#jen's hierarchy of needs

[dormiloncito]

all you need to know about me

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Ultra Violet - Devil Wears Prada AU (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

When you struggle to find your footing at your new job at renowned Fashion Magazine Runway, a secret Guardian angel decides to help you out. Your mysterious fashionable gifts seem to catch even your stone cold, stern boss's eye. You can’t help but wonder if maybe Agatha Harkness knows more than she lets on.

Content/Warnings: The Devil Wears Prada!AU, CEO!Agatha x Assistant!Reader and the power dynamics that come with that, No pronouns or gendered terms used for R

✨Happy Valentine‘s Day my little loves! Get yourself a sweet cup of coco, a heart shaped treat and enjoy some all inclusive CEO!Agatha fluff!✨

Your new job at Runway was both the best and worst decision you had made your entire life.

Pay was better than the small tabloid you‘d written for until now, their reputation in the industry was insurmountable, and the office had a portafilter espresso machine. All your friends were especially jealous of that one. You’d landed a well paying position at one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in the world.

But that was also the problem. The Fashion. And, if you really boiled it down, your snobby, ruthless, obsessed with shallowness boss.

Agatha Harkness, head and face of the company. An icon of the scene, a trailblazer in the industry (at least that was what your coworkers told you.) Stoic, opinionated, and most of all, impossible to please.

Jen made sure to let you know about that. She had been Second Assistant before you got hired, but now she was promoted to First Assistant and you filled the new position.

She had explained the hierarchy to you in hushed whispers over morning coffee one day, while Mrs Harkness door had been shut and all you could hear were muffled voices arguing behind it.

Jen and your desks were in the hallway just outside, left and right to Harknesses door like two obedient guard dogs. You wondered if that was how she saw you, if she paid enough mind to her assistants for that at all.

It was only your fifth day working at Runway, and your To Do List was nothing but overwhelming. Meanwhile, Mrs Harkness barely spared you a glance, dropping her coat on your desk in the morning without a word, without even a glance, expecting things to be done and never returning a single gesture of gratitude. And everyone, including Jen, just jumped at her bid and word, like she was Queen of the world. It was … a lot.

„Who needs two Assistants anyway?“, you murmured with a chuckle as the meeting seemed to heat up, only to be met by a panicked stare from Jen.

„Don’t ever question Agatha Harknesses choices!“, she‘d tutted, and she looked like she had more to say. But she was interrupted by the door to the hallway where your desks were situated swinging open.

Lillia Calderu, head of the Runway Archives a few floors below dropped a thick binder of fabric samples onto your desk. Strips of dyed denim, all shades of purple so close to each other, you could barely tell a difference. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve laughed.

„What are you two whispering about?“, Lilia asked loudly, only to be met by both you and Jen shushing her sharply.

The voices behind the door to Mrs Harknesses raised in volume, and Lilia swallowed hard.

„I see“, she immediately switched to a whisper tone. „Vidal?“, she asked Jen, who nodded. They shared a serious look, flinching at the yelling.

You bit your lip, glancing from Jen to Lilia. The older woman took a deep breath, leaning against your desk, a hand on her hip.

„Rio wasn’t happy with the placement of her interview in the June Issue“, Jen explained, „I‘ve been getting angry calls from her secretary for days. Now Vidal showed up in person without making an appointment. Had to push back Calvin Klein, they were not happy.“

„What a glorious first week“, Calderu shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look. „Good Luck, Newbie“, she said, and then, her glance slowly dragged down your form, taking in your large green sweater and simple black jeans and sneakers. Her eyes widened, and as she looked back at Jen, she visibly shuddered, „You’re going to need it.“

„What, is something wrong with how I look?“, you gasped, loud enough to get another sharp shush from the other two.

You looked over at Jen, who just shook her head, raising her shoulders in a small shrug. „To be honest, we’ve all been wondering how you got this position in the first place. You‘re not exactly Runway material.“

„Or sidewalk material for that matter“, Lilia added, and Jen clutched her pearls dramatically, trying to stifle her laughter.

„You‘re not wrong, Calderu.“

You shot Jen a hurt look, ready to defend yourself. You were Second Assistant, most of your work happened on the phone, who cared if you wore Armani or not? After all, you had studied Journalism, not Fashion! And you were more than capable of showing professionalism in your profession!

But before you could give the two women a piece of your mind, the door flew open, and a dark haired woman in a suit strutted past you, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

„Admit it Agatha!“, she snarled, glaring back into the office over her shoulder, „This had nothing to do with the collection and everything with your own stubbornness!“

The woman, Vidal, turned around on her heels, dark hair whipping over her shoulder. As she turned, her eyes focused on you, and she froze in her tracks.

„Oh“, a dangerous little smirk formed on her lips. „You‘re new. Clearly.“

She took a step closer, Lilia moving out of her way as she did. Dark eyes watched your every movement like a lynx stalking its prey, and you suddenly felt incredibly exposed, even behind your desk. When she noticed you shudder, Vidal grinned, exposing her teeth.

„They really let anyone work here these days.“, raising her voice loud enough that it echoed through the hallway, she added „Who let the little barista in?“

To your horror, both Jen and Lilia just shrugged, not saying a word in your defense. Stupid, shallow Fashion industry.

Rio Vidal leaned over your desk, dangerously close to your face. She placed one hand on either side of you, practically caging you into your seat. Her voice was low as she smirked down at you, teeth exposed. „Aggie is going to eat you alive, little mouse. Better run while you can.“

„Rio!“, Mrs Harkness' voice rang from her office, a sharp cut through the air.

All four of you whipped your heads around, even Rio, finding the woman leaning against her office door, arms crossed, legs perfectly accentuated by a fitted culotte, a matching blazer draped over her shoulders, silk scarf loose around her neck. Her brow was creased, and sharp, ice cold eyes stared Rio down like a hawk. „Our meeting is over, Vidal. Get your ass out of my office. And“, her jaw tensed, eyes flitting over to you for less than a second. „Don’t touch my stuff.“

There was a slight frown on her face and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and fall through all nine floors of the building.

But still, Rio listened. With a scoff, the dark haired woman pushed herself off your desk, brushing past Lilia as she made her way towards the door.

„I‘m so sorry!“, Jen started babbling the moment the elevator doors closed and swallowed Vidal up, „She stopped for us, we did not-“

„Silence, Kale.“ Agatha didn’t even bother to look at her. Instead, her cold eyes closed in on Lilia. „Have your coffee break elsewhere, Calderu. There is no reason for you to linger around up here. And you, pet.“, her head whipped around, ice cold stare piercing right through you.

„Starting Monday, I want to see initiative. It’s time to take this Job seriously.“

Just like Rio had done just minutes before, Harkness leaned over your desk, glaring you down as she invaded your space. You leaned backwards into your chair, resisting the urge to flinch away. Blue eyes wander down your front, lingering over your exposed throat for just a moment longer. „And no more green at the office.“

Just as fast as she had leaned in, she was gone again, leaving your heart beating out of your chest, hands curled around the arm rests of your chair so tight, your knuckles turned white.

Agatha was already halfway back to her office. „Accompany Calderu back to her office, pet. I don’t want to see you when I leave. And next week, you either show up dressed like you want this, or don’t bother showing up at all.“

You weren’t ever going to admit it to anyone, especially Jen, but that night you crawled into the back of your uber with tears in your eyes. Fuck your stupid boss and her stupid standards and your stupid coworkers who only cared about appearances! Your work was hard, and ungrateful, and no one seemed to care that you did every little task, every small favour that wasn’t in your job description at all, and you did them all marvelously. But still, no one had your back because you wore converse instead of Louis Vuittons. Not even in front of your boss and her infamous ex wife, known for always somehow ending up closer to Agatha than the Runway CEO would like. Even then, in front of two of the most powerful women in the business, no one felt the need to stick up for you.

When you stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of your home, your uber gave you a worried look, and it only made you cry harder.

However, someone seemed to have your back.

As you walked up the stairs to your front door, you noticed a single package. A white box, even adorned with a lilac bow on top of it. And, when you crouched down to inspect the mystery package further, it had your name written on it at the top.

No tape or even a stamp, just a single gift box with a bow, looking like someone had snatched it away from under a Christmas tree. It wasn’t Christmas though, and it wasn’t your birthday either. It was a regular Friday, only tainted by the tears you‘d just spilled over your stupid job.

When you opened the box, carefully pulling at the lilac ribbon, your confusion didn’t let off either. In fact, you were even more lost with the contents.

A pair of black slacks, the fabric smooth and organic. No polyester in sight, this was high quality fabric. When you held them up, something fell out of the left pocket.

A card, a lapel pin attached to it. Fine, polished silver wrapping around a single, sparkling amethyst.

On the backside was a note, written in a cursive so filigrane that at first, you thought it must be printed.

No more jeans. Time to dress for the job you got.

You glanced up, but the street was empty, no cars other than resident vehicles parked under the flickering street lights. Whoever had dropped off this mystery gift had not stuck around. You swallowed, taking the box and bringing it inside. Maybe there was hope for you.

The gifts didn’t stop there. On Monday, you sat down at your desk, wearing your nice, new slacks and a slightly less washed out sweater today, you found another little box, the same white cardboard, the same ribbon. This one was way smaller though, small enough that Jen didn’t seem to notice from across the room as you unwrapped a brand new, sleek watch. The wrist band was incredibly light and slick, the watch itself small but neat, and the pointers were adorned with the tiniest little diamonds, tainted a bright blue if you held them up to the light. Underneath the watch was a note again. Neat cursive.

Meeting with Dior in 10, not 20. Wear the watch.

You bit the inside of your cheek, but before you could think about it, Jen hung up her current phone call, stress written all over her face.

„Dior called, they are coming in-“

„10, not 20“, you gave her a firm nod, „Don’t worry, I‘ll meet them and take notes for Harkness, you do the evaluation with Lilia.“

As you got out of your seat, you slung the new watch around your wrist. It sat perfectly. Jen gave you a confused but appreciative once over.

„Okay“, she said, „See you in 30.“

On Wednesday, you rushed in from driving Agatha’s son to soccer practice to find the hallway empty. Jennifer must have gotten stuck in a meeting. However, that wasn’t what caught your interest. As you put your laptop down, you noticed another box, this one sitting right in the seat of your chair. It was bigger than the others, and as you pulled the lid off, you were met with a bubble wrap. Whatever was in here, it was packaged like something incredibly precious. You bit your own tongue, anticipation bubbling up inside you. And then you unwrapped it.

A leather jacket. A little scuffed, worn in at the elbows. Definitely vintage, worn before. The arms were studded by silver rings, from the shoulders down to the cuffs. It was gorgeous, and vaguely familiar.

Behind you, you heard the clinking of porcelain, and then a sharp curse. When you spun around, Jen was already halfway across the room towards you, ignoring the fact she‘d spilled fresh coffee all over her desk.

„Where did you get that?“, she asked, panic in her voice. You clutched the jacket a little tighter.

„I found it here. Must be a gift.“

Jen came to a halt right in front of your desk, both hands immediately diving into the box on your seat.

„Hey!“, you nudged her away with your hip, but Jen‘s stance was firm, „Stop that!“

“Absolutely not!“, the first assistant just replied, „As per usual, you have no idea what any of this is about!“

„Then you should tell me, as first assistant and all!“, you shot back, and Jen let out a deep sigh.

„1998. Agatha Harkness gets photographed by paparazzi leaving Rio Vidal‘s mansion. The jacket she wore started a trend that didn‘t settle until denim took over in the 2000s.“ She gave you a long, serious glare. „You are holding that jacket.“

Before you could process what she just told you, and what any of that meant, your coworker already dove back into the box. At the bottom was a folded piece of cardboard, just off white and high quality. There was a set of simple, silver cuff buttons attached to it. Jen snatched the note out before you even had a chance to grab it.

„You polish up nice. Pair with a dress shirt.“ She read out loud, gasping.

„No signature? I can’t believe this! There is no way this left the archive without Mrs Harknesses permission.“

You reached for the note, but Jen took a step backwards, holding it out of your reach. Damn her and her high louis vuittons.

Her eyes closed in on you, pointing an accusatory finger at you. „This is why you‘ve been looking good! Someone is playing dress up with you! Do you have a secret admirer in the archives?“

„I don’t know who these are from!“, you told her truthfully, holding the leather jacket close to your chest. You still weren’t 100% sure she wasn’t just going to tear it from you.

„But … Someone‘s been helping me. Lilia has been a lot kinder since I changed the way I dress, even you shared your salad with me the other day!“

Jen creased her brow at that, glancing from the note in her hand to your face and back.

„I guess there hasn’t been any complaints from downstairs either. Whoever sends you stuff does so fair and square.“ She huffed, nose wrinkling, then shrugged, finally handing you the note. Soft, high quality paper, like artists used for Aquarelle painting. The same neat cursive as the other one.

Jen watched you and shook her head. „Whoever is sending you these is right though. You need a button up with this. And some good shoes.“

As if your secret angel had heard her, the next day, you found a bag with the Lauren Ralph Lauren logo printed on it under your desk. Inside was a shoe box. A pair of sleek black ankle boots, shiny, real leather, a minimal heel to give you just a little bit of extra height, but small enough to keep the shoe androgynous and cool. This time, there was no extra goodie attached to the note, however, when you turned it in your hand, a sour, citrusy scent found your nose. The paper was doused in perfume. This time, when you read the note, a smile slowly but surely crept up onto your features.

Looking good. Now show them exactly who you are, pet.

You licked your lips in excitement, glancing up from your desk. Mrs Harkness office door was closed, her way of letting you know she wanted no disturbances right now.

However, you could hear that one Lorna Wu song playing behind the door, the smooth sound of a record player unmistakable. You were starting to get an idea of who might be behind your sudden gift shower.

By Friday, you had an almost entirely revamped closet, held in shades of violet, plum and indigo. Today, you wore a flowy, long sleeved shirt made out of what you were pretty sure was pure dyed silk, the amethyst earrings and a matching bracelet, the slacks that had started all of this. You looked stylish, young, professional. You looked like you weren't a second assistant, but editor of Runway, and you carried yourself through the hall like it too, dropping the leather jacket on your chair as you passed your desk. Jen looked up from her laptop when you came passed, giving you an impressed nod.

„I‘m gonna be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.“

You let out a little snort, leaning against her desk. „Thanks Jen, you look great today too.“ She always did, of course. Jen had this game figured out like no other. No matter how much Mrs Harkness had to complain about her work ethic or her shitty handwriting or the coffee Jen bought her being just a little too sweet, not even the Wicked Witch of Runway could criticise Jennifer's style. But, if you were quite honest, you started to feel like you were holding up pretty well yourself. This morning when you‘d dropped off a new collection for the Archive, Lilia had pulled you into a tight hug, before introducing you to one of the photographers. She‘d never done anything of the sorts before. When you walked down the hallway, a binder or a bag of clothes or Agatha‘s lunch order in your hand, people greeted you, some even stepped out of the way now.

„So“, you flipped open your notebook, glancing at your To Do List for the day. „What does the afternoon look like for us?“

„I‘m dropping Nicky off at Alice‘s for his guitar practice.“ She explained, „And on the way back I‘ll stop by Gucci to pick up some samples. Agatha has calls until four, and expects her afternoon latte immediately after. Until then, you’re on phone duty.“ Jen gave you a small smile, and you dared to see pride on her face. „Nothing you can’t handle, superstar.“

That afternoon, you knocked at your bosses door no less than two minutes after she‘d finished her last call. You had a tray with her drink and a salmon cream cheese bagel, the mug still steaming as you peaked into the door.

„Coffee’s ready!“, you announced, ready to put the tray down and disappear again.

However, to your surprise, Agatha told you to come inside. You closed the door behind you, putting her order down on her desk before stepping away, feeling oddly exposed in the middle of the room like that.

You’d barely seen her all week, she was always either on the go but in a conference. But yesterday, as she had brushed past your desk, phone in hand as she’d once again yelled at Vidal about … something, you imagined that for the splinter of a second, she‘d winked at you in passing.

Now, Agatha‘s eyes dragged down your form, and for the first time this week, she genuinely smiled. Taking a sip of her latte, she gave you a satisfied nod.

„You may not look like a barista anymore, but I swear this stuff has been better since you started to do the coffee run.“

You caught your lower lip between your teeth. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

Then, as you turned to leave, Agatha called out to you again.

„Wait up, pet.“

You froze, glancing over your shoulder back at her. There was an unreadable glimmer in her eyes, tainted lips curled into a small smirk. „Add whatever you like to drink to the order tomorrow. Use my card.“

You couldn’t help but gasp, smile so wide you quickly had to turn away, before she could see. This was entirely new. Coffee run meant a drink for Agatha, sometimes one for Lilia. Never for the assistants. Well, until now. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

„Call me Agatha.“

„Of course, Agatha.“ Her name rolled off your tongue surprisingly easy, like it had always belonged there. You bit back a grin, feeling your stomach tighten. Her undivided attention felt like opiates in your system, made you feel like you were floating on clouds above the world. Like you wanted nothing else, ever again. It was dizzying.

„Come over here“, Agatha’s voice brought you back to reality. It was calm, and she nodded towards her desk, cluttered with notebooks, concept art and prior issues of the magazine. Every night before you left, you made sure to organise it, but over the course of just one day, Agatha always managed to restore the chaos.

Right now, she was getting off her seat, putting down her cup. To your surprise, she had foregone stockings today, bare skin under her deep purple, tight pencil skirt. The matching blazer was draped over the back of her chair, sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows. It was unusually casual, uncharacteristically human. It was intimate.

Your stomach did a little flip, stepping forward to stand in front of her desk as she had ordered. The quiet obedience gained you a satisfied little nod.

„You’ve been cleaning up quite well, pet.“

If you thought about it, you didn’t mind the pet name at all.

Praise from Agatha was a rare treat, if you believed Jen, it was near impossible. You played with the rings adorning your fingers, glancing down at the tips of your polished, shiny black boots.

Agatha paced around her desk in a slow circle, until she was standing right behind you. „Everything I’ve heard about you has been nothing but positive.“

Goosebumps rose on your skin. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

She tutted. „I told you to call me Agatha.“

A warm hand grazed your hip, and you exhaled sharply at the touch. „And here I thought you were good at taking orders.“ She glanced at you over your shoulder, a mocking pout on her lips.

Her fingers curled around the silky fabric of your shirt for a mere moment before letting go again.

„Turn around.“ You spun around to face her without missing a beat.

Agatha‘s eyes dragged over your blouse, along your shoulders, your collarbones exposed by the silky fabric, dipping lower for just a moment. Your breath hitched.

