#also this does not come from a place of attraction to gale

[verai-marcel]

Rough and Tumble (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x GN!Reader / Halsin x GN!Reader, 18+)

Of course. Of course it was bound to happen. Me? Write smut for a new fandom? You knew I couldn't stay away.

Summary: You thought Astarion had rejected you, so you went elsewhere for pleasure. Turns out, you just hadn’t piqued his interest yet.

Author’s Notes: Have I beaten the game? No, when I wrote this fic, I was barely in the middle of Act 2. Am I romancing either Astarion or Halsin in my save file? Nope, I went for Gale. Am I making shit up about these characters just because I want to get railed by both? Fuck yes, absolutely. Buckle in for some wild, made-up characterization, all because I want to write super horny fanfic. (And because certain people have bullied me into writing this…) For the timeline, this takes place during the tiefling party in Act I, but forget the real timeline of character romances and just play along. Also, if you’re not familiar with my writing, I try to be as vague as possible about reader description in my gender neutral fics so that anyone can enjoy them. However, I do have a size kink in this one, so imagine you’re a smaller hero this time around. 

Tags: gender neutral reader, halsin x reader, size kink, rough sex, doggy style, gentle dom, some after care, astarion x reader, humiliation, degradation, name calling, sloppy seconds, cock gagging

Word Count: 4,545

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

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“It’s not you, you understand, it’s me.” A pause. “I have standards.”

Having been shut down so brutally, you shrugged and walked away, unwilling to partake in any further conversation with the infuriatingly attractive vampire.

It’s not like you even said anything about sleeping with him. He just kept talking, like he does, as if he didn’t want to listen to you. You wondered why you had let him bite you the first time, and the second, and the third time. You cursed your weakness to his not-so-subtle glances. 

He’d look over at you, his lips twitching as if he was stopping himself from saying something. So you would ask if he was hungry. And he’d give you this look. ‘No no, I’m fine,’ he’d say, looking away and frowning, making it apparent that he was not fine. You, in your infinite dumbassery, would immediately cave in and offer up your neck. Was it your need to take care of anyone you took under your wing? Was it your stupid bleeding heart?

You knew your little motley crew only shared one thing in common: a need to get the tadpole out of your skulls. But if anything brought people together, it was facing a common obstacle.

Except that not everyone shared your need to do the greater good. You had been making a name for yourself as an honorable mercenary, taking only the jobs that aligned with your sense of morality. Not everyone liked that, especially with the number of assassins that had been sent after you. But that was before you were taken captive aboard the mind flayer ship. Wrong place, wrong time.

Nothing you could do about that now. Face forward and carry on, that has always been your way. There was no reason to change that.

You found yourself walking towards Halsin, standing tall on the outskirts of the camp. He was quietly enjoying himself, a mug in his large hand. He called out your name gently as you approached.

“You do not look as cheerful as I expected on a night like this,” he said, his eyes roving over your face. “What is the matter?”

You sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“It must be something if it is making you frown so.” He stepped closer and put a hand on your shoulder. “Come, let us walk for a bit. Nature will bring perspective.”

You followed him quietly away from camp, away from the crowd and into the forest. Soon, only the peaceful sound of the trees rustling in the wind and insects chirping into the night surrounded you, the party far away. Halsin’s hand wandered from your shoulder to your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. It was a soothing feeling, and you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth, even if you didn’t need it on this balmy summer night.

“I don’t know what goes on in his head,” you blather suddenly. “I thought he was coming onto me, but then he wasn’t, and while I was trying to figure out what he wanted, he said I was below his standards…”

You hadn't realized that you had stopped walking until you felt Halsin’s touch on your temples, gently massaging your headache away.

“Sounds like he didn’t know what to do with a gift like you,” he said casually.

Your eyes darted up to meet his. You were surprised, but pleasantly so, by the veneration in his gaze. A slight shift, and he was closer to you than he had ever come, the heat from his body radiating like a warm campfire. Cozy and safe, you had a sudden urge to lay your head on his chest and cuddle up to the big druid.

His fingers slowly traced the curve of your ears. “If there is anything, anything at all, that I can do for you, I will gladly do so.”

I want you to crush me—

You shook your head. “I’m alright. I just needed… this.” Leaning your head against his chest, you took a deep breath. He smelled of the forest, of the earth, of nature itself. Your nose twitched. There was a hint of something more, something primal in his scent that stirred you.

Halsin called out your name again. You looked up, and he looked at you with concern this time.

“I’m alright,” you repeated. You thought back to what he said. “What do you mean, didn’t know what to do with me?”

He smiled. “Perhaps he is flustered. Internally, of course. Gods forbid he show it. So he pushed you away once he felt conflicted.”

“Conflicted about what?”

“About manipulating you, of course.”

You frowned.

Halsin touched the two most recent little scars on your neck. Astarion had a tendency to bite a different spot every time, to prevent permanent scarring, he had said.

“I’m not…” you trailed off. Yes, you knew he had manipulated you into letting him bite you the first and second time. The third time… part of you had wanted it too. That time, he had snuck into your bedroll, holding you from behind. You could feel his fangs skim across the skin of your shoulder before he bit into the soft flesh behind your clavicle. His hand was wrapped around your mouth, stifling your groan as he fed, and much to your shame, you had felt the beginning of pleasure warming your lower body. You broke away from him before he could finish, turning back to him to apologize. But he was already getting up, walking away without a single word. You had caught him giving you one last look, a regretful frown, and you had assumed that he lamented having his meal cut short.

“Alright, maybe he is a little manipulative," you conceded. "But I know that."

"And yet you keep giving into him," Halsin said, without any judgment. 

You hung your head. "Yes."

Halsin tipped your chin with two fingers until you were looking up at him. His smile was understanding and tender. "It's alright to care for someone and give into their needs, as long as you take care of your own as well."

You blinked. "But I want…" Trailing off, your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Like it or not, you had been thrust into the role of the unwilling leader of this ragtag band. What you needed didn’t exactly align with what the team needed from you. What the others needed you to be was a commander, controlling the situation ahead of you.

But what you wanted, needed, was someone to command you, just for a little while, so you didn’t have to constantly think three steps ahead. You looked up at Halsin and felt a sense of trust. He was older, wiser, and most importantly, willing.

"Go on," he coaxed. 

Swallowing, you pushed down your fear and spoke your true desires. "I want to let someone else be in control, just for a little while. I want…" You paused, taking a deep breath, drawing in the courage to continue. "I need to be fucked. Not made love to, not a gentle roll in the sack. I need something… more."

Looking up, you saw a desirous glow in Halsin's gaze. He considered your vague request for a moment before giving you a soft smile. "Is this something you'd like me to do for you?" 

You thought of the large druid holding you down, his hands around your wrists beside your head as he fucked you from behind like a wild animal, growling into your ear. His voice rumbled through your body. Take all of me, little one. Give me your pleasure until it overwhelms your luscious body. 

You blinked and the mental image vanished, but not the desire. "Yes," you answered breathlessly. "Please."

Halsin gently stroked your cheek. “Of course.” He leaned in, nuzzling your temple with his nose. He softly whispered, “if I get too rough, say ‘honey wine’, and I’ll stop.” He pulled away to look you in the eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you said.

He gave you one last tender smile before he straightened his stance and took a step back. “Good,” he said in his arch druid voice, powerful, commanding. “Now, strip for me.”

You swallowed and began to take off all of your clothes at a languid pace, letting him enjoy the moment as each article of clothing came off your body. He circled around you, a small smile on his lips as his eyes roved up and down your body.

As you finally stepped out of your underwear and kicked it aside, you felt strangely free. Anyone could walk up and find you two. Yet he was fully clothed, while you were naked to the elements.

And it felt good.

Halsin placed his fingers on your belly and walked around you, his touch leaving a warm trail along your skin. When he was behind you, he stopped. His hand splayed across your lower abdomen and pulled you close.

You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your bare ass. His leather breeches rubbed against your skin. His chest, though covered in his druid clothes, was warm and comforting. And because he towered over you, he could easily kiss the top of your head.

Taking one of your hands with his free one, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them. 

“Show me how you pleasure yourself,” he said, letting go of your hand. He kept you tight against his chest.

With your hands, you began to touch yourself how you liked, teasing yourself at first before pleasuring yourself, harder and faster, until you were panting, your head lolling back against his shoulder. Your knees were beginning to wobble, and you grabbed his thigh for support. Gods, he was like a tree trunk, thick and solid. Your moans were growing louder, and you covered your own mouth in shame as you continued to touch yourself. Your hand was slick from your arousal, the wet sounds echoing around you. Just a little more…

“Stop.”

You whined, but did as he bade.

He suddenly let you go, and you nearly fell to your knees if not for him grabbing your arm and keeping you upright. You could hear him undoing the laces of his breeches.

Then you felt him rest his shaft against the curve of your ass. He pulled on your hand and wrapped it around him, smearing the slick from your palm.

“That’s it. Stroke me.” His voice had taken on a deeper timbre. The voice of command.

You did as he said, running your hand up and down his cock. It was hot, hard as iron, yet felt like velvet to the touch. And so girthy as well. You could not wait to take him inside of you.

So focused on pleasuring him, you barely noticed when he began to prepare you, one finger slicked up and sliding in and out of you. He added a second, and a third, all the while caressing your body with his other hand, his lips never far from your skin. You stroked him faster, gripped him harder, but he touched your wrist and slowed you down. 

“Patience, little one,” he murmured. “Don’t end this before we begin.”

You nodded. 

“Good.” He placed a hand on your back and gently bent you over. “Hands behind your back. Grip your forearms.”

You did so, and he grabbed your arms like the reins of a horse. He pulled his fingers from you, and you whimpered, but soon they were replaced by the tip of his cock.

Halsin grunted, and his hips shot forward, filling you full of him in one hard stroke.

Before you could scream, his hand was over your mouth. 

“You don’t want everyone knowing how well you submit, do you?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Good. I’m going to let go of your mouth now. But stay quiet.” He gripped your arms with both hands now and began to move his hips. The first few strokes were slow and steady as he gauged how well you were opening up to his invasion. Then he sped up, dominating you with his strength, his hips slapping against your ass.

You couldn’t help yourself, you moaned and whimpered with each thrust.

“Can’t stay quiet, can you?” he gritted out, slowing his pistoning. Pulling out of you, he waved his hand and a soft bed of moss appeared on the ground. “On your hands and knees.”

As soon as you fell into position, he climbed over you, his chest against your back, one arm wrapped around your shoulder. He stuffed his cock inside of you once more with a deep growl, almost… bear-like?

You turned your head to look back at him.

His eyes were glowing a fiery yellow, a feral snarl on his face. 

“Halsin,” you whispered in awe, lust, tinged with a bit of fear.

He picked up on it immediately, the caring elf that he was. He took a breath, and the glow in his eyes began to fade.

“No, no!” you panicked, grabbing onto him and clutching at him like he was a life preserver in an icy cold ocean. You didn’t want him to go easy on you, didn’t want him to simmer down just because you were a little bit shocked. You wanted all of him, all that he could give. “Take me, please!”

The glow stopped fading. “Take you, little one?”

“Yes, please,” you begged. “Please.”

His only response was a low growl as his eyes glowed once more and his hips moved in a measured rhythm, his pace steadily increasing until you could barely draw a breath between each stroke.

“Such a good little lover,” he murmured. His lips caressed the shell of your ear as he rutted into you, the dichotomy of his soft moans to his hard thrusts making you lose yourself to this heavenly euphoria. The fevered trance of being fucked without having to think about anything at all was so freeing. You devolved into a mass of writhing and moaning, unable to control your volume any longer. The coil of desire within you was growing tighter, wound up with every thrust, every low, beastly grunt that Halsin gave.

You felt your hands and arms buckle, and you sank your chest into the soft moss beneath you, your ass still up in the air. The cool vegetation against your skin contrasted with the heat from the druid pounding into you from behind.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Finish what you started before.”

Gleefully you reached down and stroked yourself eagerly, your body tensing as the ecstasy built higher and higher. You clenched around Halsin’s thick cock, and he rumbled with satisfaction. He sped up, driving himself into your body with wild abandon.

Your climax ran through you like lightning. One moment, you were at the top of the mountain. The next, you were free falling, pleasure guiding your wings as you soared with rapture. You spasmed below the large man, crying out into his arm. He held you tighter as he fucked you through your orgasm until your knees gave way and you collapsed onto the ground.

You felt like a blissful ooze, boneless and relaxed, but Halsin was speeding up, his breath hitching, his moans becoming deeper, more… animalistic.

“Do you want my seed within you?” he asked in nearly a growl.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, excited by the prospect. “Give me every last drop.”

He roared and pinned you to the ground, his hips jerking against your backside as he poured his essence into you. With one last push, he stayed inside of you for as long as he could, keeping part of his weight off you with one arm so he didn’t crush you. But the warmth, the comfort of his body felt so very nice. Like he was shielding you from the rest of the world for just this one moment, and you desperately needed it.

Halsin groaned, and he pulled away from you. Turning over, you looked to see him holding his arms, taking a deep breath.

“Halsin?”

“It’s alright. When my blood runs hot, my wildform… is harder to control.” He backed away. “I need to run around for a bit, until I’ve calmed down.” He looked up at you. “But I will wait until you are ready to return.”

You smiled. He was kind, thinking that you, an adventurer in your own right, savior of the grove, needed a guard. But it was sweet of him to be so considerate. “I’ll be alright.” You reached up and touched his arm. “Go, run wild. I’ll see you back in camp.”

You watched as Halsin transformed. No matter how many times you saw his bear form, it always took your breath away. The power, the pure might behind that fur. You had seen him tear goblins limb from limb with that power. But right now, he gently nuzzled your face before bounding away, his mighty roar echoing in the night. He exuded elation as he loped into the forest, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. It was cute.

Walking back to your pile of clothes, you leaned over to pick them up. Just as your hand gripped the fabric, you sensed something, or someone, in the trees. You let go of your clothes and grabbed a pebble nearby. With effortless speed, you flung the pebble into a nearby tree.

“Ouch. What was that for?”

“Get down here, Astarion.”

The pale elf gracefully leapt down from the tree and casually sauntered towards you. The only thing giving away his nonchalant look was the fact that the front of his pants looked a bit stretched.

He gave you a withering look as his gaze wandered up and down your naked body. He paid particular attention to the trail of Halsin’s seed dripping down your thighs.

“I never took you to be so… docile,” he said, a sly smirk on his lips. “Who knew you had it in you.”

You crossed your arms. “Had what in me?”

“Well, another man’s seed, for one.” He chuckled at his own comment. “But I was more impressed by your… willingness… to submit.”

His eyes flashed with a beguiling look and he stepped closer. Standing your ground, you ignored the flush of heat in your nether region as you stared back at him defiantly, until he was face to face with you. Damn his height, forcing you to tilt your head up.

“You should have told me what you needed, darling,” he purred. “I would have indulged you… for a price.”

You glared at him.

“Come now, don’t be offended. You’ve already given yourself to me for free. It would be gauche of me not to return the favor.”

Blood. He wanted to feed. The small puncture marks on your neck pulsed. And so did lower parts of you. But your annoyance with him made its way to your mouth first.

“I thought you had standards, Astarion.”

“Oh, but I do. However, I don’t mind lowering them for a little fun.”

You seethed for a moment. “Did it occur to you that maybe you’re below my standards?”

