Currently Contemplating The Fact That Glinda Gets Her Ears Pierced At Some Point During The Time Jump

tw: self harm scars

idk, something that's been rattling around in my brain since an anon asked about it. i never could find a full scene to fit it into but oh well.

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Elphaba brushes a thumb over the scars, the catch of her nails against the rough, raised skin sending shivers down Galinda's spine. She holds her breath on instinct, anxiety tangling in her chest in a way that makes it hard to fill her lungs with air.

"You know," Elphaba starts, eyes still tracing the lines on Galinda's fair skin. "In some ancient Ozian cultures, scars were seen as a badge of honor. A signal to everyone else that the bearer was strong enough to survive something that could've killed them."

Elphaba glances up, her emerald eyes shining as the corners of her lips tilt into the gentlest of smiles. She keeps her gaze locked on Galinda's as she lowers her head to press her lips to the marks.

"I don't think you're disgusting, Galinda," Elphaba whispers, crawling back up the blonde's body to press another kiss to her lips. "I think you're a survivor."

I found a site with lots of posters I haven't seen before AND this ONE.

Why are they pluckering their lips like this? Why are their eyes closed? Why do they look about to kiss?

Indian/Hindu James Potter headcanons

• The Potters gave James his very boring, British name because they were worried he’d be teased if they gave him an Indian name • James worked hard to be good at quidditch, mostly because he enjoyed it, but partly to defy the stereotypes that Indian people weren’t very good at it (what with the popularity of flying carpets in the Eastern hemisphere and the Indian team’s appalling performance in the World Cup) • The boys celebrate Diwali every year by decorating their dorm and the common room with hundreds of lanterns and after the first year the house elves help out, Mrs Potter always sends them all sweets and gifts • One year, James set off fireworks in the great hall at dinner, McGonagall made sure it didn’t happen again • As Holi always falls on the day of a full moon and Remus is too ill to take part, Sirius suggested bringing the powder paint with them to the shrieking shack and celebrating in their animagus forms •The powder always clumps in their fur and sticks to the damp walls of the shack, making it actually quite a cheery place in other circumstances • As James is bilingual in Hindi and English, he will not only swear or insult people in Hindi, but also makes most exclamations of excitement or affection in his mother tongue too • Lily thinks this is extremely cool, James starts speaking in Hindi more often •James is also a vegetarian Hindu and greatly missed his dad’s Mughlai cooking when confronted with the somewhat limited and flavourless vegetarian options at Hogwarts • That is until Peter had a word with the kitchen elves and brilliant Delhi dishes like vegetable biryani and mattar paneer started appearing on the Gryffindor table

Does anyone have any good marauders fanfic recs? I'm trynna find some with desi James, but just any recs are good with me.

'I am Prince Jaron' - Short Fanfic 👑

*Set at the end of TFP with an alternate ending*

What if Imogen found out slightly earlier than in the books? What if she didn't wait for Tobias and the crown? What if Imogen was there to support Jaron when he confronts his past for the first time in years?

Even though I actually felt some inspiration, I feel like this cut off abruptly. Ran out of ideas. Sorry for any spelling mistakes as always

⚔️⚔️⚔️

I looked directly at Mott. “Go now.”

Mott nodded and took Conner’s arm. “Sir, Prince Jaron will be there. Let’s go.”

“I will get there in time,” I told Conner. “Have Mott secure the kitchen for us.”

They ran ahead and Imogen knelt beside me, asking, “You knew about Roden and Cregan. How?”

“It was their last chance to make Roden the prince.”

She reached for the hem of her skirt, intending to tear off strips for bandages. “Where are you hurt?" 

“Nowhere. Everything is fine. Really.” I smiled and held out my arms to prove it to her. “I just needed a reason to get separated from Conner. Do you think Mott has secured the kitchen yet?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand — you faked that injury?”