She took a step forward, into your space. Instinctively, you took a step back. The air got sucked out of your lungs when you felt the desk press into the back of your legs. You were now caged in between Agatha‘s presence in front of you and her desk behind you.

Your boss seemed unbothered, her hand reaching out, running over the neatly folded collar of your shirt. You’d added the lapel pin to it, the silver reflecting in the blue of her eyes. You swallowed, and her glance focused on the movement of your throat.

„Gorgeous“, she murmured, and you weren’t sure what exactly she meant. You imagined you saw her lick her painted lips, but you weren’t sure. Either way, goosebumps tickled your arms, your chest, all over your skin.

Agatha’s index finger and thumb take your collar between them, silky, deep purple fabric running through her hold. You felt her gently tug on the fabric and your heart skipped a beat. The only thing you wanted was for her to touch your skin instead.

But then she spoke, and it took every fibre of your being to concentrate on her words.

„Ultra Violet, the Pantone Color of the Year in 2018“, her lips pursed into a dangerous, thin smile, „Do you know why that is?“

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she took another step closer. You swallowed hard, halfway sitting on her desk now, knees sliding apart automatically as she stepped between them. You didn’t stop her, just held still as she invaded your space. It was like there was electricity flimmering through the air.

“George Hobeika Fall 2017 Couture showcase. He comes to me with a collection of deep oranges and reds. Orange for fall? How original. I send him a note telling him to shove his off the rack bullshit back to where he must be hiding that visionary spirit he claims to have. The color of the paper?“ Her brows raised, blue eyes unreadable as she scanned your face expectantly.

„Ultra Violet“, you guessed, and the pleased curl of her lips has your heart almost beating out of your chest.

„Exactly“, she murmured, so close that you felt her breath on your face. „Ultra Violet. The colour of the standout dress of the show, the colour you saw on every Magazines front page for a full year after.“ She chuckled, tugging on your collar just the smallest bit. The upper button came undone. You didn’t stop her.

Agatha’s voice dropped. „I send Kale to buy office supplies once and the entire fashion industry bends over backwards for me.“

Her fingers let go of your blouse. Instead, her thumb hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. There was no escape to her intense eye contact now. Her voice was low, amused. She practically purred at you.

„And look at you, wearing my color, seven years later.“

She took another step towards you. Her hips pushed against yours now, and your hands found the surface of her desk behind you, pushing yourself upwards as she pinned you against it. Her body was warm against you, even through layers of expensive satin and velvet. It was only now that you noticed your blouse matched the colour of her skirt, of her blazer. Her rings were adorned with the same amethysts that dangled off your ears.

All the little gifts on your desk, every single item in your new, professional closet, they all had one thing in common. Ultra Violet. The colour of the Woman herself. Every single thing that made Jen green with envy or Lilia whistle impressed, they weren’t just gifts from a secret admirer who wanted to help you. They were territorial markings. They were hers. You were hers, visible to everyone’s eyes.

Blue eyes twinkled down at you in approval, the realisation written all over your face.

„My colour, all over you“, Agatha purred, her thumb dragging along your jaw, up towards your cheekbone, and then slowly towards your slightly parted lips. Her touch was gentle and you stopped breathing at the feeling, trying hard not to lean into the touch. But then, her hand found your hair, fingers curling into it, pulling you closer. Her other hand slipped around your waist, palm pressed firmly against your lower back. A familiar scent found your nostrils, sour and citrusy.

She was so close, you felt every single one of her words on your lips.

„You wear it so well.“

That was when the knot inside you snapped. All restraints, every last ounce of professionalism flew right out the window. Your eyes fell shut. It took barely a slight nudge of your chin to close the gap between you. Finally, your lips were on hers.

Agatha was firm against you. The sweetness of Charlotte Tilbury matte lipstick met your tongue, her painted lips creamy and soft against you. She kissed you with vigour, her hand firm on your lower back as she pushed you flush against her. She leaned forward, pushing you onto her desk with strong arms. Your shirt slipped off one shoulder and you let out a surprised squeal. Agatha took the opportunity and slipped her tongue between your lips. The faint bitterness of Espresso hit your tastebuds, her tongue dancing around you with the confidence of a leading dance partner.

Your hands found her shoulders as your back hit the surface of her desk, pulling her down with you. Holding onto her tightly as she stood between your legs, she kept you in place exactly where she wanted you with the hand in your hair.

A little moan escaped your lips, devoured immediately by her mouth against yours, and her teeth grazed over your swollen bottom lip.

Suddenly, the penetrant sound of a new notification cut through the air. On the other end of the desk, Agatha‘s phone lit up, vibrating once.

A part of you wanted to grab the damn thing and throw it out the window into the night, but you also wanted to keep your job. Now more than ever, actually.

So, as Agatha pulled away, adjusting her blazer as she did, you pulled your shirt back in place as well. But not with a frustrated little sigh, sitting up on her desk as she gave you a warning look with raised brows.

While you were still catching your breath, Agatha stepped around her desk casually, reaching for her phone before turning to the skyline behind her desk, New York City gleaming back at her in shades of Neon and Steel blue. The bright Purple Runway sign from above your building tainted the entire street in a faint violet light. Her mark was everywhere.

Agatha‘s brow creased as she typed into her phone.

„Before you go home, make a dinner reservation for two at the French Place at the Boulevard. 9 pm sharp. Message Nicky‘s babysitter to let her know I‘ll be late.“, she said matter of factly, and you scrambled for your notepad to write down everything she told you. Even your notepad was purple. How had you never noticed that until now?

„And remember to pick up your suit for Vidal‘s Gala before Saturday. You’re going to need a fitting.“ You tried to ignore the way your heart leaped in your chest. Your first event as her assistant, and she was taking you and only you!

“Oh, and Y/N,“ Your name on her lips was new, and it was exciting. You felt your chest flutter at the sound.

Agatha turned back around to look at you, the city lights illuminating her form. Her lipstick had smudged the slightest bit, but it did not ruin the image of perfection she was. If anything, it just made your stomach burn even hotter. Her eyes found yours and there was a twinkle in them, lips curled into a subtle smirk.

“You have Dinner at the French place on Boulevard at 9. There‘s an outfit waiting for you in the Archive.“

A knowing smirk tugged at your lips, raising a brow at her. „I must polish up nice to wear archived items.“

Agatha tutted, bright eyes twinkling. „You have been.“

[bitchiswild]

You’re Mine

G!P Huh Yunjin x F!Reader

Words Count: 3.5k

Warnings: rough, mean girl yunjin, slapping, choking, creampie, hair pulling, etc.

A/n: im yours yunjin 🧎‍♀️

Requested

"Move, you slut," the voice hissed before a forceful shove pinned you against the locker. Anger surged through you as you turned to confront your attacker, only to find yourself face-to-face with your long-time tormentor, Huh Yunjin.

You were no stranger to the elite atmosphere of your private college, where only the offspring of the privileged elite could gain entry. In this exclusive world, Yunjin reigned as the undisputed "Queen Bee," her status bolstered by the influential positions held by her parents among the upper echelons of society.

Despite the luxurious facade of the institution, its halls harbored the harsh realities of social hierarchy and power plays. For you, navigating these treacherous waters meant enduring relentless bullying from Yunjin and her clique, who wielded their influence with impunity.

As you squared your shoulders and met Yunjin's gaze with defiance, you steeled yourself for yet another confrontation in this battleground of prestige and entitlement.

With a defiant smirk, you pushed yourself off the locker, refusing to let Yunjin's intimidation tactics hold sway over you any longer. "You're the one who needs to move, Yunjin," you retorted, your voice laced with equal parts irritation and disdain. "Last time I checked, this hallway wasn't your personal runway."

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and fury at your boldness, but you held your ground, reveling in the taste of rebellion. "Oh, look who's finally grown a spine," she sneered, her tone dripping with condescension. "But don't get too ahead of yourself, darling. You're still just a peasant in our kingdom."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let her barbs penetrate your armor. "Please, spare me the melodrama," you shot back, your words laden with sarcasm. "I may not have your pedigree, but at least I have the decency not to treat people like trash."

Yunjin bristled at your insolence, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she seethed, her voice tinged with venom. "Well, let's see how long that mouth of yours lasts when I'm through with you."

But you merely smirked in response, relishing the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. "Bring it on, Jen," you taunted, your bravado masking the flutter of nerves beneath the surface. "I've dealt with worse than you."

With that, you sauntered away, leaving Yunjin seething in your wake, a small but satisfying victory in the ongoing battle for dominance in the cutthroat world of elite academia.

As you defiantly turned to walk away, determined to leave Yunjin's petty antics behind you, a sudden vice-like grip seized your arm. Startled, you stumbled backward as Yunjin yanked you forcefully into an empty classroom, the door slamming shut behind you with an ominous thud.

Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, you found yourself face-to-face with your tormentor, her features contorted with rage and something darker lurking beneath the surface. "You think you can just walk away from me, like you're better than everyone else?" Yunjin spat, her voice low and dangerous.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness. "Let go of me, Yunjin," you demanded, your tone firm and unwavering. "You're not worth my time."

But Yunjin's grip only tightened, her nails digging into your skin with painful insistence. "You're going to regret crossing me, you little brat," she seethed, her words dripping with venom. "I'll make sure you pay for every insolent word that's ever come out of your mouth."

Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and anger as Yunjin's threats hung heavy in the air. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness.

"Now get on your knees," Yunjin commanded, her voice a sharp whip of authority slicing through the tense silence.

Your defiance blazed hotter within you, fueled by indignation at her audacity. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'll bow down to you," you shot back, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "I'm not some pawn for you to manipulate at your whim."

Yunjin's smirk twisted into something cruel as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Who says you're bowing to me?" she taunted, her tone dripping with contempt. "No, princess, you're sucking my cock."

Your eyes rolled instinctively at her words, a mixture of annoyance and disbelief simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, please," you scoffed, your voice laced with sarcasm. "As if I'd stoop that low for someone as pathetic as you."

Ignoring her, Yunjin roughly pulled down her skirt, her movements fueled by a potent mix of anger and arrogance. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again at the dramatic display, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips despite yourself.

But as her cock sprang into view, hard and angry, a different sensation washed over you. Despite your bravado, an undeniable thrill coursed through your veins at the sight of it, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. You squeezed your thighs together instinctively, a futile attempt to suppress the traitorous desire that threatened to consume you.

Yunjin's smirk widened at the sight of your reaction, a smug satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "What's the matter, princess?" she teased, her voice dripping with derision. "Cat got your tongue?"

You fought to maintain your composure, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. With a defiant toss of your hair, you shot her a disdainful look, determined to play the brat to the bitter end.

But deep down, beneath the layers of bravado and defiance, you couldn't shake the unsettling realization that Yunjin's cruel games had stirred something within you, something dark and forbidden that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wore like amor.

With an exaggerated eye roll and a scoff that bordered on theatrical, you watched as Yunjin brought her cock closer to your mouth, her movements slow and deliberate. Despite the tension crackling in the air, you refused to let her see any hint of weakness, maintaining your bratty demeanor with unwavering determination.

"Oh, please," you drawled, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you leaned back against the nearest desk, crossing your arms defiantly. "Is this supposed to impress me? Because let me tell you, it's doing the exact opposite."

Yunjin's lips curled into a sneer at your defiance, her grip tightening on her cock as she hovered tantalizingly close to your lips. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Well, let's see how long that smart mouth of yours lasts when it's wrapped around my cock."

You fought to suppress the shiver of anticipation that threatened to betray you, maintaining a facade of nonchalance even as Yunjin's cock loomed closer, the heat radiating from it palpable against your skin.

Rolling your eyes yet again, you tilted your head to the side with a dismissive huff. "Is that the best you've got?" you taunted, your voice laced with false bravado. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to impress me, sweetheart."

But beneath the surface, a tempest of conflicting emotions raged within you, a heady mixture of defiance and desire warring for dominance. In this twisted game of power and manipulation, you knew that maintaining your bratty facade was the only defense you had against Yunjin's relentless cruelty.

Yunjin's patience wore thin as she grew tired of your defiance. With a swift movement, she grabbed your head, forcing her cock through your lips, her grip firm and unyielding. The sudden invasion left you momentarily stunned, your breath catching in your throat as she began to fuck your mouth with a forceful rhythm.

Despite the initial shock, you refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing you submit so easily. With a muffled grunt of protest, you struggled against her hold, your bratty attitude flaring to life even in the face of this humiliating act.

"Mmmph!" you managed to protest around her cock, the sound muffled and garbled as she continued to thrust into your mouth with increasing intensity. Each movement was met with resistance, your jaw clenched tight as you fought against her, determined not to let her break you.

Yunjin's laughter echoed through the empty classroom, a cruel symphony of dominance as she relished in your futile struggles. "That's it, princess," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "You're going to learn your place one way or another."

But even as Yunjin exerted her control over you, a flicker of defiance burned bright within your chest. With every fiber of your being, you vowed to endure this humiliation with your pride intact, refusing to let her cruel games crush your spirit.

As Yunjin's thrusts grew more forceful, your resolve hardened, a silent promise to yourself echoing in the recesses of your mind. No matter what she threw your way, you would never bow down to her, not now, not ever

Despite your best efforts to resist, a wave of conflicting sensations washed over you as Yunjin's relentless thrusts persisted. With each forceful movement, an involuntary moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the cock that filled your mouth.

The sensation of her cock sliding in and out, coupled with the tight grip of her hand on your head, sent sparks of arousal coursing through your veins. Despite the humiliation of the situation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, betraying your body's undeniable response to her touch.

As Yunjin's pace quickened, driving her cock deeper into your mouth, you found yourself succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment. The friction between you, fueled by a potent mix of desire and defiance, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy.

Yunjin's laughter mingled with your moans, a twisted symphony of dominance and submission that filled the air around you. With each thrust, she exerted her control over you, relishing in the power she held over your body and mind.

Despite the shame that threatened to consume you, a part of you reveled in the raw intensity of the moment, surrendering to the pleasure that coursed through your veins. In this twisted dance of dominance and desire, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body betraying you even as your mind fought to maintain a semblance of control.

Tears streamed down your face, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and a strange undercurrent of arousal. Despite your attempts to suppress them, they flowed freely, betraying the complex emotions swirling within you.

Yunjin's hand moved from your head to gently wipe away the tears, her touch oddly tender against the backdrop of the dominating act she was performing. "There, there, princess," she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're so much better with my cock in your mouth."

Her words struck a nerve, a mixture of shame and defiance bubbling up within you. Part of you recoiled at the degradation of being reduced to this, while another part burned with an unspoken desire that refused to be extinguished.

Despite the conflicting emotions warring within you, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Yunjin's piercing eyes. In that moment, as she held you captive with her gaze, you realized that this twisted dynamic between you was far more complicated than you had ever imagined.

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you met her gaze head-on, a silent challenge burning bright in your eyes. Beneath the layers of humiliation and submission, a spark of rebellion flickered to life, a silent vow to reclaim your power in this twisted game of dominance and desire.

As Yunjin's thrusts intensified, her grip tightening on your head, a primal urgency infused her voice as she gasped, "God, I'm gonna cum in your mouth. You better swallow it all."

With a surge of desperation, she released into your mouth, her essence flooding your senses. The bitter taste of her release filled your mouth as she emptied herself, each pulse a reminder of your submission to her will.

As she withdrew, a surge of defiance surged within you. With a defiant flick of your tongue, you spat out her cum, the act a rebellious assertion of your autonomy in the face of her dominance.

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and anger at your defiance. "You insolent little brat," she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "You'll regret that."

But even as she glared at you, a spark of triumph flared within you. In this moment of rebellion, you reclaimed a fragment of your dignity, a silent declaration that you would not be reduced to a mere pawn in her twisted games of power and control.

Yunjin's grip tightened on your hair as she dragged you up from your knees, a cruel smirk twisting her lips. With a rough shove, she pushed you over the desk, the cold surface biting into your skin as you landed with a thud.

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation as Yunjin wasted no time in yanking down your skirt and underwear, exposing you to her ruthless gaze. A shiver of vulnerability coursed through you as her fingers teased your entrance, tracing agonizing circles around your slick folds.

Before you could gather your wits, she thrust her fingers inside you with a brutal force, eliciting a whimper of both pain and pleasure from your lips. The sudden intrusion left you reeling, your body straining against the onslaught of sensations crashing over you.

Yunjin's hand came down hard on your exposed ass, the sharp slap sending shockwaves of pain rippling through your body. The sting lingered, your skin flaming red under her punishing touch as she asserted her dominance over you.

"Take my cock like a good girl," she commanded, her voice dripping with cruel authority as she positioned herself behind you. With a brutal thrust, she buried her entire length inside you, the sensation overwhelming as she claimed you as her own.

Your breath hitched in your throat as she filled you completely, every inch of her cock stretching you to your limits. Despite the pain and humiliation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, your body betraying you with every desperate gasp and whimper that escaped your lips.

In this twisted dance of dominance and submission, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body yielding to the relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain inflicted upon you by Yunjin's cruel desires

Yunjin's grip on your hair tightened, her fingers tangling in the strands as she thrust into you with a relentless force. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body, the rhythm rough and unyielding.

With a savage intensity, she pulled your hair back, arching your spine and exposing your neck to her hungry gaze. The sensation of her fingers digging into your scalp ignited a primal need within you, a desperate craving for more of her dominating touch.

Your skin burned under her punishing grip, each slap leaving a fiery imprint on your flesh as she marked you as her own. The sting of her hand against your skin mingled with the throbbing ache between your legs, the sensations blurring the lines between pleasure and pain.

Through gritted teeth, Yunjin's voice reverberated with a raw hunger as she growled, "You like it rough, don't you, you filthy little slut?"

A shiver of arousal coursed through you at her words, your body responding to the raw dominance in her tone. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate whimper. "Harder, please."

With a primal grunt, Yunjin obliged, her thrusts becoming even more forceful as she claimed you with a relentless ferocity. Each collision sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, a symphony of dirty talk filled the air, a primal exchange of desire and dominance that fueled the flames of passion burning between you. In this raw, unbridled moment of carnal ecstasy, you surrendered to the primal urges consuming you, lost in the savage rhythm of pleasure and pain orchestrated by Yunjin's command.

"Take it," she commanded, her voice a husky whisper laced with authority. "Spread your legs wider for me."

Your body responded instinctively to her commands, yielding to her dominance as you obeyed without hesitation. With each directive, she exerted her control over you, guiding your movements with a commanding presence that left you powerless to resist.

"Look at me," she demanded, her voice a sharp command cutting through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. "I want to see your eyes as I take you."

Yunjin's grip tightened around your throat, her fingers exerting pressure as she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "Feel good princess?" she growled, her voice a husky whisper laced with dominance.