His eyes widened a bit at your vicious banter. Then he smiled knowingly and your stomach dropped. You knew from his look that he had something on you. He leaned in until his lips were a mere breath away from yours. “You think I didn’t notice the scent of your arousal the last time I bit you?”

You swallowed. Shit, he knew.

His eyes glanced down at his last bite mark. “You’ve already proven yourself to be my little fang slut. Why don’t you become my whore as well? I’ll pay for my meal with your pleasure.”

You should have been offended. Insulted. Outraged.

However, your body, relaxed after having been thoroughly fucked, betrayed you in the worst way. You flushed with carnal heat, your eyes dilated, and your breath hitched. And Astarion picked up on every last iota of your reaction.

“Well, looks like your body is much more honest,” he said in a low voice. His eyes glanced down at your lips for a moment before meeting your gaze. His lips grazed yours, so light that you barely felt it.

“Kneel.” His command, in a voice so low that you felt it as a rumble from his lips to yours.

You obeyed immediately, your eyes remaining locked with his.

He patted your head condescendingly. “Good little pet,” he purred. With one hand, he deftly freed himself from his pants.

As you began to lean forward, he tutted at you. “Stay still.”

You froze.

He smirked, a little bit of fang showing as he placed his hand on your head and tilted it up slightly. “Give me your hand,” he commanded, holding out his.

You put your smaller hand in his, and he placed it at the base of his cock. It grew slightly from your touch.

“Open your mouth,” he said softly. When you did so, he guided your head to him until you had engulfed him.

“Now you may move,” he said magnanimously, and you began to pleasure him as best as you could with your limited knowledge. Your eyes went up to his for a moment before you closed them, savoring the feeling of him growing larger and harder in your mouth.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes shot open again and you looked up at him. He gazed at you fondly, similar to how one would look at a beloved pet.

Then he shoved his cock down your throat.

You gagged and tried to push away, but the hand holding your head in place would not budge. Your eyes watered and you began to choke a bit.

“Relax your throat, darling. Breathe through your nose.”

You did as he said, and began to feel a bit better, but it was still difficult, controlling your gag reflex. Soon he released you, and you coughed, bringing your hand to your throat.

“Not ready for that, I suppose,” he said as he caressed your head and looked down at you, appraising you with one long look. His eyes lingered between your legs and his nostrils flared. You turned your head away, knowing that he could smell how aroused you were, and felt a bit of shame well up in your chest.

He held his hand out to you, as if to help you stand. You didn’t question why he wanted you to do so, you just took his hand and stood, somewhat shakily.

Leisurely, he circled around you until he was behind you. His hand went up to your throat, gently stroking it up and down, slowly, a whisper of a caress punctuated by moments of pressure in your most vulnerable points. He stepped forward, his chest to your back, and took a deep breath at your neck. He let his lips linger on your skin where your blood, sped up by his touch, lay closest to the skin.

“I can feel your pulse against my lips,” he murmured against your neck. “For some reason, I keep coming back to you.” His other hand caressed your bare backside for a moment before you felt him nudging himself between your legs. He pushed slightly, spreading you open. Your body accepted him easily, as if it was waiting for him.

“My filthy little pet,” he teased. “Any normal being would be resting by now.” He slid further inside of you, making you gasp. “But you’re anything but normal, are you?”

You wanted to snap back at him, but then he gripped your hip, anchoring you in place as he pushed himself into you, all the way to the hilt. Your voice cracked, your comeback dying on your lips. You could only let out a wordless cry of surrender.

Astarion’s dark chuckle filled your ears. “Who would have guessed?” He pulled his hips back, leaving only the head inside, just to tease you. “The hero of the grove.”

He slammed back into you, chasing away your breath once more. “You’re just a deviant, aren’t you?” His words were punctuated by his thrusts, reducing you to nothing more than a quivering mess, slave to his touch. 

Your mind began to blank, and though the logical part of you screamed to keep your wits about you, another part of you screamed back: you were tired. You just wanted to be. And the pleasure he was giving you, despite his cruel words, or perhaps, because of them, was overwhelmingly good.

The grip on your throat tightened just a bit. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he was in command. He could end you with one snap. You were foolish to let him have you in such a compromising position.

The light scrap of his fangs on your skin made you gasp, your heart rate skyrocketing. Instinctively, your body knew he was a predator, and you were his prey. His tongue flicked out to lick your pulse. He trapped your arms behind your back, his arm looped at your elbows, forcing you to arch your back.

“How will your blood taste, tinged with ecstasy, I wonder,” he mused, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard him. He gripped your jaw and forced you to look up at him, His eyes, scarlet like the blood moon and twice as hypnotizing, were dilated with need. 

“Come for me, pet.”

You had no choice. You simply did as he wanted, moving your hips shamelessly, sinking down on his cock over and over until you began to feel your climax spinning towards you.

Just as that blissful tide came rising up within you, a sharp pain came down on your neck. Your brain, addled with so many things, couldn’t handle it. The sting melted into the euphoria until you couldn’t tell one from the other. 

“Astarion!” you cried, whether to beg for mercy or to beg for more, you weren’t sure.

His hips slammed into you harder and you felt him empty himself inside of you, just as he moaned against your neck.

You felt yourself falling, and wondered if it was you, or the afterglow.

Slowly, too slowly, you realized it was your body, and you braced for impact.

But it never came.

With a surprising amount of strength, Astarion held you, carefully letting you sit down on the ground. He knelt down with you, and without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He froze for a moment before awkwardly patting your back.

That was… strangely not like him, you thought. Looking up at him, you were met with a curious expression on his face. 

“Astarion?”

He blinked, and the expression was gone, replaced by his usual rakish smirk. You felt a little sad that he had put his mask back on.

“Darling. We’ll have to try that again sometime,” he said, licking the corner of his lips to catch the last drop of your blood.

You cocked your head. “Was… was it that good?”

“I’m not sure,” he said mischievously. “I’ll need another…taste… to find out.”

You closed your eyes and smiled. You knew what he meant.

I’d like to do this again.

“Any time,” you replied.

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End Notes: Throughout my writing this, I ended up doing a tiny bit of research (and by research, I mean I looked up the sex scenes on pornhub), so I hope this was at least somewhat hot for some of you. Thanks for reading!

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #nsft #astarion x GN!Reader #Halsin x GN!Reader #astarion #halsin #lemon fanfic #writing #astarion x tav #halsin x tav

[johnslittlespoon]

wait do u remember how a while ago u posted that post about how this is all brain rot but when u consider canon and buck’s potential childhood trauma u don’t think some of this stuff is in character for them? and u also wrote their characters differently in ur handjob bunk sharing fic so what are ur thoughts regarding sex for them IN canon?

i honestly see bucky as being the one who usually takes charge just cause he’s more experienced

YES i do remember! had to scroll so far but this is the post <3

i also just accidentally got kinda into my thoughts on general sex in canon in this post tonight too oops!

i flip flop on this so much i swear but it really just depends on the mood of whatever sex scene i'm writing/brainrotting about lol so apologies for my inconsistencies!

in terms of initiating sex, i think a lot of the time that falls to john just because he's so open about that sort of thing, and i think he's a lot more sex–focussed than gale even though they're both obviously head over heels and very very attracted to one another. john is more likely to drag gale off somewhere spur of the moment and drop to his knees/push gale to his knees, more likely to blatantly make eyes at him across the room or feel him up under a table; he's riskier and more obvious in his advances, he acts a lot more impulsively.

when gale initiates, it's usually a build up, stringing john along throughout the day with strategically placed comments and lingering glances on john's hands or thighs or lips, careful touches and grabs when he's sure no one else is looking, etc. more calculated, less impulsive 'oh i just got horny and i need to get john alone or i will Die' type of moments (john on the other hand– very acquainted with experiencing these moments.)

i think when they first get together/start hooking up, john does take charge because like you said, he's more experienced, so he's more confident, knows how to sweet talk gale out of his pants and into his bed and get him worked up and comfortable with him. i wouldn't say he goes so far as to dom when they're first falling into the swing of things, because i think gale is particular about control and kinda freaks out if he feels like he doesn't have any; it takes a while for him to get comfortable with feeling vulnerable in sex, and john respects that and is so very patient with him, he's happy to have gale in anyway gale will let him.

i don't think any dom/sub type of thing would be involved for a while, just a lot of figuring each other out and seeing what the other is comfortable with and what gets them most worked up. i see gale as being more comfortable giving up control to john when john is bottoming because gale feels less vulnerable when he's topping, so it's easier for him to get out of his head and let john call the shots and pace the two of them. and i don't see john as having a lot of hard nopes when it comes to sex, at least not pre–stalag, so he's generally comfortable with having or relinquishing control, with roughing up or being roughed up.

sometimes he's worked up from watching gale's pretty little waist across the pub as he talks to the others, from having to watch soft pink lips work around a toothpick, gum, rims of bottles, etc all day. if gale notices this and plays into it, a rare moment of acting up because he thinks it's hot when john gets all needy and possessive, john would definitely slip into the position of control when he finally gets gale alone, being a bit more rough than usual and manhandling gale and letting his mouth run as he fucks him.

(not sure on degrading though– i don't get the vibe gale would like anything other than some light comments like "you're so desperate, it's cute" or maybe more possessive–type degradation, like "my pretty whore" type of thing. i feel like humiliation would usually make him uncomfortable in a not–fun way, and insulting degradation would be a hard no because he gets too in his own head about it.)

i've gone so off course lol what else is new <3 but yeah in general, john being more experienced, i see him taking charge when they first start trying things together just because gale doesn't even know where to start and he's too nervous to fully initiate, but as time goes on and they get more relaxed with each other, the dynamic probably changes and there's a lot more back and forth and gale gets more confident with making demands and decisions. :^)

#but watch this continue to change from fic to fic lol #listen sometimes i start a fic a certain way and then halfway thru i'm like oh. physically just felt the dynamic shift HSDGJK #sometimes it's a single line of dialogue that does it and all of a sudden the whole course of the fic is changed #but ykw it keeps things interesting bc even i don't know where my words are going half the time! <3 #buck x bucky #buckbucky #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon asks #johnslittlespoon spicy

[multi-lefaiye]

HERE WE GO. SOME PAINFULLY SELF INDULGENT WRITING IN EDEN'S BG3 AU. in which gale sees eden's chest and experiences palpitations.

cw: suggestive, referenced mature content but nothing explicit, also a pre-op trans guy's chest being described by someone who finds his breasts very attractive if that might make any transmascs out there dysphoric.

not tagging the taglist bc i'm Embarrassed 💖 will however tentatively tag @paradoxspir1t @void-botanist @skitzo-kero @anexor and @seventhgod with no pressure from any of y'all to engage, and if you'd like me not to tag you in stuff like this in the future just lmk!

"I- Eden, what in the *hells* is on your chest?" Astarion squawks nearby, startling Gale out of his musings. All of his earlier concerns about decency and modesty go out the window as a flash of panic flares in his mind. Is something wrong with Eden? Is he hurt?

He turns around, eyes wide, just as the rest of the party does the same. All at once, all eyes are on the half-naked tiefling, who seems uncharacteristically mortified to be receiving this much attention. Gale pays no mind to Eden's clear embarrassment, instead tracing his eyes over the purple-skinned man's body to make sure he wasn't injured, or sick, or dying, or-

Gale's racing thoughts come screeching to a halt as he realizes two things in quick succession. The first: Eden's torso is, mercifully, free of any fresh injuries or lingering, festering wounds. He has a curious mark on his side that Gale can't quite identify at a glance, but it doesn't seem to be actively killing him, so Gale leaves it be for now.

The second: Eden has breasts.

If Gale were thinking logically in this moment, he would scoff at his own surprise. Of course Eden has breasts. Most humanoids do, even though not all of them are obvious. Sure, until now, he'd known Eden to be relatively flat-chested, but that doesn't mean anything when he's only ever seen his new friend in full armor. It's ridiculous to have such a strong reaction to seeing one of his companions partially nude, and Gale internally chastises himself. He should be above this.

But, he finds that he can't quite help himself. His eyes are drawn to the supple swell of Eden's chest, each breast round and heavy, with dusky purple nipples hardened from the chill of the river water. They look terribly soft, and in that moment all Gale wants is to take them into his hands and hold them. They must be warm, he imagines. Warm and soft and overflowing in his hands, a pleasant weight. His mouth waters at the thought, and he swallows.

Eden moves his arms to cover his breasts, squishing them against his body in the way Gale wants to himself. It's then, of course, that Gale remembers Eden's clear humiliation, and whatever spell those tantalizing tits had placed upon him abruptly vanishes. What kind of friend is he, ogling Eden instead of helping to diffuse the situation? Gale bites back the wave of self loathing that threatens to crash over him, and instead he averts his gaze as he opens his mouth to speak.

Eden beats him to it, because of course that beautiful, witty, shockingly and infuriatingly busty tiefling does. It seems he's recovered from the shock.

"They're tits, Astarion," he says drily. "Breasts. Boobs. Whatever you wish to call them. I assume you must at least be familiar with the term, yes?"

All at once, the electric tension in the air dissipates as various members of the party crack up and Astarion sputters in embarrassment. Gale lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, doing his utmost best to put his sudden rush of desire out of his mind. It's for the best, he's sure--his heart is beating a war drum in his chest, and he doesn't want to imagine what havoc might be unleashed if the orb were to destabilize now.

Of all things to almost make Gale lose control, it's a single glimpse of his gorgeous new companion's nude torso. Ridiculous.

#multi makes text posts #suggestive cw #multi's writing

[coolio-frijoles]

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[witchyangela]

Team Edward vs Team Jacob? ( or Maybe it can be that deep)

Unless you’ve been totally removed from popular culture these past few years you have heard about Team Edward vs Team Jacob. It was everywhere for a while and it was one of the things that both drew people to twilight and drive people away. It also, while not inventing love triangles, added a huge amount to their popularity and prevalence in fiction (particularly YA). The other most famous love triangle in YA is of course from the Hunger Games.

However if you ask any self respecting Hunger Games fan about it, they will tell you it’s more than just that, that Peeta represents peace and rebuilding while Gale represents retribution and destruction (at their most simple) and Katniss choosing between them is in fact her choosing her future. This symbolic view of love triangles is rarely discussed Re. Twilight, and with good reason as it’s unlikely Smeyer intended one to be there. However I think, that twilight can be read in an equally allegorical way, so please take a trip with me to find out what’s beyond team Edward and team Jacob.

The very first question, is what do Edward and Jacob represent? The most obvious answer in life and death. Language describing Edward is full of metaphors describing him as cold, as drug like, as painful. Smeyer describes Bella feeling “withdrawal” when she is away from him. Jacob however is associated primarily with the sun and with warmth. There’s also the factor that physically Edward is dead, he has no heartbeat, doesn’t grow, doesn’t eat human food. Whereas Jake has a quick heart beat, grows more quickly that the average human, and needs to eat more human food. In this way Jacob seems to represent humanity at its most extreme, he is more human than Bella, Edward is less.

However this falls apart around eclipse, when Jacobs warmth becomes “burning” however it’s wildly accepted that Smeyer changed Jacobs characterisation drastically in Eclipse, even reverting back to his og characterisation in Breaking dawn. So If we take away that element then Edward and Jacob representing life and death makes sense. However Bella choosing death over life is wrong, right?

