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sixth-light · 2 months

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Two new WoT theories about Galad, one Watsonian and one Doylistic.

Doylistic: People super underestimate what a minor character Galad actually is, probably because Sanderson promotes him in ToM/AMoL. His first PoV in the RJ books is the KoD prologue, and otherwise he only appears on-page 1) when Rand visits Caemlyn, 2) when Egwene and Nynaeve go to the White Tower, 3) the infamous quarterstaff duel, and 4) when Elayne and Nynaeve run into him in Samara and he's become a Surprise Whitecloak. Everything else is people talking about him! Given the repeated hints he's romantically interested in Egwene and/or Nynaeve that go absolutely nowhere, plus at least one prophecy/viewing that does the same, I think that RJ may have rejigged his role in the story around TFoH.

He's a goldmine of interesting connections to main characters (Rand, Elayne, Egwene) that don't pay off, and when he does take centre stage in ToM it's about his relationship with Morgase (established, significant to him, but SHE is quite a minor character) and a new enemies-to-allies arc with Perrin which...comes out of absolutely nowhere if we're being honest. Perrin already had a Whitecloak to have an enemies-to-allies arc with! He didn't need another one. Justice for Dain Bornhald. RJ kinda moved away from the Arthuriana stuff by mid-series and I think Galad, Walking Arthurian Archetype, suffered from that.

Watsonian: I will make it super-clear that I think everything that follows is because RJ simply wasn't thinking about Galad that hard outside of his role as the Galahad archetype. NEVERTHELESS.

As @butterflydm noted elsewhere, there's not a lot of reason for Galad to be at the White Tower (much less to argue to stay there when Elayne leaves, as he does) and the more I think about it...for someone who is nearly 30, he's extremely adrift from all the normal markers of adulthood and status in his culture. Morgase doesn't appear to have given him any significant responsibilities within Andor, even though he's treated otherwise as her son. He doesn't seem to have inherited estates from Tigraine or Taringail that he could be administering (a la Gareth Bryne in retirement in TFoH). He's arguably in line to be High Seat of either Mantear or Damodred, or even a candidate for the throne of Cairhien, but he's not apparently considered for any of those. Readers are often surprised at how old he is because he's presented as equivalent to Elayne and Gawyn, literal teenagers not yet old enough when the books start to take up their future responsibilities outside of the emergency situations that later occur. Notably, although Galad expresses clear romantic interest in multiple women through the series he's not married or a parent, though again he's more than old enough. (That last is definitely a Galahad-archetype thing.)

So my "canon doesn't support it but canon leaves room for it" new theory is that this is actually on purpose, because like spare sons of royalty before him he's an incredibly tempting target for conspiracies, especially out of Cairhien. He has a close and loving bond with Morgase but she is very politically pragmatic and likely wouldn't want to put him in a situation where he could become the focus of plotting like that. And also...he would righteously report every plot to her unless and until someone managed to convince him that Doing The Thing, whatever it was, was actually the morally correct course of action. Valda achieves this pretty quickly, so it's clearly a possibility!

So, to sum up: Galad is unmarried, uncommitted, and available to be sent to the Tower in TGH because he's too much of a political hot potato to do anything else with. If he was bonded by an Aes Sedai that would probably be a perfect long-term career for him from a political perspective. Ironically puts him in a position, after all these years of Morgase protecting him, to be radicalised by Valda.

#wheel of time #wot book spoilers #galad damodred #he's the perfect character for projection because he's canonically hot and morally pure and an amazing swordsman and loves his mum #and there's...very little else there #I do sincerely appreciate that RJ was like 'oh wow Galahad would be EXTREMELY ANNOYING TO DEAL WITH wouldn't he'#but there's still not a lot else there on the page

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pollenallergie · 4 months

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cassie my love, i need more of this in my life. getting high post-sex w older!tom just seems soooooo <3

So…. it took me an embarrassing amount of months to get back to you on this but um…. here you go… this took a turn??? and then a swift turn back in the other direction???? so um…. horny whiplash warning??? ig????

Tagging @ali-r3n bc she asked me to and also @ghosttownwherenoonegoes because Eri helped me out with a lot of the british specifics (the britifics??) so thank youuuu

Okay, okay, without further ado:

Your First Introduction to Older!Tom’s Post-Sex Ritual

(except I can’t stick to a prompt)

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warnings: Nudity, allusions to sex and also some *ehm* inappropriate touching, reader has boobies and a bajina.

18+ only!! MDNI!! Minors do not read this!!! This is not for you!!!! This is for adults only!!!

“Fuuuuuck,” Tom exhales as he lays on his back, staring up at your bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” you agree weakly, still slowly drifting down from cloud nine. Tom chuckles at your response as he sits up and eases out of bed. You smile at the sweet sound of his laughter, though you don’t immediately register the movement; still just a bit too far gone.

When Tom struts past your line of sight, still naked as the day he was born, on his way out of the room, that movement manages to catch your attention finally. You frown, at first, because you were already missing him, and then because you were disappointed in yourself for already missing him. Casual, this is just casual, keep it casual, you remind yourself. Tom doesn’t do the whole dating thing, you know that, so keep things platonic and casual. Don’t scare him off.