A whimper escaped your lips as her words sent a shiver of excitement coursing through you. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Yes it feels so good.”

With a primal hunger, Yunjin complied, her lips trailing down your neck with bruising force, leaving a trail of fiery marks in her wake. Each bite and suck of her lips against your skin elicited a whimper of pleasure from your throat, the sensation of her teeth sinking into your flesh sending shivers of ecstasy down your spine.

As she marked you as her own, the sound of her hand meeting your skin echoed through the room, punctuated by the symphony of moans and gasps that filled the air. "You're mine," she growled, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she claimed you with each punishing strike.

With each thrust, the desk beneath you creaked and groaned under the force of your shared passion, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room with a primal rhythm that echoed through the empty space.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, your moans mingled with hers in a symphony of ecstasy, the raw intensity of your shared pleasure reverberating through the room. In this raw and uninhibited moment of carnal desire, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations consuming you, lost in the intoxicating dance of dominance and desire orchestrated by Yunjin's commanding touch.

"God, Yunjin, I'm gonna cum!" you cried out, your voice filled with a mixture of desperation and ecstasy. Despite the intensity of your impending release, Yunjin's thrusts never faltered, driving you closer to the edge with each relentless movement.

The table beneath you began to scrape against the floor, the sound of wood against tile adding to the cacophony of pleasure filling the room. With each collision, the friction between your bodies intensified, fueling the flames of desire burning within you.

Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers digging into your skin with a possessive force as she growled in response to your cries. "That's it, princess," she snarled, her voice dripping with dominance. "Cum for me, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good," Yunjin groaned, her voice thick with desire as she thrust into you with renewed fervor. Each powerful thrust drove you to the brink of ecstasy, the promise of her impending release sending tremors of anticipation coursing through your body.

With each collision, the table scraped against the floor, the sound a symphony of pleasure and desire echoing through the room. Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers leaving bruising imprints on your skin as she claimed you with a possessive intensity.

You moaned in response, the sensation of her cock filling you completely pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Yes, please," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Fill me up, Yunjin, I need it."

With a primal roar, Yunjin surrendered to the intoxicating pull of pleasure, her body tensing as she reached the brink of release. With one final, powerful thrust, she buried herself deep inside you, her seed flooding your senses as she emptied herself completely.

Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake. As the echoes of your shared climax faded into the air, you lay spent and sated beneath Yunjin's commanding touch, your senses ablaze with the raw intensity of your shared passion.

In the aftermath of your passionate encounter, a heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint creaking of the table beneath you. You lay spent and tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, as the remnants of your shared pleasure lingered in the air like a hazy mist.

Yunjin's grip on your throat loosened, her fingers trailing lightly over the marks she had left behind, a silent testament to the intensity of your connection. Her eyes met yours, a rare vulnerability shining in their depths amidst the fading fire of desire.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your shared experience hanging heavy between you like a tangible presence. In this moment of quiet intimacy, you found yourself caught in the delicate balance between desire and vulnerability, the boundaries of power and submission blurring into a tangled web of raw emotion.

With a soft sigh, Yunjin pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her touch surprisingly tender against the backdrop of your heated encounter. "You're mine," she whispered.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Do you know of any cute, fairly long high school fics please?

HI - we answered that here and some others here! Here are some others. ~Jen

Not another Teen Drama by @catcat-85

This is a story about two boys from different crowds who found more in common with each other than they had ever thought possible. Even though High School hierarchy had kept them apart, a chance that Blaine took one day led them on a journey of a love story. Whoever said a cheerleader and a math nerd could ever become an item?

and part 2 Teenage Dream by @catcat-85

Sequel to Not Another Teen Drama. It’s their Senior year. Kurt and Blaine are still in their love bubble, but their Senior year will bring a lot of challenges that will test their relationship. Someone new is moving to town, and his arrival is going to rock Blaine’s life. College applications, a wedding, family drama, Prom, Graduation, and new love interest are just what the teenage dreams are made of.

~~~~~

Smart With Math, Stupid With Love by @rockitman

Kurt just wants to survive Senior Year and maybe get a date with Sam. He doesn't need the new resident "Bad Boy" (more like Boy Band) to cause any complications. But it's hard to ignore a good offer when it comes along. Calculus lessons in exchange for Lessons In Love. God he must be desperate.

~~~~~

One more night by @gleefulpoppet

High school is a caste system where kids fall into certain slots. Popular kids are up in the penthouse, which is where Rachel Berry reigns supreme. She’s got the hottest guy in school and everything she’s ever dreamed of right in front of her. The Invisibles are on the bottom floor. That is where you will find Kurt Hummel, daydreaming about his first kiss and trying to survive the torment each day brings at the hands of bullies and cowards. And then, there is Blaine Anderson. Is he everything he appears to be? Straight, in love with the most popular girl in school, and set to take the lead in the school play? Or is there more to him than anyone knows?

[likea-black-widow-baby]

I have some thoughts about Agatha being the one to bind Jen

Those thoughts being that it doesn't really make sense. While Agatha has always been out for her own gain, she still has a hierarchy of values, and is very smart.

Her defense when Jen asks her why she bound her is that it was the 1920's, and binding witches was a lucrative job. But this just doesn't line up with Agatha's usual modus operandi. She was still luring covens into the woods and draining them at that point, she was very powerful. We have reason to believe she may have been looking for the Darkhold, or even already had it. Yet she acts like binding other witches was the only choice she had in a male-dominated society. This is just nonsense, full stop. Agatha made her living through her power, she had no need for social acceptance or even money. Much less from her inferiors (the men of 1920's society).

I could get behind the idea if it were a con. If Agatha advertised her services binding witches and then killed whoever hired her and drained the witch. It's morally deplorable, but it's Agatha's brand of morally deplorable. She likes to be in control. She's the one running the con, not the one assisting in someone else's. She hates it when Wanda takes her agency from her, when Rio makes her feel things she's been keeping contained, she hates that she was powerless to save Nicky or to control her power when draining Alice. The idea that she would give a man the upper hand and bind one of her own for the sake of... societal acceptance? It's just out of character

[the-firebird69]

At 2 months he will have a killer punch and Jason's kids would die but not necessarily permanently at three and a half months Jason's kids would die and have very serious brain trauma and the face will be broken not massively bad at 4 and 1/2 months they would be dead and their face will be broken very badly at 6 months the people of Jason's generation would die from completely their face will be broken into many pieces and crushed into their brain and their brain would most likely be completely traumatized and or half liquefied and yeah you'll see the front is not concerning you but it'll be all around the edge about an inch and a half in leaving a small portion we usually it's the motor centers that you don't care about. At 8 months and people of Brad's generation you got them pissed off into a fight it would be the last day of Brad's on Earth maybe not Brad but his people down probably around sergeant they will get killed and at about 1 year and people of Brian's generation and he is not first generation he is first generation for his race same thing. And at about 6 months trumpsters would be gone but really now they're getting pushed back to 4 months their brains would be partially liquified and massive trauma at 3 months they would be half gone with broken faces at 2 months they would be with massive brain trauma and hairline fractures in their face.

And we're seeing it because we like to and because he has to defend himself and we'll have to defend him and mutants are coming in and you'll think they're him and they're going to have to fight they know about the effect and it's trauma is really harsh and the one who knows has been around and he knows how to get around and it's the Rock and he is going to enforce the hierarchy and it's good he's going to have control he's a reasonable person for some reason and our son says either you're a baby and a god or you have a situation like his other than that nobody can stand these people especially them. He's laughing saying so you're saying that again and you're saying it again and you're saying it again and you know put hold music on them and then they get screwed up it's true her son is doing it.

--this is amazing we need to print

Thor Freya

We need to get this out this is great my punch is Jen was lethal probably it would break part of your face and leave your brain half intact the rest will be gone from brain trauma partial liquification and brain tumors all over and has happened as the Jersey girl you're dead and not recoverable as Sunday Tuttle you're pretty much dead and not recoverable more breaks in the face more trauma and more liquification. And he thought it would be more but yeah they're kind of wimpy even at the size when they can be really strong. Jen Merrick you'd have Fairlane fractures tons of trauma it's a pain. Brain trauma on you but not many breaks in the face. My husband was in banning in Beaumont and didn't hit Brad hard he just blanked him in the nose like you do a dog or a shark and he didn't listen and no he did sort of not really that well he didn't get hit again but he heard it and stopped had to do something but he's terrible he would get very hurt and walk around with his frontal lobe dying and people have done that only get into accidents around him. I'm really excited about this post it's about timing and about him healing

Hera

Olympus good it's about time

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Brother!Parker Holland x Sister!Rosie Holland, Ex!Rosie Holland x Ex!Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Fighting, Language, Angst (always), Heartbreak, Typos

-Words: 4.3K

Author note: Who else is the mom of their friend group? By the way, who can hear my California accent in my typing? Lol. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys. Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Words: 4.3K

Every part of Rosie was recovering, except her broken heart. She had tried to call Henry a few times. It was weird how someone could be such a big part of her life one moment and the next he was a ghost.

Rosie wasn’t the only thing broken in the Holland household. You and Tom were going through a rough patch. Neither of you had spoken to each other for longer than 5 minutes, Tom was still sleeping in the guest room and he refused to come clean. Still letting you believe he cheated on you.

Mornings before school hadn’t been the same. Tom would try to hide the fact he was sleeping in the guest room before the kids came down but it was no use.

“Dad, did you sleep in there?” Parker asked as he saw the unmade bed in the guest room.

“Yeah, no need to worry, your mom and I are fine,” Tom reassured his son. Tom was lying to his son and himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He had really fucked up.

You had started to become a ghost. Nobody would see you for most of the day. It baffled you that after countless years of marriage, Tom could be so careless. You were aware of his moral code and felt that you never needed about infidelity.

One night Parker and Rosie had devised a plan, almost like a parent trap. They set up a nice candlelight dinner in garden. It was a picture perfect date night only if Tom and you weren’t fighting. Rosie and Parker tasked themselves for both sneaking you out there, knowing if you knew Tom would be there you’d probably throw something at him.

“Surprise!” shouted both Parker and Rosie as you removed you hands from your eyes.

“Oh, how beautiful. Yay, I get to have dinner with my kids,” you exclaimed.

“Actually, we aren’t joining you,” Rosie said as Tom came out of the shadows.

“I am your date tonight and always,” Tom said.

“Kids, this is sweet and all but, I’m just going to go lay down. I suddenly have a headache,” you explained, not ready to face Tom.

“Y/N will you please talk to me,” Tom begged.

“Why don’t you go talk to your fucking mistress, Tom.”

“Who? I never cheated on you,” Tom asserted, confused he thought you were mad about Henry and Rosie.

“Save it Tom. Parker overheard you on the phone meeting her at the Savoy.”

“What? Oh you mean, Jazz?”

“I’m surprised there’s only one.”

“Don’t fucking do that. She was my informant. She’s dead now.”

“What and that’s supposed to make feel better?”

“Y/N, just listen to me.”

“Is this your way of getting back at me? For Rosie and Henry? Not telling you? Cause I can’t believe you’d do such a thing.”

“Y/N, just sit down and have dinner with me. Please,” Tom exclaimed, you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“No. Good night everyone. Tom, hope the couch is comfortable,” you said, walking away.

“Sorry dad, we tried. What happened between you two anyway?” Rosie said, looking at the ground lowly.

“It’s alright. I loved the gesture. So what are we having?” Tom said, as he pulled out the chair and sat down all ready for this wonderful meal.

“Oh, you’re still going to eat without mom?” Parker asked.

“Hell yeah, don’t want all this food to go to waste,” Tom remarked.

“Oh, ok. I was going to go and do homework,” Rosie said.

“You go, Roo. I’ll stay will dad,” Parker announced.

“Parker, I have to make sure you know I never cheated on mom,” Tom said, trying reassure his son.

“Dad, I know what I saw… But if you say you didn’t, I believe you. You are a man of your word. I was sorry to hear about Jazz too.”

“Thank you.”

Tom was stuck. How could he make it up to you, if you wouldn’t as much as look at him? With all the worries concerning Rosie, he had forgotten of a trip he planned for you and him awhile ago. It was the annual trip to Barcelona to facilitate the company’s exportations, you’d always tag along. It was your one romantic vacation with your husband, but this time Tom had tainted it with his betrayal and lies.

This trip was going to be the longest time you and him had been together in a week. Your main focus had been Rosie, then Parker and then yourself and lastly patching things up with Tom. You had both argued in the past but, Tom hasn’t been in the doghouse since you were pregnant with the twins. Even then, it wasn’t the doghouse, he was just giving you space because of how uncomfortable pregnancy was making you.

You didn’t like being apart from him. He was your husband, your better half. This separation was killing you as much it was killing him. Rosie had recuperated but, lately you had been having nightmares of losing your children. It killed you, every time you would see one of them fighting for lives in a hospital or dark alley. You always knew the dangers of the mob so you understood Parker will just learn to be more careful but Rosie’s car accident was merely an accident. Not a ploy orchestrated by a rival mob, it was an accident. How could you protect your kids all the time if there was no one to blame?

Even when Tom would come home battered and bruised, your world would stop turning. He was your world, he was everything. Everything you had was because of him, especially your kids. Anytime when someone threatened to take Tom away from you, you would just break. It is hard to imagine a world without him.

This time is different though, you are begging him to give you space. You understand the insaneness of mind, you want him to explain but you won’t give him the chance to talk to you. Maybe being on the trip together will force you to acknowledge him.

It was a typical morning, you and Tom were supposed to leave in a few hours for Barcelona.

“Kids, grandma and grandpa are going to stay with you while we are away,” you said.

“Your mom and I have some a business to attend to in Barcelona,” interjected Tom.

“Why? What’s in Barcelona?” Rosie questioned, she was aware of your annoyance with Tom, everyone was.

“That’s grown up stuff, sweetie. Maybe a second honeymoon.” Tom said as you rolled your eyes.

“Since when do we need babysitting?” Parker piped up.

“Since you guys have proven that you can’t be left alone, grandma and grandpa are here to babysit you to make sure you don’t throw any parties,” you explained as a look of regret etched itself onto Parker’s face.

“Aren’t you and dad fighting?” Rosie queried.

“At the moment we are just disagreeing on a few things. This is purely business, ok?” You exclaimed, your last statement directed at Tom.

“I love you both so much. Be good for grandma and grandpa,” you grinned, kissing both of their foreheads before you left. And with that your vacation to hell started. Why were you and Tom fighting, is it because no one wants to admit they're wrong? Only god knows. Deep down you hoped this trip would bring you two back together.

Parker drove Rosie to school that morning, she had been going for only two days since the accident. She had yet to run into Henry. Rosie didn’t know how she would act. How could she see the boy who broke her heart everyday?

Rosie met up with her two school friends Jenna and Brooke. They had been friends since 5th grade but, their relationship mostly stopped at school. Once in a while they would hangout outside of school or have a sleepover. Rosie’s real best friend was Henry. He was the one she would share good news with or funny memes. Nobody at school really knew about the accident, a few people noticed she wasn’t there but it wasn’t like when Charlotte died. Rosie wasn’t as popular as Charlotte and she didn’t need to be, high school hierarchies are overrated anyway.

“So where were you for like a week?” Brooke asked.

“Oh, umm… I was… skiing,” Rosie answered, debating if she tell her friends the truth. Knowing only rumors would circulate because of it.

“Oh. Parker was here. I thought it’d be a family trip.” Jenna remarked.

“What’s with your obsession with my brother?” Rosie questioned. She knew of Jenna’s school-girl crush on Parker, it started back in grade school.

“Nothing, he’s just.. insanely hot,” Jenna responded, drifty into a trance. Possibly imaging his dreamy brown eyes.

“Ew, Jen. That’s my brother” Rosie exclaimed, trying not to gag.

“Whatever. So how’s it going with you and Henry?” Jenna persisted.

“We broke up.”

“Oh, Rosie. I’m so sorry,” Brooke and Jenna said at the same time, trying to comfort Rosie.

“It’s ok. It’s not like I loved him or anything we were only dating for like two months” Rosie responded, trying not to cry. RING the bell sounded

“Oh, that’s the bell. I’ll see you guys after class,” Rosie said, waving goodbye. She quickly turned to walk to her algebra class but something or someone stopped her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going,” she said as she picked up her fallen books. Still oblivious to the person standing before her.

“It’s quite alright, Roo,” Henry spoke.

“Henry… I-I gotta go” Rosie mumbled, surprised he was standing in front of her. Oh, what she’d do to get to hold that boy once more. But he’s the one who broke up with her. He left her. Why is she letting a stupid boy bring her to tears?

Because he’s not some stupid boy. He’s Henry. The boy who made sure to always bring her Hershey kisses when her period would come around. The lovable best friend who made her feel loved and wanted.

Rosie needed that almost as much as she needed air to breathe. She was ready to forgive him in that moment if he would take her back. Only if he wanted her back.

“Please, can I talk with you?” Henry asked.

“No, I have nothing to say to you and don’t want to hear what you have to say,” she muttered, walking away and not turning back.

Rosie quickly rounded the corner and slammed her back against the wall. Sliding down to where her knees were in her chest, trying to hide her tear stricken face. Parker was on his way to bathroom when he saw her, sitting on the ground in the deserted hallway.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” Parker asked, seeing her tears.

“I just saw Henry,” Rosie said with her voice cracking.

“Hey, why don’t we go get some coffee. I’ll let you be basic this one time and order an iced caramel macchiato. Come on my treat.”

“What about school?” Rosie sniffled.

“I guarantee you they won’t miss us. Let’s go home. They’ll understand.”

“Ok, but I’m getting the largest size they have,” Rosie asserted.

“Alright, Roo,” Parker said, chuckling while he helped her up. Parker felt like a bad brother lately. The last nice words he said to her was when she was in her coma and most likely couldn’t hear him. He was taking a play from Tom, when Tom knows he screwed up he showers you with gifts. This was Parker’s version of that, taking Rosie to get some coffee and maybe a cupcake.

Later at home, Dom and Nikki were already there. Parker was kind of annoyed he had to be babysat but in your and Tom’s defense, he did throw a party that last time you were out of town.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Called out Rosie as she came through the door. Rosie will always be a kid at heart with a fiery passion.

“Oh, there’s my flower and my peanut,” Nikki returned. Those were her pet names for Parker and Rosie. “Peanut” because even though Parker was older he was slightly smaller than Rosie when he was born. And “flower” because of her name.

“What are you guys doing home?” Asked Nikki.

“Oh, umm they let us out early,” Parker remarked quickly, not trying to raise any further questions.

