#OZ IS FINALLY GETTING THE RECOGNITION HE DESERVES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alpacinosgf · 2 years ago

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MILK AND ROSES CH.7

ALSO ON A03

Rated: Explicit (Rough sex, dirty talk, dumbification???, posessiveness, corruption kink, innocence kink, violence, weapons in the bedroom, cum eating, nipple play (male receiving), bossy Oz hee hee, love confessions)

Word Count: 9.2k

Come Monday, you’re still thinking about that night at the Lounge. And the aftermath. You hadn’t stayed long after the incident in the private room of the 44 Below, Oz maintained he wanted to fuck you right in the luxury of his own bed which you weren’t going to oppose. You had been more than ready to leave the place behind. Oz had held your hand tightly in his own grip as you said quick goodbyes and goodnights to the regulars and staff. He hadn’t bothered to do so for Falcone out of spite, and you were positive he’d end up paying for it somehow. You had never expected the reality of the mafia and criminal underworld to be so…petty? It was like they had never mentally left school. It was an endless cycle of revenge tactics and humiliation mixed in with blood spilling and bone breaking.

You had never seen Oz like he was that night, mean and cruel at the thought of someone disrespecting you. You can still hear the rattle of that man’s skull as it hit the wall and the sight of Oz with a visible urge to cause him more harm than he deserved. Worst of all? You’d never been more turned on before. The whole car ride home you had played with his hand on your thigh, fingers still dancing over his bruised knuckles. You squeezed your thighs together when you saw the dried blood under a passing streetlight or blinking bar sign. You’d nearly asked him to finger you there and then at a red light but you thought against it. He’d never let you live it down. Maybe you’ll have car sex another time.

You’re daydreaming about the way he felt when you got into his place, you were both still fully clothed – minus a few buttons on his shirt before he got too desperate. You’d let out a squeak of laughter when he just sighed heavily and pulled you back in for a heated kiss instead of undressing. The blood spilt earlier was a turn on for him too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had two rounds in him on one night, a welcome surprise for the both of you. The texture of his dress trousers left an almost burn on the back of your thighs from how hard and fast he pounded into you. His hips had barely left yours, all the while he repeated over and over one thing as he cradled your face to his, nose to nose:

“Tell me you’re mine”

You could barely respond with the way he moved roughly against you, a total disconnect from the plea that left his mouth. Hot breath mixing together between moans and gasps as he touched your face. You complied best you could, nodding with fervency before you managed to huff out a strangled yes. You moved your own body against his thrusts, neither of you wanting to draw this out any further. You swear you felt a tear escape your eye when you finally came, the release almost painful in its catharsis. Almost as painful as you were now, still not fully recovered days later. That heat rash on the back of your legs still a nagging ache.

You are broken out of your reverie with a jolt when a hand waves in front of your glazed over eyes.

“Shit, sorry! You just looked a little lost there!” the voice apologised before you turned your head away from your computer to see your co-worker.

“No, no! I was just in my own world there, sorry” you quickly get out, hoping you weren’t red in the face at the memories.

“You’re fine, don’t worry! I was just coming over to see if you were going to the thing Friday?”

A beat passes and your brain still hasn’t caught up from being taken out of reminiscing.

“What thing?”

“The dinner?” she prompts, a small smile on her lips as she waits for the penny to drop.

Instant recognition lights up your face and you nod sheepishly, hoping you don’t look like a total idiot. The work dinner. Your department does a little get together twice a year, one at Christmas and in the middle of summer. You avoided the last one, a little too awkward without a spouse to bring. Nobody ever made you feel out of place for going alone, and you weren’t the only single person but still the others would bring someone.

“Sorry, I guess my brain hasn’t kicked back in after lunch” you apologise but she waves you off, one hand motioning the sorry away as she grips her mug with the other.

“Don’t be! Are you going to bring that guy you were telling me so little about?” she enquires with a lilt at the end of her question. She eyes your reaction while she takes a sip.

“Oh, I don’t know. He works a lot, and a Friday night is pretty busy for him” you try weasel out of it, but she’s onto you.

You try to glance away now. How do you explain your drug lord boyfriend is going to be doing his wheeling and dealings in his front of a club? Still, you don’t want to be difficult. She says nothing, and lets you come to the idea of asking him. She’s too good at that you think.