Well maybe not. At least not in Bellas mind. From the first line of the series we know Bella is borderline obsessed with death. She is distressingly self sacrificing, the first line of the entire series is her deciding to die “in the place of someone ( she) loves”. And throughout new moon Bella continues to be self destructive. It’s interesting that the famous cliff dive, is to get towards Edward in the form of a halluncination. And she is saved by Jacob. This scene shows at its most basic that Bella leaping towards Edward is her jumping to her death. And yet she chooses it. So it’s fair enough to say that Bella doesn’t particularly want to live.

Which is why Edward is the one she chooses. He offers the option for her to stop aging, to have to never make the difficult decisions that come with age. In many ways Bella choosing Edward is a symbolic death. But it’s also a very attractive prospect for a teenager anxious about aging, with a complex about responsibility. Which let’s face it lots of the people reading twilight were. Choosing Edward is easy because her is an end to all problems. Wheras while Jacob may offer solutions too through friendship and warmth. His path requires effort.

Which is why I think that Life and Death might be too reducative. When in reality they represent Stagnation and Recovery. Bella is put in a position where if she chooses Jacob she will have to work on herself. With him she is actively building the bikes, which are a fairly obvious metaphor. They were broken by someone else, but by putting time and effort in they can work again. Which is very much what is happening with Bella in New Moon, she feels broken but begins to put in work to put herself together.

Continuing the metaphor, in eclipse Edward presents Bella with his own motorbike. It’s fancy, fast, and ready to go. It doesn’t require work to be put in. And Bella sees it how the audience does. That it doesn’t meant the same as it doesn’t have the same love put into it. It isn’t the motorbike that matters but the time spent building it. And again and again Edward and Jacob are shown like this. Jacob gives Bella a wolf charm he spent time and love carving, but Edward gives Bella a diamond, that’s flashy but has no real meaning.

So she should have chosen Jake right? Well yes but it’s not that simple! Bella is clearly vulnerable and what she thinks she wants is what Edward is giving, something ready made, a perfect family, wealth, security, but she doesn’t see that they’re as empty as the bike Edward gives. She could have these things with Jake but she would have to work for them, would have to put effort into making his friends like her rather than have them be her “best friend” immediately. And putting work in is what makes things matter, as I established, but Bella doesn’t see this, she sees the security of the Cullens and is blinded by its flashy-ness. And Jacob can’t compete. Bella wants the end product immediately and he is a work in progress.

So what does this mean? If Bella chooses death and refuses to recover her ending is surely a tragedy? Well maybe! But it’s easier to understand once you look at it from the Mormon perspective it was written from. Because Edwards symbolic death isn’t a end. It is a beggining, and from then on its “paradise”. Bella choosing death is just a fast track to heaven. And hey, why bother trying to make your time on earth good when you know what comes next will be a thousand times better?

But if you remember that post that said “an immortal will never love as a human loves because love is about survival”? Yeah that’s the real Edward / Jacob divide. Eternity is impossible to comprehend, and maybe this is just me but even a “perfect forever” sounds like it would be unbearable. Jacobs version of a happy ending may be shorter and less complete but like the bike and the wolf charm it’s also more real. So it’s easy to understand why Bella, Smeyer, and many readers chose Edward, as a fantasy it’s unbeatable. But if I had to choose? Team Jacob forever!

#oh this is crazy #twilight #bella swan #edward cullen #jacob black #twilight saga #twilight meta #i call this can you tell what my belief sytem is from this meta the game show #tw suicide mention

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: Chapter 31 - Lean on You

Series: TRR (following the events of Book 1, with some changes)

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Book Synopsis: Harper Gale is a small-town girl working as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar. After a chance encounter with nobility sees her jetting halfway around the world to compete for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia, her dream of seeing the world starts to come true sooner than she expected. But as the completion heats up, Harper quickly learns that life at court is a lot more than just pretty dresses and fancy balls, and that the polished aristocratic smiles often hide deceit. Does she have what it takes to rise above the gossip and intrigue of the social season, and beat the nobles at their own games? And, more importantly, does she actually want to become the queen of a small European country? Or will her heart have other ideas?

Masterlist: (Un)Common Attraction

Chapter Summary: It’s the afternoon of the Jamboree and Harper is in for a nasty surprise when she returns to her room...

Word Count: 4,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, physical violence and attempted rape) DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THIS.

Chapter theme song:

Please read: Author’s Note

Also available on Wattpad.

Chapter 30 - Lean on You

Letting myself into my room, I kick my boots off before reaching up to unclip the fastening of my halter-neck dress. I let the floaty material pool to my feet, hoping that with the help of a quick soak, the red wine stain will wash out.

I am bending down to collect my discarded dress when I hear my phone buzz. Picking it up, I frown when I see the caller ID.

"Drake?"

"Harper!" he exclaims. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...?" I say, wondering why he sounded so worried. "Why?"

"Where are you?"

"In my ro—"

I hear the sound of the door latching shut. Glancing up, I gasp, the phone falling out of my hands in surprise.

"I see you've undressed already," observes Tariq. "Good. That will make things much easier."

"What are you doing in my room!"

Grabbing my dress, I try to use the fabric to cover myself as I search desperately for my phone, all while trying to keep my eyes on Tariq. I knew from our encounter at the beach party that whatever the reason was for him being in my room, it was not good.

"I told you that you needed to learn you place," he replies, a malevolent smile on his lips as he twists the door's lock closed. "I'm here to deliver on that. And by the time I'm done, the entire world will know that you are nothing more than a pretentious slut."

I realise with a sinking heart that the phone must've slid under the bed when I had picked up my dress, because even though I hear it buzzing, I cannot see it anywhere.

I was on my own.

"I have no idea what kind of sick joke you think you're playing," I retort forcefully, making myself stand my ground as he approaches, "but if you don't get the fuck out this instant, you're going to regret it."

"And what are you going to do, exactly?" he murmurs silkily, reaching up to brush my cheek with his knuckles.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to not flinch away from him. "I'm warning you..."

He scoffs. "That's what I thought. You see, even if you were to scream at the top of your lungs, no one is going to hear you. Everyone is still at the Jamboree, so you and I are quite alone in this big ole manor house."

Tearing the dress out from between us, his hand fists into my hair. Yanking my head back painfully, his mouth closes over mine before I have a chance to react.

As I feel his other hand run up the side of my body, I knew that I was fast running out of options and that if I was going to have any shot of getting him off me, I needed to do it now while he thought he had the upper hand.

Opening my mouth slightly, I wait for him to respond before clamping my teeth onto his bottom lip with all the force I can muster. For good measure, I also slam my knee up into his groin while keeping my hold on his mouth.

"You bitch!" he cries as he reels back, clutching his mouth and balls in pain.

I give him an extra shove with my hands as I push past him towards the door, the taste of his blood in my mouth.

My fingers curl around the deadbolt lock and I manage to give it a turn before I cry out in pain as Tariq grabs my hair again. In the next instant, I feel myself being propelled forward as he slams my face into the door. Stars explode in front of my eyes as my knees buckle, sending me crashing to the ground.

"That was not smart..." he hisses, grabbing my hair yet again to pull my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

The world spins around me, but with supreme effort, I focus my attention on Tariq's face. "Fuck you," I spit.

His torn mouth curves into a malicious grin. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this..."

He drags me towards the bed as I fight desperately to get his fingers out of my hair.

Shoving me forward, I sprawl face first onto the mattress. Lifting my head, I vaguely register a streak of blood on the covers as I try to scoot away. But I feel his hands grab me by the shoulders and he spins me back towards him. I hear a loud smack! as he backhands me viciously across the face.

The force of the impact scrambles my senses and I am momentarily overwhelmed by the ringing in my ears as the metallic taste of blood explodes in my mouth. While my head reels, my brain vaguely registers the fact that Tariq's hands are on me again, grasping at the top of my panties. My survival instincts kick in and I flail my arms and legs in a last ditch attempt to get him off me, managing to knee him in the face...

...but my victory is short lived.

With a growl, he backhands me again and this time all I see is black.

I have no idea how long I lie there unmoving, but I gradually become aware of a commotion nearby.

"For the love of God! Stop!" I hear Tariq yelp desperately. "Y-you're going to break my arm!"

Pushing myself up on wobbly arms, I gasp as I catch sight of Tariq.

He is on his knees, nose and mouth bleeding, panic and pain twisting his face into a horrid grimace. Drake stands behind him immovably, bending Tariq's arm into an unnatural angle behind his back.

Spotting my movements out of the corner of his eye, Drake snaps his gaze in my direction. His eyes widen for a split second as he takes in my battered appearance before his mouth thins into a cold, hard line of remorselessness. Without taking his eyes off me, I hear a sickening crack as he snaps Tariq's wrist with a deft movement.

I flinch as the resulting shriek of agony reverberates around the room.

"You fucking bastard!" screams Tariq, falling forward, his grotesquely bent wrist clutched to his chest. "You're going to pay for this!"

Drake grabs Tariq by the lapels of his jacket and hauls him to his feet. "Unless you want me to break your jaw as well," he growls, face inches from Tariq's, "I suggest you keep your pointless threats to yourself."

Tariq throws his head back. "Oh, that was no threat!" he laughs. "That was a promise! I'm going to make your life a living hell, Drake. Yours and that slut's!"

Drake's eyes narrow dangerously, but before he can respond, the door bursts open.

Tariq uses the split second afforded to him by the momentary distraction to slam his forehead into Drake's face.

"Drake!" I exclaim as he staggers back.

I hear a cry of surprise as Tariq shoves his way past Maxwell and Hana as they were about to step into the room.

I push myself off the bed to get to Drake, but before I make it two steps, my legs give way and I collapse onto the floor in a heap.

Drake is by my side in a heartbeat. "Max!" he cries. "Get after him!"

As Maxwell disappears after Tariq, Drake gathers me into his arms. I catch a whiff of his spicy aftershave and something in me snaps. With a ragged gulp, the hot tears of fear, pain, and helplessness that I had managed to hold at bay start streaming down my cheeks, mixing with the blood on my face to soak his shirt.

He holds me wordlessly, and I cling to him like an anchor to a rock, sobbing my heart out.

"Did...did he...?" Hana's voice catches in her throat and she isn't able to finish her question.

"No," replies Drake, pulling a throw from the bed to cover me. "At least, I don't think..."

I hear the question in his voice, but I am unable to form coherent words, so I shake my head instead.

I feel him relax slightly.

"Thank goodness for that!" breathes Hana. "I can't believe he'd—"

"Forget about that piece of shit," spits Drake. "We need to focus on Harper."

"Should I ring for the ambulance?" she asks, her voice still tight.

I shake my head again. The last thing I needed was more people hovering and asking questions.

"No," he says. "I can patch her up. Just get me a first aid kit — the King's Guard should have one, or the kitchens — painkillers, preferably Tylenol, and an ice pack."

"Of course!"

"Try to be discreet, if you can," advises Drake, picking me off the floor as if I weighed nothing and carrying me to the bathroom.

Grabbing a towel, he throws it onto the marble floor and gently deposits me on top, leaning me against the foot of the vanity. I hear him turn the tap on as he wets another towel before crouching down in front of me.

"Y-you're hurt..." I whisper, catching sight of his bloodied nose.

"Nothing a stiff drink won't fix," he replies stoically.

He brushes the tangled locks of hair out of my face, and I see a look of torment flash across his ruggedly handsome features as he takes in the full sight of Tariq's handiwork.

I turn my head away, trying to hide behind the curtain of my hair as fresh tears well in my eyes.

I didn't want him to see me like this...

But Drake catches my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at him as he sets to work cleaning me up as fresh tears roll down my cheek.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, girl," he murmurs.

"I... I tried to..." I sob. "But he just..."

"Shh..." he soothes, brushing my hair behind my ear. "It's over."

I nod shakily, but I can't stop the waterworks from flowing. I could still feel Tariq's hands and mouth on me, and it makes me want to throw up.

"Harper," says Drake softly. "Look at me."

With a shuddering breath, I lift my eyes to Drake's face. Our gazes meet and I immediately lose myself in his mocha and cinnamon-laced irises. In their soulful depths I see anger and regret, but also something warm and comforting, like a lone ray of sunshine after a storm. And as I focus on that warmth, I feel my mind empty and the crawling of my skin start to subside.

"Good. Now, breathe..."

I draw a shaky inhale, filling my lungs with his scent, and I feel the tension inside me start to unwind as I exhale.

"And again."

Tilting my head up gently, he examines my face as I continue to breathe in and out, keeping my eyes focused on his.

"How bad is it?" I ask quietly, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Not as bad as I thought," he replies. "There is one cut on your forehead that looks a bit deeper though..."

Probably from when Tariq barrelled me into the door...

"D-does it need stitches?" I have to fight to get the words out as my mouth felt strangely heavy and unresponsive all of a sudden.

"No. The cut's not that deep."

I try to nod, but my body seems to have stopped working.

I see Drake's brows furrow. "You're shivering."

Tossing the bloodied towel into the sink, he steps over to the shower and turns the water on full blast. Picking me up again, he pulls the throw off me before placing me under the hot spray, soaking the sleeves of his shirt.

Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rest my forehead on my knees as I let the water pummel me, trying to get my quaking body back under control.

After what seems like an age, the shivering eases and I feel my heartbeat slow. I was dazed and exhausted, but felt more like myself again, the hot water having worked its healing magic on my frayed nerves and battered body.

Glancing up, I see that Drake has tidied himself up a bit as well and was leaning back against the door. With his hands in his pockets and his head cast down, he looked as if he was waiting for judgement from above.

My heart goes out to him, knowing that he was probably blaming himself for what happened, even though it was not his fault.

Reaching up, I turn the water off.

Drake rouses himself from his sombre reverie. Grabbing a fresh towel, he slings it around me before lifting me to his chest again.

"I'm all wet..." I protest as he carries me back to the room.

"This shirt's ruined anyway," he replies, depositing me on the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. Sitting down next to me, he pulls me to him, rubbing his hands over me to dry me off.

"Sorry..."

"Don't," he says forcefully, fixing me with an uncompromising look. "Don't ever be sorry. You stood your ground and put up a helluva fight."

"How... how do you know?"

I see a flash of pride in his eyes. "The bastard had blood on his face before I decked him."

"Tariq's gone..." pants Maxwell as he lets himself and Hana back into the room.

"Fuck..." mutters Drake under his breath. "Hana. Find some clothes for Gale, will ya?"

With a nod, Hana hands off the medical supplies to Drake before disappearing into my closet.

"Max. Call a car around."

"Are you going somewhere?" he asks.

"Yeah," says Drake, unzipping the first aid kit and extracting some disinfectant wipes. "Your place. This was a set-up and we need to get Gale away from court for her safety. This will sting."

I flinch away as the alcohol makes contact with my lacerated face, but Drake's arm is like a vice around me, holding me in place.

Digging my nails into the material of his trousers, I attempt to distract myself by focusing on the disturbing idea that Drake had just presented. "Wh-what do you mean, this was a set-up?"

"Here are the clothes," declares Hana, appearing with a V-neck t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a cardigan.

"Tell her what you told me," instructs Drake.

"It...it wasn't much," she admits. "Tariq bumped into me at the Jamboree, and I overheard him talking to someone on his phone. He said that Harper was going to be alone in her room, and that this was the moment that they had been waiting for."

"Who's they?” I grit as Drake continues with his relentless dabbing.

"I don't know," she huffs. "I couldn't hear the person on the other end of the line. But the way Tariq was talking... it scared me. Luckily, Drake happened to be nearby, so I told him what I had heard and that's when he called you."

"My phone!" I exclaim. "It's still under the bed."

Maxwell immediately drops down on his hands and knees and retrieves the device. "My lady," he says with a flourish, presenting it to me.