“Did you ditch?” Dom questioned.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t tell mom and dad, please,” Rosie mumbled.

“Alright, only because now I get to spend more time with my kiddos,” Nikki exclaimed.

Nikki and Dom were definitely more prevalent in the twins lives when they were younger. When Tom had just taken over the mob, Nikki and Dom would spend every hour of the day with Rosie and Parker. Always taking them to the park, museums or plays. You think that is where Rosie got her love for theatre from. You also had an influence in that, you’re kind of a sucker for show tunes.

Their role in the twins lives fizzled out over the years. Nikki and Dom who are now both retired, traveled more than anything. But their place in Parker and Rosies’ heart remained the same.

They all decided to order pizza for dinner, something quick and easy. And none of them wanted to be formal so they ate on the couch and watched The Sound of Music. It was Rosie’s turn to pick, so of course it was a musical.

They were all about to turn in for the night when Nikki called for her husband. She didn’t say honey, darling or love or his full name, Dominic. She called out his nickname, Dom.

“Dom, did you lock the door?” Nikki called out.

“Yes, sweetheart. Now, kids make sure you brush your teeth. Good night everyone,” Dom said as he made his way to the guest room.

That was it, a three letter name Nikki had called Dominic. Parker’s mind flooded with thoughts from the night he overheard you and Tom talking in his office. “No, Dom. He arranged the hit,” those words replaying in his head. If it was his grandfather who gave up his location, why was he betraying Tom?

Parker was a bright kid but, not one for connecting the dots. The last couple weeks of his life had been devoted to get back at Tom. He knew working for Wilson would give Tom a heart attack right on the spot. But, it was never Tom who arranged the hit or had his men pull the trigger. It was his grandfather, Dom Holland.

He knew Dom’s full name, Dominic, but never made that connection. How stupid could he be? Never in a million years would he think someone who he looked up to, could inadvertently brought so much destruction to his life. Dom was someone Parker trusted. How could Dom be so devious and betray his own grandson?

Parker didn’t just lose Charlotte that night, he lost his innocence. That was the first time Parker actually thought he was going to die. He felt like he was dying, being beaten up to within an inch of his life. Parker was just realizing the gravity of what he had done in a desperate attempt to make Tom pay. Parker was doing the same thing to Tom, Dom did to him.

Parker was entrusted by his dad, given the skills to kill and yet he had been betraying him. Taking out all his men and Jazz. “Oh, Jazz” Parker thought, he even said sorry to Tom for her death. What could Parker do now? This whole time he believed he was killing for sake of mercy but in truth it was for sport.

Parker had to confront Dom, he needed to know the truth. So that’s exactly what he did, but waited till morning breakfast.

“So, how’s working for your dad going?” Dom inquired with his mouth stuffed with bacon and eggs.

“Fine. Things have been put on hold with Rosie’s accident and all,” Parker replied, his feelings were conflicted. He didn’t know who to believe.

“That’s it? I want details.”

“Have you had your first kill yet? How’d it feel?” Dom pestered on.

“Yeah. I’m only doing this to avenge my girlfriend, Charlotte. She was killed a few months ago,” Parker said, trying to get Dom to fall into his trap.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I bet it was sad. Well, you are here now, that’s all that matters. You’re truly a part of the family,” Dom said, raising his glass of orange juice to toast.

“I know you used to work for the mob, so could you maybe help me find her killer. Well I already found the guy and gave him a few licks, but I want the guy who orchestrated the hit,” Parker exclaimed.

“I don’t know, kid. I’d stop looking if I were you. Seems like this guy covers his tracks.”

“I know it was you. I know you were the one who gave up my location. I’m not going to hit you or anything but, I need to know why,” Parker said, his voice completely changing its tone.

“Think of it as an encouragement. You needed something to get your foot in the door of the mob and she was it.”

“God, this fucking family. It’s so twisted. News flash grandpa, I’m the fucking traitor. I’ve been working for Angus Wilson. I’m the one taking out all of Tom’s men,” Parker screamed.

“What? Why would you do that?” Dom questioned, growing more furious by the minute. How could Tom raise a traitor?

“Because I thought it was Tom who called for the hit on me and Charlotte. Then I find out it’s you,” Parker bellowed.

“Parker, calm down.”

“A little part of me died the night she died. Don’t you get that? I was a normal kid and now I’m a mobster.”

“You were never a normal kid. You were always going to be the next Holland to run the mob.”

“I NEVER WANTED TO BE! I never wanted to be part of the mob. Now once my dad finds out I killed his men and Jazz, I’m dead. And once Wilson finds out I’m quitting I’m dead,” Parker screamed.

“Tom, won’t hurt you. I promise. Can’t say the same about Wilson. But I can help you, Parker. When Tom gets back we will talk to him together ok?” Dom assured only to be returned with a nod from Parker.

Parker had his chance to kill the man who got his girlfriend killed and his grandpa in cold blood, but didn’t take it. Parker didn’t want anymore blood on his hands. Having Dom on his side was Parker’s only possible way out from Tom’s thumb. Dom could’ve killed Parker right then and there too. But both of them had fucked up. Both their actions had already cost too many lives. So they joined forces, hoping Tom wouldn’t react the same when he got back.

It was the weekend and Rosie was looking forward to just relaxing all day and doing nothing. Maybe a puzzle with Nikki or watching another movie. Seeing Henry at school really set her back in her getting over him process. The first few days she wallowed. Not at home but in a hospital bed. She cried and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and you were there to comfort her.

Once she came home from the hospital she wallowed some more. Watching romantic comedies with you in your room as you both ate tubs of ice cream. You wouldn’t let yourself show it but you were heartbroken about Tom’s supposed infidelity.

Next, Rosie cleaned out anything that reminded her of Henry. The outfit she wore on their first date was trashed. Along with a teddy bear he had given her when she sprained her ankle in the 3rd grade. Also the silver H and R necklace that he had given her. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, so she gave it to Parker. She said “I don’t care what you do with it. I just don’t want it anymore.” Parker took the necklace, totally planning to give it back to her once things blew over.

Now Rosie was finally accepting her breakup. The process of getting over a relationship is similar to the 5 stages of grief. She barely bargained, if he didn’t want to be with her she wasn’t going to beg him to take her back. Rosie knew her worth. Denial didn’t really affect her either, she was mostly confused that he broke up with her straight out of her coma.

That left her with anger. God, she was so angry. What kind of jackass breaks up with someone once they’ve been in a coma? Seriously, like what the fuck? Also depression which never really goes away. She will always be sad, that he pulled the plug on their relationship. Lastly, acceptance. Rosie had accepted it but, will never understood what happened.

All the Henry sightings, started to put her back at square one. I didn’t help when Henry came to the house.

“Henry, what the fuck are you doing here?” Parker asked as opened the door to his somewhat estranged best friend.

“I heard your parents are out of town. Can I talk to Rosie?” Henry pleaded.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. But, she did give me this, to give to you.” Parker said holding out the one thing that symbolized their love for one another, her necklace. Henry, just took the necklace and walked away. He felt so awful inside.

“Who was that?” Rosie asked, standing behind him.

“No one,” Parker responded.

“It was Henry, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I told him you didn’t want to see him”

“Thanks,” Rosie mumbled, in truth she wanted to see him and talk to him but it was too hard.

“Of course, Roo,” Parker replied.

“Oh, not you too. I hate that nickname,” Rosie remarked.

“Why it reminds me of a baby kangaroo,” Parker joked.

“Exactly. That’s the reason why. It’s for a baby and sounds like kangaroo,” Rosie explained.

“Whatever. Mom and I like it so, too bad.” Parker said.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” Rosie interjected.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Parker responded.

“Why are you sneaking out? I can hear you from outside my window.”

“Oh, I just… I go to the library,” he said, hesitantly.

“At 10:30 at night?” Rosie was skeptical of his remark.

“Yeah, I have a study group that only… meets at night.”

“Parker, I have seriously never seen you study. I can’t believe you won’t tell me where you are going every week. Do you remember what keeping secrets has done to this family? Mom and dad might get divorced!” Rosie exclaimed.

“Roo, you know that won’t happen. If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret,” Parker only trying to comfort Rosie. He was scared to that you and Tom won’t work it out, you’d never fought in the past.

“Ok… Is it some girl?”

“No, I did something really stupid Roo. It was all part of my plan to get back at dad.”

“Why? What did dad do?” Rosie questioned, very concerned.

“Nothing. I’m the idiot here. I got myself hired by dad’s rival mob and I’ve been the traitor dad is looking for,” Parker said, scared of what this mistake will cost.

“Oh my god, Parker. What the fuck are you going to do?”

“I don’t know but Dom said he’d help me… I mean grandpa.”

“Okay… You know if you need anything, I’m always here.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for not telling anyone,” Parker thanked.

“Of course, you’re my twin brother. Almost an exact copy of my DNA, if I can’t have your back then what’s the point,” Rosie said, awarding a chuckle from Parker.

Parker’s days of living a double life were fleeting. You and Tom were set to return today. After a hopefully decent holiday. Parker was just glad Dom would be there to hold Tom back. Parker knows how enraged Tom can get.

T-minus 3 hours til he had to face Tom. Only 2 more class periods standing between him and involuntary rage. Parker and Rosie were in their English class when the loud speaker sounded.

“Will Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office. I repeat, Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office.”

They swiftly made their way out of their classroom. Dumbfounded to why they were called in the first place. Neither Parker nor Rosie had done anything bad in quite sometime.

“Uncle Harry? Uncle Sam? What are you two doing here?” Rosie questioned. Opening the door to the principal talking to their uncles, Harry and Sam Holland.

“Wait… you haven’t seen the news?” asked Harry.

“No. Why? What’s going on?” Parker speculated. The office admin had turned their small TV to channel 4 for the latest update.

“BREAKING NEWS. A Holland Exportation and Luxuries helicopter has just gone missing. The private helicopter departed from Barcelona this morning. I’m getting word that both Tom Holland, CEO of Holland Exportation and Luxuries, and his wife, Y/N Holland, were on the helicopter. There is no sign of the helicopter, we will continue to update you as this story unfolds,” announced the news anchor.

The room turned dead silent. Tears managed to escape from Rosie’s eyes and Parker pulled her into his arms. Trying to comfort her the best he can, even when he was a mess. The two people that were constant in their lives, their parents, were missing. Nothing was more important, except finding you and Tom.

Guns, Glamour, Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

[skekheck]

All About the Seven Clans: the Vapra

THIS POST CONTAINS EVERYTHING I COULD FIND ABOUT THE VAPRA. SOME INFORMATION WRITTEN HERE ARE FROM OLDER MATERIAL AND MAY EITHER CONTRADICT STATEMENTS OR IS NO LONGER RELEVANT. I WILL DO MY BEST TO STRING IT ALL TOGETHER AS COHERENTLY AS POSSIBLE. IF THERE IS INFORMATION THAT I AM MISSING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I’LL ADD IT!

Clan Index: Dousan Drenchen Grottan Sifa Spriton Stonewood Vapra

High above the Northern Mountains that bordered the Silver Sea Coast lived the Vapra. As the Skeksis’ ambassadors for the Gelfling race, their high societal status led them to acquire an abundance of resources which made them both rich in wealth and knowledge. Ha’rar was not only the capital of the Vapra but for the entire Gelfling race during the Age of Division. It was also the home of the All-Maudra, who doubled as maudra of the Vapra and the matriarch leader of all the Gelfling clans.

The Vapran totem animal was the Imperial Unamoth and their core elements were light, day, and keepers of the future. Their clan color was silver, their sigil was purple and silver, and their pennant color was purple with silver and gold detail. 

Characteristics 

The Vapra were well adapted to their environment as they were hardly affected by cold weather, ice, and snow. As creatures of altitude, air, and lightness they lived comfortably high above on the windy mountains. They were the masters of camouflage as they could easily disappear into their surroundings. Some works said this was thanks to their physical appearance but others, those of which were older, credited this to a type of magic they had. 

They had a fair complexion with hair that was generally light as well. Hair color ranged from white to silver to various shades of blonde. On rare occasions a Vapra had black or brown hair.  It could have had highlighted sections of dark blue, blue-purple, lavender, or all three. Vapran hairstyles were commonly extravagant, even in Gelfling who performed trades or menial work. They could be curled, straight, braided and more, with ribbons and beads for decoration.  The Vapra had a diverse range in eye color which could be shades of green, yellow, brown, grey, and blue. In the J.M. Lee book series, they also had lavender-colored eyes. 

Unlike most clans, Vapra prioritized fashion over function. They had clothing for every occasion or to portray a certain mood. Vapra fashion had an ethereal quality with soft light blues, silvers, and pinks that matched the sky. They wore plenty of jewelry, a sign of their nobility. Vapran garment had wind shaped vestments along the back even worn by those who never had wings. They were heavily garbed with cloaks and hoods whose function was to protect clothing and jewelry from the elements rather than keeping the Gelfling warm. 

According to skekNa the Slave Master, Vapran essence was prized above all others for their restorative effects making the clan an important resource for the Skeksis. 

Vapran Wings and the Art of Flight

The Vapra’s gossamer wings were broad and light which made them one of the fastest flyers among the other gelfling, only rivaled by the Sifa. Their skills were largely contributed from their environment with its updraft winds created from the Silver Sea and manmade airy channels within Ha’rar. At the same time, their abilities were thanks to the Vapran tradition of flight. Like most Gelfling, taking wing was seen as one of the most joyous pleasures of Gelfling life. 

Flight was also a sign of prestige, power, and ability. It was believed that the skeksis placed the Vapra above all other clans was due to their aerial abilities. When winged Vapras needed to settle a dispute, they’d compete with each other in the air to test their agility and strength. 

Lifestyle

Life in the Northern Mountains was always cold with long, dark winters with snow falling nearly every day. Even during the summer the sky remained clouded with very rare instances of sunny days. The Vapra carefully prepared for the stretches of dark winters and shortened days during the summer.

As their maudra was also the matriarch leader of all Gelfling, the All-Maudra was too busy to make time for them. So the Vapra became independent and self-sufficient which allowed the All-Maudra to tend to her duties. Each Vapra did their part together doing specialized tasks that allowed the community to flourish. In fact, the Vapra had the highest population count out of all seven Gelfling clans. 

The Vapra lived luxurious lifestyles, thanks to their access to natural resources, their strong trade economy, and their relationship with the skeksis. Being placed the highest on the gelfling hierarchy provided them with services that were a rarity among gelfling, including the ability to read or write. Although some Vapra flaunted their status in the public eye, most held private lives which they spent the majority of with their families. 

When a Vapra committed a transgression, punishment involved being sent to a gelfling community service called the Order of Lesser Service. Led by the Daudran, the “Members of the Lesser Service” were forced to do unpaid work such as pre-chew food for Nebrie or do a Podling cleaning ceremony  called “deterge” while wearing a jester hat with bells. A Vapra could spend up to a trine in the Order of the Lesser Service dependent on their sentencing. 

Daily Routine

Unlike in other clans, the Vapra didn’t rise together in the early morning. They each had their own unique, flexible schedule to follow throughout the day. It was primarily self-determined and revolved around the Vapra’s needs and the needs of others. They spent their days working their trade and returned home in the evening to be with their families. 

The Vapra were a large industrious clan and had a variety of different occupations. Some of the more prestigious jobs were metalworkers and artisans. They had great access to minerals and metals found within the Silver Sea cliffs and were skilled in both practical and ornamental designs. Artisans, for example, were praised for their metal and colored glass works which were commonly seen in Vapran architecture. Plenty of Vapra dedicated time to scholarly and political activities thanks to the abundance of knowledge readily available to them. 

The Burden of the All-Maudra

According to skeksis propaganda, the role of the All-Maudra was created to end supposed clan discord and skirmishes and brought order to all gelfling. Although gelfling of other clans had taken up the title, the skeksis decreed that only the Vapra could be All-Maudra some time during the Age of Division. As a ruler and ambassador, the All-Maudra had to take care of their own clan, the other six clans, and heed the will of the skeksis to bring it down upon all gelfling. On the rare circumstances the All-Maudra was absent, the successor or a regent would temporarily take their place. 

The All-Maudra spent their days trying to fulfill the needs of the the Gelfling and the skeksis lords, the latter of which were very demanding and impatient, within a timely manner. The All-Maudra had little time for their own clan. Many spent their entire lives without seeing them and simply gaining a hearing with them was considered an exceptional honor. Even their family was neglected where the idea of “duty first, family second” was something that couldn’t be tested. Relationships between the All-Maudra and their successors were constantly strained as the successor went through difficult and harsh training so they would be prepared for the role. The intention was never out of malice, but it negatively affected many generations until the Gelfling Rebellion. 

This role was discontinued during the Age of Power as both Jen and Kira ruled as the Great Elders of Thra. 

The Living Crown

The traditional head adornment of the All-Maudra was the Living Crown. It was a symbol of the All-Maudra’s power, unity of the Gelfling race, and loyalty to the skeksis. It consisted of seven detachable pieces which were only removed when it was time to appoint the new heir. The coronation of the new All-Maudra was a highly celebrated event with Gelfling all over Thra arrived to witness. 

The ceremony began with the All-Maudra breaking the Living Crown into its seven pieces. They give six of the pieces to Windshifters to be sent to the other maudras. If the All-Maudra died unexpectingly, the heir would sing a song to have the Windshifters take the pieces themselves. The other maudras would then go on a pilgrimage to Ha’rar with their piece of the crown, assisted by their own successors and closest council members. Once arrived, the maudras reassembled the Living Crown whilst giving their blessing to the heir. The blessing was also an oath of fealty, not just to the new All-Maudra but what they presented as the ambassador of the Gelfling. If the All-Maudra was still alive, they placed their final piece of the crown and officially crowned the new heir as the All-Maudra.

Possible but rarely could the claim for the Living Crown be challenged. One of the maudras could withhold their blessing and fight for the Living Crown through trials. This occurred during Seladon’s coronation when Maudra Fara challenged her to Trial by Air. A similar crisis like this happened 639 trine prior. Trials like these, as noted by Maudra Seethi, weren’t the way of the Gelfling but of the skeksis. Other gelfling could make legitimate claims for the crown under certain circumstances. Fenth of the Sifa clan had made at least three attempts and was the only male Gelfling noted to do so but was not successful. 

The Living Crown was destroyed during the late Age of Division. Instead of going through with Maudra Fara’s challenge, Seladon made a new crown proclaiming the old one was tainted by the treachery of her mother. When Maudra Fara refused to accept her as the new All-Maudra, Seladon threw her into the Living Crown and broke it. 

