Omnia Vincit Amor 1/8 by blowers_daughtr, R
Title: Omnia Vincit Amor (Latin for Love Conquers All)
Author: blowers_daughtr
Rating: R
Author's Note: This piece follows a Gelphie series I started a year ago that I never really finished. You don't necessarily have to have read the entire series to understand this piece. But if you're interested in reading the 9 chapters preceeding this chapter, click here and scroll down until you reach the Untitled Gelphie Series links.
A shortened version of Chapter 9 has been included because it serves as background, sort of.
Shortened Version of Chapter 9:
It was easier, Glinda found, to nurture the happiness of others than to attempt to find her own happiness. Though a smile always played across her crimson lips, Glinda was far from happy. She lived comfortably and miserably, having married a wealthy officer who worked beneath the Wizard. She, too, worked for the Wizard, though her tasks were more discreet and focused on social conflicts rather than military conflicts.
Glinda was not opinionated, or if she was, no one knew. Glinda kept her thoughts to herself, and avoided conversations with the Wizard, whom she ardently but silently disagreed with on many levels.
Every now and then one of the villages in Oz would fall victim to ‘terrorist activity.’ Usually, said terrorist attacked wealthy businessmen who profited from the exploitation of the poor and from Animal labor. The killer was, without doubt, the Wicked Witch of the West. While a small band of protestors were courageous enough to oppose the Witch of the East in Munchkinland, no one was brave enough to face the Witch of the West. She was known to strike someone dead with one glance, and her victims were known to have been tortured before dying horrific deaths. Sometimes the Witch could be sighted riding the winds of the night on her broomstick. Upon being sighted, the citizens of Oz would crowd into their homes, lock their doors, and pray that the Wizard would not let anything happen to them.
“Good news, my love.” Sir Chuffery said.
“Really? What’s that?” Glinda asked, feigning interest and preparing herself for another mind-numbing story of one of Sir Chuffery’s military escapades.
“An unexpected flying object has slain the Witch of the East, just at the end of the Yellow Brick Road.”
“Nessarose?”
“You knew her on a personal basis?” Sir Chuffery enquired, shocked to have never known this piece of information about his wife.
“No,” Glinda said quickly, “Not personally… but we went to school together.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Sir Chuffery said, quickly becoming mum. Glinda’s time spent at Shiz was a topic that was off limits. Her doctor had determined that the mention of Shiz brought back unpleasant memories of when Glinda roomed with the Witch of the West, who had kidnapped and tortured her. Glinda was believed to suffer from some sort post-traumatic-stress disorder, for which the doctor prescribed medication Glinda rarely took.
“The Witch of the West is sure to show her face. She’ll want to say a proper goodbye to her sister. My men are already beginning to secure the area.”
“You honestly think the Witch will show up unprepared? Do you know how many men you’ll lose?” said Glinda.
“Sometimes I feel you give her too much credit. But I agree with you, darling. That’s why we won’t attack. As you know, her place of rest is unknown to us. We’re going to follow her, and kill her when she’s not expecting it.”
Glinda stared into her porridge, pushing it around with her spoon.
“You haven’t touched your breakfast. Is something wrong?” Sir Chuffery asked.
“No.” Glinda replied. “I feel a bit under the weather. I think I’ll lie down.”
“Feel better, darling.” Sir Chuffery said, planting a wet kiss on his wife’s forehead.
Glinda started to her bedroom, shutting and locking the door after entering. She stepped out onto her balcony and encompassed herself in her customary bubble, and began to float gently away from her prison-like castle.
She maneuvered by shifting her weight from one side to the other, directing the bubble to travel wherever she pleased. On this particular occasion, Glinda followed the winding golden thread of the Yellow Brick Road below, never once stopping to rest until she had reached her destination.
The coast was clear, all except what appeared to be some sort of shack.
“I’d appreciate a moment alone with my sister.” a thin, eerie voice crept from behind Glinda’s shoulder.
The blonde woman shuddered at the chilling sound, and turned to see the Witch of the West. Her face was shrouded in shadows, and all of her was covered but the wiry green fingers of her left hand curled around her broomstick.
“Elphaba.”
“That is no longer my name.” the Witch said in a calm voice. “Now leave me be.”
Omnia Vincit Amor - Part 1
Elphaba’s face remained hidden by the shadows cast by her hood. Glinda stared imploringly into the darkness beneath the hood, searching desperately for a glimpse of familiar dark eyes.
“I’m sorry about what’s happened, Elphaba. I really am. But you can’t carry on like this, you can’t continue terrorizing and hurting people, it’s not right!”