"Thanks." I try to smile, but end up wincing instead as the cuts on my face scream in protest.

"Hold still," chides Drake, tilting my face to finish mopping me up.

"So," I surmise with a painful hiss, "since Tariq got away, you want to go somewhere we can regroup and figure out what we're up against?"

"Until I track down that piece of shit, yes," confirms Drake dispassionately.

"And you want to use the Beaumont estate as our top-secret hideout!" notes Maxwell gleefully.

Given that smiling is out, I snort in amusement. Even during the darkest hour, Maxwell could be relied upon to inject some much-needed comedic relief.

"It's hardly top-secret..." scoffs Drake, dropping the soiled wipe and picking up the ice pack.

I let out a relieved exhale as I loosen the claw-like grip I had on his pants. My face still stung from the after-effects of the alcohol, but it was nowhere near as sharply intense as before.

"...but since we don't know who else is involved, the Palace is out. So Beaumont House is the only option we've got. Here."

I take the ice pack from Drake and press it gingerly to my face, which is already starting to swell up.

"Plus, given that the Beaumont Bash is next week," Drake continues, popping a couple of tablets out of their blister packs, "no one's gonna question Gale's disappearance. They'll just assume that she left early to start the preparations."

He hands the tablets off to me before pulling a flask from his pocket.

"Whiskey?" I ask wryly, watching him take a swig.

"Not just any whiskey," he replies. "This is my break-in-case-of-emergency stash."

He holds the flask out to me.

"But there's no emergency."

"There will be when you get a headache the size of Texas if you don't down those pills I gave you."

"I thought you weren't supposed to mix painkillers and alcohol."

"That only applies to opiates and sedatives," he replies, thrusting the flask at me more forcefully.

"Since when are you a qualified doctor?"

"Will you stop arguing and just trust me?" he huffs exasperatedly.

"Need to work on your bedside manner, Doc," I grumble, but throw the pills back, grabbing the flask to wash them down.

"They're so cute, aren't they?" Maxwell preens to Hana. "Already bickering like a married couple."

Drake and I simultaneously flip Maxwell the bird as I lift the flask to my mouth.

Maxwell merely grins at us knowingly.

The alcohol hits the back of my throat and I almost choke it back up.

"Jesus!" I wheeze. "This stuff could fell an elephant!"

Drake fixes me with an offended look as he extracts a Band-Aid from its wrapper. "This is my emergency supply. D’you really think I'd settle for the weak stuff?"

"You could've warned me..."

"Would you‘ve drunk it if I had?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Anyway, are you sure all this subterfuge is necessary?" I ask, returning to the topic at hand. "You make it sound like there's some kind of evil conspiracy underfoot."

"We can't rule anything out at this stage," he insists, sticking the Band-Aid over the cut on my forehead. "And I told you on day one... these people will not hesitate to drag you through the mud if they think they can profit from it."

I sigh dejectedly, knowing that he was right... as always.

Taking another sip of the whiskey, I say, "Guess we're going to Maxwell's house..."

"I'll let the chauffer know," nods Maxwell, stepping away as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"I'll put some clothes together for Harper," offers Hana.

"Thanks," I say with a grateful smile as I hand the flask back to Drake.

"I'll grab some things as well," he declares, getting up. "Back in a sec," he murmurs to me, dropping a kiss on top of my head before striding out of the room.

I suddenly find myself sitting alone.

With Drake gone, a shiver runs over my body and I realise that I am still in my wet underwear and a damp towel.

Pushing myself off the chaise lounge, I grab the clothes Hana had gotten me and totter back to the bathroom to get dressed. As I enter, I focus on keeping my eyes down to avoid catching sight of myself in the mirror, because I was not quite ready to deal with that yet.

Dropping the clothes on top of the toilet seat cover, I let the towel fall to the floor. Reaching behind my back gingerly, I unhook the bra and toss it into the trash can. Even though it had been one of my favourites, I knew that I would never be able to look at it — much less wear it — again without recalling today's horrible events. I pull the V-neck t-shirt over my head, being careful to not let the material touch my face. I push my damp underwear off the curve of my bum, before shimmying out of it, not trusting myself to not keel over if I bent down.

Sitting carefully down on top of the toilet lid, I grab the sweatpants and pull them on, not bothering with the panties that Hana had picked out for me. Finally, I shrug into the cardigan, wrapping it around my body like a comforter to stop myself from shivering. Picking up the damp underwear with my foot, I drop it into the bin next to the bra.

My hair was still quite wet, so I squeeze as much water out of it as I can (as there was no way I was going to try and towel it off in my current state) before shuffling back to the room. It will just have to dry naturally and I'll deal with the resulting frizzy mess later.

"Gale!" exclaims Drake, rushing over to me. He had changed out of his ruined clothes and into his customary cotton shirt and faded jeans combo. "The hell d’you think you’re doing!"

"Getting dressed," I reply. "I...I was getting cold."

"Ask for help next time," he orders as he steers me back to the chaise longue.

"Everyone was busy,” I point out. "And... I don't want to be a pain."

Drake stares at me like I've sprouted another head. "Sit," he commands, plopping me down. "And don't even think about moving ‘til I come and get you."

"I'm fine, honestly..." I insist, trying to keep my voice steady. The short walk to and from the bathroom had taken it out of me, but I wasn't going to admit that...

"That's the painkillers and the whiskey talking," he corrects. "Where are your shoes?"

"In the closet," I sigh.

While on a certain level it was sweet of Drake to fuss around me like some obsessive-compulsive mother hen, I was used to doing everything for myself and I knew that this was quickly going to drive me crazy.

"Where's Hana and Maxwell?"

"Loading the car," he replies, emerging from the wardrobe with a pair of socks and my fuzzy Ugg boots and I can't help by smile.

The guy knew me so well.

But, my smile quickly fades when he kneels down in front of me. "No," I protest, trying to twist out of the way.

"For fuck's sake, girl," growls Drake. "Stop being a pain in the ass and just let me do it."

"Why?"

"Because you took a beating and probably have a concussion."

His words draw me up short. "But... I feel fine."

"Now," he points out. "So, unless you want to end up in the ER, I suggest you start listenin’ to me."

"Fine..." I grumble, presenting my foot. "But I'm putting those boots on."

"You're fuckin’ impossible..." he mutters, pulling the socks on.

"Pot, meet kettle," I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.

He snorts wryly as he gets up. "Anything you want to grab before we go?"

I glance around the room. "Phone charger. Also, I think Hana left my make-up and toiletries in the bathroom."

With a nod, he disappears to collect the rest of my things.

I occupy myself with shoving my feet into my boots.

Drake returns a few seconds later to pull the charging cable from the socket, before depositing my stuff in the duffle bag that he had packed for himself.

"What are you doing now?" I ask, watching him pull the bloodied cover off the bed.

"Cleaning up," he responds, grabbing my ruined dress as well.

All I can do is shake my head in wonder as I watch him return to the bathroom, no doubt to collect the soiled towels as well to stop the maids from blabbing about all the blood.

The guy thought of everything...

"Car's waiting out front," says Maxwell, poking his head into the room.

"We're coming," replies Drake, stepping out of the bathroom.

"Should I ask?" queries Maxwell, eyeing the makeshift bindle in Drake's hands.

"DI Walker's clearing the crime scene," I mutter dryly.

Drake rolls his eyes. "Take these, will ya, Max?" he says, tossing his duffle and the bundle of dirtied stuff to Maxwell, who catches them deftly.

Before I can protest, Drake's scooped me up into his arms again and is striding out of the room after Maxwell.

"You're just a regular knight in shining armour, aren't you?" I mutter as he carries me down the corridor. Luckily, the Jamboree still seemed to be in full swing, and the hallway is deserted.

"I thought girls loved being swept off their feet," he drawls, glancing down at me with that heart-stopping smirk of his.

"Done a lot of sweeping, Walker?" I mumble as we arrive outside. I was suddenly feeling very sleepy, and the intense glare of the afternoon sun was making my eyes hurt.

Drake chuckles as he lowers me onto the backseat of the waiting car. "Wouldn't you like to know, Gale?"

I feel my eyes fluttering shut. "Don't tell me it's another one of those state secrets..."

"Hush, girl," murmurs Drake. I can sense the warmth of his body next to mine, but his voice sounds like it's miles away. "Just rest."

I breathe in the comforting smell of his spicy aftershave as the world around me goes dark once more.

The story continues in Chapter 32 - Take Me Home. Alternatively, you can read the bonus tie-in chapter (written from Drake's POV).

Permatags (let me know if you want to be added!)

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @petiteboheme @aussiegurl1234 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @fictionloveevie @angelasscribbles @drakewalkerisreal @nestledonthaveone @tinkie1973 @lunaseasblog @indiana-jr @twinkle-320 @choicesficwriterscreations

#harper gale #drake walker #drake x mc #uncommon attraction #the royal romance #trr fanfic #maxwell beaumont #hana lee #choices fic writers creations #Spotify

[pocketseizure]

The Flower Thief

A young boy comes to Hyrule and meets a princess with a terrible destiny.

Or, Ganondorf visits Hyrule for the first time as a child and falls in love with the green and beautiful land, even as he is warned away by the woman who will become Zelda’s mother. 

This story was written for Ties of Time, an Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask fanzine, which you can find on Twitter (here). The story is also (on AO3).

. . . . . . . . . .

Ganondorf had never been beyond the mountains separating the desert from the plains. The road from the fortress to the waystation was, if not well-traveled, safe enough for a child in the company of an escort. He’d crossed the bridge leading to the canyon pass a few times, always pausing to peer down through the railings at the great river rushing along the gully below, but this was the first time he was allowed to accompany a caravan through the Gerudo Valley pass and into Hyrule.

He thought he knew what to expect from Hyrule. He’d heard all manner of stories from travelers, and he was given Hylian books to study as he learned the language. Yet as the red earth and dry gravel gave way to healthy swards of grass, he could not open his eyes wide enough to take it all in. There was so much green, so much luxury. 

The climate changed as the caravan traveled east. The mornings were cool but not cold, and the days were warm but not hot. The sun was veiled by clouds that drifted like floating islands across the blue sea of the sky, dappling the light into gentle shadows.

Ganondorf was not prepared for the rain. Everyone took notice when the afternoon became dark and the air grew heavy, but no one seemed concerned. He was familiar with the storms that pummeled the open desert, fierce and veined with jagged lightning, and he was afraid of what the blanket of clouds might portend. He was even more afraid of the disdain of the adults, however, so he held his tongue. If he cried when the first drops fell on his skin, each tiny splash as soft as the finest silk, his tears went unremarked.

Vast fields spread before him as they rode east. Brightly colored wildflowers pushed their way through the tall grass on leafy stems, and the wind was fragrant with the sweet smell of growing things. The caravan turned north at the first ranch they encountered, skirting along the low fence marking its perimeter. Ganondorf was amazed to find that the crooked and neglected fenceposts were made of wood. He realized that, to the local farmers, timber must be far more common than stone. As their party joined the main road, the trees grew larger and the flowers became even more colorful. The early summer greenery seemed almost blasphemous in its profusion. Stalks of young wheat swayed in the breeze, and cows dotted the rolling plains.

At last, upon ascending the crest of a low hill, Ganondorf saw Hyrule Castle, its spires stretching bravely into the sky. This architectural feat would have been impossible in the desert, where the gale winds would quickly strip the tiles from the towers if lightning didn’t strike them first. The town spilling down from the castle walls was just as bold. Roads and houses spread along the wide valley of a river with no regard for how disaster might strike and send the water roiling from its banks at any given change of the weather. Hyrule was, he thought, a miracle.

Once the road approaching the castle town began to grow crowded, one of Ganondorf’s aunts pulled him aside as they watered their horses. “You must dress as we do,” she said. “The people of this kingdom are guided by superstition, and they will not look kindly on someone that they cannot fit into the stories they tell themselves. You will be in danger if anyone learns that you are different from us, and we may not always be able to protect you,” she warned him as she twisted his hair into a high ponytail and secured it with a jeweled band.

Taking care not to be noticed, Ganondorf exchanged his robes for loose pants and a sleeveless tunic. He had learned to appreciate being seen as special, but there had always been a part of him that wanted to dress like the girls his age. The thought occurred to him that perhaps it was only in Hyrule that he could be normal. Ganondorf resolved to use this situation to his advantage. He would break off from the group as soon as it was expedient to do so.

The women shed their travel cloaks in Castle Town as they merged into the throng of people converging in the central market plaza. Zora and Gorons jostled for place among the Hylians in front of the stalls, and Ganondorf spotted the leafy foliage of a few Deku Scrubs and even the broad shoulders of a Moblin. Almost no one paid any mind to the group of Gerudo that gradually split apart as they went their separate ways. A few people paused to cast glances in their direction, especially men, and Ganondorf’s companions seemed to enjoy the attention.

Ganondorf kept his own cloak drawn around his narrow shoulders. The bearded faces of Hylian men were strange to his eyes. He was disturbed by their large and clumsy hands, whose thick fingers sprouted coarse hair. Ganondorf didn’t want to attract their notice, and he was much more interested in seeing than being seen. He watched a team of laborers eating at the base of a tree emerging from the paving stones of the plaza, throwing their breadcrusts into a bed of flowers overgrown with weeds. In an alley leading away from the market, a woman emerged from her townhouse to throw water onto the cobblestones before whisking the puddle into a drain with a broom. And then, wonder of wonders, a fountain burbled its lazy jet of water toward the sky with no other purpose than to provide a pleasant breeze for the cat napping on its stone rim.

All of this was fascinating, yet Ganondorf was not satisfied. He wanted to see something even more rare and beautiful. If the town below the castle was filled with marvels, he could scarcely imagine what treasures might be contained within the castle itself.

It was not difficult to sneak past the guards posted along the outer wall. They were slow and he was small. Just to be safe, Ganondorf used his modest measure of magic to quiet his footsteps while shifting the color of his cloak to reflect his surroundings. He had a fair amount of practice evading the watchful eyes of his mothers and aunts, and he liked to think he was skilled at avoiding detection. Or perhaps it was simply the case that the soldiers standing at the castle gates did not expect anyone to enter. Perhaps they assumed that no one would dare.

The courtyard on the other side of the outer wall was surprisingly pedestrian. Wooden crates were piled near the servant entrances, and a small moat ran between uneven patches of grass that had been trampled by men and horses alike. Ganondorf challenged himself to make his way beyond the castle’s inner wall, which was somewhat trickier but not beyond his abilities. There wasn’t much to be seen here either, nothing more than a few narrow walkways lined with mossy stones sunken into the spongy earth between overgrown shrubs.

Ganondorf was disappointed. The curving rows of proud cypress trees surrounding the Gerudo fortress and the tiled mosaics glittering under its shaded awnings were much more impressive. Ganondorf paused at a muddy puddle lingering in the shadow of the castle’s mold-spotted wall. He debated whether to continue on or turn back, wondering if perhaps Hyrule’s beauty lay more in its wilderness than its towns. He decided that he had seen what he’d come to see. There was no need to remain here.

As he turned, Ganondorf caught a breeze that carried a sweet fragrance unlike anything he’d ever encountered. Intrigued, he followed the scent along the inner wall of the castle until he found himself at the gate of a secluded courtyard garden. 

Tall bushes with glossy leaves separated the garden from the bare stone of the castle walls. Each of the bushes bore a profusion of white flowers as large as his palm. The scent was stronger here – richer than jasmine and as fresh as the sky after the rain.