Paladins

Paladins were specially trained, mostly Vapran, warriors who worked under the All-Maudra. They were charged with a variety of tasks including protecting Ha’rar and its Citadel, escorted Vapran trade caravans across the Skarith Region, captured fugitives, and go on rescue missions. Paladins with wings also undertook airborne missions. Many paladins were skilled at fencing and riding Landstriders. When one addressed a paladin, they were given the title of either “sir” or “lady”. A paladin was stripped of their title if they acted dishonestly.

For a gelfling to become a paladin, the All-Maudra must knight them. Not all paladins were Vapran as evident by a Sifan paladin and Hup the Podling who was knighted by All-Maudra Mayrin. Sometimes when the All-Maudra had multiple children, if they chose, could lead the entire paladin class. Princess Katavra, for example, commanded over the paladins during the late Age of Division. 

Chrysalisday

Two nights every trine the three Sisters appeared in the sky, which was a gelfling holiday known as the Celebration of the Sister Moons. On the day before one of these nights the Vapra celebrated another holiday: Chrysalisday. The Unamoth, the Vapra’s sigil animal, had an unpredictable hatching timeframe from their chrysalis. Some opened within an unum while others waited a trine or longer. And some never opened at all, which the Vapra used their chrysalises as good luck amulets. No naturalist or far-dreamer could predict when the Unamoth chrysalises opened. Thus, Chrysalisday was a reminder of the potential of the future and the unpredictability of fate. 

On the evening of Chrysalisday, youths carried lanterns down to the wharf where they’d released them into the sky. The lanterns themselves were made of paper, crafted by their bearers, and mixed with flammable bluedust. The dust eventually caught fire from the heat of the lantern and popped in bright colors. However, the distribution of the dust was uneven so no one was able to predict when they ignited, if at all. 

Diet

The Vapra had access to all sorts of foods and spices through trades, making the Vapran diet varied with meats, fruits, and vegetables. Vapran chefs were also knowledgeable in preparing traditional dishes from other clans, putting their own spin on it. A gelfling could get any kind of food they’re craving, but would had to pay a large price for it. Not surprisingly, the Vapra had excellent dining manners and preferred using utensils. 

Vapran food was sweeter than other clan cuisine because of the groves of sugarwood grown in the mountains. They also preferred less spices and seasonings in their food. 

A traditional Vapran dish was a hearty, sweet stew of mushrooms and cream. It was sometimes served with a baked mint-apple over the top of it and garnished with Hooyim oil. Vapran Frost, a type of soft cheese dusted in powdered sugar, was considered a delicacy. 

Ha’rar, Capital of the Gelfling World

Surrounding the cliff sides to the north of the Silver Sea Coast lied the city of Ha’rar. It was the largest gelfling settlement on Thra lined with hundreds of domed, thatched roofed houses clustered together around the Citadel. Vapran homes had additional doorways on the roofs, sculpted with hand and foot rails and platforms for winged gelfling to land comfortably on. Underneath Ha’rar were vent channels created from the wind helped winged Vapra get around. 

As it was considered the capital and hearth of the Skarith Land, it was a popular destination for both tourists and merchants. Ha’rar was in a good location near the mouth of the Black River and along the Silver Sea Coast which brought a large of influx of merchants and goods to the city. Its port market was the best place to sell and purchase goods. Gelfling from all walks of life could be found there, even rare visits from Dousan and Drenchen travelers. 

Important ceremonies were held at Ha’rar, one of which was the tithing ceremony. In the early Age of Division, it was held every three unum where gelfling from every clan made their way to Ha’rar and offered their products of labor to the skeksis. Over time as the gelfling populations grew, tithing ceremonies were reduced to once a trine and were held in other gelfling settlements. But Ha’rar was still honored with being the first to hold their ceremony and other clans still came to attend. It was the only opportunity for a gelfling to see both the All-Maudra and the Lords of the Crystal themselves. 

Outside of Ha’rar were individual Vapra villages, hot springs, the Waystar Grove, and Landstrider pens to its south. Hidden within the cliffs and mountain forests lied a hovel made of stone and ice. In the book series, it belonged to urSan the Swimmer. Her home was filled with charts of the stars and waterways found all over the Skarith Region. 

During the Age of Power, the Gelfling capital was moved from Ha’rar (or what remained of it) to the Castle of the Crystal. 

The Citadel 

The Citadel was the capital building of Ha’rar and the home of the All-Maudra and their family. It was built from carved stone of the Vapran mountains, reinforced with metal, notably silver, and crystal. It was visible nearly anywhere along the coast and was a must-see for any gelfling visiting the city. The Citadel housed the All-Maudra’s throne room where they’d met with citizens and the Skeksis, hosted ceremonies, and held court. Within their personal chambers was a cluster of Unamoth chrysalises as a reminder of the meanings taught by Chryalisday. A secret chamber lied beneath the throne room which housed Lore, a creation of skekGra the Heretic and urGoh the Wanderer, who would help the Gelfling end skeksis rule if they solved the puzzle in the room.

The Citadel’s creation, and who built it, was lost to time. Most historians believed it was built with the help of the skeksis, but most information was transformed into legend. The structure represented as the symbol of the Vapra and considered the most impressive Gelfling architectural feat. Some songs, like the ditty “Twin Castles”, compared its likeness to the Castle of the Crystal. 

The Library 

Just as important as the Citadel was the Vapran library. It was only a short walk from the Citadel and one could easily spot the white marble domed building. It was a labyrinthine of multiple floors, book cases, and spiraling stair cases with its stained glass ceiling illuminated the entire building. It contained an overwhelming amount of tomes, scrolls, and precious artifacts neatly organized and maintained by librarians. Librarians could have familiars as evident by the Librarian in the Age of Resistance and his Pluff’M.

Any Gelfling could come to read or be read out loud by librarians for those who were illiterate.  Plenty of scholars like Princess Brea came to the library to learn. Brea utilized a lot of what she learned from the many scrolls and tomes on her quest, including the book that gave her the vision of the aureyal. 

An ode called “Immortal House” was created by an unknown songteller who was present on the day the library was completed. 

Mountain Hot Springs

Deep within the mountains were pockets of hot springs. Getting there was difficult as the distances between Vapran settlements and the springs were filled with blizzards and slippery conditions which made mountain climbing dangerous. But despite the risks, dozens of Vapras could be found occupying the pools at a time.

The springs also held a bizarre tradition or belief. For one to enter the vicinity, they were required to disrobe. Even hair garments were taken off. The belief was, as the gelfling were only in their own skin, no one could tell what status they had. Whether Vapra or any gelfling from another clan, in these places they were all one.

Kira-Staba

Kira-Staba or the Waystar Tree was a grove of trees that resided within a bay near the Silver Sea. Much like the Cradle Tree, all of the trees were a part of one tree which grew around it like toadstools. The Waystar Trees had an interesting property to it which allowed them to glow blue at night. Its light wasn’t seen from Ha’rar but easily anywhere along the Silver Sea Coast. 

The Waystar Tree was used as guidance by all gelfling, whether it be Sifan sailors or Vapran explorers. It was because of the Waystar Trees that the Vapra founded Ha’rar. It was memorialized in a song called “the Forty Sisters”. The grove was also a metaphorical guider as the Vapra looked to in times of need. The journey to the grove was not easy as there were no carved paths and the winds were relentlessly cold. But when they reached the grove, the gelfling would be warmed up by the light the trees gave off. 

In the book series, in order to reach out to the Vapra clan and help them light the fires of resistance, Tavra, Kylan, and Amri went to the Waystar Tree. With Kylan playing his firca, Amri dreamfasted with the tree to help Tavra carry her message to her people to encourage them to join the rebellion. She was able to inspire the Vapra just before skekSa the Mariner destroyed one of the trees. 

Relationships with the Skeksis and Other Clans

Although there were some Vapra who looked down upon outsiders and held attitudes of superiority, most of them were kind, curious, and considerate. This doesn’t mean they weren’t susceptible to ignorant stereotypes and were less likely to get in trouble for it. Some clans viewed them with contempt. The Stonewood, for example, believed they should have been chosen as the Gelfling ambassadors and weren’t afraid to make such remarks known. These vents never took too far as it would have damaged the Stonewood’s reputation with both the Vapra and the skeksis. Going against the Vapra was going against the skeksis. 

As the Vapra were the skeksis’ chosen ambassadors for gelfling kind, they were the closest to them. The Vapra even developed a dialect that matched closely with the skeksis’ gelfling accent, which they emphasized around the Lords and other clans. In turn, the skeksis favored the Vapran above all others which the clan benefited from the wealth and security awarded to them. Despite the trines worth of service, it was the All-Maudra who stood up against the skeksis and would have been the first to convince the Vapra to join the resistance if she wasn’t killed. 

As Ha’rar had a trade-based economy, the Vapra sought to maintain trading relationships. Arguably the most important of these relations was with the Sifa. During the spring and autumn, the Sifa arrived at Ha’rar’s port and traded goods from the sea and in turn the Vapra exported foodstuffs like Nebrie eggs and Sourloaf. Over the Age of Division, the Vapra and Sifa got into skirmishes. The most notable of them was the Age of Sifans secession movement which was created as a result of late All-Maudra Seladon’s (mother of Mayrin) treatment of them. The other was a shorter diplomatic incident caused by Princess Brea when she erased Elder Cadia’s memories. Both conflicts were solved and restored clan relations. There was a brief period of strong unity between the two clans when All-Maudra Mayrin decided to wed and had a child with a Sifan captain named Kam’Lu. For unknown reasons, their relationship ended and whatever positive implications it had vanished as enforcement of clan separations continued. It was considered a punishable offense, which required serving time in the Order of Lesser Service, if a Vapra dated outside of their clan. This was especially ironic as, in the book series, Mayrin disapproved of Tavra and Onica’s relationship to the point the two had to keep it a secret. 

The most interesting clan relations were that of the Vapra and Grottan. The two clans used to be one, known as the Silver Sea Clan. According to the Song of Six Sisters, the Silver Sea Clan was tasked with not only looking after day and night, light and shadow, but also the past and future. Because this was too much for one clan and Thra desired seven clans, the Silver Sea Clan was split into the Vapra and Grottan. The Grottan had some connection with the Vapra during the early Age of Division as some of their spices were still sold in the market places. But with a combination of the Grottan’s reclusive nature and their association with dark and unknown things, the Vapra wanted nothing to do with them. 

Outsiders often called the Vapra  Silverlings. Vapran princesses or those of royalty were sometimes referred to as “their Silverness”. 

Legacy of the Vapra: Kira

Although most gelfling were seemingly wiped out during the Garthim Wars, some managed to survive. One of these gelfling were Kira. Although the identities of her parents are unknown, her mother was at least of Vapra descent. Her mother (presumably) hid her within a tree, but was captured by a Garthim shortly after. Kira ended up finding a podling village and was raised by Ydra. She lived with them and her pet Fizzgig for many trine up until her fateful encounter with Jen. She immediately helped him on his quest, using her skills she learned from the podlings including bola throwing and animal soul speaking. After she was caught within the castle’s catacombs and nearly drained of her essence by skekTek the Scientist she threw the crystal shard to Jen so he could heal the Crystal. But in the process she was fatally stabbed by skekZok the Ritual Master. She was later revived by UngIm when the skeksis reunited with their mystic counterparts. 

Like Jen, Kira was taught about her heritage but it’s unknown how much of it she knew. She was at least told about what happened within the ruins surrounding the Wall of Destiny that she refused to go there for what happened to the Gelfling. However, she showed leadership qualities. When she sat on throne within the Gelfling ruins, she noted how it felt right for her. She would also rule over the repopulating Gelfling civilization with Jen as not an All-Maudra but a Great Elder of Thra. 

Notable Vapra Members

Brea: All-Maudra Mayrin’s youngest daughter who lived during the late Age of Division. An inquisitive scholar who, after witnessing two gelfling who couldn’t pay their tithe, began questioning skeksis rule. It was through her curiosity that she discovered the truth about them and joined the Gelfling Resistance with Rian and Deet to end skeksis rule.

Katavra: Better known as Tavra, she is the second oldest daughter of All-Maudra Mayrin who commanded over the paladins. In an attempt to rescue Gurjin, she was captured by the Skeksis and later used as a vessel by the Ascendancy to capture other Gelfling. In the book series, she also had a secret relationship with the Sifa far-dreamer Onica. 

Seladon (II): (Note the Roman numeral is not canon it makes it easier to identify the character) The eldest daughter of All-Maudra Mayrin. As the eldest child, she was trained to become the next All-Maudra. She suddenly succeeded the throne when her mother was killed and had a brief rule as All-Maudra Seladon. After a traumatic experience with the skeksis and realizing the error of her ways, she joined the Gelfling Resistance with her youngest sister. 

All-Maudra Mayrin: The matriarch leader of all seven clans during the late Age of Division. Her early rule started when she suddenly succeeded the throne after her mother’s death and quickly had to deal with political tension between the Vapra and the Sifa. During her rule she both respected and feared the skeksis and never questioned their decisions. But when confronted with the truth, she made a stand against them only to be killed by skekVar the General. 

Mira: A Vapran castle guard and former girlfriend of the Stonewood Rian. She was the very first victim of essence draining and her death had a ripple effect on the relationship between the gelfling and skeksis lords which eventually developed into the Gelfling Resistance. 

Juni: A Gelfling girl who was sent to the Order of Lesser Service for trying to have a Spriton lover. 

The Librarian: A nameless Librarian who had a Pluff’M familiar during the late Age of Division. He worked for the royal family aiding the scholar princess Brea with her pursuit of knowledge and was present while All-Maudra’s was tended to. He used to travel with the Sifa and had an unspoken relationship with Elder Cadia. 

Kira: Descendant of the Vapra clan, saved by her (presumably) mother and raised by podlings for many trine. She grew up with some knowledge of Gelfling culture, including what happened to the Gelfling race. Eventually she met Jen and aided him in his quest to heal the Crystal of Truth. 

Seladon (I): (Note the Roman numeral is not canon it makes it easier to identify the character) The All-Maudra who proceeded before All-Maudra Mayrin. Although she made efforts to bring unity, she severely neglected the other clans to the point their cultures were endangered. Despite this and the strained relationship they had, All-Maudra Mayrin named her first daughter after her. 

Dot'leth: Loyal royal advisor and friend to both All-Maudra Seladon (I) and All-Maudra Mayrin during the late Age of Division. When the Sifan Fenth sought to exploit the political void left by the disappearance of Mayrin, Dot’leth acted as regent to stop his efforts from claiming the Living Crown. 

Barfinnious: A paladin during the late Age of Division. He became a traveling bard who told exaggerated stories of his adventures to villages all over the Skarith Region. He ended up meeting a podling chef named Hup and promised to teach him how to become a paladin like him. 

Kel: Also known as Lady Kel, she was the daughter of Elder Vedev who lived during the late Age of Harmony and early Age of Division. She was one of the few witnesses of the Great Division.

Elder Vedev: The mother of Kel who lived during the late Age of Harmony and the early Age of Division. 

[Sources: Song of the Seven Gelfling Clans, the official Dark Crystal website, Shadows of the Dark Crystal, Song of the Dark Crystal, Tides of the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance, An Epic Return To Thra, The Ballad of Hup & Barfinnious, the Journey Into the Mondo Levidian, Author Quest: The Gelfling Gathering, Creation Myths, Heroes of the Resistance, the Dark Crystal Bestiary, Power of the Dark Crystal, the Dark Crystal novelization] 

[collapsedsquid]

The “backcountry” of the British colonies were settled by Scots-Irish immigrants from the borderlands of England and Scotland. The men and women who survived these war-torn marches did so through cultivating a reputation for savagery. The backcountryman put clan over community. Not for him was the New England township or the small groups of farmsteads that dotted the Delaware River Valley. Instead, backcountrymen spread their farms across the mountainsides, careful to build their cabins miles apart from those closest to them. The backcountryman honored strength and charisma, but had no respect for rank or hierarchy. Authority was weak in his world, and that is how he liked it. He rejected outsiders. He rejected the learning of the university men.[10] The backcounty wrapped its patriotism in the imagery of rattlesnakes, hornet nests, and alligators; they did not invent the phrase “Don’t Tread on Me” but nowhere was it more popular than among America’s Scots-Irish migrants.[11]

[...]

See these backcountrymen articulate the same liberal platitudes that the New Right detests! At one point in Liberty and Freedom Fischer even describes their conception of freedom with the words “liberty as individual autonomy.”[13] This conception of freedom was developed without any knowledge of Enlightenment texts. Most of these 18th century pleasure-maximizing, autonomy-seeking egoists could not read. [14]

This culture and its ideals did not disappear with the American Revolution. It probably reached maximum political influence in the antebellum era, when the backcountrymen first secured one of their own as president. This was also the age of the backcountry’s maximum cultural influence: in the Jacksonian era, the libertarian and egalitarian impulses of the backcountry became the ethos of almost every white man in the country. Holdouts against these folkways persisted only in the exhausted tidewater aristocracies of South Carolina and the Chesapeake, and in the federalist strongholds of New England (European travelers regularly described Boston and environs as the only place in America where the lower orders seemed to understand their place).[15] Over the following centuries the cultural descendants of the backcountrymen—be they called “butternuts,” “hillbillies,” or something else—would occasionally rear up to make their mark on American politics once more. Their support made the careers of several famous American statesmen. Here are a few you may have heard of: Stephen Douglas, William Jennings Bryan, and Donald Trump.

I feel this (and the extended quote in this section that I have omitted) is falling for the self-propaganda of these folks, what needs to be taken into account is theories of rights or universalism.   To refer to these as “libertarian“ is dubious.

Don’t think it matters for the larger point of the piece though, evangelical appalachians are not going to be eager to sign on to catholic integralism

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Heyyy yall

Do u have any dark romance fics? Explicit pls

Thank u sm

Here's the dark!Kurt tab and dark!Blaine tab, and mafia!Klaine.

Some of the much acclaimed fandom fics are here. ~Jen

A Political Romance by @yadivagirl [also on AO3]

Blaine is the son of a conservative politician. He’s not allowed to have a boyfriend but he falls in love with Kurt however something about Blaine isn’t quite right. Something dark and slightly twisted. Rated M for language, smut, gay sex and dark themes.

~~~~~

SEQUEL:  A Legal Romance [Also on AO3]

Sequel to A Political Romance. As Kurt and Blaine graduate college, new challenges await. Can loving Kurt calm dark and twisted Blaine? Features consensual slave/master relationship. Not BDSM. Rated M for gay sex, smut, rape, language and abuse triggers.

~~~~~

and A Mafia Romance (WIP, but not abandoned, @yadivagirl will probably respond!