“Yes.” It was the first time her confusion could have been mistaken for distrust. I stretched out my hand to help her up, “I’ll explain on the way.”

“But what about Tobias? What about the crown?” Even though nobody could hear us, she still whispered the word.

“The crown will gain him entry, and I won’t need it.”

“Sage—” She tugged me back as I started walking, searching my eyes desperately.

I squeezed her hand, “Trust me.”

Although she didn’t seem all that convinced, she allowed me to lead her until we saw light pouring  into the tunnel and a figure taking up too much space to be anyone but Mott. I let her climb the ladder first and followed soon after.

“How bad is it?” 

He was obviously asking about my injury, so I just grinned at both of them, “Practically nonexistent.”

Imogen’s frown deepened just as Mott understood, “Unbelievable.”

“I thought it was rather clever.”

“You think everything you do is clever,” This time it was Imogen, still looking as though I was some puzzle that had been scattered and she had to put together again.

“And since when can you talk?”

She gave Mott a pointed look just as I spotted Cook, my favourite chef who always kept silent about my midnight escapes through the trapdoor and into the world. And suddenly, I felt very hollow. I was home. I was prince. And yet I felt like neither. I longed for my family, but they weren’t here. Only Cook. Still, as if drawn to her like a echo from the past, I needed to see her. I needed someone to know I had come home before the entire kingdom knew it. I tapped her on the shoulder before Mott could stop me.

“Did you get the potatoes I asked—” The plate she held shattered at our feet and her mouth hung open. She was looking at a ghost, I realised. It was best to act as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. So I just grabbed a pastry from behind her and winked. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I knew the tears I had caused weren’t out of grief. 

I strode back to my friends with a grin, “Time to come back to life.”

Mott just shook his head with a smile but promised to remain at the sewer entrance to wait for Tobias, nodding once at me as though he knew my plan without my telling him. Perhaps also in good luck. I generously left him the rest of my partly-bitten pastry and exited through the staff door.

Imogen followed me in silence. Up the curving stairs I hadn’t stepped on for half a decade as I ran my hand along the stone walls, each bump and crevice unearthing memories from deep within me. And dread, and sadness. I pushed the last two emotions aside and dared to glance back at Imogen.

She no longer looked suspicious, only nervous.

“I have something I need to tell you.” I said as I stopped and pushed our backs against the wall. A guard was walking by, armed heavily in anticipation of the coronation. My old room was almost in sight. I knew how to get there unnoticed. 

“Yes?” She whispered.

“I—” She looked at me with such trust in her eyes. Trust that would be broken in an instant when she found out who I truly was. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You don’t have to be. I know why you’re doing this now. I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Not until I tell you everything.” I gently ushered her across the walkway and into the royal quarters. And with a wave of nausea, I realised nobody would be here. 

She noticed my distress apparently, “Sage, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I—” The door to my parents room. I gasped, seeing myself caught by them sneaking around. But that wasn’t real, of course. Just my own ghosts. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me.” This time she squeezed my hand.

And quietly, because the words seemed to seek refuge in my throat, “I am prince Jaron.”

“Yes, I know.”

“No,” I looked directly at her, “I am him.”

“Sage, I understand if you want me to call you that, and I will. But what’s really going on?”

It’s better to show than to try convince her of the impossible. I nudged open the door to my old room and walked in. The smell of pine and dust thick in the air. Everything was just as I had left it. 

Imogen froze as the door shut behind her, hissing, “Sage, why are we in a royal’s bedroom?”

I took exactly three steps, knowing which floorboard I needed but still waiting for it to creak and then knelt down to tear it free. 

“Sage!”

There, sandwiched between two loose pieces of wood, was the inspiration for Conner's prized replica. I lifted my up my sword and watched it glimmer in the moonlight. The leather warming in my palm. Rubies sparkling. 

It was like the world quietened around me. Enough that Imogen's sharp inhale was just as loud as her back hitting the door. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No. Stop talking,” her eyes widened, “Wait, no. Forget I said that.”