Before he was aware of what he intended to do, Ganondorf found himself slipping his knife from the sheath at his belt to cut the thick woody stem of one of the flowers, whose petals spread elegantly from the golden shimmer of the nectar at its center. He had never seen anything so beautiful before, and he wanted to hold it. He sliced through its stem and watched as tiny beads of sap welled from the incision. As he withdrew his hand, clutching the flower alongside his knife, Ganondorf heard the soft murmur of a woman’s voice, quiet but resonant.

“He’s a good man, I think,” the voice said as it grew louder. “My honored mother wouldn’t have chosen him if he weren’t, Hylia rest her soul. He’s kind, and he has a strong will. And that’s the problem; that’s precisely the problem. He will make a good king. But then what need will there be for a queen?”

Ganondorf watched as a young woman stepped into the garden. The deep chestnut of her hair was accented by her dress, which was dyed with an indigo as deep as the sky at twilight. A white-haired woman of the same age trailed along behind her, as silent as a shadow. 

“Tensions are mounting at our borders,” the woman continued, “and Hyrule does not need a king. Hyrule needs peace. I will do what I can, yet I worry about the signs in the stars…”

Ganondorf knew he should flee, but the princess was so beautiful in her garden that he couldn’t help but stare. It was like a scene from a fairy tale. He was transfixed.

A moment later the spell was broken, but it was a moment too long. Ganondorf pulled his foot back to retreat, but the princess’s Sheikah attendant was on him like a cat at the slightest hint of movement.

“What have we here?” she murmured, her voice as soft as velvet. “Such a pretty girl, with such a sharp blade.” The Sheikah bent his hand so that the bones of his fingers twisted. Ganondorf dropped his knife but managed to hold on to the flower.

“A girl after my own heart,” the princess remarked with laughter in her voice. “Bring her closer, Impa, if you will.”

The Sheikah released Ganondorf, but not before giving his hand another painful squeeze. The warning in her touch was clear. Ganondorf understood that he was trapped, utterly and completely. He waited for panic to rise in his throat, but it never materialized. He realized that he might be forced to remain here, with soft grass under his feet and the delicate scent of white flowers lingering in the air. Perhaps such a fate would not be so terrible.

“On a tour of the castle, were you?” the princess prompted.

“Who sent you?” the Sheikah hissed with narrowed eyes. “Tell us and you might survive.”

The princess raised her hand, and the Sheikah fell back.

“How do you find my castle?” the princess asked as she gestured to the flower in Ganondorf’s hand. “Do the gardenias please you?”

Ganondorf knew that neither force nor speed could extricate him from this situation. Words were the only thing that had any chance of saving him, but his tongue was like lead in his mouth. He could only gaze at the princess, who seemed to glow in the pale sunlight. His fingers tightened on the flower.

The princess saw this and smiled. “It seems a shame for us to keep all of these gardenias to ourselves,” she remarked, switching to fluent Gerudo. “We can stand to part with one. I hope you will consider it a gift, but take care not to touch it. Its petals will blacken at the slightest contact with your skin. The flowers cannot survive after they’re removed from the plant.”

She began to reach out, perhaps intending to draw Ganondorf’s hood away from his face, but she allowed her hand to drop to her side. “We will release you,” she told him, “but you must not be caught on your way outside the castle. Nothing will protect you should one of the soldiers find you within these walls.”

The princess smiled again, but her eyes were like ice. “There is nothing here to be stolen that cannot be freely given,” she said, “but remember always, child – Hyrule does not take kindly to thieves.”

Ganondorf did not need to be told twice. He turned and ran, bending to snatch his fallen knife from the grass as he fled from the princess and her garden.

He was careful not to touch the gardenia as he made his scurrying and surreptitious way back outside the castle, but the flower’s petals were already tinged an unhealthy shade of gray by the time he was able to stop to catch his breath. They had begun to curl at the edges, and their sweet smell had grown sour.

Now there was no reason not to touch the flower. Ganondorf stroked its smooth white petals and touched his nose to the golden center of its blossom as he crouched against a dirty wall in a back alley of the market. Even as its petals spoiled before his eyes, the gardenia was divine in its beauty.

Ganondorf used his knife to cut away the rest of the wooden stem and tucked the flower into an inner pocket of his tunic. He wanted the fading flower and the memory of the castle garden to be close to his skin. The furious beating of this heart had slowed now that the danger of being caught had passed, but Ganondorf was still haunted by the cold eyes of the princess.

He would have to be more careful next time.

#Legend of Zelda #Ocarina of Time #Zelda's mother #Impa #Ganondorf #young Ganondorf #Zelda fic #my fic #Ties of Time

[arctic-comet]

Osblaineweek2021, Day 2: Prose

I love book quotes. Looking at quotes is one of my favorite ways to to inspire myself to write more fic.

Here’s a small collection of book quotes (and recs!) of where I’ve “found” June and Nick.

This post contains spoilers for the following books/series:

- Lover Mine by JR Ward

- The Wrath and The Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

- A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas

Lover Mine by J.R. Ward

Summary:

John Matthew has come a long way since he was found living among humans, his vampire nature unknown to himself and to those around him. After he was taken in by the Brotherhood, no one could guess what his true history was- or his true identity. Indeed, the fallen Brother Darius has returned, but with a different face and a very different destiny. As a vicious personal vendetta takes John into the heart of the war, he will need to call up on both who he is now and who he once was in order to face off against evil incarnate. Xhex, a symphath assassin, has long steeled herself against the attraction between her and John Matthew. Having already lost one lover to madness, she will not allow the male of worth to fall prey to the darkness of her twisted life. When fate intervenes, however, the two discover that love, like destiny, is inevitable between soul mates.

It's basically a paranormal love story between two warriors. He's really young (although he's actually a reincarnation of a very old vampire warrior, but he doesn't know that), and she's like 300 years older than him. In this book, she's been raped and abused by a guy who also used to bully him. She escapes, but he saves her life. She's hungry for revenge and wants to die after achieving that goal, but of course eventually changes her mind. In the end he actually serves her rapist to her on a silver platter so that she can kill him (sound like anyone we know?). He literally holds the guy down while she kills him.

They're my ultimate favorite ship in this series, and IMO their relationship eventually develops into one of the strongest ones. This series is a bit of a hit-or-miss for most people, because the language and the writing style are pretty ridiculous in all seriousness. If you decide to read this, I recommend starting the series from the beginning because John and Xhex meet for the first time several books before this one, LOL.

Here are some of the quotes that make me think of Nick and June:

“Besides, the story of the two of them was written in the language of collision; they were ever crashing into each other and ricocheting away—only to find themselves pulled back into another impact.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“As his ears rang and his heart broke for her, he stayed strong against the gale force she let loose. After all, there was a reason why here and hear were seperated by so little and sounded one like the other. Bearing witness to her, he heard her and was there for her because that was all you could do during a fall apart. But God, it pained him to see how she suffered.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“...the only thing that had tethered her to the earth had been him and it was strange, but she felt welded to him on some core level now. He had seen her at her absolute worst, at her weakest and most insane, and he hadn't looked away. He hadn't judged and he hadn't been burned. It was as if in the heat of her meltdown they had melted together. This was more than emotion. It was a matter of soul.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

The Wrath and the Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

Summary:

One Life to One Dawn. In a land ruled by a murderous boy-king, each dawn brings heartache to a new family. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, is a monster. Each night he takes a new bride only to have a silk cord wrapped around her throat come morning. When sixteen-year-old Shahrzad's dearest friend falls victim to Khalid, Shahrzad vows vengeance and volunteers to be his next bride. Shahrzad is determined not only to stay alive, but to end the caliph's reign of terror once and for all. Night after night, Shahrzad beguiles Khalid, weaving stories that enchant, ensuring her survival, though she knows each dawn could be her last. But something she never expected begins to happen: Khalid is nothing like what she'd imagined him to be. This monster is a boy with a tormented heart. Incredibly, Shahrzad finds herself falling in love. How is this possible? It's an unforgivable betrayal. Still, Shahrzad has come to understand all is not as it seems in this palace of marble and stone. She resolves to uncover whatever secrets lurk and, despite her love, be ready to take Khalid's life as retribution for the many lives he's stolen. Can their love survive this world of stories and secrets?

This is a young adult fantasy romance, and basically, Khalid is a lot like Nick. He’s made mistakes that he needs to own, but at the same time he’s forced to commit atrocities he doesn’t want to do. He hates himself and doesn’t believe himself to be worthy of love, and yet he falls in love with Shazi. He's viewed as the villain of the story by everyone aside from Shazi and a few other characters until almost the end of the 2nd book.

“I love you, a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it.”

―Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. to want something so much—to hold it in your arms — and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“When I was a boy, my mother would tell me that one of the best things in life is the knowledge that our story isn't over yet. Our story may have come to a close, but your story is still yet to be told.

Make it a story worthy of you”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“In that moment of perfect balance, she understood. This peace? These worries silenced without effort? It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

“A boy who'd thrived in the shadows.

Now he had to live in the light.

To live . . . fiercely.

To fight for every breath.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

Summaries:

Book 1

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ... Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

Book 2

Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court—but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms—and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future—and the future of a world cleaved in two. With more than a million copies sold of her beloved Throne of Glass series, Sarah J. Maas's masterful storytelling brings this second book in her seductive and action-packed series to new heights.

Fantasy romance with explicit sex scenes, and book 2 is a lot better than book 1. Our main character Feyre falls for a really boring fae guy, but also meets the hottest guy she’s ever known. The first guy of course isn't the real love interest (this is a twist this author loves to do). They all end up as prisoners, and the 2nd guy saves her life when the 1st one is totally useless. He also makes her hate him as he does it because he has to. After getting out, she tries to make her old relationship work, but it doesn’t, and guess who swoops in?

I do see some Nick in Rhysand (in addition to his role in the love triangle). They’re both traumatized and prefer to keep a lot of their feelings to themselves. I also see some of the same selflessness in both of them. Rhysand wants Feyre to choose him because she loves him, but he’s willing to accept that she may not, and doesn’t tell her that they’re pretty much destined to be together (it’s a supernatural thing, and he will suffer a lot if she decides she doesn’t want him).

“Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me.”

―Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“It took me a long while to realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Because," he went on, his eyes locked with mine, "I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone."

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He thinks he'll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I was his and he was mine, and we were the beginning and middle and end. We were a song that had been sung from the very first ember of light in the world.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

#osblaineweek2021 #osblaine #the handmaid’s tale #nick x june

[longitudinalwaveme]

Longitduinalwaveme Reviews Old Comics

Today, I will be looking at Detective Comics #353 from 1966, “The Weather Wizard’s Triple-Treasure Theft”. It was written by Gardner Fox and drawn by the inimitable Carmine Infantino. 

-The cover of the issue is quite visually striking, with the Weather Wizard stepping out of Flash comics and into Detective Comics.

-”Rain and wind and falling hail! Sleet, lightning, and whipping gale! These are the calling cards of the Weather Wizard--Master of the Monsoon, Tyrant of the Typhoon, Emir of the Elements!” I love the way Silver Age comics introduce characters. 

-The comic opens with the revelation that Gotham City has had a drought that’s lasted for four straight years. In case you needed any proof that Gotham has always been a terrible place to live....

-The drought problem is solved by the Weather Wizard breaking the drought and filling all six of the city’s reservoirs. He even writes a huge note in the sky about it! “It was I who filled your reservoirs!” In the note, he claims that he did this as thanks for getting to steal three of the city’s most priceless artifacts. 

-In reality, the message was a catfish scheme Mark used to figure out what the three most valuable items in the city were...and it works. “Millionare collector” Felix Bayard becomes concerned that the Weather Wizard has stolen his solid gold drinking cup and replaced it with a fake. To see if this is what happened, he calls in “the foremost art inspector in the city--Haverford Mimms!” (Unrelated side note, but Gotham City has an enormous number of millionaires. It seems like every fifth person in the city is one.)

-Weather Wizard, who had tapped Mimms’ phone, waylays him and gets into Bayard’s mansion by posing has him. He then reveals his trickery and steals the ruby. (He also does one of the quickest clothing changes of all time. He goes from his Mimms disguise to his full Weather Wizard garb in the space of one panel.) Bayard tries to stop him, but the attempt is futile. “Only the Flash has ever been able to stop me--and you aren’t the Flash--not by a long shot!” Also, Weather Wizard makes his getaway via “a rainbow of solid hues”. 

-Batman and Robin (the latter of whom broke his wrists playing basketball and cannot go out on patrol) are pondering what the Weather Wizard might have stolen when Commissioner Gordon calls Batman to report the Bayard theft. As Batman leaves, Robin expresses his dismay that he won’t be able to “whip up a storm of my own against that Sultan of Storms”. 

-Batman, in the hopes of luring Weather Wizard out of hiding, decides to steal his own Rajah Ruby. It’s the largest and most perfect ruby in the world, and his father, Dr. Thomas Wayne, bought it on a trip to India. His plan works. The next day, the “theft” attracts the police, and the police activity alerts the Weather Wizard, who follows the trail left  by Batman to the cave where the ruby is hidden. 

-Batman trails him, but Mark isn’t impressed. “You haven’t a chance of stopping me from getting away with the Rajah Ruby! If you were the Flash, I might be more concerned!....See how easily I handle you? You just aren’t Flash-y enough to catch me!” We get it, Mark. Batman isn’t nearly as cool as your archenemy. 

-Unfortunately for him, Batman is a much better hand-to-hand combatant than he is, and gives the Wizard a few solid punches. The Wizard doesn’t handle them very well, both because the Flash of this era rarely threw punches and because Mark is a skinny beanpole. 

-However, the Wizard manages to regain the upper hand by using his Weather Stick (this was what the Weather Wand was called back in the 60s) to create a thick ice wall in front of Batman, which knocks the Caped Crusader unconscious. “Ha! Ha! See what I mean, Batsy Boy? You can never overcome me! Only the Flash is an expert at that, as I’ve said all along!” WE GET IT, MARK. The Flash is more challenging to fight than Batman. Also, Batsy Boy? Really? 

-When Batman comes to, he finds himself in a block of ice. Wizard tells him that the ice is made of special chemicals that will melt in two hours. (This seems like it shouldn’t be something he can do, but whatever.) If Batman doesn’t try to escape, he will survive the experience. “This tussle with you is good practice for me! It keeps me keyed up for my next meeting with the Flash!” SERIOUSLY, MARDON. WE DO GET IT. YOU CAN STOP MENTIONING THE FLASH NOW. Also, Weather Wizard somehow knows that Batman can read lips. 

-Weather Wizard goes to commit his third crime, but then becomes suspicious of how easily he defeated Batman. “Batman is noted for using his wits--and being a tricky guy”. As a result, he examines the ruby (with his Weather Stick) and discovers it’s been coated with chemicals that will allow it to be traced with the use of infrared light. “Neat, neat!” Somehow Mark knows how to solve this problem, though. “Yessiree--this session with Batman is really sharpening my wits for a future encounter with the Flash, all right!” I think Mark talks more about the Flash in this issue than he does in the issues where he actually fights the Flash.

-Batman manages to escape the block of ice ahead of schedule by using the heel of his boot to create friction. The chemical in the ice absorbs the friction and causes the ice to melt faster than normally, allowing him to escape just before the oxygen runs out.