“Your opinion means nothing to me,” the Witch hissed. She turned her back, unable to bare the image of sheer perfection before her, unable to meet the soft yet penetrative blue-green gaze of the girl she once loved, the girl who once convinced Elphaba of the existence of her own soul.
If there was anything that frightened the Witch it was meeting Glinda’s wide, beautifully naïve cerulean eyes, eyes that were every bit as radiant as they’d been nearly two decades ago. Staring into those eyes was like freefalling into endless depths of sapphire, similar to plunging into pools freezing water-or at least how Elphaba imagined plunging into cold water to be.
No, the Witch could not will herself to maintain eye contact. She could endure all else: wind and rain whipping at her face as she braved unforgiving storms on her broomstick, mobs of witch hunters attempting to scald her with glowing hot coals as they brandished their torches at her, days or weeks without food or drink-Elphaba withstood it all unflinchingly, seemingly numb to the stinging blisters that rose as a result of exposure to water and the burns inflicted by torch flames and coals, and hunger did not ail her.
Yet even when avoiding Glinda’s eyes the Witch found herself trembling. Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps as she gripped her broomstick so tightly her scabbed knuckles turned white.
“Elphaba, what’s happened to you?” Glinda still stared into the face she could not see. Her voice was soft and sweetly melodic despite her distress as she observed the scars on the Witch’s hands and the way Elphaba shivered.
The pleading, soft, sympathetic tone of Glinda’s voice caused the Witch, unwillingly, to focus her attention on the stunning vision before her now known as the Good Witch of the North-the way the sun lit her face, her skin, her mouth, golden strands of hair falling into her face. The somber yet tragically beautiful expression etched across her features, features that were more defined and therefore more gorgeous with age. And her eyes. The Witch fell away from herself and became lost in a kaleidoscope of glass mosaics of blues, grays, and pale greens.
The air was sucked from the Witch’s lungs and breathing was impossible. Her limbs felt heavy and her head became light. Suffocating darkness clouded her vision until Glinda’s face was nothing but the ghost of an image burned to the insides of Elphaba’s eyelids.
Years ago at Shiz: Elphaba waits, her legs folded against her chest in her customary jackknife position with a book on her knees. She checks the time and anxiously awaits Glinda’s return-when Glinda, the object of everyone’s affection including Elphaba’s, will no longer be fawned over by drooling boys and jealous girls afraid to admit they, like the boys, sometimes dream about kissing Glinda. But it’s Galinda they see when Glinda is in public, Galinda who enjoys friendships based merely on status, and who is content with materialistic conversations. When she returns to Elphaba Glinda is no longer the girl she once was but is the young woman she has become. Finally, Glinda returns, and Elphaba is relieved to no longer have to share her.
“No need to be jealous, my love.” Glinda says as she slips out of her pale yellow sundress. She crawls toward the head of the bed where Elphaba sits and takes the book from the green girl’s hands.
“I only have eyes for you, my beautiful,” and Elphaba doesn’t doubt this because Glinda’s love for her is written in Glinda’s eyes. It’s felt in the way Glinda presses her lips to Elphaba’s, in the way her hands come to rest behind Elphaba’s neck and become tangled in her thick, dark hair. Glinda leaves a trail of soft, dry kisses from Elphaba’s jaw to her neck to her breasts and then to her stomach..
Glinda rests between Elphaba’s knees now, gently running a finger through the folds of Elphaba’s sex. The green girl’s eyes are closed, her mouth is slightly open, her breath comes in gasps, and her nipples harden.
“You’re gorgeous,” Glinda sighs before dipping her head.
Elphaba writhes, she whimpers and Glinda offers her free hand. Green and white fingers intertwine, and Elphaba’s grip tightens as the pleasure mounts. With a thrust of her hand and a flick of her tongue, Glinda has satisfied her lover. She drapes herself across the green girl, whose body still trembles, and presses her lips to Elphaba’s neck and jaw once more.
“I love you,” Glinda whispers, “I love you Elphaba, and I always will.”
Hands gripped Elphaba’s waist. Lips brushed her ear.
“Steady now, my love.” Glinda’s voice floated in and out of Elphaba’s consciousness-or maybe it was Elphaba who floated in and out of consciousness, the Witch couldn’t quite tell. Her feet left the ground, and her head, though light, rested heavily on what Elphaba vaguely registered to be Glinda’s breasts.
Elphaba deeply inhaled the scent of the pillow upon which her face was rested, and felt cool sheets enveloping her. A gentle kiss was placed on her forehead and tender fingers ran through her hair.
“My dear?” A deep and muffled voice, “are you well?”
“I’m afraid not,” a melodic voice much clearer, much nearer, “I’d like to sleep here until I’m better, I would hate to pass whatever ails me on to you.”