She looked impossibly small when I stood back up, and suddenly she bowed low.

“Please rise,” I said. “It’s still me.”

She obeyed but shook her head, avoiding my eyes. “No, I don’t think it is, your Highness.”

I frowned at my sword as if it had personally ruined everything. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Her voice was almost imperceptible. 

“I have everything to apologise for.” I allowed myself to really look around. A melted wax candle on my bedside table. The sheets tucked carefully into the bed like a treasured memory. Blue and yellow drapes canvasing the bedposts and pot of rotted flower stems, the petals long disintegrated. Forgotten, much like I was. 

“Are you alright?” The words seemed to take on a new meaning.

“No.” I swallowed. Throat burning with unshed tears. But I had a job to do. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

I didn’t notice her walking up to me until she touched my wrist, getting my attention, “I understand.”

That was all I needed to hear. I was breathing again. Where Cook saw a ghost Imogen must have seen a complete stranger. And the thought of my closest friend no longer sharing that sentiment was a nice addition to the pain that was already crippling me from inside out.

"How much time do you have?" She was speaking quietly now. And, to my surprise, studying my face.

"The regents would have started their proceeding. Connor would have made it just about now. I expect another ten minutes until I have to make a grand entrance."

She giggled, "I'm not the least bit surprised you want it to be grand."

"I want Conner to think he's won."

"I forgot about that part. He has no idea, does he?"

"And he won't know until I have him arrested," I looked at her through blurry eyes, "He killed them Imogen. He murdered them all."

Her eyes widened and a look of horror flickered in her expression. "What?"

"It was him. I figured it out."

"You're saying--"

"He murdered my family."

I hoped that darkness made the tears invisible. Though I suspected the tremor in my voice didn't help me be inconspicuous. For days I had been filled with such unbridled rage, such resentment. Briefly I thought that I should poison him with the same vial myself. But an emotion I hoped I could withstand was haunting me. Loss. I lost my family once again... only this time permanently.

And then, like a bandage holding me together, Imogen wrapped her arms around me and placed her ear above my pounding heart. "I can't pretend to know what you're going though. But I want you to know that even though your life is about to change, I will be here if you need me to be."

"As a subject or a friend?" I sniffed.

"You don't have to order me to be your friend, Jaron."

I sighed. My name sounded so nice when she said it. I was longing to hear someone say it and know it was real. So I couldn't help myself, "Imogen?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you say that again?"

She chuckled slightly and looked up at me, her own brown eyes a bit glassy, "What? Your name?" When I nodded she smiled and repeated it almost reverently, "Jaron."

I tightened our embrace slightly. "Thank you. It has been years since I heard that."

"You should prepare to hear it more often. Or Your Majesty."

"As long as you don't end up calling me that."

"What, by your title?"

I raised my eyebrows and leaned in, "Yes. Or else I'll start calling you Lady Imogen."

She threw her head back and laughed, "That would be a sight. You'll have nobles turning over in their graves."

"Well they better start turning. Because when I'm crowned, it will be my first decree."

She stepped away, "What do you mean?"

"I already planned it, back at Fathernwood. As a thanks for all you did for me."

She was silent for far too long, "Jaron, I can't repay that."

"You already have. Several times over." I stepped close to her, "I would be dead without you, Imogen. Of that I am almost certain."

"It was just some cleaning alcohol, anyone could have done it."

"I'm not just taking about my wounds, Imogen."

And it was almost a whisper when she replied, "Thank you."

I cleared my throat, and with it, reined in my emotions, "Well..." I re-gripped my sword, "I think I should probably go. But I'm going to miss this. Being Sage was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and also the worst."

"You've lived the life of a royal and the life of a peasant. You know your people more that any ruler before you. And from what I know of you already, you are going to be the greatest King that Carthya has ever seen. I can't wait to see who you'll become." She bowed her head once more and looked up with a smile, "Now go and take your kingdom back.”