-Batman follows the infrared trail, thinking he’ll find the ruby and the Weather Wizard, but finds a note from the Weather Wizard instead (written entirely in cursive, incidentally). He says that he put the chemical from the ruby onto the note and boasts that Batman won’t be able to stop his third crime because he doesn’t know where it will happen. 

-Batman uses his radio to call someone (the comic doesn’t reveal who at this point, but it’s Robin), and then we cut to the Mayan wing of one of Gotham’s museums, where the Wizard is stealing a small figurine. Batman arrives at the museum, stating that “a little bird” told him where the Wizard would be, and the two fight. The Wizard shoots a blizzard at him, but Batman slides into him, knocking him off his feet. Wizard then whips up a flash flood (somehow), but Batman uses his Bat-Rope to lasso a statue. The Weather Wizard is about to knock the statue over with lightning...but before he can, it gets knocked over on him, allowing Batman to punch the Wizard out and capture him. 

-The issue ends with the reveal that Batman had arranged for Robin to “follow you (the Wizard) in the car from the sea cave and stay on your trail no matter what happened to me! When I found the note you doctored, I contacted him on my two-way radio transmitter and he told me where you were!” It’s just too bad that the issue didn’t set this up particularly well. Robin’s involvement kind of feels like it came out of nowhere. 

-Robin was also the one who caused the statue to fall over on Weather Wizard by kicking it over. “It was the kick in time that saved Batman!” 

-This comic seems to establish that, when armed with the Weather Stick (Wand), the Weather Wizard will defeat Batman in a fight. While he really, really can’t take a punch, his ability to manipulate the weather gives him a distinct upper hand. He won their first fight and only lost the second because Robin got involved without his knowledge. It’s nice to see, as it lends credence to the idea that Flash’s villains are more powerful than Batman can handle without planning ahead and bringing backup. This only makes sense, considering the fact that they fight the Flash on a regular basis. 

-Also, since the stolen goods were presumably returned, the only  thing Mark succeeding in doing in this issue was ending a drought. I’m not sure he’s as good at this whole supervillain thing as he thinks he is. “IT WAS I WHO FILLED YOUR RESERVOIRS!” Actually, Mark’s dialogue in general is easily the best part of this comic. He manages to come across as simultaneously a competent villain and a total doofus. 

This issue is a really fun Silver Age romp. It’s definitely worth a read. 

#flash rogues #detective comics #batman #robin #weather wizard #dc comics

[wilder-minded]

Slow Fire Burn Chapter 1

It's the implication that there is something going on between Gale and Madge. When Katniss goes off to the Hunger Games, who else does Gale turn to but the Mayor's daughter? Gadge, slight AU/mostly canon from Madge's perspective.

Madge Undersee x Gale Hawthorne AU.

This is a story I've been working through for years, one I just cannot let go of. I've also been posting it on my AO3 profile. https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderminded

Over much of my life, I had gotten good at making myself numb to most things. I was numb to my absent mother's neglect; she was too ill with her own demons to do much of anything let alone raise me. My father did the best that he could but being the mayor of District 12 came with its own demanding schedule. I was numb to the alienation that I felt from my classmates. As the mayor's daughter, I very clearly did not fit in with the Seam kids, who did without even the most basic survival necessities. I wasn't too welcome with the Merchant kids either though. While they had more luxuries, they didn't have access to the wealth that my family did and most of them didn't trust me. I learned to keep quiet to protect myself from the taunting of my classmates, and I did not care much for the silly topics that other girls my age were enthralled with.

I guess that's why we were such kindred spirits, Katniss and me. We both had places we would much rather be, and we didn't feel the need to make meaningless small talk. The silence between us was comforting enough most days. My father liked her too, seeing as how he overlooked her activities and bought strawberries from her regularly.

When she took her sister's place at the Reaping, I could barely handle the sickening knot in my stomach and the guilt I felt. I knew I had to do something for the girl who was my only real friend in the district. I gave her the pin that belonged to my aunt, a tribute in the 50th Hunger Games. I had hoped that she would wear it as her token during the Games, but at the least her family could sell it for money to feed themselves.

As I watched the Capitolites parade her and the baker's boy around in the opening festivities to the Games, I tried to make myself as numb as I could to the very real possibility that she would not come back. My father was required to attend dinners in honor of the annual tradition and while I usually went with him, it felt especially wrong this time. So I sit alone in the living room of our large house for the required viewings.

As I sit quietly picking at the loose thread on the arm of my sweater with my hands slightly shaking, I think back to the day of the Reaping. How she had brought strawberries to us with her friend, Gale. He had lashed out at me over the injustice of the Reaping, how my name was only in 5 times. The social status of my family prevented me from having to take out tesserae like he and Katniss. His name was in 42 times. I tried to not take this jab personally, I could not control any of our circumstances.

Gale stood behind me in line to see Katniss after the Reaping, while everyone was waiting to say their goodbyes. I could feel the heat of his glare against my back, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

It's not fair. None of this is fair.

I let out a sharp, frustrated breath as I jump to my feet. I do not want to sit here and watch whatever fanfare they are projecting on the screen in front of me. I pull on my shoes, wrapping my sweater tighter around my body as I slip out of my backdoor. I follow dark alleyways through town, to avoid Peacekeepers, until I reach the edge of the woods. I follow a well-worn path by memory until I reach a small clearing. I am not brave enough to venture deeper into the woods like others that I know, but this quiet space dimly lit by the setting sun gives me the solace I am looking for.

With the setting sun goes the busy noises of birds and the wind through the trees. I sit on a large rock toward the edge of the meadow, my arms wrapped around my small waist as I watch the way the grass flows with the gentle breeze.

I barely get a moment to relax before I hear brances crunching behind me. I freeze in fear, all of the possibilities running through my head. I whip my head around after a beat, my eyes searching the dusky tree line behind me as the noise gets closer. I take in a sharp gasp when I see a figure approaching closer, my heart racing until I recognize the face that emerges just a few feet from where I sit. Gale.

"Are you following me now?" I ask, watching him as he walks closer.

"I was just wondering what the hell the Mayor's daughter is doing in the woods, at night no less," he says calmly, placing his hands in his jacket pockets as he shrugs. His steel grey eyes trained on me in a way that I couldn't quite interpret.

I scowl at the connotations of 'the Mayor's daughter'. "Why aren't you at home watching the Opening?"

He sits down beside me and shrugs again, his eyes fixed toward the sunset through the trees. "Same reason as you, I suppose. Doesn't feel right to watch all of this happen and pretend that it isn't my best friend being groomed and parades around for a bloodbath."

I don't say anything for a moment, studying his tensed jaw and furrowed brow. "It's not fair," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you know about fair?" he snaps, finally turning to look at me. I huff out a breath and meet his steely glare with just as much anger reflected back in my own sky-blue eyes.

"Stop giving me shit for things I have no control over, Hawthorne. You don't know anything about me," my voice in a bitter clip as I snap back.

He shakes his head, his lips in a hard line as he looks away again. "I know you've never known what it's like to go hungry. You've never held the responsibility of other people's lives..." he starts to rant and then trails off.

I let the heaviness hang between us for a long moment. "Neither of us can help the situations we were born into," I state quietly, and he nods. Though even without a word, I can still nearly taste the bitterness in the air.

We are both silent for a while before he speaks up again, this time his voice much softer as his head hangs down. "What if she doesn't come back? She's my best friend."

"I don't know, Gale," I say helplessly as he runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

I steal a moment to admire the boy beside me. In the settling darkness, I can just make out the line of his sharp features and I feel an old familiar, out-of-place feeling stir in me and I instantly feel a little guilty. I used to watch him at school, and as the years went on he grew more and more handsome. I found myself more attracted to the dark-haired men of the Seam than the blonde Merchant boys I should be attracted to. Which could only spell trouble for the daughter of a District mayor. Anyone could see that he was in love with Katniss, but that didn't stop most of the girls in school from having crushes on him.

"Why are you staring at me?" He finally speaks up without so much as a glance in my direction. Hunter's instincts, I think.

"Just trying to figure you out. You're hard to read, Hawthorne," I tell him, blushing when I see him smile a little.

"Good. Who says I want to be figured out, Undersee?" he counters, finally looking back over at me. I smirk and shrug, looking up at the stars that have become visible thanks to the sun's disappearance. He follows my gaze, "I never take a moment to look up at the night sky."

"The stars are so beautiful... Makes it hard to believe that life under them can be so ugly," I reply quietly, folding my hands in my lap as I look back down toward the ground. "I wish I could just escape it all. Run away from the Reapings, away from being the Mayor's daughter, away from everything."

He's silent for a moment before he speaks up again. "This will never end unless people stand up to the Capitol."

His words chill me to the bone and goosebumps cover my arms. No one says things like this in District Twelve, at least not this freely. Certainly never to someone like me. Any stirring of a rebellious spirit is shut down without so much as a second thought. "That will never happen. It can't," I say, trying to make myself believe it. It's the fear of the unknown that makes me want to refuse this as a possibility. Too many people would die.

We don't say anything for a few minutes, the air between us is uncomfortable. His words don't sit well with me. If the wrong person would hear this, it would be over for him, his entire family... I can't begin to imagine, I don't want to. After a while, I stand up, pulling my sweater around my body again. "I should be getting back before someone notices that I'm gone..." I know that no one is at home to notice my absence. No one lucid, that is. I start walking toward the tree line where the path begins when I hear his footsteps behind me. "I don't need an escort," I say defiantly, huffing out a frustrated breath.

"I'm not stupid enough to let a girl like you walk in the forest alone at night," he tells me, his long strides catching him up with me in seconds. I know that he has more knowledge about the dangers of the forests than I do, but the stubborn girl in me doesn't like the idea that I can't take care of myself. I try to speed up my steps, but his much longer legs have no trouble keeping up with me. Suddenly, in my haste I stumble and just as I'm about to fall face first into the dirt below me, a hand around my arm breaks my fall.

I stumble back into him a little as I steady myself, brushing back the waves of blonde hair that fell into my face. He chuckles, his hands out to make sure that I don't fall again. "Careful there."

I try to ignore the way my arm tingles where his hand just was and I huff out a shaky breath, starting off again. "I'm fine... but thank you," I say, glancing over my shoulder back at him. I can nearly feel his smile as I walk ahead of him and we don't say anything else until we reach town. I expected him to veer off toward the Seam as we reached the edge of town, but I felt his presence behind me as I retraced my steps through the alleyways.

As I climbed the steps to my house, I looked back at him and gave him a small, grateful smile. "You didn't have to walk me home," I brushed off, my voice soft.

He shrugged, his hands in his pocket as he looked up at me. "I know, but I wanted to anyway. Goodnight, Undersee," he nodded as I reached for the door, a small grin playing on the corners of his lips before he turned away and started back down the alley. I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away before I stepped into the warm glow of my house.

#the hunger games #catching fire #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #alternate universe #gale x madge #ao3 #slow fire burn

[oathofoaksart]

LEGION OF SUPERHEROES/DC OC: AMELIE “ZEPHYR” GWIN

bio under the cut!!

General Name: Amelie Gwin A.K.A: Zephyr; Zeph, Zephy, Amma Age: 16 [S1], 18 [S2] Gender: Cisgender Female Orientation: Biromantic Bisexual Occupation: Founder Legionnaire  

Race: Metahuman Location: Legion of Superheroes Headquarters; Earth Hometown: New Metropolis, USA; Earth

Relations Parents: Sinclair (deceased) and Cornelia Gwin Siblings: Sable, Kahlo, and Drexel Gwin Friends: Chuck “Bouncing Boy” Taine, Imra “Saturn Girl” Ardeen, Luornu “Triplicate Girl” Durgo, Tinya “Phantom Girl” Wazzo, Clark “Superman” Kent, Brainiac 5, Brin “Timberwolf” Londo, Galatea @generalfandomsofthefreak​, Reep “Chameleon Boy” Daggle, Rokk “Cosmic Boy” Krinn Partner/s: Garth “Lightning Lad” Ranzz (ev.); Mekt "Lightning Lord" Ranzz (AU) Misc.: Mekt Ranzz, Ayla Ranzz Affiliations: The Legion of Superheroes

Appearance Skin: Medium Fair, rosy undertones Hair: Jet black Eyes: Black; turn fully white when concentrating a heavy attack Height: 5’1” Build: Generally small, but limber; similar to a cheerleading flyer Distinctions: Considered averagely cute; often told she has big, pretty eyes. While she’s rarely out of uniform anymore, she has what’s considered a “tomboy-ish” style.

Personality

Energetic | Playful | Dedicated | Impulsive | Brash

Type: ESFP-A (The Entertainer) Temperament: Sanguine-Choleric Alignment: Chaotic Good

Lively, loud, fun-loving; Amelie takes the role of being the Legion’s resident jokester. Even during dangerous situations, Amma is given to flippant (and most of the time, cringe-worthy) wisecracks and one-liners, staying relaxed and seemingly carefree all the while. She’s shameless flirt, constantly spouting lame pick up lines to anyone she sees as the least bit attractive (although she does very poorly at actually getting a date). Despite her general goofiness, she’s incredibly dedicated to the Legion cause and her fellow Legionnaires, giving her 100% and beyond.

Amma’s happy-go-lucky attitude is for the most part, for the sake of relieving the stress that the life of a hero often brings. Not just for herself, but for her friends as well, however it’ll occasionally blow up in her face. While she might not mean to, she has a habit of coming across as immature and reckless, especially compared to the other founding Legionnaires. Over the years, this had started to shape into a suppressed inferiority complex that when exposed, leads to sporadic and intense clashes with others.

Powers/Advantages

Amelie uses air manipulation as an offset of telekinesis, maneuvering the air in and/or around objects she moves them to her will, including herself, enabling flight without the use of her Legion flight ring. She can also manifest her aerokinesis in strong gusts, whirlwinds, and gales. By controlling air waves, Amelie is capable of sound amplification and negation.  

Like all Legionnaires, Amelie owns a Legion flight ring, which enables flight outside of her natural metagene, provides communication between other Legionnaires, can emit light like a flashlight, and protects the wearer from the vacuum of space. The Legionnaire belt works as a cloaking device.

Amelie is unable to create her own atmosphere, she can only use the air that's already available; her powers are rendered useless in a vacuum. They’re also tied a bit closely to her emotions, she has a hard time reeling them in if her emotions get the best of her.

Biography

Amelie was first born to Sinclair and Cornelia Gwin, followed three years later by all male triplets. The Gwins lived a happy existence, making their living off the small but successful restaurant under Sinclair’s name. Amma was an active, sporty girl throughout all of elementary and middle school and from a young age was smitten with the idea of running the restaurant when she was old enough. Her parents were loving and doting of her and her brothers, but she was particularly close to her father, who was known for his jolliness and all around silliness.  

Tragedy struck the Gwins when Amma was twelve, her father was caught in the middle of an armed robbery while closing the restaurant. Sinclair was found dead at the scene. The Gwins stumbled at the sudden blow, Cornelia scrambled to not only trying to keep herself from falling apart, but console her children while keeping the business stable. Seeing her mother doing her best to keep everything cohesive, Amma did her best as the eldest of the children to comfort her brothers and help in any way she could in the restaurant.

The incident of her father’s murder molded much of her personality. She loved her father dearly and his death devastated her, but instead of allowing herself the time to grieve she took up Sinclair’s jovial disposition. She forced herself to stay strong for her family, shoving any of her own trauma down where no one could see it, and instead focused on trying to brighten everyone else’s day. 

