A/N: Okay so I was thinking about the Wicked (and Gelphie) fic archive and I realized that there's not enough angsty lesbian Glinda fics out there (that I have found oops). And I decided to maybe try to write one? So yeah this happened and I plan on having a number of loosely connected chapters with the same basic theme because why not? Yeah. So this is the thing.
And the cover art thing picture is My Sweet by Katelisaday, who is a really good artist that you all should check out yeah c:
To the world, Glinda was a bubbly, energetic girl. Ditzy and stereotypically blonde, but fun to be around. She couldn't be dishonest with anyone, she was an open book. She was so honest, so happy...
She was perfect. Not a flaw. Not a reason to be anything less than bubbly and all smiles. That's the Glinda everyone in Oz saw. The happy, open book. Only one person saw her when she was at her lowest, held her while she cried, told her she was perfect the way she was.
Only one person saw past the mask from the very beginning.
Every night, Glinda would lie in her bed, alone, wrapped up in her fluffy pink blanket, feeling so small and alone. The thoughts would fill her head - "You're disgusting!" "You like girls? Ewww!" "Disgrace!" "Whore!" - the unspoken words of possible scenarios every time she imagined a world where she was free of her chains, a world where she tried to be herself. Truly herself.
The tears came slowly at first, a few slipping down her cheeks, most staying in the safety of her eyes. She covered her mouth, willing herself not to make noise, not to shake, not to cry again. Not tonight. Not again.
The words became too loud. They came so fast that they would overlap, yelling over each other, an endless stream of insults and damnations. So the tears came, endlessly, her whole body shaking from the sudden tears, the violent sobs. She tried to stay quiet, but the smallest noises escaped and soon she was be completely breaking down, freaking out, panicking.
Time seemed to stand still as she struggled to control herself, to not shake, to not draw attention again. But she couldn't control it. No, the words continued to ring in her ears, the fake laughter, it was all fake but she couldn't tell fake from real. "You're so gross!" "How can you even like girls ew!" "You're going to die alone from your choices!"
The only thing that hurt worse than the direct, fake comments and insults were the indirect, real comments she heard every time she was with her parents, every time she returned home for breaks. Every time she went on an outing with her parents. "Liking other girls is wrong and just disgusting don't you ever be like that." "If you ever told us you liked girls, well...we'd probably never call you our daughter again." "Ugh, they're just so wrong. A bad example for proper children - they should all just be locked up and left to rot."
It hurt.
And, as she started to realize that she was exactly what her parents hated, what they didn't want, she felt even worse. Her insides began tearing itself up whenever she was around them and she always wanted to puke. She dreaded returning home during the breaks, wanting to stay with her roommate who would comfort her when she cried without question.
Which, brought her back to the present, where she was almost always crying. And her crying got worse when she thought, less hideable. A loud series of squeaks escaped her when she tried to take in air
Her blanket lifted behind her, the bed shifted a little from added weight, and a warm body laid down next to her, an arm around her middle, pulling her closer. Almost on instinct, she would turn over so she was facing the person and latch onto them, grabbing fabric in her small fists, crying even harder.
"Glinda, you're perfect the way you are," they told her softly, their fingers running through her hair soothingly. "Why does it matter what others think anyways? Glinda, you're you and that's the best you could be."
Words that slowly stitch her up inside, closing the fresh wounds caused by her own mind. Her tears slowed, the words of her friend blocking out the painful, hateful words. Accepted, a word that Glinda never thought she would know the wonderful feeling of. It filled her with warmth.
Even with this, a small cloud hung over her head. She actually never told told her friend what plagued her every night, what caused her violent crying, what caused her so much pain and heartache. With a new found bravery, Glinda looked up at the person next to her, her eyes full of fresh, unshed tears. They stared at her, a small smile on their face, dark eyes urging Glinda to speak whatever was on her mind, what was tugging on her heart.
"Elphie...I...I like girls," Glinda whispered, a few tears sliding down her face, a choked sob escaping her, the words causing a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She expected a slap, a shove, a disgusted sound followed by scrambling to get out of bed. A long string of hurtful names, a promise to ruin her life. But that's not what she got. What she got, was far from what she expected.
Elphaba, her one and only true friend, simply pulled her closer, whispering the same phrase over and over. "You're still perfect," she whispered. "You're still perfect."
For the second time, Glinda cried. She held onto Elphaba tightly, the crying less violent than before, fueled by overwhelming relief and joy. Her whole being clinging to the words Elphaba repeated in her ear, desperate to keep feeling the acceptance, the warmth that she hadn't been able to feel very often before. For once, she heard the words the needed to hear. "You're still perfect." She had never realized how much she needed to hear those words until she actually heard them.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Glinda drifted off to sleep, her dreams peaceful, not a single nightmare waking her or making her wake during the night. When she did wake up, she realized that Elphaba was, indeed, still holding her close. And, with a soft and content sigh, Glinda relaxed in Elphaba's arms, curling up next to her and just accepting the warmth.