Blaine is the son of a powerful crime boss. He has no intentions of joining the family business, especially since he finally has a gorgeous boyfriend named Kurt, but everyone else has other ideas. When Kurt gets caught in the middle, Blaine's true nature is unleashed. Like father, like son. Dark!Blaine. Features sex, violence, drug references, and heavy BDSM themes.

~~~~~ All You Needed Was Me by xCaellachx

Kurt attends the all men’s college Dalton Academy in New York. He meets Blaine who happens to be a first class jerk. But when Blaine decides Kurt should be his, will Kurt be able to resist him? Kurt has a secret and when Blaine finds out, the jerk in him leaves and the protector emerges.

~~~~~ King of my heart by soprano_squad

New York high society– fraught with gossip, lies, and a rigid social hierarchy. A hierarchy that some would do anything to climb the ranks of…

Essentially: Kurt is filthy rich. Blaine is even richer. Blaine is blackmailed into an arranged marriage with Kurt, who doesn’t know the truth behind their engagement. Banter, pining, smut, and spending obscene amounts of money ensues.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Populism is good for your health

Back in 2016, Thomas Frank_'s "Listen, Liberal!" forcefully explained that "liberals" are not leftists, and that while we on the left might sometimes ally with liberals, we are not on the same side.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781627795395

This is something that most of the world outside of the USA knows, but the USA has largely forgotten. I'll never forget my first day of university in the US, when a classmate told me I had "liberal" views; having grown up in Canada's NDP, I knew the difference!

In the US, this manifests as excessive credit for Donald Trump - AKA excessive blame for Donald Trump - as though he was bright enough and had enough executive function to be a cause, rather than an effect.

If you're impressed by the Lincoln Project - a collection of war criminals and grifters from the Reagan and GWB administration and former Romney campaign backers - you're probably a liberal.

If you think that those guys should be dragged in front of an American Nuremberg Trial for their role in dirty wars and Forever Wars; mass incarceration, mass deportation and mass surveillance; financial fraud, torture and worse, you're probably a leftist.

The Lincoln Project doesn't object to Trump's most substantive policies - they just want them executed in ways that don't say the quiet part out loud - they don't care if the rich shit on the rest of us, they just abhor gold-plated toilets as unforgivably gauche.

Writing in Le Monde (and, tellingly, not in a US publication), Frank describes the role that America's dysfunctional, profiteering, world-trailing health care system played in the pandemic (recall that the DNC just voted AGAINST Medicare For All).

https://mondediplo.com/2020/08/02populism-expertise

Liberals didn't turn pandemic into a culture war with mask-refusal and astroturf "reopen" protests, but they legitimized it when they overweighted the role that the recklessness of GOP science-refusal played in the pandemic's spread --

-- and underweighted the role the broken health-care system played. My hometown of LA is not a hotbed of plague because of mask-refusal; the major spread events are in unsafe businesses where precarious workers can't afford health care and can't risk narcing on their boss.

Meanwhile, anti-science mask-refusers AND pro-universal-health-care activists (who are following the undeniable scientific conclusion that universal care is cheaper and better) are both lumped together as "populists" and dismissed by liberal and conservative establishments.

As Frank describes, the origins of American populism are in a decidedly pro-science movement: "Populists produced homages to technology and scholarship and education that were so earnest and ornate that they are embarrassing to read today."

These pops fought the establishment, who leaned on pseudoscience to declare the status quo as ordained by the inevitable forces of "scientific economics," which decreed that only the "best" people could hope for a decent life.

By the 1930s, health care was a flashpoint for populism. Frank tells the story of the medical co-op of Elk City, OK,  "in which farm families would pay a modest sum each year for guaranteed access to doctors, dentists and a modern regional hospital."

Elk Point was fought tooth-and-nail by the AMA, which declared war on the co-op's doctor, the socialist Lebanese immigrant Michael Shadid, who called himself a "Doctor for the People" and believed that health care part of America's bulwark against dictatorship.

The AMA tried to revoke Shadid's license, excluded him from AMA membership (and thus malpractice insurance) and warned other doctors that they'd be blackballed if they went to work with him.

As Frank says, this was not a "popular war on science" - it was "science's war on populism." That is, the ruling class, having cloaked itself in "scientific economics" declared those who upheld more durable (and urgent) scientific truths public enemies and waged war on them.

The AMA - whose wealthy members were certainly part of the ruling class - boycotted orgs that researched "medical economics," threatened reprisals against doctors who tried to repeat the Elk Point experiment, and denounced any Congressional investigations of these tactics.

When a federal inquiry into the AMA's anti-co-op activity convened in 1938, AMA's president rejected it: "That is not scientific medicine and that is not scientific economics."

As Frank says, the AMA's position was that government oversight was "a perversion of the social hierarchy, with the laity demanding some quack remedy and bawling that the experts must prescribe it to him."

And when Truman won in 1948 on a promise of universal healthcare, the AMA called such care the "discredited system of decadent nations" and raised a special warchest from its wealthy members to pay the pioneering Campaigns, Inc to run a propaganda campaign against it.

When Canada's CCF - precursor to the NDP - created the first medicare system in Saskatchewan in 62, doctors walked off the job en masse, and SK doctors raised their own warchest to fight universal access to care.

They were backed by a suspicious, far-right org called "Keep Our Doctors" that appeared out of nowhere and fought medicare "by means of public demonstrations, red-baiting, and racist innuendo."

Thomas holds this up as an example of a "democracy scare": "in which society’s high-status groups come to believe that their privileges have been placed in mortal danger by the actions of the vast, seething multitude."

Democracy scares have popped up whenever left populism arose in America, from William Jennings Bryan to FDR. What was at stake wasn't science, it was privilege: the conversion of health-care from an industry that enriched its backers to a human right.

Opponents of Saskatechewan's medical system called it "a battle for the professional men in this era of mobocracy," and warned that we were moving from a world where everyone knew their place to a world who's motto was "I'm as good as you are."

Populism was leftist. As Steven Brust explained to me, all you need to ask to cleave left from right is: "What's more important: human rights or property rights?" Anyone who says, "property rights are human rights" is not on the left (I used this in Walkaway).

Or as Corey Robin says in The Reactionary Mind, the unifier of all rightwing schools of thought - from eugenics to dominionism to imperialism to libertarianism - is the belief that some people are innately better than others, and they should rule.

https://global.oup.com/academic/product/the-reactionary-mind-9780190692001

Democrats are not a leftists. Frank: they're "the bought-and-paid-for vehicle of affluent and highly educated professionals. It dutifully bails out the geniuses on Wall Street. It responsibly obeys the economists who tell us about the wonders of ‘free trade.’"

"And when our modern Democrats propose healthcare reform, they do it from the top down, by convening experts from every affected field and asking them to redraw the system amongst themselves — and then are astonished when the public erupts in outrage."

Today, private-equity backed, highly concentrated hospital chains and pharma companies have taken over the AMA's role in fighting universal healthcare, and the Dem establishment dismisses M4A advocates as "populists" and lumps them in with Trump-addled mask-deniers.

This ideology locates the world's problems in the unruliness of The People: "Democracy is a problem, they tell us, because democracy allows the common people to ignore the authority of expertise. Disobedient democracy is to blame for Trump."

"Disobedient democracy is why we can do nothing about global warming. Disobedient democracy is the reason we can’t beat the Covid pandemic. And all of it is the fault of We the People."

But The People aren't the reason that we don't have universal testing, that we haven't hired an army of contact tracers, that workers fear reprisals if they reveal their unsafe working conditions, which breed and spread pandemic.

We The People aren't why we don't have universal healthcare, they're not why we aren't paying people to stay home or stemming the tide of evictions. The policies that created the pandemic disaster aren't Trumpist aberrations, they're mainstream Republicanism.

They're the Republicanism of the Lincoln Project, which supported consolidation in pharma and healthcare, erosion of workers' rights and health and safety regulation.

And they're the policies of the mainstream of the Democrats, too: the brutal austerity of Pelosi's Paygo and Brooker's votes against taming the pharma industry.

Trump's criminal, lethal mismanagement of the pandemic would have slaughtered Americans by the tens of thousands regardless of this, of course - but hundreds of thousands more would have been spared infection, eviction and death if it wasn't for the system he presides over.

He didn't make that system, and the professionalized, elite-worshipping DNC won't unmake it. As Frank says, "In our awful current situation, a dose of authentic populism would be a remarkable tonic."

[chargetheintruder]

Yes, I’ve cleaned house.

In short, the political stuff has a shelf life.  Lots of it has gone stale already, or downright aggressively rotten.  ;)

Mainly though?  It isn’t that I’ve lost my nerve, so much as others have found theirs, finally, and to be candid, that’s all I can do.  Spread the word, raise hell, and be a mediocre shadow of a ranting William Jennings Bryan.  I have two bad knees, two bad shoulders, and more mood disorders than you can shake a DSM at.  =))  I’m worthless to anyone’s “revolution” truth be told.  And if said “revolution” means taking on Chinese characteristics, honestly, fuck that.  Also fuck that if it involves everyone’s being poor, eating nothing but tofu and sprouts, and not having anything worthwhile ever again.  My digestive system really can’t tolerate beans and legumes any way--even peanut butter makes me nauseous after a few days of it.  And any revolution demanding a sackcloth, ashes and Crocs uniform rather misses the point: any system that demands poverty is going to be overthrown from the outside by those who dangle ANY temptation in front of us, at all.  Never mind the “mouse utopia” issues of malnutrition, overcrowding and oh, what else . . . Lack of Stimulation?  Yeah.  It would be prudent to consider both a Pullman Town approach (looking at it from a behavioral Hygiene point of view, cleaning up messes and solving problems both) and from the foundation of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs at minimum.

But yeah, I have to throw out my stale political bread.  It’s a new year, and the less I know about someone else’s “plans”, the better off I’ll be.

[nerjaveika]

I like Jens and Robbe friendship, there I said it, f u haters. They just click for me. It’s that simple. Their dialogs seem believable. I’m from highly homophobic and overly toxic masculinity ass of a country, so relations they have in their group seems more than common among guys where I’m from. I’d say it’s all normal, minus maybe only Moyo’s homophobic jokes, they were never ok. Tho again freaking believable to me... The way Robbe always tried to win Jens attention over Moyo, since he’s more girly, it especially shows in earlier seasons...all groups of guys in my experience have hierarchy...it’s actually easily visible...Jens on the top in their group (in all remakes)...that’s why Moyo always shuts up when Jens defends Robbe. But I love the fact that Jens never actually switches to Moyo to be his best friend, he kinda always comes back to Robbe. He never cuddles Robbe (most see it as a minus, for me it’s not that bad actually, Robbe always tries to act tough and Jens gives him the opportunity). He said several times that “without Robbe it’s not that fun” It’s actually a very lovely statement in my eyes... I disagree that all he cares about is the Vlogs, I just think it’s an excuse to hang out and have fun together and do silly shit. He asked Robbe if everything’s ok several times, but it’s impossible to know what’s wrong, if the other side doesn’t want to talk no matter what u do (i’ve been there). I repeat he doesn’t watch the show with us, he can’t know all we see. All that matters how he handles the info when he knows!!

So I’m waiting for tomorrow’s coming out scene like crazy...it’s my fav scene in original, from my pov only original scene never takes it too far, but shows that it’s possible to stay friends with people u used to hang out with...things won’t change for the bad...in my pov it should be a little awkward like in original, but accepting. Main message. I just love how people in this fandom is so dismissive of the friends you hanged out 24/7, like “fuck them” Robbe doesn’t need the boy squad...all he needs is Milan now...now that he’s found a boyfriend, since only Milan and Zoe can understand him...WRONG!! that destroys the message, that you can be yourself and keep your friends, you enjoyed being with before coming out. So I think keeping boy squad is very important. Even homophobic ass like Moyo, I need to see them grow...if all people were accepting from the get go, there wouldn’t be any problems in the world, but people can change and understand.

These opinions are deeply subjective and personal - each person likes different remakes for their reasons (some hit closer home and so on) and I think it’s great this way...i’m just stating mine... In France I didn’t dig Yan and Luca starting from 1st season...like I don’t believe they’re best friends at all, sorry...like from season 1 I couldn't see it and it never changed for me and coming out scene was horrendous...Yen was just too selfish... Basil and Arthur are the cutest, but a little too enthusiastic... too cartoonish for me..tho i love them with all my heart. Italia is just not my thing, like literally all of it. Gio is awesome, but for me he feels more like a big brother than a friend...a bit less realistic for me... Original is just perfect, all of it, hat off... I also very much liked Druck scene, tho I just think Matteo is far braver than other Isaks. Other remakes - a bit another meaning in the scene...so i can't include it here.

So I pray that tomorrow’s scene won’t disappoint me and I’ll include it in my favs list. I believe they have all the potential to make it work.

[nedeljkovicsaysno]

the blood of both is my limbo (two)

(aka the Angel!Robbe/Demon!Sander AU that no one asked for)

Summary: Robbe spends his entire human life in total disbelief of the whole heaven-hell-religion thing. Luckily for him, it turns out that being a genuinely kind and selfless agnostic is enough to grant him Angel status in the afterlife. Meanwhile, a series of horrific events forces Sander to make some reckless choices with unfortunate consequences…but when he’s turned into a Demon, he realizes that what happens after death is nothing like the story the church tells. AKA Skam Afterlife, because in this parallel universe Isak and Even meet in Purgatory and have to overcome the slight problem that one’s an angel and one’s a demon.

Part One

Also posted on the Archive

Fight Night’s heating up - in more ways than one.

“Hey! Sander!”

Sander’s trance was momentarily shattered; he turned his head and there beside him was Noor, Britt’s bruja friend. She was tiny but she was terrifying; every part of her looked like it had teeth. Sander thought that this was maybe not too far from the truth. He greeted her with that fiendish slice of a half smile, leaned down so they could kiss at the air beside each other’s cheeks.

“What’s up, Noor.”

“Oh, you know. Just spent the day inventing a counter-hex from scratch,” said Noor, all-suffering as she crossed her yellow eyes. “Moyo pissed some warlock off when he kept beating him at cards the other night, so the asshole cursed him. He’s been walking around with a thundercloud over his head for a day and a half. Literally. Soaked the bed through twice.”

Sander laughed out loud, but there was a piece of his mind still idly circling around the peculiar golden haze, attached, curious. “Better than any other reason for him to have soaked the bed.”

“Yes, well,” said Noor, and she smirked. “Annoying nonetheless. Where’s the crew sitting?”

Sander inclined his head to the back left, where he could dimly make out their little booth. “Corner over there. Listen, Noor, will you take this to Senne? I’m gonna go say hi to one of my friends really quick.”

“Of course,” said Noor, accepting the mug he handed her. “See you in a minute?”

“Yes,” said Sander, and he waited until she had turned to wend her graceful way through tables and creatures back to the group before he re-focused his attention back onto the shining mist.

It had moved; it was now closer to the stage, and if Sander squinted he thought he could see shadows moving within the shimmer. Fully concentrated now, he began pacing measuredly towards it, sipping habitually at his drink as he did so; the crowd near the arena was thickening but still that small space remained uninhabited. In his chest Sander could feel the call of it, the siren of power that he could not ignore, and he wanted so badly to know what was within the mist that he forgot about caution. Before he’d even realized what he was doing he was inches from where the air became saturated with glinting medal-gold and he was mesmerized.

“What are you,” he murmured, and as though they were listening to him the thousands and thousands of glitter-particles inside the fog seemed to freeze.

*

Within the refuge of the Shield, Jens seized Robbe’s forearm.

Robbe, who mentally was lightyears away observing the melting pot of dark supernatural beings surrounding them, twisted his head, halfway to speaking before Jens slapped a warm frantic hand over his mouth.

Don’t talk, rang out in his mind. Turn around. Slowly, for hell’s sake.

On an ordinary occasion, Robbe would have scolded Jens for using telepathy, but the urgency in his Elder’s thoughts and the unusual situation within which they found themselves that night gave him pause. He did as Jens asked, suddenly streaked through with adrenaline at the thought of what he might discover, and found himself face-to-face with an extravagant creature with alabaster skin to match his white-blonde hair and violent cardinal-red blood trickling from both eyes.

He was standing directly in front of Robbe and Jens, a concentrated expression on his face, licking absently at the ring spiked through his lower lip. He seemed thoroughly unbothered by the fact that his eyes were bleeding; Robbe had just enough time to wonder if that was an everyday sort of thing for him when Jens was thinking out loud again.

It can see the Shield.

That’s impossible, Robbe thought back, scornful, wondering distractedly why Jens had referred to the being as it and not he. Nothing can see the Shield.

Some things can.

Like what?

Jens looked sideways at him and his face was grave.

Every inhuman creature has an ability, he thought. Opposite creatures often have opposite abilities. So, tell me, little one. What’s the opposite of Shielding?

Sensing, thought Robbe, his brain sprinting, whirring. Maybe Seeing.

Yes, thought Jens, and his grip around Robbe’s wrist tightened. And what are you?

An angel, thought Robbe, and as he looked back at the ethereal being in front of him recognition slammed into him like the car that had ended his human life.

What’s the opposite of an angel?

Robbe swallowed. He had never seen one up close before, but the explanation made perfect sense: bloody eyes, corpse-white skin, black everywhere.

A demon.

*

Sander was half a second from stretching out a hand to twist his fingers through the sunshine air, see if it pushed back like the darkness in hell had shoved at him when he’d first been Changed, but just like that Senne was beside him, towering, calm as he always was, stern.

“What are you doing, Driesen?”

“I found it,” said Sander dreamily, still tranced-out. “I found the thing that I’m Sensing.”

Senne furrowed his brow. “What? Where?”

“There,” said Sander, vaguely, and he pointed. In doing so his fingertip barely brushed the outer perimeter of the mist and static crackled on his skin; all he wanted to do was step forward into it, see if it enveloped him, gilded him, too.

“I don’t see anything,” said Senne, but then he looked again and his expression changed. “Wait. This empty space?”

“It’s not empty,” said Sander. “There’s something there. The air is golden, Senne.”

Senne’s eyes darted from Sander’s eyes to the emptiness in front of them and something slammed down over his face like a sliding door. He grabbed Sander’s shoulder.

“We need to get away from this,” he hissed, “right now.”

In a dimmed sort of way Sander understood that he should hearken to Senne’s tone, his body language, his words, but it was not in his nature to feel fear; he had seen the worst, lived through the darkest of times, and he’d emerged on the other side as a fucking demon. The fact that Senne - a much older and more important demon than he - was expressing distress didn’t do as much as it should have to turn him back, and again he found himself warring the urge to bridge the gap.

Inside the Shield, Jens correctly interpreted Sander’s facial expression and made a decision.