“I’ll ask him, but he mightn’t be able to come by” you tell her as you pick up your phone. There’s a message from him already asking how your day is. God. He’s sweet.

“You should still come with us anyways; we can go together!”

It snaps you out of your appreciation and you give a sincere nod and thank her before she heads back to her chair. You stare at the floor for a second, making little patterns in the aged carpet while you try formulate a way to ask him out. You start by thanking him and telling him how boring work’s been today – not that he hasn’t heard that everyday the last few months. He’s been hinting that you could always quit your job. God knows you’re making more off him than you do here. But you’ve always batted away his offers, he doesn’t take it personally. Oz just wants you to know you don’t have to stay where you’re unhappy. It’s a sweet gesture you’ve begun to grow accustomed to, but you do enjoy getting out and about and doing something with your day. Even if its mind numbing at times, you have decent co-workers. Most of them anyways.

Though the idea of being his trophy wife is very appealing, you aren’t going to deny the thought hasn’t crossed your mind at night when he’s working. You’d fantasised about it enough times when he brought you out to dinner or surprised you with gifts. It could be so easy. You’ve been trying to figure out your own feelings with Oz. It was initially just a little arrangement, but you think the both of you were using it as a cover. At least you hoped he was too. You take a deep breath to bring you back to reality, no point in stressing out over feelings this very second.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come to a work dinner thing Friday night? My department does this thing every few months and people bring their spouses so I was just curious? I know you’re probably busy with the club ofc so don’t feel you have to or anything!! Hope your day is going okay too btw ♡”

You leave the phone by your computer and try to get some work done in the meantime. Doesn’t stop you from glancing at the phone after every few words you type. You’re getting back into the swing of the workflow when he answers. The loud buzz vibrates the whole desk and you cringe a little. Should probably turn that off. You pick at a nail when you unlock the device, eyes consuming every pixel from his reply.

“Sounds great, doll. Don’t worry about the club, they can do without me for a few hours. Are you okay to get a car out there? I’ll meet you there and bring you home. That alright?”

You beam at the message you hadn’t expected him to say yes and it almost makes you feel giddy. It’s like real relationship stuff and before you text back he sends another.

“My day’s going better now, looking forward to Friday babe”

There’s a sigh of relief that leaves you. You’re excited for this dinner now – and are wondering what to wear when the phone buzzes again in your hand.

“♡”

You feel like laughing, and do your best to stifle it by biting your lip. Nobody’s looking at you, too focused on getting their own workload somewhat finished before clocking out. You’re pretty frivolous with emojis and were sure it annoyed Oz with how many you send unnecessarily but this is something else. There’s a little purple heart from him on your phone. Renowned thug and criminal Oz Cobblepot sent you a love heart. It’s the same as the one next to his name on your phone and it doesn’t leave your mind for the rest of the day. Maybe he does feel like things are a little more than an arrangement, you can hope anyways.

Unfortunately, you don’t get to bring it up to Oz over the next few days, Carmine had finally found suitable punishment for the other night. He’d been kept at the club (and doing other ‘odd jobs’ you’re sure) every night that week. It was ridiculously transparent to the both of you but Oz said nothing. He’d been able to sneak in a dinner video call with you Thursday night – he was sat in his office picking at whatever the chef had prepared for him while music blared in the background. You couldn’t hear each other too well but it was sweet nonetheless. It was short lived however when Carmine barked at Oz to come with him from off camera.

You smirked at the face on Oz, totally fed up with listening to the older man as he set down his knife and fork. You moved around your own food on the plate, not so hungry now at the sound of his boss appearing. You also knew that your ready-meal was hardly a fraction of the cost of Oz’s dinner. You gave him a wolf whistle when he stood up from his seat, giving you full display of his crotch and stomach. He grabbed at the phone and told you to shut up – failing miserably at hiding a grin as he moved through the room. You blew a kiss goodnight and said you’d see him tomorrow night. As always, he told you sweet dreams but there was a split second of hesitation in his eyes before he hung up. It made your heart flutter for the rest of the night. Even when you were watching tv before bed, you picked at your lip and wondered what he wanted to say. You think you already know.

For once in your life the Friday workday actually goes by smoothly. You were prepared for it to move at a snail’s pace, but there was a buzz in the air of your department. A lot of people were gathered around one computer to look over the large menu. There was some debate about the desserts from your colleagues, and you were inevitably brought in to give your verdict. You hadn’t heard from Oz yet, no morning text or anything. It struck you as odd, but you did your best to ignore it.