The stress of keeping up her mask of cheeriness eventually came too much not more than a few months after Sinclair’s death. A particularly nasty crying spell came to a crux, alone in her room, Amma felt as if everything was too much and too soon, her feelings erupted. She didn’t realize the roar in her ears wasn’t just her blood rushing, but that her room had been seized by a whirlwind, ripping through posters and hurling around furniture. The noise alerted her mother, who came rushing to her daughter’s side, which proved nearly disastrous. The storm correspond to Amma’s emotions, who was now in a panic, as the wind tore the roof off and sent both Amma and Cornelia sailing through the clouds.

Amma, in what should have been a futile effort, imagined that they’d somehow make it down safely. When the force of the impact never came, the mother and daughter opened their eyes to see they were hovering unharmed over the remains of their house, the triplets staring up at them in awe.

Amma, due to the stress of grief that went unchecked, activated her own metagene.

The Gwins made their home at the restaurant, loyal customers and helpful neighbors contributed in making the place comfortable for them with generous donations. Meanwhile, Amma experimented with her new found abilities, all under the careful eye of her mother. While abilities such as her own was no longer too outside the norm in the 31st century, Amma couldn’t fight the feeling that her powers could perhaps make a difference, instead of having them just thrown under the rug as a quirk.

She developed the habit of dropping by the remaining superhero museums, Superman and the Flash, as they were the first few who came to time with abilities that helped the world. The prospect of being a hero herself was something that called her greatly, but Amma couldn’t think up a way to start. Her chance would appear however, just a little after her thirteenth birthday.

Once again roaming through the Superman Museum, Amma encountered three kids right around her age, huddled far off to the corner of the building. Experience in having three younger brothers who were more often than not up to no good, Amma tried out a new trick she had been practicing. By keeping together the air waves from their voices a longer distance, she was able to carry their conversation to where she was staying, essentially eavesdropping. What she thought was three kids potentially plotting to trash the museum was actually plan on solving the conspiracy behind the threat over billionaire, R.J Brande’s, head.

Amma practically forced herself into the conversation, much to the surprise of the other three. A Braalian with magnetic manipulation, Rokk Krinn, a Titinian telepath, Imra Ardeen and Winathian electrokinetic, Garth Ranzz. Rokk, Imra and Garth were skeptical of Amma, who shoved herself into their plans with no sense of the danger to come. She won them over however, by showing them her own abilities, namely, her flight and the ease of transportation it would bring. And so the four became a rag-tag team of heroes, coming together to save R.J Brande.

Brande was grateful for their quick-thinking and selflessness and in return now helps fund their team of defenders, The Legion of Superheroes.  

Amelie goes by Zephyr, a senior Legionnaire, and fights so that the galaxy can be safe from the likes of the Fatal Five and that no one should have to experience her loss.

Notes

Zephyr is a skilled cruiser pilot, since her abilities are void in space, she didn't want rendered useless. Her fighting style bleeds into her piloting, very quick on her reflexes.

Amma prefers to float everywhere rather than have her feet touch the ground, reason being she’s the second shortest member of the Legion and it’s hard to tell when she’s in the air.

One of the few things Amma takes with extreme caution is kitchen duty, she’s taken the title of the Legion’s Head Chef. Other Legionnaires take scheduled shifts helping her set up meals for the day. She’s surprisingly stern when it comes to the kitchen, from food preparation to cleanliness.

She’s notorious for developing inconvenient crushes, such as with a constant thorn in the Legion’s side, Mekt Ranzz, and far beyond her league, the President of United Planets, Winema Wazzo

Amma is well aware of her status as a founder, but dislikes drawing respect out through it. However, she does wish that her fellow founders took her a little more seriously, something that causes friction mostly between Cosmic Boy and herself.

She had originally named herself Gale Girl when the Legion first came to be, but with Imra, Luorno and Tinya’s hero names all ending in “Girl” as well, Amma wanted to stand out. Zephyr looks and sounds cool.

#dc oc #oc #losh oc #legion of superheroes oc #gar's oc #gar's art #losh zephyr #i've actually had zeph's bio for like more than a year now? #hell even the ref image is really old #that's why everything looks a little different than what i've usually be doing but #eh #i still really like her #oathofoaks #meet the ocs #Earth 16.21

[diifacto]

Saw your post about the hunger games and i completly agree. Anyway you said there wasn't really a love triangle and now I'm curious what you mean with that? I mean like imma start following you anyway now so i won't miss it when you talk about this, but...

I’ve gotten a lot of questions/comments like this one on the statement I made in my last Hunger Games post about the series having no real love triangle, so here’s me (finally) explaining my reasoning.

It was really hard to organize my thoughts in a cohesive, complete way, as I’ve never actually organized my arguement on paper—just verbally, usually yelling (passionately) at my sister—so I’ve split them up into categories based on which aspects of the novels I’m discussing.

First Impressions

Beginning, as all things do, with first impressions. The Hunger Games is, first and foremost, categorized as a YA novel. Now, I love YA. I’ve been reading YA all my life and will probably continue doing so for the rest of it. But there are a ton of tropes/patterns found consistently through just about every YA novel out there, just as in any other genre—sci-fi has spaceships, blasters, and aliens; fantasy has monarchies, dragons, and curses; and YA has love triangles, rebellions, “bad boy” boyfriends, etc. Obviously, this is a gross generalization, but you know what I mean—when Katniss introduces Gale as “the only person with whom I can be myself,” and he checks off the attractive and male boxes on top of it, anyone who’s ever read YA has alarm bells going off in their head: Love Interest Detected.

But, before anything can happen with Gale, we’re heading straight into the Games, where we are confronted with yet another possible love interest. Peeta, Katniss’s competitor—but fake, star-crossed lover? And they have history from back in District 12? We have ourselves a second Love Interest, and therefore we’ve got ourselves a Love Triangle!

(Ignore the Games, of course. The oppressed, impoverished, desperate state of the districts under the Capitol’s control. The children being sent to die for their amusement. The two sixteen-year-olds doing anything they can to stay alive one more day. No, we’ve got some romance on our hands!)

And isn’t that it? Readers go into The Hunger Games, are introduced to these two young, attractive men, who obviously have feelings for Katniss, and whom Katniss depends on (we’ll dig into the significance of that later) in return—and understandably assume this’ll blossom into a plot point. And it does, but not in the way readers are expecting. Suzanne Collins herself never portrays Gale and Peeta as opposing love interests; rather, she uses them to represent opposing worldviews, a huge choice Katniss has to make in Catching Fire. What readers are expecting to happen, though—Love Triangle, Katniss choosing one of the boys, Team Peeta or Team Gale, etc.—can get in the way of how they perceive what Suzanne Collins is really trying to say.

Katniss’s “Choice”

I’d like to present a word to you: juxtaposition. I learned it in English class, it’s fun to say, and it means, according to Google, “The fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.” I think it describes love triangles pretty well; after all, isn’t a love triangle just two, different people placed in the same situation, each with their respective pros and cons? I also think it describes Gale and Peeta’s characters pretty well; except instead of Suzanne Collins juxtaposing them based on their looks, general atheleticism, and by who remembers Katniss’s birthday, she aligns them with two possible futures for Katniss, and two different beliefs.

A life with Peeta means a lifetime of keeping her head down, following the path the Capitol has set for her, living in fear and suffocating oppression, hoping the spark will die out. A life with Gale means the opposite: taking it to the Capitol, rebelling against the Games, turning the spark into a flame and hoping everyone she loves survives the fire.

This is the choice Katniss makes in Catching Fire. When she kisses Gale after he’s been whipped, it’s not because she’s coming into any newfound feelings, it’s because she’s made her decision—to stay and rebel against the Capitol. And in this choice, a life with Peeta is of the Capitol’s invention, and a life with Gale is only another way to rebel.

That’s all there really is to Katniss’s “choice.”

Dependence

“But Margaret,” you say, “Katniss does have feelings for Gale and Peeta in return.” Oh, sure. I won’t argue there—there’s a reason, aside from them being superficially perfect Love Interest archetypes, that both these boys themselves do appeal to Katniss. But these “feelings,” this reason, aren’t/isn’t inherently romantic.

After Katniss’s father died, Collins depicts how Katniss’s mother fell into an incredibly lethargic state, sick with sadness, and effectively abandoned eleven-year-old Katniss to deal with her own grief and keep the family alive, all alone. Understandably, this experience has kept Katniss from trusting easily or becoming too dependent on people, lest they do the same and leave when she needs them. For the most part, Katniss lives independently, relying on no one for support, not accepting help. But why, when people argue that Katniss does have feelings for both Gale and Peeta, do I have to admit that while I disagree overall, there is something there Katniss doesn’t let herself feel for anyone else? What makes these two boys different from everyone else in The Hunger Games?

Simple: they’re the only two people Katniss (reluctantly) lets herself depend on.

When discussing Gale’s popularity among the girls at school, Katniss mentions that it makes her jealous, but not for the reason people think. “Good hunting partners are hard to find,” she says, 1. acknowledging Gale’s desirability, 2. making her lack of romantic interest clear, and 3. admitting she relies on him as a hunting partner, and feels threatened by the idea of losing him. And of course she does—especially since Collins shows us that it isn’t just Katniss herself depending on Gale; after the reaping it will be Prim, who Katniss describes as the only person in the world she’s certain she loves, and her mother. Without Gale, and with Katniss heading off to the Games, she has no way to ensure Prim’s safety. Thus, Katniss is incredibly dependent on Gale.

Peeta comes later, but equally as necessary; offering Katniss safety through their star-crossed lovers strategy, and, later, an understanding of the Games she can’t get from anyone else. Katniss, someone so scared of depending on people, has ended up depending on these two boys for different things. Gale, to protect her family, her home, to offer her freedom from the stifling nature of the Capitol and the Victor’s Village; and Peeta, to offer her understanding and freedom in a different way, from the dreams, from the arena, from the pressure of keeping everyone alive.

So when people counter my opinion that Katniss never had any romantic feelings for either Gale nor, initially, Peeta (we’ll break that “initially” down, don’t worry), I’ll give them that, yes, Gale and Peeta got something from Katniss no one else did: trust. And trust is, of course, a fantastic base for a healthy, romantic relationship. But it doesn’t become one in Hunger Games. Katniss loves Gale, and she loves Peeta, I can’t argue that. But that love isn’t romantic.

Debts Owed

This will be very brief—just something to think about, to go along with my analysis of Katniss’s dependence.

I need to acknowledge that, while my arguement is that Katniss never had any definitively romantic feelings for either Gale or Peeta, they definitely did for her. And she knew. So, just for a moment, I’d like us to consider the thought process of someone who has never, ever, let herself depend on anyone else—depending on someone who obviously wants something more from her?

Do you think she may feel like she owes something to this person, as thanks? Do you think she might be afraid, if they weren’t to get what they want, that they might leave? Do you think that, even if she didn’t have any romantic feelings for either of the two, she might kiss them, just in case?

I’m not saying this is the case in Hunger Games, but as I was writing up “Dependence,” it occurred to me: what would that really do to a person? And I just wanted to bring it up for discussion. When Katniss made her choice—rebellion—did she have to seal that choice with a kiss? Or was that her way of ensuring that yes, she was picking rebellion, and Gale was the rebellious choice, and yes, this kiss, this promise, will keep him by my side.

Was Gale Ever Really A “Contender”?

Let’s tie the frayed ends of “First Impressions”/“Katniss’s ‘Choice’”/“Dependence”/“Debts Owed” together. If you’ve made it this far, you’ve an inexhaustible well of patience, and I applaud you.

Remember when I added that “initially” when discussing Katniss’s lack of romantic feelings for Peeta? While I’m still firmly on the side of Katniss ending up single—at least for a few years, while the poor girl recovers and figures all the shit you’re supposed to understand in your teens, and when you’ve been through a war, out—of both “choices,” of course she ends up with Peeta. Why? Well.

Despite the “choice,” despite dependence, despite all the evidence laid here on the contrary, despite all that, if you still think there’s a love triangle in Hunger Games, explain to me this: you need two love interests to make a love triangle—and was Gale ever really a contender?

Let’s walk through it. Right from the beginning, immediately after Suzanne Collins introduces Gale, she has Katniss go through the steps discussed in “Dependence”; acknowledge desirability and attractiveness, state her disinterest romantically, and move on. Already, sweeping any suggestion that Katniss may have some unspoken, romantic love towards Gale. Not to say it couldn’t develop—but it doesn’t.

Catching Fire is where the boys are perhaps juxtaposed the most, with Katniss’s “choice” coming into play. Remember what I said about debts owed? Gale continues to push Katniss’s boundaries, confessing his love, pressuring her, even after she’s expressed her disinterest in love right now (amid all this death and rebellion, a perfectly fucking normal sentiment) and confusion around the subject. Not only that, but he insults Peeta, Haymitch, and those involved with the Games (ex. Cinna, Effie, Katniss’s prep team) by lumping them in with the Capitol, and while the latter is a fair judgement, he doesn’t listen to Katniss when she tries to defend them and explain they’re rebelling in their own way, same as him. Gale in Catching Fire begins his “downwards spiral,” as he turns everything black and white, shunning Katniss when she doesn’t agree 100% and accepting her back with open arms after she kisses him.

Peeta, on the other hand, understands the gray area. He listens to Katniss, and although he’s getting exactly what he wants—a relationship with Katniss, a life with Katniss—he takes no joy in it because he knows it isn’t what Katniss wants. Remember after their proposal, on the Victory Tour, when Katniss asks Haymitch why Peeta’s not happy, as this was what he wanted? Haymitch tells her it’s because he wanted it to be real. And that’s true for Peeta throughout the whole trilogy; he truly cares about Katniss’s wants, tries his hardest not to pressure her, and is genuinely a continuous source of support. He rebels, the entire time, in his own quiet, calculated way; with the money in District 11, with the “baby bomb” in the interviews.

Here’s a juxtaposition for you: Peeta’s love for Katniss isn’t conditional; Gale’s is.

For proof, just look at Mockingjay. Specifically, look at—spoilers—Prim’s death.

Everyone knows that girl is the most important thing in the world to Katniss. All of District 12 knows it, President Snow knows it, President Coin knows it—hell, regular, average citizens of the Capitol know it. Everyone knows there is nothing, nothing in the world that could make Katniss put Primrose in danger, even at her own expense. Katniss would rather die than have Prim get hurt, and anyone close to her, who loves her, knows damn well that’s what she’d want.

So when Gale’s bomb goes off, delivering the final blow to the Capitol, at the expense of so many innocent lives, at the expense of Katniss’s sister—there was no love for Katniss there. There was absolutely no consideration, no respect for Katniss. There was just violence, and the hungry, desperate need to win this war, to rebel.

I could never say that Katniss and Gale weren’t a great team. I could never say they weren’t good, lifelong friends—I mean, starting out. They were fantastic hunting partners, further shown in Mockingjay, when they started hunting people instead of deer or turkey or wild dogs. But they grew apart, after Katniss changed in the Games and Gale changed in the rebellion, and there was never, really, the chance of anything romantic between them. Katniss depended on Gale to, above all other things, protect her sister, and he didn’t, so she stopped depending on him. And there wasn’t anything left.

That’s what I mean when I say, even if you think Katniss had real feelings for Peeta—and they do end up together, so even if I don’t agree with it, okay, alright, maybe it was Suzanne Collins’ intention—there’s still no love triangle, because Katniss never had feelings for Gale. And even if, maybe, maybe some would’ve developed—we’re getting into pure hypotheticals here—his character never would’ve been a real option for Katniss. They changed too much, and grew too far apart, and there would have been absolutely no chance for him after Prim.