Robbe. Enforce the Shield.

Robbe wrested his gaze from the blonde demon’s face. Enforcement required a brutal amount of strength and one hundred percent of his concentration, something he was not currently willing to give: he wanted nothing more than to study the creature before him, learn him, understand what demon looked like in corporeal form instead of in fantasy. But -

Do it. It’s going to try to reach in. I’ll help you.

Robbe hesitated and

outside the Shield Sander reached forward and

Jens stepped behind Robbe and pressed his torso flush to Robbe’s back and

just as Sander’s hand met the space where the air turned light Robbe pulled from Jens’s strength and with a visceral, audible growl of effort transformed the Shield from mist to steel.

Both Sander and Senne heard the noise he made; Sander’s palm met flat resistance and he recoiled in sharp shock. Senne grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back, and Sander’s stomach went hot with shame and recognition.

“Sander,” growled Senne in his ear, “what in fuck’s sake are you doing? Do you want the wrath of God to come down upon you? Get the fuck back.”

“What - “ Sander’s palm was tingling. “The wrath of - Senne, is that an angel?”

“Yes,” hissed Senne, as he hauled him away. “Yes, you idiot, what did you think a pocket of golden air in Lesser Purgatory would be? Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Sander, but he couldn’t stop looking stupefied over his shoulder back at the obviously marked space. “I’m fine. It didn’t - Senne, it didn’t seem like it was bad.”

“Driesen,” said Senne in total exasperation, “we’re bad. Angels are the literal polar opposite of everything we are. We’re not supposed to touch them. They aren’t for our kind.”

“But why?” Sander was not clear of mind. “Who the fuck says? Isn’t all that stuff about traditional human religion bullshit anyway?”

“Yes,” said Senne, hand clenching at the back of Sander’s neck, silver chains tangling in his fingers, “but that doesn’t change the hierarchy. They are light, we are dark. We protect the low realms, they protect the high. We rule the things that humans consider sin and they rule the things that humans consider virtue. We are not meant to mix with them. They think they’re superior to us.”

He stopped, pushed Sander back against the raised side of the stage, leaned in and licked a droplet of blood from Sander’s cheekbone. It was the one thing he knew to do that would bring Sander back to himself and sure enough his Fledgling’s scarlet eyes went immediately from daydream-distant to smack-awake.

“Senne, I’m sorry,” he said, low. “You’re right. We’re not meant for them.”

“It’s fine,” said Senne. His voice was gentle. “Angels can have quite the effect on someone who’s never seen them before, and for you to be able to Sense a Shield...that’s big stuff, Driesen.”

A luxuriant, lethal smirk cut its slow track across Sander’s mouth. “I have a good teacher.”

“Yeah, well,” said Senne, haughty. He searched Sander’s sharp beautiful face, shoved back against the urge to drink from his Fledgling’s bloodsource again, but Sander read his expression and swiped a teardrop of red from under his eye. Lifted his finger to Senne’s mouth and watched with satisfaction as his Maker sucked his skin clean, sighed raggedly, almost a groan.

“I’ll never understand why you don’t drink from humans more often,” said Sander, dripping with assurance. “Real blood is what does it for you.”

“Animal blood does what it needs to do,” said Senne. His violet eyes were feral. “Come on. Forget angels, okay? You had your introduction, now you need to focus on what’s really important.”

“Like watching you get turned on drinking from me?”

“Fuck yourself,” said Senne, eyes flashing, but it was half amusement. “First Blood is about to happen, and Eurydice is on.”

*

Robbe felt Jens grasp him around the waist, lift him bodily away from the stage into a more protected corner of the club, diving into shadows. He was shivering with the effort it had taken to throw up an Enforcement without proper preparation, teeth gritted hands fisted at his sides, and when Jens slid down against the side wall and pulled Robbe back between his legs he did not resist.

“Hey,” Jens crooned, voice a hot brush of air at Robbe’s ear, “come on, Robbe, you’re fine, I’ve got you. You were a fucking champion, kid. That was incredible.”

It wasn’t often that Jens called him by his first name and it pulled Robbe minimally back to himself; he managed to unclench his fists to clamp them on Jens’s knees, and his Elder slid hands under Robbe’s elbows so he could reach up and scratch through Robbe’s bedlam curls. His arms were so long that even from such an unnatural angle he could reach the crown of Robbe’s head with ease.

“I,” choked Robbe, tripping over the force of his own breath as he tried to re-center, all of him aware of the warmth of Jens’s body crowded against his own, “need a fucking drink.”

“Okay,” said Jens, amused. “I can make us look ordinary enough to pass as vampires or something for a little while if you want a break.”

“The irony of that sentence,” said Robbe, and Jens chuckled.

“Say the word.”

“Give me, like. Five minutes.” Robbe’s entire body felt like a wet towel, wrung for every last drop of water before being draped out to dry. “Enforcements without Charge take everything I’ve got, even with your help.”

“I know,” said Jens, and he sounded guilty. “I should have just Disguised us before we entered the LP so you wouldn’t have had to work so hard. But it’s Drinking Night AND Fight Night in one go and I thought the Shield would be safer.”

“It probably is,” said Robbe, sighing; he let his fluffy head tumble back onto Jens’s shoulder and nestled automatically. “But I mean, fuck it, right? At least two demons already know we’re here. If you Disguise us the whole corporeal mist giveaway disappears, and they have no idea we were even involved with it in the first place. Problem solved.”

“Ordinarily I’d say yeah,” said Jens, “but if that demon can Sense, then my Disguise won’t fully hide you from it. You get close, and it will know.”

Robbe looked back at him. Jens’s face was impossibly close and impossibly magnificent; Robbe could smell the alcohol he’d drunk in Greater Purgatory wafting from his soft, intermittent breath.

“Then I won’t get close.”

*

When Robbe had recharged enough to move Jens pulled them into a bathroom stall to work his magic; Robbe had always loved watching him while he was Casting, and tonight was no different. Jens was an absolute scholar at trickery and concealment, thought-play, stealth; he could be hovering a hairsbreadth from someone’s back and they wouldn’t have an inkling that he was there until he announced himself. Now he stood in front of the mirror and drew fingertip lines across his own face, dulling the shimmer of his skin to matte cream, darkening his hair and sharpening the edges of his wolf teeth until they passed easily as fangs. When he’d completed his own Disguise he performed the same ritual on Robbe, who could have cried with the relief that flooded upon taking his guard down: Shielding, after a while, became overwhelming.

“Next time we come to the LP,” said Robbe as he scrutinized himself in the mirror, “you’re doing this to begin with.”

“To be fair,” said Jens, just before he snapped his fingers and their reflections vanished from the mercurial surface before them. “You didn’t give me a lot of warning.”

When they re-emerged into the club the lights had blackened even further and both the tempo and the volume of the music had increased; the crowd seemed denser than it had moments before, but Robbe deduced that this was probably because they no longer had the luxury of the Shield to afford them a suitable berth. It was strange to realize that they were drawing stares now; even Disguised as vampires, both Robbe and Jens were preternaturally lovely. Jens certainly wielded the power to diminish their appearances, but vanity was his fatal flaw, and he almost never did.

“Beauty isn’t that unusual in our world,” he defended himself, when Robbe laughed at him about it. “Why should I try to hide that? Angels aren’t the only pretty things that exist in the Afterlife.”

Apparently, Robbe thought absently now as they made a space for themselves at the bar, demons could be pretty, too.

He tried not to look around. Attracting extra attention was likely to prove catastrophic, especially if Jens was correct and the blood-eyed demon could still Sense their presence. But it turned out that Robbe didn’t need to worry about unintentionally inviting anyone’s lingering attention – at least not for the time being – because at the exact moment the bored pixie bartender handed Jens and Robbe their drinks, Exitium exploded like an atomic bomb into ruckus noise.

“Here we go,” said Jens, and in the excitement of his tone Robbe could find balance between his insistence that Lesser Purgatory was nothing to write home about and the streak of interest that had belted through his eyes as they’d been discussing it. Robbe’s eyes found the stage; it had been empty not half a second before, but directly in its center now stood a tall, straight-spined man dressed as though he was fully prepared to lead a runway show for nineties-era Versace. His posture was impeccable and his eyes were lined thickly with sharp silver and kohl and he was one of the most luridly fascinating things Robbe had ever seen.

“Is that – ”

“Milan,” said Jens, with some fondness. “He’s half-sylph, half-elf, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Lower Purgatory.”

Onstage, the mesmerizing hybrid creature with the (extremely appropriate) name of an Italian city began to speak.

“I don’t think,” he said, in the tone of someone who fully understood that simply raising the volume of one’s voice was not the best way to command attention, “any of you filthy creatures are ready for this shit.”

And as the responding clamor of the crowd shrieked to a sudden crescendo, Robbe looked sideways at Jens and started to grin.

“It’s been a long time,” said Milan, smirking, clearly enjoying the collective enthrallment of the entire population of Exitium, “a very long time, I think. Since we’ve had Furies participating in Fight Night. But, theydies and gentlethem, hags and trolls, demons and dare I presume angels – ”

Robbe froze but Jens grinned; hissed sideways,

“He has no clue, he’s just being dramatic.”

“ – it’s been an even longer time since any of our lovely serpent-haired sisters have thrown their names into the pool.”

From the way the crowd rocked and screamed in response to his words Robbe understood that this was a gigantic occasion; again he looked to Jens for explanation but his Elder was already utilizing his telepathy to explain.

Gorgon fights are vicious. No one here can die, obviously, but they’re the most brutal of all creatures to participate in Fight Night. Furies are nearly as bad, that’s why it’s so crazy in here tonight, everyone wants a piece of the carnage.

Even you. Robbe was enjoying how much Jens was enjoying himself.

Even me. You picked a good night to force my hand.

Robbe smiled.

So what happens to the losers, then? Since they can’t die?

Jens licked at the new sharpness of his wolf teeth, twisted his mouth before he replied.

“They tap out,” he said out loud. “They get hurt badly, and they go somewhere to lick their wounds until they get a chance for redemption at next Fight Night. And the winner…the winner gets clout.”

Robbe searched his Elder’s face, thinking absently that the status of a Fight Night victory in the LP must equate to something like respect or fear or reverence, but then he stopped thinking at all because everything around them suddenly depleted into quiet and stillness and dark, the entire arena thrumming with ravenous anticipation. It felt like standing at the edge of a sheer cliff with toes pressed over the side and nothing to prevent the fall and Robbe was afire for it. He had no idea what was going to happen but he had never been more ready for anything in his entire existence.

He waited.

And then, when the hush was beginning to become maddeningly loud in the way that only unmitigated silence can manage, from the back corner of the stage where a curtained side entrance separated the patrons from the staff-only area of the club, there arose a steady, insidious hiss.

“Eurydice,” sang Milan, “please step into the light.”

And from out of the darkness emerged something darker.

*

“She’s perfect,” whispered Noor, and Senne and Sander grinned at each other.

Eurydice wasn’t what either one of them would have described as perfect – demons didn’t really believe in the word, used it as a taunt or derogatory term against the Son of God – but she was certainly commanding. One of the tallest Gorgons, her skin was a shade of mottled yellow-green akin to a fresh bruise, a direct clash with the garish coral pink of her pit vipers, and when she curled her upper lip in acknowledgement of the crowd jagged grey teeth showed. For a lesser Gorgon, she was positively terrifying.

“She could win this tournament,” said Senne casually, “if Medusa doesn’t show.”

“No way Raksha would let her fight,” said Noor, dismissing him. “She likes to keep her toys in pristine condition, and Medusa’s not exactly a looker to begin with.”

“Maybe Raksha has a newfound battle-scar kink,” said Sander. He was already nearly finished with his second drink; his close encounter with the unidentified angel had shaken him, and he didn’t know what to do to still his head but to slow his thought process with alcohol. It never worked as well as it had in his human body – demonic systems were designed to flush toxins much more effectively – but it was always enough to blunt the edges.

“I’d kill to see Medusa and Eurydice,” said Britt. “She’s the only lesser Gorgon that would stand a chance against any of the holy trinity. She doesn’t give a fuck.”

“She beat Stheno once,” said Senne, “ages ago. I was there, it was a madhouse. She lost a snake, but Stheno lost two, and the way she was screaming afterward…the stuff of nightmares.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Sander, his gaze tracking the kaleidoscopic gloom on the other half of the stage. “Nemesis is no pushover.”

And as though he had spoken her into existence she came forth.

Where Eurydice was furious color, constant movement and sound, Nemesis contradicted her in darkness and calm and silence. Wraithlike she strode slow and resolute across the stage, icicle eyes pinned fearless to Eurydice’s countenance, stating intent with every second she did not look away. Sander appreciated her attitude; if he’d have been placing bets that night he’d have staked on her with confidence. Eurydice liked to put on a show but Nemesis was unassuming in her presentation and somehow that felt more to him like victory. He’d never seen her fight, but he’d heard tales of her ruthlessness, and he was ready to witness it for himself.

Milan between them looked fully undaunted.

“My darling, my dear,” he said, casual like he was announcing the contestants of a beauty pageant and not addressing a deity and a Gorgon, “need I remind you of the rules?”

When Nemesis spoke it was like thunder cracking in the clouds. Her eyes never drifted from Eurydice’s face.

“I don’t forget.”

Eurydice jeered; her snakes were going mad for bloodlust.

“Nor I.”

“Excellent,” said Milan, and for the first time all night wicked interest sparked in his wide cunning eyes. “Then I’ll make myself scarce and let you two have at it.”

In a blink he had vanished; Sander spotted him instantly when he reappeared in the rafters above their heads, a smudge of yellow, overseeing restlessly from afar. Full-blooded sylphs commanded powerful magic of their own, but Milan’s mother had been a sea-elf, and with all that combined force channeling through him he was one of the most formidable beings in the LP; Sander could Sense him coming from miles away. Though Milan was not malicious by nature, he was known for ruining those who crossed him; there was a reason he had been appointed as head referee of Fight Night. If things got out of hand, he could regain control of the situation with one snap of his fingers, no droplet of sweat forming on his brow, he might have been a High Deity for the negligible effort he put forth to execute staggering feats of sorcery.

There was a beat in which Eurydice and Nemesis sized each other up; Nemesis might not have had snakes for hair but she did have literal talons and she unsheathed them now, flexing her fingers to shake them out. The pit vipers haloing Eurydice’s head reared cautiously, stretching to full length, glorious in their lethality, and when the first one struck it all became a muddle of vivid color and glinting steel. In immediate, urgent response, the crowd howled with cruel delight; Fight Night elicited the worst from Morals and Immorals both, and the presence of pitiless Gorgons in the melee only served to exacerbate their savagery.

From such a secluded corner it was impossible to see what was going on and without a thought for decorum Sander rose, placed one foot atop the table, hauled himself up so he could separate the whirling dervish of catastrophic movement. Ordinarily Senne would have chided him for standing on furniture – he could be gallingly lawful for a high-tier demon – but he was as absorbed in the battle as the rest of them and either didn’t notice or didn’t give a shit. Through the spotlit air onstage dark green liquid spurted and the crowd gave a surging howl of glee; Nemesis had drawn first blood.

Sander pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, denim dyed dark as the liner smudged around his eyes, gaze roaming unconsciously around the opposite side of the arena. He was looking, he knew, for the golden haze, but to his mild annoyance it was nowhere to be seen. He was wondering abstractedly if the angels had taken their leave from Exitium when the path of his gaze collided with a russet-haired being leaning up against the bar, and Sander forgot to think about anything else at all.

The being – who by all accounts could have passed for an exceptionally flawless member of the human species – was wearing a simple red crewneck and jeans, fringe tumbling sideways into his gigantic eyes as he observed the onstage kerfuffle, hypnotized. Corpse-pale skin and the fangs that spiked under his top lip suggested that he was a vampire, but Sander was excellent at guessing classifications, and that didn’t feel right at all. He was lithe and small and imperious, every bit of him exuding confidence as he sipped from the chalice in his hand, and never before in his existence had Sander been witness to such a striking creature as this. Reflexively he raised an arm to card his fingers back through his hair and as he did the boy’s intense gaze shifted away from the melee straight into Sander’s eyes.

Above them, unseen, unnoticed by everything else in the room, the sky shook itself out. In Sander’s ears a sudden drone whined and his stomach gave a lurching skydive swoop and for half a moment he mislaid the breath that he sometimes could not believe he still had. Again that heightened awareness slashed through him; again, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The boy’s eyes were the strangest shade of gold, gold, gold, and there was something about him – something that Sander wanted to name but could not. He couldn’t tell if he was Sensing or reacting to the clear heat that kindled between them but he felt like he’d gone up in flames.

Unflinchingly the boy stared, face inscrutable and stone-frozen and brazen, as unafraid as Nemesis regarding Eurydice. His absolute lack of intimidation was not something Sander was accustomed to – as a human, he’d been revered for his beauty; as a mid-tier demon, let alone one who bled constantly from both eyes, his status commanded a great deal of automatic respect. In severe contrast to that fawning, fear-tinged admiration, however, this boy was observing him in the unaffected manner that one might use to watch a train pass by.

The unfamiliar feeling of being rendered ordinary by the nature of someone’s attention riled something long dormant in Sander’s chest. He could not equate the mildness in the boy’s eyes with the length of his gaze or the voltage that screamed hot through Sander’s skin; something was taking place here, but he didn’t have an inkling as to what it was. Onstage black and green blood was spraying with abandon now, both Eurydice and Nemesis roaring with vexed effort, but the combat felt planets away and all of Sander’s concentration was fixed upon bridging the space between himself and this unidentified splendid ethereal creature and proving that there was not a commonplace thing about him.

The boy was the first to cut eye contact, his attention snagged by the being beside him, a statuesque individual of equally astonishing beauty with skin only slightly less pale than his companion’s. Such a milky color looked strange against the sable of his hair and though he, too, showed fangs when he smiled, the errant, persistant thought that neither member of this enigmatic pair were vampires strayed again through Sander’s mind. He forced his focus back to the scuffle onstage; Nemesis had managed to behead one of Eurydice’s pit vipers and it looked as though his initial instinct to crown her as victor had been right.

Senne grabbed Sander’s ankle; apparently he had noticed his Fledgling’s relocation to the tabletop after all. He shouted over the din:

“How’s the view up there?”

Sander grinned down at him.

“Top-notch. Join me?”

And to Sander’s astonishment, Senne did, skipping lithely from the booth to stand beside him, moon-eyed and chill. He’d gone through three goblets of blood that night and this combined with the alcohol had made him loose at the limbs, undone the quick tension that lurked permanently just between his brows. Sander was positively delighted.

“You fucking rulebreaker.”