Suddenly, you’re pulled out of your internal self-lecture by the sound of a distant, but not distant enough, crash and Tom exclaiming, “shit!”

You sit up as quickly as you’re able to, your whole body still feeling pretty limp and boneless after Tom spent the better half of the evening pulling as many orgasms from you as he could. Once you’re upright, you call out, “Tom? Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Shit! Er, yeah, just, erm- hang on,” Tom calls back. You hear more shuffling and clattering from the other room, and then you hear the undeniable creak in the floorboards from Tom’s heavy-footed steps as he approaches the bedroom. Soon enough, he appears in the doorway, still shamelessly nude but now with a joint in hand and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Have you got a lighter or, er, matches or anything like that? I tried looking ‘round for either of ‘em, but erm… Yeah, I couldn’t find anything,” he asks, his cheeks blushing as he carries on.

“Is that what all that crashing was?” You ask amusedly, failing to stifle the grin that curls on your lips.

“Yeah… I erm, I might’ve knocked some of yer shit over,” Tom admits sheepishly.

“Tommy,” you say, your tone a perfect mix of amused, exasperated, disappointed, and scolding.

“But, but!! But I put it all back, and none of it’s broken. Swear on me granda’s grave,” he promises.

You can’t help but roll your eyes fondly at that before chastising him a bit, good-naturedly, of course, “Don’t swear on that poor man’s grave. Knowing you, you probably already put him through enough when he was alive.”

Tom chuckles, “Fair enough,” he concedes before raising up the joint to draw your attention back to it, and then simply asking, “Lighters? Matches?”

“Er, right. Lighters. Kitchen, the counter to the left of the fridge, top drawer, it’s my catch-all drawer, there should be a few lighters in there, take your pick,” you inform him.

Tom grins at your response as he makes his way over to the bed. His grin widens tenfold and becomes much more smug when he notices your gaze flit down toward his cock, which gracelessly flops around with his strides, still limp and spent from your previous activities. When he reaches your side of the bed, he places his hand down on the mattress near your thigh, using it to support his weight as he leans over and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. He holds his lips there for a few moments, softly inhaling the residual scent of your shampoo as he does so, deciding to allow you both to enjoy this moment of peace without even being truly aware that that’s what he’s doing.

When Tom finally breaks away, he leans down to whisper into your ear, “Don’t get any ideas, love,” he warns cheekily, “You and that heavenly little place between your thighs milked my cock dry; don’t think I’ll be able to get it up again anytime soon,” he finishes teasingly before kissing you again, this time pressing his lips against your cheek to punctuate his teasing.

You scoff and stifle a smile as you push him away. Cocky little bastard, you think.

Tom holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away from the bed, joint still clutched between his index and middle finger and a smug grin still on his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, baby. It’s yer fault for bein’ greedy,” he teases as he walks off into the other room, still refusing to put on clothes.

God, how are you supposed to keep your feelings in check when he treats you like that? He’s just one of your mates, and yet he treats you better than many of the dickheads you’ve dated in the past ever had, better than some of your mates’ current partners treat them, even.

As if he can sense that you’ve begun to spiral from the other room, Tom calls out to you, effectively pulling you out of your fretting, “Ay, me lover, think I’m gonna light up and make meesen a bacon butty. You want anything while I’m out ‘ere? Water? Bacon butty? Some wine? This Crunchie you’ve got hidden in your cupboard? Actually, wait, nevermind, I call dibs on the Crunchie.”

“Maybe some wa- Hey, wait, Tom, no! Leave that Crunchie alone! I’ve been saving that!”

Of course, you frantically try to get up to rescue your precious candy bar from Tom’s thieving grasp. However, your legs are still a little unsteady, which forces you to walk to the kitchen looking like a newborn giraffe, all while Tom’s grating (read: annoyingly sexy) chuckle fills the space of your flat.

You find him cock out, lit joint pursed between his lips, standing in front of your stove, hands on his hips, heating up a frying pan for his bacon, and, annoyingly, nowhere near your candy stash.

“I haven’t got any bacon, so, it’ll just be a butty, I’m afraid. No use heating up a pan for that,” you grumble as you walk over to the cupboard where you stash your candy. Might as well snag that Crunchie before he can.

At the sound of your voice, Tom turns around and looks at you, bemused, albeit amused as well, and says, “the fuck are you doing out ‘ere on those wobbly li’l legs, Bambi?”

His words come out a bit muffled, thanks to the joint perched between his lips.

“Thought you were gonna steal my Crunchie,” you shrug and admit sheepishly through a mouthful of chocolate and honeycomb. At that, Tom barks out a laugh, which quickly morphs into a cough from accidentally inhaling during said laugh. He promptly removes the joint from between his lips, ashes it in the makeshift ashtray he’s made out of foil, clears his throat, and goes back to smoking.