It wasn’t until you were heading home that you finally heard from him. He apologized profusely and said something had come up last night which you didn’t think of much of until he’d mentioned he was only awake now. What the fuck has Falcone got him doing? He tells you he has to shower and shave before he arrives for dinner. You would let him off for the night but it’s endearing that he still wants to come by.

One of the women in the office offers to swing by and pick you up and you jump at the chance. You won’t feel as awkward showing up alone. You’d met her husband a few times before and he was actually good fun at these kinds of things. He knew enough of the office drama to keep up with whatever inside jokes were making the rounds. She had turned in her seat to ask was Oz coming and let out a squeal when you said yes.

“What does he do?” her husband asks, as he takes a left turn towards the restaurant. The city’s packed already with plenty of people enjoying the longest day of the year. Well, with what little light Gotham ever got in the first place.

“He owns a nightclub” you answer, hoping he doesn’t ask anything more.

“Eh, not just a nightclub. He owns the Iceberg!” your friend chimes in, not having any of your vagueness.

"Shit! Really? He wanna pay for dinner tonight?” he laughs and glances at you in the back.

“Don’t ask him, ‘cos he will!” you laugh back and they both cheer excitedly as he starts to pull into a parking space. You can see most of the others already waiting outside the door for you three. You smooth over your dress once more before stepping out, another gift from Oz. You greet everyone sincerely but keep an eye for the sports car. Some of the others are starting to head inside while you keep looking around for him. You’re sure he’ll be here soon and follow suit inside to find your least favourite co-worker arguing with the manager. Something about your table not being ready on time, but you glance at your phone to see you’re technically early. Typical Ryan.

You join in a conversation with your friend and her husband again as they start to mumble about the pointless argument happening in front of you. If he keeps this up, you’re likely to all get kicked out. Your snickering is broken by the roar of an engine outside the front door, and you already know before you turn around. You give your friend a squeeze on the arm to tell her you’re just heading outside for a second.

“Give me a blow-by-blow replay, I don’t want to miss him getting punched” you whisper loudly, and the others turn to smirk your direction as you move away.

The doorman opens the front door with a smile as you step back into the warm air. Oz is giving the violet car one last lookover before he sees you. You feel butterflies again in your chest when he looks at you, and truth be told you had missed him the last few days. He’s dressed well in a fitted black suit and white dress shirt and he moves his arms out to give you a good look.

“You look really good, Ozzie” you grin and you can feel yourself blush a little bit. He does look hot. And he’s getting a little better at taking compliments since you got together you’ve noticed.

“Just for you, babe” he croons, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to give a deep kiss. It’s the kind you’re used to getting after a dinner date with him, a sure-fire sign he’s going to fuck you good later on. He feels your surprise at the heated kiss, and pulls back to give a cocky grin. Knowing full well what it does to you.

“I missed you, y’know” he mumbles as he offers you his arm. You hum a reply of acknowledgement and agreement just loud enough for him to hear. When you take his arm, he wraps his hand overtop like usual. What might look like a loving exchange at first glance is really just to help him up the steps without aggravation from his leg. He always gives your hand a firm squeeze afterwards as silent thanks. The scent of his aftershave only really hits you when you step inside, the air conditioning making it swirl inside your head as you go through to the reception area.

Your friend hears the door close and glances back, turning fully when she sees you both. You can see the wide-eyed response as she looks over Oz and subtly nudges her husband. He’s not as subtle and gives her a strange look before realising what she’d meant by it. You feel Oz breathe a little heavier before he speaks. You wonder if he’s as nervous as you are.

“How you doin’? I’m Oz!” he extends his hand out to your friend first, giving that same confident grin he’s known for. She’s a little taken aback, only noticing his face full of scars as she shakes his hand.

“Great to meet you! I’m Shauna and this is my husband, Elijah! I’d say we’ve heard so much about you – but someone likes to play their cards close to their chest” she teases while Oz shakes hands with Elijah. Oz just gives you a fond look and squeezes you at his side, you can see Shauna beam at the sight. You feel yourself doing the same.

“That’s partially my fault, I’m a pretty private guy” he responds, and catches Elijah giving a comically raised brow.