[ Part 2]
Author: blowers_daughtr
Rating: R
Author's Note: This piece follows a Gelphie series I started a year ago that I never really finished. You don't necessarily have to have read the entire series to understand this piece. But if you're interested in reading the 9 chapters preceeding this chapter, click here and scroll down until you reach the Untitled Gelphie Series links.
A shortened version of Chapter 9 has been included because it serves as background, sort of.
Shortened Version of Chapter 9:
It was easier, Glinda found, to nurture the happiness of others than to attempt to find her own happiness. Though a smile always played across her crimson lips, Glinda was far from happy. She lived comfortably and miserably, having married a wealthy officer who worked beneath the Wizard. She, too, worked for the Wizard, though her tasks were more discreet and focused on social conflicts rather than military conflicts.
Glinda was not opinionated, or if she was, no one knew. Glinda kept her thoughts to herself, and avoided conversations with the Wizard, whom she ardently but silently disagreed with on many levels.
Every now and then one of the villages in Oz would fall victim to ‘terrorist activity.’ Usually, said terrorist attacked wealthy businessmen who profited from the exploitation of the poor and from Animal labor. The killer was, without doubt, the Wicked Witch of the West. While a small band of protestors were courageous enough to oppose the Witch of the East in Munchkinland, no one was brave enough to face the Witch of the West. She was known to strike someone dead with one glance, and her victims were known to have been tortured before dying horrific deaths. Sometimes the Witch could be sighted riding the winds of the night on her broomstick. Upon being sighted, the citizens of Oz would crowd into their homes, lock their doors, and pray that the Wizard would not let anything happen to them.
“Good news, my love.” Sir Chuffery said.
“Really? What’s that?” Glinda asked, feigning interest and preparing herself for another mind-numbing story of one of Sir Chuffery’s military escapades.
“An unexpected flying object has slain the Witch of the East, just at the end of the Yellow Brick Road.”
“Nessarose?”
“You knew her on a personal basis?” Sir Chuffery enquired, shocked to have never known this piece of information about his wife.
“No,” Glinda said quickly, “Not personally… but we went to school together.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Sir Chuffery said, quickly becoming mum. Glinda’s time spent at Shiz was a topic that was off limits. Her doctor had determined that the mention of Shiz brought back unpleasant memories of when Glinda roomed with the Witch of the West, who had kidnapped and tortured her. Glinda was believed to suffer from some sort post-traumatic-stress disorder, for which the doctor prescribed medication Glinda rarely took.
“The Witch of the West is sure to show her face. She’ll want to say a proper goodbye to her sister. My men are already beginning to secure the area.”
“You honestly think the Witch will show up unprepared? Do you know how many men you’ll lose?” said Glinda.
“Sometimes I feel you give her too much credit. But I agree with you, darling. That’s why we won’t attack. As you know, her place of rest is unknown to us. We’re going to follow her, and kill her when she’s not expecting it.”
Glinda stared into her porridge, pushing it around with her spoon.
“You haven’t touched your breakfast. Is something wrong?” Sir Chuffery asked.
“No.” Glinda replied. “I feel a bit under the weather. I think I’ll lie down.”
“Feel better, darling.” Sir Chuffery said, planting a wet kiss on his wife’s forehead.
Glinda started to her bedroom, shutting and locking the door after entering. She stepped out onto her balcony and encompassed herself in her customary bubble, and began to float gently away from her prison-like castle.
She maneuvered by shifting her weight from one side to the other, directing the bubble to travel wherever she pleased. On this particular occasion, Glinda followed the winding golden thread of the Yellow Brick Road below, never once stopping to rest until she had reached her destination.
The coast was clear, all except what appeared to be some sort of shack.
“I’d appreciate a moment alone with my sister.” a thin, eerie voice crept from behind Glinda’s shoulder.
The blonde woman shuddered at the chilling sound, and turned to see the Witch of the West. Her face was shrouded in shadows, and all of her was covered but the wiry green fingers of her left hand curled around her broomstick.
“Elphaba.”
“That is no longer my name.” the Witch said in a calm voice. “Now leave me be.”
Omnia Vincit Amor - Part 1
Elphaba’s face remained hidden by the shadows cast by her hood. Glinda stared imploringly into the darkness beneath the hood, searching desperately for a glimpse of familiar dark eyes.
“I’m sorry about what’s happened, Elphaba. I really am. But you can’t carry on like this, you can’t continue terrorizing and hurting people, it’s not right!”
“Your opinion means nothing to me,” the Witch hissed. She turned her back, unable to bare the image of sheer perfection before her, unable to meet the soft yet penetrative blue-green gaze of the girl she once loved, the girl who once convinced Elphaba of the existence of her own soul.