“This? You should have seen me in my Fledgling days,” said Senne, and when he beamed Sander saw where his teeth had stained cerise with ram-blood. He roped an arm around Sander’s shoulders, knocked the side of his head gently against Sander’s own, and the warmth that flooded the younger demon’s chest was sudden and strong: this was his most cherished being in all the infinite universes. No one had cared for him like Senne since his mother had died, and the knowledge that he was valued again, that someone worried about him, had changed him entirely.

“Yeah? You’d stand on all the tables then, eh?”

“Something like that,” said Senne, chuckling, and Sander was just about to entreat him to elaborate when ahead of them a rough, incensed shriek sliced the air. Nemesis had gone for the jugular again, and Eurydice had just narrowly escaped losing two of her snakes in one fight. The evasive maneuver she’d had to pull to save her viper had forced her off balance and Nemesis used the advantage to slam her to the ground, throw a leg on each side of her waist, pin both of the Eurydice’s hands down with her knees as she crooked an elbow over the thrashing Gorgon’s throat. It was a clever, cunning move: in positioning herself just so, Nemesis had ensured that Eurydice’s snakes couldn’t strike where they needed to.

Eurydice screamed again, blind with rage; she hadn’t lost an opening round of Fight Night in her existence, and the crowd could taste her fury. The talons on Nemesis’s free hand were curling and uncurling and her eyes were locked to the viper coiled dead center of Eurydice’s forehead and it was unmistakable what she was insinuating. Forfeit, or you lose another.

“Here we fucking go,” whispered Sander, and all of him was back in this, entranced, the not-vampire duo momentarily forgotten. Senne’s fingers tightened at the scruff of his neck; the sound of the crowd had reduced to a hornet hum, bated. So quiet was the club that Nemesis’s voice when she spoke sounded loud as a trumpet.

“Say it.”

Eurydice was vibrating with anger; chest heaving, she struggled, but Nemesis was larger and stronger than her in every sense and without the range of her pit vipers Eurydice’s force was heavily diminished.

“Or what.”

“Or I’ll cut them from your head one by one until there’s nothing left on your scalp but bloody stumps,” said Nemesis calmly, and her talons flashed.

Sander and Senne looked at each other, wide-eyed, brows elevated. Below them Britt and Noor had both risen to their feet and were standing with their hands over their mouths, not blinking, barely breathing, snake-charmed. In the rafters the canary blur that was Milan had increased its tempo of pacing and closure felt imminent. Sander said,

“Fuck,”

And his eyes automatically skipped over to search for that faultless enigma of a boy. Both he and his friend were watching the events upon the stage with centered intent, but the second Sander’s gaze came to rest upon his face, the boy glanced back at him as though Sander had shouted a name he didn’t know.

Yet.

“She didn’t come to play,” said Senne seriously, and Sander laughed; when his Elder spoke in modern-isms it never felt natural, but he appreciated Senne’s ability to adapt nonetheless.

Onstage, Eurydice hissed; there were a thousand insults in her eyes but she was nothing if not calculated and Nemesis had proved herself to be ruthless enough and she could not afford to lose another viper. She rolled her thin grey lips together, released a longsuffering sigh, set her teeth.

“Forfeit.”

The noise in the club absolutely detonated; on the opposite side of the stage, Robbe and Jens were howling, grabbing at each other’s hands wrists shoulders, caught up. Robbe’s face was flush with alcohol and Jens was more animated than Robbe had ever seen him and he couldn’t believe that this was the first time his Elder had ever permitted him to come to Lesser Purgatory.

“You asshole,” he yelled, “you’ve been keeping me from this!”

Jens grinned, guilty, letting his thin delicate-boned shoulders rise and fall. “It’s an occasion, Robbe. The LP isn’t like this every day. You have to pick the best times to come, and know when to avoid it at all costs.”

“So the first time you take me here, we not only see a Deity take out a Gorgon in ten minutes flat, but a demon almost discovers us and we have to use Shield Enforcement to hide from it,” said Robbe. He was still beaming and he felt the joy all the way in his fingertips. “You realize you’re creating a monster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jens, and he slammed back his drink, amused. “I created you once, I can remake you whenever I please. We have time between the next round, you want another?”

“Jens Stoffels,” said Robbe, dramatic, mock-shocked. “Are you, my unbearably strict Elder, suggesting that I, your reckless Fledgling, participate in a third round of drinks with you tonight?”

(The first time they’d drank together, Robbe had expected to be affected by the alcohol in ways that he had been as a human – lowered inhibition, blurry edges, unsteady feet, word vomit, actual vomit, sudden crushing sadness, lust with a capital L – but instead he’d been filled with an indescribable lightness, a warmth in the hollow of his stomach, closer to what he’d describe as high than drunk. Jens had stopped him after one drink, insisted that he needed to get used to the way alcohol affected the angel infrastructure before he went any further, and Robbe had rolled his eyes at him.

“I know you’re my Elder,” he’d said, “but that doesn’t make you my mother.”

Jens had grinned at him, flicked his nose.

“Nah. But it does make me your wise, all-knowing superior, whose advice you should heed at all times because you are a baby angel and therefore still learning. Come on, little one, let’s go.”

Since then he hadn’t been much more relaxed; Robbe had incalculable amounts to learn about the ways of being an angel, and Drinking Night was never something on which they wasted much time. Jens taught him how to decompress in other ways, like swoop-diving through silk-soft clouds at daybreak, chasing an infinite horizon over seas of the most impossible blue color at sunset. There wasn’t much to decompress about, really; angels didn’t experience anxiety like humans did, because everything adapted a different meaning in the Afterlife. When overarching stressors like money and bills and health and mortality were removed from the larger picture, it was incredible how limitless one could feel.)

Jens huffed, rolled his eyes. “I was going to relax eventually, you know. Besides, you really proved yourself with that nuclear catastrophe, especially if Raphael is going easy on you. My little Fledgling is growing up.”

Robbe smacked him. “You’re insufferable.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” said Jens, and he cupped Robbe’s chin in one soft long-fingered hand.

In the center of the arena, Milan had already cleared the blood from the floor with one lofty flick of his hand; Eurydice had vanished, limping away in wounded fury, her dead snake clutched in one shaking palm. Nemesis was slightly breathless but her face was saturated with a forbidding sort of satisfaction, teeth bared as she lifted her chin to stare around at the pulsating crowd, shine in her eyes as she listened to them chanting her name. She was the Goddess of Retribution, the personification of vengeance, and by her very nature she was not used to being adored.

Fortunately for her, on Fight Night, any creature that could best a Gorgon was not adored. They were idolized.

Milan held up her clammy hand, arched a perfectly sharp eyebrow, didn’t speak; he knew exactly how to work the crowd, had learned to play them like a dedicated violinist learns to make their instrument sing. Nemesis stood with her chest heaving and her eyes rifling the darkness and then, all of a sudden, she smiled.

As Milan conducted a brief, spirited interview Robbe let Jens lead him by the wrist to the bar, all the while keeping one eye open for the demon who sought him so relentlessly with that glowering red stare. Robbe didn’t think the demon knew what he was, that he was an angel, but his (Robbe refused to refer to him like Jens had, as an it) interest was brash and unmistakable, and it staggered Robbe to understand that he could not detect the nature of said interest. I won’t get close, he’d said to Jens, but he could not fully lie to himself and say that he wasn’t interested, too. When their eyes had clashed across the room Robbe had never felt anything like the ensuing impact; it was disruptive, shattering, a fault line fissure.

His stomach was still hot from it.

At any rate his vigilance was for nothing. The demon was nowhere within his line of sight; the dark man who had been standing beside him on the tabletop had vanished, too, and the crowd packing Exitium to its core was by now so thick that Robbe could not envision chancing upon either of them again. By the time he and Jens were pressed belly-first into the bar, laughing giddily as they called for their drinks, the entire encounter seemed far enough away that it might have been a reverie. He and Jens got pulled helplessly into a fevered First Blood discussion with a group of phantoms; two were in full support of Nemesis’s victory while the third was bemoaning the loss of Eurydice, whose viciousness had heretofore been unparalleled within the lower hierarchies of the draw. Jens was disputing hotly with the third phantom about whether or not Nemesis had violated a crucial rule by pulling at Eurydice’s hair (“that’s bullshit, isn’t it, because it’s not fucking hair for hell’s sake, it’s a snake”) and Robbe was standing back amused, sipping his fresh drink, when to his immediate left he felt movement. The vila standing next to him at the bar had vacated her space and it had instantly been filled by someone new.

A wrench in the air pressure; a coppery smell, it was almost as though Robbe had Warped, but his feet were solid on the ground beneath him and besides this feeling was all too familiar. He thought about what Jens had said, if you get too close, it will know, but there was nothing he could do about that now, was there.

He turned his head and there beside him, draped against the bar at an indolent cocksure angle, silver head tilted as he scrutinized Robbe with loud, loud, loud, interest, stood the red-eyed demon. He was still crying blood and he was still shockingly beautiful and the air in the club was, suddenly, not enough by half.

The demon smiled, an unhurried, wicked thing, and reached over to press his fingerprint onto the rim of Robbe’s glass. Up close he was dark, delicate, all black nails and smudgy eyeliner, thin ring of silver looped through his lower lip. His fingers were adorned heavily with metal and he exuded assurance and he felt like nothing but impossibility.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking blood?”

Then I won’t get too close.

Robbe swallowed.

“Shouldn’t you be bleeding it?”

Surprise flitted briefly across the demon’s chalk-white face; he chuckled and the sound was so low Robbe shouldn’t have heard it but he felt it like a scrape across his lower stomach. Around them the crowd roared in pleased low oblivion like within it nothing at all of interest was happening, like Robbe the Fledgling angel wasn’t talking back to a fucking demon.

“I do,” the demon said, one dark eyebrow bridging. The contrast to his platinum head was stark. “It just doesn’t look like this.”

He gestured to his face, to the evenly painted lines of red that poured steadily from his eyes, and smirked as he pressed in closer. Robbe’s blood was singing but he couldn’t tell if it was meant to warn or lure.

“What color do you bleed, then,” he said, gritting his teeth to stop his voice shaking. “Black?”

“That’s an interesting question with an interesting answer,” said the demon, flighty. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you what color I bleed if you tell me what you really are, not-vampire creature.”

[thorraborinn]

So I’ve been reading up on Disablots, Volva and how sex rituals were uncommon but not unheard of, recently, and one question still seems to elude answers for me: would it have been considered acceptable for a young man to offer himself up as a sacrifice to a Volvaor or Freya in any sense, as Ottar may have, not even to learn Seidr? Also I can’t find much on the stage of life Ottar was in so how might he compare to the youth archetype of Adonis?

(2/2)  While it was certainly “unmanly” and taboo for a male to practice Seidr, would being in service to one or enraptured by one be considered the same? I’ve heard that some sects of heathenry varied in gender roles so which ever ones were the most feminist would be interesting if they worshipped freya distinctively over Odin.

I think that you might be coming into this with some beliefs that you’re not articulating, but which also aren’t something that can be taken for granted. I don’t know of any undisputed evidence for sex rituals other than Ahmad ibn Fadlan’s account. It has been proposed as an aspect of some rituals (such as seiðr) but that remains unclear. I also don’t know of any theory that interprets Öttarr as a self-sacrifice, just that he made frequent sacrifices to Freyja. I *believe* the standard explanation for the line about his altar being turned to glass is that he burned offerings so often that the stones started to melt and fuse. Freyja is helping him to be able to recite his genealogy in order to make an inheritance claim, which he wouldn’t need to do if he didn’t plan on continuing to live. I do believe it has been interpreted in terms of mystery cult initiation, though I can’t recall any details about who would have authored something like that. Jens-Peter Schjødt has written a lot about initiations and ritual, but I don’t know if he covered that poem specifically. I recommend looking into him if you can.

If by “sacrifice” you mean in a sense of like, dedicating the rest of one’s life to a deity then yeah, that is at least realistic and may be an accurate description of the “wife” of Freyr in Ǫgmundar þáttr dýtts, part of Saint Olaf’s saga, who was ritually married to an idol of Freyr and accompanied it on processions. I don’t really see any argument to be made that this would be done for a vǫlva other than as a student or apprentice. To be “enraptured” in service to someone would absolutely be considered argr, I would tend to think far more so than doing seiðr itself. “Loss of control” is perhaps more central in the set of things associated with being argr than anything else.

Something being argr doesn’t mean that it’s bad. I mean, the people who used the term in the sagas would have disagreed with that statement, but I’m saying it now. The assignment of that argr designation, at least as we are able to see it, comes from the perspective of the aristocratic land-owning class. If our textual sources are correct, in the Viking age there were chieftains and petty kings who were also seiðmenn, so the situation regarding ergi in the sagas seems to reflect a change over those several hundred years (which is hardly surprising). See this post for more about my thoughts on ergi: https://thorraborinn.tumblr.com/post/185767861973/the-social-role-of-sei%C3%B0r-and-sei%C3%B0folk-as. It’s actual function isn’t in its lexical meaning but in its being used for social control and reinforcement or assertion of social hierarchy. Remember that yeah, it was “shameful” for a man to do seiðr, but we only know that because of all the men who did seiðr.

I’m not sure how much gender roles varied but they probably varied more in terms of how fluid those gender identities or assignments were. The example that’s probably been beat to death by now is Saxo saying that Starkatherus (Starkaðr), a heathen from Denmark, went to Sweden and was disgusted by how “unmanly” their rituals were (which according to Saxo involved cross-dressing but if we look to comparative world religions we do see examples of ritual specialists actually completely changing gender, whether to the other of a binary pair or to something outside of a binary, in some cases perhaps even only during the ritual). Given that Frö- placenames (it’s hard or impossible to tell if a place is named for Freyja rather than Freyr; on the other hand some are securely for Freyr and definitely not for Freyja) are more common in Sweden then Denmark, if Saxo’s account reflects anything to do with reality, then yeah we might see some correspondence between Freyja-worship and nonbinary and/or non-rigid gender formulations, though I’m not sure if it’s possible to determine the relationship between these two variables though. I also don’t see any reason why Óðinn couldn’t also be associated with egalitarian gender relations or nonbinary or fluid gender identities, other than that he also was worshiped specifically by a particular class of patriarchal monarchs. It’s not clear that his worship was exclusive to them, and we also don’t know that the seið-phobia of Haraldr hárfagri and Eiríkr blóðøx was always a feature of that class of people. In the post I linked to, what I describe as class antagonism between patriarchal aristocracy and seiðfólk is not necessarily a historical antagonism, just a dynamic antagonism during that particular period leading up to the end of heathenry.

[vuelie-frost]

rambling on Show Yourself

Because I’m at work and can’t seem to move on with my emotions until I get this out of my system.  I’m intrigued because Ahtohallan has been described in the art book leak as “menacing” and Elsa “goes too far” in its depths. It’s gorgeous and meaningful, but my hypothesis is that this is where Elsa is tempted to “lose herself” to the allure of magic.  And what’s FASCINATING is because this is the setting for Show Yourself, the self-actualization song for Elsa. This should be a safe place for her, but it’s not totally.  In her waters deep and true 

Lie the answers and a path for you

Dive down deep into her sound

But not too far or you’ll be drowned It’s becoming more evident that Elsa’s been feeling torn between the part of her that’s human & the part of her that’s magic. Some balance of both is going to be required for her to find- too far in any direction betrays her identity.  But let’s ALSO talk about how the whole movie she’s listening to this voice calling to her and she finally heeds its call, and cries out to it in Ahtohallan, asking for it to show itself. 

Are you the one I’ve been looking for all of my life? This isn’t limited to the timeframe of the movie- this is a longing and emptiness she’s felt for all of her 24 years. The siren is initially unwelcome in her head, but she grows curious over the course of “Into the Unknown.” Wondering if this is the auditory confirmation that’s she’s been missing something.  And this doesn’t retcon the first movie. Elsa was so hyperfocused on becoming queen, protecting Anna, concealing her abilities, and not feeling any emotion that she had zero fortitude to engage with these questions. If she did feel a longing her whole life, it was quickly snuffed out or ignored while she was younger. I think we all can relate to something we put in the back of our heads in youth, only for it to come back later & bite us in the ass. If you reference Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs in psychology, you need certain foundational obligations met in order to progress toward self-actualization. I don’t know yet what the voice is, if it’s a manifestation of Elsa’s inner monologue or an actual entity, but it doesn’t matter. She’s reaching her full potential & purpose in this song. This couldn’t have happened without the first movie NOR the 3 years in between the films constructing the steps for her to rise upon. Some say 3 years is too little time for the girls to have together- I think time is a terrible way to gauge healing. Who are any of us to assume the road in between. Jen Lee (I think it was her) said that there are still issues for the sisters to work out- so the 3 years, in a sense, haven’t been enough. But they’ve served as the time Elsa needed to find her footing again. You are the one you’ve been waiting for. And now, the climax of my feelings (aka where the key change in the song continues to give me goosebumps): When Iduna sings “Show yourself,” she’s not singing at the voice- she’s asking it of Elsa.

Admittedly I don’t know the specifics of Iduna’s role in the movie. I’ve remained far away from plot points and want to be surprised when I see it next week (!!) This twisting of the words’ meaning initially feels like a very new-age concept, this whole “you are the only person you need,” but I think that’s a misrepresentation of what’s happening. Elsa knows she needs other people. Despite years and years of somewhat-chosen isolation, she’s accepted that she’s not meant to live in solitude.  I posit instead it’s a sentiment for Elsa to espouse her purpose. Show yourself that there isn’t “someone else” out there for you to emulate. Show yourself that this is your unique vocational calling, which was written in the stars before you were born. Elsa sings about finding out the reason she was born. Not the reason she was born with powers, but the reason SHE exists in this world as a whole cocktail of the mortal and the magic. They’re two parts to one whole and unable to fissure. There has to be some potential she’s been missing, some larger part of the universe that thought to trickle a bit of ice magic into one of its humans. It’s not a party trick or convenient way to create a skating rink. It has something to do with the framework of nature. She’s always been a force, a spiritual character by virtue of her connection to ice. Why her? Why her? Ahtohallan tempts her to lose herself to magic (which might happen, and I suspect it’s accidental) but it’s also a place of answers. She’s been embracing her human side for her whole life, sometimes white-knuckling herself to not express her powers. Here is one place that answers the call of her magic. She finds belonging. Wouldn’t you feel the same?  (Compare this song to Monster from the Broadway play where she actually considers suicide as a solution to the broken, dangerous human she perceives herself to be and... it’s just a waterworks fest.) I’ll probably write more later, I’m too emotionally exhausted at this song to write more for now, but those are my reactions. Just... wow. She’s come so far.