Conclusion

In conclusion, I’m sorry. I’m more cohesive and intelligent verbally. Most of the time. Promise.

In conclusion, there is no love triangle in Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games. Rather, there are two boys who have feelings for the same girl, and this girl, who never depends on anyone, depends on these two boys for different things, and has to make a huge, horrible, irreversible choice, and somehow it ends up attaching itself to these two boys. And that’s really all there is to it.

#booklr #book blog #opinion #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #gale #peeta #love triangle #it’s not actually a love triangle and here’s why #katniss should’ve ended up alone #fiction #katniss everdeen #suzanne collins #young adult #sorry this took so long I’m an unproductive mess #I swear I’m more cohesive in person #usually whilst yelling at my sister #book review

[jackie-talks-about-starkid]

Me and My Dick (Rewatch #2, 9/15/2020)

YouTube publish date: November 12, 2000

Number of views on date of rewatch: 2,129,928

Original Performance Run: October 29-31st, 2009

Ticket price: ?

Director: Matt Lang

Music and Lyrics: Darren Criss, AJ Holmes, and Carlos Valdes

Book: Brian Holden, Eric Kahn Gale, Matt Lang, and Nick Lang

Cast album price and availability: $9.99, iTunes

Album release date: January 6, 2010

Parody or original: an original (I suspect that the plot may have been influenced by King Missile’s “Detachable Penis” but that’s just a hunch)

Main cast and characters

Joey Richter - Joey Richter

Dick - Joe Walker

Sally - Jamie Lyn Beatty

Miss Cooter - Devin Lytle

Vanessa - Ali Gordon

Tiffany - Alle-Faye Monka

The Old Snatch - Nicholas Joseph Strauss-Matathia

Flopsy - Brian Holden

Joey’s Heart - AJ Holmes

Musical numbers

Act I

“Me and My Dick” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Joey and Dick

“Ready To Go” by Darren Criss

     Characters: Company

“I’ve Seen You Around Here Before” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Dick and Miss Cooter

“Nothin’ Like A Dick” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Old Snatch and Miss Cooter

“Listen To Your Heart” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Joey’s Heart and Joey

Act II

“Land of the Dicks” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Weenie, Big T, and the Lost Dicks

“Even Though” by Darren Criss

     Characters: Joey and Sally

“Gotta Find His Dick” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Joey’s Heart and Company

“The Council of the Pussies" by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: The Old Snatch, High Council Pussy, and The Council of the    Pussies

“Flight of the Pussies” by AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

"Big T's Temptation" by  AJ Holmes and Carlos Valdes

     Characters: Big T and the Lost Dicks

"Finale" by Darren Criss

     Characters: Company

Notable Notes:

The cast album became the first ever student musical album to chart on Billboard’s Top Cast Albums the week it was released (x)

The album debuted at #11. It was a place above the original cast album for Rock of Ages.

Cultural Context: 2009

Me and My Dick was performed the same year that StarKid did A Very Potter Musical

Barack Obama gets sworn in as president of the US

Glee airs its first episode (Darren auditions for Finn and doesn’t get the part)

Michael Jackson dies on June 25th

Kanye West interrupts Taylor Swift’s “Video of the Year” speech at the Video Music Awards

Avatar (the one with the blue people, not Avatar: The Last Airbender) becomes the highest grossing movie of all time

The “Miracle on the Hudson” happened on January 15th

Personal Thoughts:

When one first hears of a comedic musical about pubescent high schoolers and their singing penises and vaginas, one does not think, “Wow, what a sophisticated concept that dissects the relationship between gender roles and sexual identity in modern day society,” but that’s what StarKid Productions’ Me and My Dick is truly about. At first, having the main character’s genitalia being completely separate but complementary entities to the teenagers at the center of the storyline seems jarring and like it was only done for comedic purposes, but the longer and more complicated the plot gets, the more obvious it seems to be. The main character, Joey Richter and his relationship with his Dick is a very compelling one. Throughout the musical, Joey struggles with coming to terms with his sexuality as a teenage boy. At the beginning, Joey himself reflects the average stereotype of the sex-obsessed male teenager whose primary interest is getting laid rather than achieving emotional fulfillment. Later, when his Dick becomes interested in his neighbor Sally’s Miss Cooter, Joey and his Dick have a fight about what that attraction means for their relationship and eventually separate, before eventually coming back together once Joey develops a relationship with his Heart. Joey himself is his own entity, with his own thoughts, feelings, and goals, and his struggles with his Dick and his Heart represent very real internal struggles that many teenagers, and especially teenage boys, have with themselves, their sexuality, and their personal emotions. 

Joey’s Dick, as well as the other character’s sexual organs, represent the subconscious sexual identities of each character. For Joey, his sexual identity cannot be fully realized or appreciated by himself because he has not fully matured as a sexual being. Unlike Sally, Joey does not realize that in order to achieve sexual fulfillment, he needs to not only be physically attracted to someone, but also experience an emotional connection with someone, which is something that Dick AKA his sexual subconscious realizes before Joey and even his Heart do. This journey is the perfect example of the dangers of a sex-oriented society, and how that kind of society damages the well-being of maturing men and women. In Western society, the ideal sexually mature man is defined by his sexual prowess and dominance. If he can have sex with a bunch of hot women and not worry about how emotionally in-tune he is with himself and his personal relationships, then he is the ideal man. Society teaches men (and women) from a very young age that a man’s defining trait is his sexual attitude towards others. 

The ideal sexually mature woman, on the other hand, is represented by the character Tiffany, who is arguably the most sympathetic character in the musical. Through the perspective of her vagina, lovingly referred to as The Old Snatch (aptly named as Tiffany’s sexuality represents the general mistreatment of women’s sexual selves in society), we see that Tiffany is the unfortunate byproduct of such a male dominant sexually oriented culture. The only time Tiffany has ever experienced true sexual fulfillment was during her first time having sex with an unnamed male character she was in love with. However, it was later revealed that this character used Tiffany only for his own sexual enjoyment and did not truly love her, intensely hurting Tiffany’s feelings and resulting in her being used to getting treated as a sexual object whose existence is only beneficial for men’s pleasure rather than her own emotional and sexual fulfillment. 

Another, more subtle, detail that emphasizes this theme is Sally’s opening section in “Ready to Go.” While singing, Sally already knows that she has a crush on Joey, but her low self-esteem and worries about her own attractiveness lead her to become sexually repressed, to the point where her vagina, Miss Cooter, has to ‘fall in love’ with Joey’s Dick in order to Sally to realize that she not only experiences, but truly desires having sex with Joey. 

What I love about the representation of the character’s and their respective sexual organs is that they are tethered to one another through some kind of leash-type object that allows for the penis or vagina character to be connected to their person but freely move around and act as their own character without them. While this is beneficial for the actors and entertaining for the audience to see these beings take on a life of their own, it also compliments the theme of sexual identity and maturity very well. By choosing to have penises and vaginas tethered to, but not completely physically attached to their teenage counterparts, it communicates to the audience that the sexual identity the genitalia represents in of course a very important factor of the person’s life and individuality, but ultimately not the be-all, end-all of who a person truly is. While Dick, Miss Cooter, Old Snatch, and other characters go through their own journey, the most important development is the ones that their human attachments experience. The sexuality of the character is an integral part of who the character is and how they navigate their life, but in the end, the most important thing is that the human characters go through their own development in which their sexuality compliments, but never dick-tates (sorry, I had to). 

The ultimate take away from Me and My Dick is that in order to be a fully realized individual, one has to recognize and accept all parts of themselves, instead of just focusing on their physical sexual selves and ignoring their personal feelings, or overemphasizing their emotional feelings while ignoring their physical, sexual needs. 

“[Dick] is a part of you like I am, Joey. You need him and Sally needs him” - Joey’s Heart <3

“We gotta start thinking of love and sex as a team effort. We can’t just pine over a girl we can’t get or be in a constant pursuit of sex. We need to listen to each other because that’s the only way it can work out” -Joey Richter

#@teamstarkid #for my independent study #me and my dick #MAMD #team starkid #starkid productions #starkid musicals #starkid #musicals #musical theatre

[bluebird722]

Wicked Musical Extended Ending

For @cuckoo-outlawoflove-in-nirvana, @broadwill, @breakfast-at-bendels, @elphabaoftheopera, @squeegool, @thegoodplacey, @politedemon, @diablodancer, @superelphie, @colwengrounds, and all fans of “Wicked” who crave more and wouldn’t mind an "adaptation” of a musical that is based on a book (the first of a series) that is based on a movie that is based on the first of a series of books.

After reuniting, Fiyero and Elphaba leave the Land of Oz via train under unsuspecting disguises and arrive in a nearby land unfamiliar to them. With virtually nothing but each other, Fiyero and Elphaba travel by foot, seeking shelter in barns and surviving on fruit trees, until they find a bare grassland where they decide to construct their own home. In the time that it takes them to build a house, they grow their own garden of produce.

Fiyero has the permanent appearance of a scarecrow, but Elphaba manages to reshape him, allowing the couple to consummate their feelings. The first time they make love, Elphaba sobs the entire time because she worried for so long that she would never find love and nearly lost it when she found it. Fiyero just holds her so she knows that love found its way back to her. 

Fiyero wakes up most nights to Elphaba sniffling, and she keeps worrying about the future of their unborn child, if it will be just as much an outcast as she had been and perhaps be ashamed of its mother, or even possess any magical abilities that will frighten others. She only calms down when Fiyero rubs her baby bump and lets her, calmly, talk about what ails her, and this enables her to fall asleep better. 

Elphaba goes into labor while gardening, and Fiyero carries her inside and assists her through contractions. He knows nothing of childbirth but keeps her distracted by coaching her to maintain control of her powers with each push. It takes hours, but a healthy baby boy is born, and Fiyero laughs and cries the entire time that he clutches the newborn. To Elphaba’s relief, little Liir is born with pale skin and black hair, and his parents can’t stop kissing him. 

In order to bring in income, Fiyero and Elphaba expand their garden, and Fiyero sells produce at markets and to neighbors who don’t mind his unusual appearance. Elphaba, unwilling to present herself and risk causing fear among others, raises chickens at home to sell or eat the eggs, and has Liir assist her but creates games out of his chores and teaches him math this way. At night and during rainstorms in the daytime, Liir’s parents teach him to read and write. Even though it makes her miss Dr. Dillamond, Elphaba tutors her son biology and history, and Fiyero buys books of biology and the country’s history for him and his family to read and learn.

Liir begins school at age six and easily becomes a top student. His enthusiasm and intelligence delight teachers, and his kindness attracts many friends of different ages. Out of respect for his mother, Liir doesn’t bring classmates to his house but goes to theirs. As this continues, Liir becomes frustrated at his mother for wanting to live like a hermit, saying that any true friend wouldn’t mind what she looked like. Still, Elphaba refuses to change the rules and promises that he would understand when he was older. 

Liir leaves for university at sixteen, but before he leaves, his parents tell him their stories about Oz, how they met and fell in love, and why they left home. He isn’t angry about their revelations but reflects on the information he has on the aunt and grandfather he never met and his mother’s fall from grace, and considers traveling to Oz to meet Glinda. On the train ride to school, Liir promises himself to return his parents to their homeland. 

At university, Liir instantly bonds with his roommate, Trism, and befriends the beautiful Candle. Although Liir and Candle begin a romantic relationship in their second year, he finds himself attracted to Trism but delays telling them his conflict. This continues even after the three finish school and travel, trying to find employment, and his relationship with Candle becomes sexual. Candle finds out and isn’t offended but suggests that he might be bisexual. Just as Trism and Liir begin a relationship, Candle finds out that she’s pregnant. The three have lengthy conversations and consider co-parenting together. 

Liir writes to his parents of his sexuality and receives a loving letter regardless. At Trism and Candle’s urging, he brings them to deliver the news of the pregnancy to his parents. Of course, Trism and Candle are surprised with Elphaba’s skin and Fiyero’s physical appearance but spend more time defending Liir from his parents who are more furious about his “carelessness”. The five come to an uneasy truce, and Elphaba and Fiyero agree to let Liir, Trism, and Candle stay with them as the trio begin searching for their own house. At this time, Trism and Candle knew little of Oz but learn of Elphaba and Fiyero’s pasts and feel sorrow.

Like Elphaba, Candle begins labor in the garden and is in pain for the rest of the day and night. She ends up in the same room where Liir was born. Liir is extremely squeamish, but Fiyero instructs him on coaching a birthing woman. As he, Trism, and Elphaba assist Candle, Liir talks to her in a calm voice until he delivers his daughter and nearly passes out. The baby is healthy and cleans up a light green, much to her grandparents’ surprise. 

Rain grows up in a city apartment with her three loving parents and cherishes free time with her grandparents. As part of her schooling, Liir teaches her to read and write by having her read and copy letters from a journal that he wrote about her parents, her maternal family, and the political conflicts in Oz. However, he does not reveal if it is fact of fiction. When Rain learns that Oz is a real place, she decides to visit when she is older.

The first holiday after Rain’s first year of university, she persuades her parents and grandparents to let her travel to Oz with her best friend Ozma, who goes by the nickname “Tip” because of her preference for masculine clothing. Elphaba is nervous but gives her blessing and requests that Rain not inform anyone that her grandparents are still alive. Rain and Tip travel to Oz and then the Emerald City, where they call for the attention of a widowed Glinda, who has since lived up to the name “Glinda the Good” but whose physical appearance is fading. Initially, Glinda is reluctant to speak of her life prior to the Emerald City until Rain begins pressing her with questions about her “old roommate”. As Glinda continuously refuses, Rain and Tip excuse themselves and take a train to Munchkinland, under the governorship of a man named Shell. There the girls finds the land where Rain’s great-aunt and great-grandparents are buried together. They sit at the grave for two hours until Glinda arrives via bubble, confident that she would find them there. 

Back at the Emerald City palace, Glinda quietly interviews Rain, who recalls the story of Dorothy Gale, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion, and remarks that Glinda’s “old roommate” had known them all at some point. Glinda presents Rain with the Grimmerie and has her read through the book just as the guards announce the arrest of Tip for an action they do not reveal. A panicked Rain subconsciously recalls a spell that she had just read and instinctively chains the guards together. Rain and Tip are shocked, and Glinda begins to weep when she realizes that her old friend had survived and lived to have a child. She admits to have staged Tip’s arrest to test Rain of any power as proof that she truly was Elphaba’s granddaughter, and is furthermore pleased that Rain proved herself braver and more willing to save a friend than Glinda had been in her youth. 

Rain, in Glinda’s home, writes to her grandparents and informs them of her meeting with Glinda. An emotional Ephaba congratulates her but is also surprised that Rain possessed some form of magic that Liir did not demonstrate. Because all of Oz are convinced that Elphaba had died long ago and still speak ill of her, Rain suggests for Glinda and Elphaba to communicate via mirrors and meet on the night before Rain leaves to return home. Glinda agrees but wonders if she should tell Rain and Elphaba the truth of Elphaba’s parentage. Despite Rain’s eagerness to go back to her parents, she promises to return and talks of one day living in Oz. Rain and Tip watch from the shadows as Glinda’s mirror unfogs and she says, “You wicked thing...”

#wicked #elphaba #elphaba thropp #glinda #glinda upland #fiyeraba #fiyero #fiyero tiggular #liir thropp #wicked musical #the wicked years #fanfiction #gregory maguire #the wizard of oz