If there was anything that frightened the Witch it was meeting Glinda’s wide, beautifully naïve cerulean eyes, eyes that were every bit as radiant as they’d been nearly two decades ago. Staring into those eyes was like freefalling into endless depths of sapphire, similar to plunging into pools freezing water-or at least how Elphaba imagined plunging into cold water to be.
No, the Witch could not will herself to maintain eye contact. She could endure all else: wind and rain whipping at her face as she braved unforgiving storms on her broomstick, mobs of witch hunters attempting to scald her with glowing hot coals as they brandished their torches at her, days or weeks without food or drink-Elphaba withstood it all unflinchingly, seemingly numb to the stinging blisters that rose as a result of exposure to water and the burns inflicted by torch flames and coals, and hunger did not ail her.
Yet even when avoiding Glinda’s eyes the Witch found herself trembling. Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps as she gripped her broomstick so tightly her scabbed knuckles turned white.
“Elphaba, what’s happened to you?” Glinda still stared into the face she could not see. Her voice was soft and sweetly melodic despite her distress as she observed the scars on the Witch’s hands and the way Elphaba shivered.
The pleading, soft, sympathetic tone of Glinda’s voice caused the Witch, unwillingly, to focus her attention on the stunning vision before her now known as the Good Witch of the North-the way the sun lit her face, her skin, her mouth, golden strands of hair falling into her face. The somber yet tragically beautiful expression etched across her features, features that were more defined and therefore more gorgeous with age. And her eyes. The Witch fell away from herself and became lost in a kaleidoscope of glass mosaics of blues, grays, and pale greens.
The air was sucked from the Witch’s lungs and breathing was impossible. Her limbs felt heavy and her head became light. Suffocating darkness clouded her vision until Glinda’s face was nothing but the ghost of an image burned to the insides of Elphaba’s eyelids.
Years ago at Shiz: Elphaba waits, her legs folded against her chest in her customary jackknife position with a book on her knees. She checks the time and anxiously awaits Glinda’s return-when Glinda, the object of everyone’s affection including Elphaba’s, will no longer be fawned over by drooling boys and jealous girls afraid to admit they, like the boys, sometimes dream about kissing Glinda. But it’s Galinda they see when Glinda is in public, Galinda who enjoys friendships based merely on status, and who is content with materialistic conversations. When she returns to Elphaba Glinda is no longer the girl she once was but is the young woman she has become. Finally, Glinda returns, and Elphaba is relieved to no longer have to share her.
“No need to be jealous, my love.” Glinda says as she slips out of her pale yellow sundress. She crawls toward the head of the bed where Elphaba sits and takes the book from the green girl’s hands.
“I only have eyes for you, my beautiful,” and Elphaba doesn’t doubt this because Glinda’s love for her is written in Glinda’s eyes. It’s felt in the way Glinda presses her lips to Elphaba’s, in the way her hands come to rest behind Elphaba’s neck and become tangled in her thick, dark hair. Glinda leaves a trail of soft, dry kisses from Elphaba’s jaw to her neck to her breasts and then to her stomach..
Glinda rests between Elphaba’s knees now, gently running a finger through the folds of Elphaba’s sex. The green girl’s eyes are closed, her mouth is slightly open, her breath comes in gasps, and her nipples harden.
“You’re gorgeous,” Glinda sighs before dipping her head.
Elphaba writhes, she whimpers and Glinda offers her free hand. Green and white fingers intertwine, and Elphaba’s grip tightens as the pleasure mounts. With a thrust of her hand and a flick of her tongue, Glinda has satisfied her lover. She drapes herself across the green girl, whose body still trembles, and presses her lips to Elphaba’s neck and jaw once more.
“I love you,” Glinda whispers, “I love you Elphaba, and I always will.”
Hands gripped Elphaba’s waist. Lips brushed her ear.
“Steady now, my love.” Glinda’s voice floated in and out of Elphaba’s consciousness-or maybe it was Elphaba who floated in and out of consciousness, the Witch couldn’t quite tell. Her feet left the ground, and her head, though light, rested heavily on what Elphaba vaguely registered to be Glinda’s breasts.
Elphaba deeply inhaled the scent of the pillow upon which her face was rested, and felt cool sheets enveloping her. A gentle kiss was placed on her forehead and tender fingers ran through her hair.
“My dear?” A deep and muffled voice, “are you well?”
“I’m afraid not,” a melodic voice much clearer, much nearer, “I’d like to sleep here until I’m better, I would hate to pass whatever ails me on to you.”
[ Part 2]