I kissed her cheek and headed off to take my throne, feeling, for the first time in my life, like I was where I was destined to be.

- The End

so what ur telling me, is that steven grant rogers, can remember in perfect detail, the look on james buchanan barnes’ face when he fell screaming from that train, and also the look on james buchanan barnes’ face 70 years later when they met on that highway and didn’t even know his own name or who steve was?

cool. cool cool cool cool. thanks, i hate it.

mfs love it when countries and communities decolonize themselves and embrace their culture which was lost to british (or any european country's) colonization. but as soon as it's india decolonizing from both british AND mughal colonization they're pissed.

Fanfictions and Hinduism.

Those who are active on Wattpad, might know that there are many many writers (including myself) who tend to write fiction over itihāsa or historical epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, purely for fun and our love for them. It seems very odd, yes, and we do get to see blasphemy there too. People love some characters, hate the others with a burning passion and there are hour long debates over human nature, characterisations, myths involved, folklores and the many versions both of them have.

We have OCs, we make graphics and video edits, we pair the said OCs with CCs and sometimes with other OCs. The comment sections are the most fun things because writers and their audience interact there. Some works are much more impressive than published paperbacks while some are simply atrocious. You know it, shades are everywhere.

Now, very recently did I come to know that in Tamil literature, a fictional tale that is weaved around a couple or more incidents or points coming from the purānas or itihāsas is called a prabandha. Fun, right?

We do get to see fanfictions in Hinduism by the name of Pancharātram by Bhāsa (the one who also penned Svapna Vāsavadattā) and Kalidāsa's Abhigyāna Shākuntalam. While the latter romanticises and adds non canon events to the canon event of Lady Shakuntala and King Dushyanta's love story, the former is about a "what-if" scenario based on the Mahabharata.

So, do we promote fiction writings on such stuff? Definitely. I got much into the Sanatana culture solely via such fictions. They promote higher thinking skills, brainstorming, even fun facts many a times if the author is literate enough. And is that different from disrespecting scriptures and our very own ancestors? Also yes. Because neither of these authors claim to strictly follow the canon events. You do not like something you see, click away. As easy as that.

Do I support all of them, tho? For sure not. There are some which whitewash the bad guys and blackwash even the divine figures. Some straight up induce cringe. But that's just my opinion. A debate is always based on facts, not personal opinions. So yes, you do you.

But are they also dangerous? Umhm. Look at the Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. One word : atrocious. Some modern day prabandha style novel which sat a little above average in my reading experience? Abhaya by Saiswaroopa Iyer is the one (she's also written Mauri, Avishi, Draupadi and a few more if I'm not wrong.) (Abhaya is an OC paired opposite Kanha and tbh their chemistry was chef's kiss jsjshdjsjd-)

Should you write such, if that is what you want? Yes! I'd love to read-

But do you have to be careful with the message you deliver via your work? Swayam vichar kijiye *wink wink*

Some fanfictions which I may recommend. Note : not all of them involve OCs. All of these are from Wattpad. The authors' usernames are in bold.

— To Love A Murderer, Hope Embodied, and Samsrishti ; ruhitherambler.

— Satata Haritam ; Ramayana_Lover.

— Hello Mahabharata and My Days In Mahabharata ; thewomanwhobleedsink.

— Sambhavāmi ; indeevara18ls.

— Mathuraraaj ; Shivran86.

— Ehi Murare ; kanakangi.

— The Diary Of A Gopika ; Thoughtshub.

elphaba took these pics btw

Six of Crows Gelphie au?

I genuinely wonder if that would turn out well. I feel like it's such an interesting premise though. Where do you reckon each character is from? Like Elphie comes from Ravka and is a Grisha or maybe she's from Novyi Zem and is secretly a Grisha. Maybe Glinda is from Kerch? And Fiyero from Ravka. I might actually write it when I find the time actually.