“Jesus, you’re a strange one, aren’t you,” he remarks fondly, his voice slightly hoarse from coughing, as he begins to gather the ingredients for his sandwich.

“I’m very serious about my Crunchies,” you reply, half-jokingly.

Tom chuckles as he rifles through your fridge.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that now,” he replies, pausing to inhale before continuing to speak on his exhale, “Sit down at the table then, yeah? I’ll get you some water and make us some toasties if that sounds alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay,” you agree awkwardly as you sit down nearby at your kitchen table, watching him as he works on preparing the food.

Soon enough, he comes over to you with a glass of water and that same cheeky smile.

God, that smile will get you in so much trouble someday, won’t it?

“What’s that grin for?” You ask as he sets down the water, though you can’t help but reciprocate it with a smile of your own.

He shrugs before leaning over to press his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss when you needily take the initiative to deepen it, parting your lips eagerly for him. Far too soon for your liking, though, he’s breaking the kiss, pulling away just slightly to look into your eyes with his lovely brown ones.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really, really great tits?” Tom asks, his voice low, sultry, and serious, but you can see the mischief swimming in his gaze.

You roll your eyes and scoff at his question, leaning back in your seat, though anyone could see the amused smile you fail to keep from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, you have like a million times since we started hooking up,” you reply with a chuckle.

“What can I say? I’m a man of honesty,” Tom teases, making you huff out a laugh; he smiles at the sound of it before holding up the joint in your line of sight and asking, “Do you want to take a few tokes ‘a this while I finish up our sandwiches?”

You nod and purse your lips, and, as if it were already second nature to him, Tom slots the joint between your lips.

Instead of immediately going off to work on the food, he sticks around to watch you take your first few puffs, still leaning down so he’s just about at eye level with you, his hands boxing you in on either side, one palm pressed onto the tabletop and the other holding onto the back of your chair. Meanwhile, you sit diagonally in your seat, facing him and maintaining eye contact as you smoke. The haze of your high slowly but surely begins to set in, lowering your eyelids to a relaxed level and easing your posture. Between your new relaxed state, the sex hair you’re sporting, the fact that you smell like you’ve just got done having sex, the fact that you’re completely naked right now, and the fact that you’re, well, you, Tom thinks you might be one of the prettiest things he’s ever fucking seen in his whole life.

But he mustn’t forget about the toasties!

So, he plants one last kiss on your cheek because, hey, he fucking feels like it. Then, he surprises you by kneeling in front of you to say goodbye to ‘his girls’ (your tits).

“I’ll see you ladies in a minute, yeah? Be good while I’m gone, try not to miss me too much,” he whispers to them, making you giggle.

“Tom, you’re so fucking wei-” That (affectionate) jab immediately dies on your tongue the moment he leans forward and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, engulfing it in the warm, wet heat of his mouth and applying just enough pressure to make a heated, buzzing sensation spread beneath your skin as he sucks on it. Then, just as you feel that pleasant sensation spread down through your core, Tom’s pulling away, but only so he can give your other, neglected nipple the same attention.

Small mewls and moans spill out from between your parted lips as the long forgotten joint, still clutched between your fingers, hovers over your table, where the ashes fall from it carelessly, sure to leave a mark. Once Tom’s had his fill, he places a final kiss to the center of your chest before pulling away completely and leaving to go finish preparing your sandwiches, waltzing back over to the stove as if he hadn’t just done, well, that.

“Tom… what the fuck was that?” You ask breathlessly. Still too bewildered to notice the damage the neglected joint is doing to the surface of your table.

Tom has to stifle a cheeky, mischievous grin as he feigns nonchalance, shrugs, and simply replies, “Just giving the ladies a proper goodbye, love. They get nervy when I leave ‘em just out of the blue. You know, separation anxiety, and all that?” Tom tuts, “Poor girls. Think maybe you should start keeping a couple pictures of me in your bra, one in each cup, so they can still see me when I’m not around.”

“Tommy, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as he dishes up the toasties onto plates and turns off the stovetop.

“Ridiculous…ly fit? I know, baby, but why don’t you finish that glass of water and eat some of that sandwich before you go jumpin’ me bones again, yeah? Gotta stay fed and hydrated,” He teases you as he brings the plates over to the table.

“Oh, and, you’re ashing on yer table, love,” Tom informs you with a kiss on the head as he sets the plates down and goes to grab a wet rag to wipe the table off with, along with the makeshift ashtray.

“Shit!” you exclaim as you lift the joint away from the table. You hand it to him when he gets back, trading it off for the rag so you can wipe up the mess you’ve made whilst he gets everything else sorted.

Tom tuts and shakes his head, feigning disapproval, “that’s the devil’s lettuce, it’ll do that to you.”

“Shut up, Tommifer,” you reply, feigning annoyance all while sporting an amused smile. He chuckles at that, though he also appreciates the fact that you neglected to call him ‘Thomas,’ his full first name, when you very easily could’ve.

“Eat yer toastie, me birdie,” He says as he nudges you teasingly, “sooner you finish it, sooner I can get back between those thighs, yeah?”