks. She turns and sprints towards the cliff edge, not looking back. Climbing the short fence she stands for a moment, pressing her back against its rotting wood. The silver-coin moon illuminates the rocks below, showing her the way—and without hesitation, she leaps into the abyss. Chapter 1 Today The first thing that hit her was the sound of the place. Seagulls—lots of them circling overhead, crying and squalling as the ferry inched closer. Some people enjoy traveling like this, but Jenna Tipton knew she definitely wasn’t one of them. The whole process was laborious and tiring and she felt sick. But that wasn’t because of the choppy waters—she’d been living with the nausea for days and was almost getting used to it. Almost. She knew there was only one thing that was going to make that go away. In her early forties, the last week had aged her badly. Her mousy brown hair had turned frizzy, her lips were dry and chapped, and her skin felt like battered old leather. But none of that mattered, not in the way they normally would. She’d been told Athelsea Island was stunning but now that they could see it properly, there was nothing that stood out about it. A small rock tucked thirty miles or so off the Cornish coast. In the summer months, it was overrun by tourists—but in the cold blast of February, the huddle of white-brick buildings clustered around the harbor looked more like the death of hope.  ‘Nearly there Jen. Are you okay?’ said a voice behind her and she turned to see her sister Hattie fiddling with her phone trying to get some sort of signal on it. Much as she loved her, Jenna hoped it wasn’t because she wanted to upload a picture of the bloody island onto her Insta. Then she felt bad for having the thought because without her she’d never have made it even this far. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, answering the question with a dirty fat lie. Hattie was three years younger. Wearing a navy fur-lined puffa jacket, she looked impossibly glamorous, which was standard. Long black locks cascaded around her neck, tousled from the wind, which made her seem even more stunning than usual. It was all the more impressive given how much she hated the sea. A city girl by nature, she’d had a phobia about water since childhood and had done a decent job of covering it since they’d set off. Jenna turned back to face the island, which was getting ever closer. ‘Have we made a mistake coming here?’ she said, but Hattie shook her head. ‘We’re following the breadcrumb trail, aren’t we? And from what we know this is the likeliest option, isn’t it?’ She said it as if explaining the search for a misplaced set of keys. ‘What if I’m wrong though?’ said Jenna, wincing as yet another blast of cold wet wind swept across them. ‘What if we’re wasting valuable time? What if this is just a self-indulgence and we miss something important back home because of it?’ The questions had been tormenting her all day and Hattie had already heard them several times over. ‘And what if the moon’s made of green cheese? More to the point—what if she is here? That’s why we’ve come, isn’t it? To bring her home?’ Jenna nodded—there was that. She could see the bay a bit more clearly as the ferry got closer and its attractions were becoming a little more obvious now. There were boarded-up seafront cafés and restaurants which presumably did a roaring trade fleecing tourists during the summer. Pretty cobbled streets divided them, and old-fashioned-style signposts pointed the way to attractions such as the Athelsea Lighthouse and the Haunted Coves. ‘It looks dead,’ said Hattie and she was right. It also had that superficiality that all these kinds of places possessed which crowds and fine weather helped mask. In ordinary circumstances, it wouldn’t take Jenna more than an hour to get bored here, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. ‘Who lives here?’ she said. ‘And why would you live here? I mean—it’s like this during the winter, then gets overrun by drunken twenty-somethings in the summer. I can’t see the attraction.’ Hattie smiled. ‘That’s because you’re middle-aged.’ ‘Thanks, mate. Don’t get too cocky—you’re not that far behind me.’ The dynamic between them sometimes felt like it had been frozen in aspic from when they were teenagers. The passing of time didn’t seem to affect them. It felt as if it would always be like that. ‘You know what I mean, Jen. I imagine the population here is largely retired. It’s not meant for people like us, is it?’ ‘So why in the world would she come here?’ And for that, her sister had no answer. The Bone Queen. Copyright © 2026 by Will Shindler. All rights reserved. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>The Bone Queen</i> by Will Shindler appeared first on Reactor.