“Hey! I know! What’s a guy like that doin’ with a nightclub?” he laughs, his actual laugh booming around the small space. It’s not the fake polite one he’s done before when talking to some crooked cop or city official in the Lounge. It’s nice to see him like this, like your life together is somewhat normal.

Okay, maybe cool it a little with the ‘life together’ stuff. It’s a work dinner, come on.

The others hear his laugh and look over, quickly averting their eyes as they either recognise him or just know by looking at him that they shouldn’t be. Even the manager, who has ended up roping in a few servers into the argument pauses to see where the sound is coming from. There’s an instant look of recognition on his face as he calls Oz over to him at the door. Oz moves his head to see who’s calling to him and a large grin breaks the look of annoyance that he had.

“What the hell are you doin’ here! You workin’ the kitchens still or are you too good for that now?” he teases, bringing you through the small crowd of your colleagues to speak a little better.

The manager has to be in his late twenties, hell of a job to get so young.

“I’m sorry, doll. This is Paulie, used to work at the Lounge when he was a kid. Look at you, huh?” he explains with a wheezy laugh. He looks visibly more relaxed as he and Paul talk about work.

“Guess I got plenty experience working for you, sir” he admits a little coyly, but Oz claps him on the shoulders with a certain affection.

“More than enough, God knows you dealt with more shit than anyone else workin’ here, kid” he points a finger to his chest to reinforce the message.

“Are we going inside or not?” Ryan interjects, a certain whining tone that’s unmistakably him.

Oz gives a hard look at the man, who was obviously reared without manners.

“What’s your problem?” he grunts out, his eyes looking a little too long at Ryan’s quickly reddening face. You can tell by Oz’s face he’s trying to place him.

“He’s complaining that his group table wasn’t ready, when he’s early” Paul tells him, only infuriating Ryan more. He’s clenching and unclenching his fist, but truthfully he just looks like a dickhead. He doesn’t have it in him to do anything.

“Would you mind getting it ready, Paulie?” Oz asks politely with a shake of his hand, a couple hundred-dollar notes for his trouble. Paul just gives a slow nod and thanks Oz, whispering to the other servers to get the long table ready double time. Paul lets you and Oz go first into the dining room and you can hear Ryan grumbling from behind the group as he follows.

“That was nice, babe. Thank you” you whisper to him, but he just shakes his head a little and squeezes at your hip again. A non-verbal “no problem, doll”. You can practically hear it. As promised the table is set in record time and Oz pulls out your chair for you before he settles into the one at your left. You’re both at the far end of the long table but thankfully you don’t work in a large department. He begins to shuffle out of his blazer, and you help him take the garment off his broad shoulders to rest against the oak chair. You always tell him how handsome he looks in his braces and tonight is no different. He rests his right arm along the back of your chair, hand idly playing with the back of your necklace with the gentlest of touch you could have mistaken for a breeze.

Even in a somewhat casual setting he commands the attention of the room, there’s more than a few looks from other patrons of the restaurant. The low lighting only emphasises his scars you think but where others cower you are drawn in further. A server is over shortly, and begins taking drinks orders. Oz surprises you by getting a red wine rather than his usual scotch on the rocks. Is he trying to be a little more suave? You don’t mention anything you just give him a smile when you order your own drink. Once everyone is taken care of, Shauna is the first to thank him for getting them seated so quickly. The others begin to pipe in the same sentiment and you can see Ryan get visibly more irritated as they give thanks.

But Oz takes no notice of him, instead he blushes a little bit – only around the ears when he’s embarrassed as you’ve noticed. He tells them it’s nothing but you give his leg a squeeze like he does with you and he gives another warm smile. Your drinks show up at that moment, and he graciously thanks the young girl with a nod of his head as he hands you your drink. You see him eye Ryan again when he turns his head to the server. You lean in and ask if he’s alright.

“I know I fuckin’ know that guy” he mumbles into the glass, dark eyes not leaving the man across you. You brush it off, thinking it’s one of those times Oz swears he’s seen an actor before and it irritates him until he remembers where. To make matters worse, you aren’t allowed check the internet – because he’ll “get it eventually”. You’d been awoken several times to Oz shaking your arm to tell you the name of the guy in that movie you saw a week ago, as if you had any fucking clue what he was talking about at 2am.

The conversations throughout the dinner are light, and the drinks heavy. All in all it’s going pretty well, Oz has settled in nicely and is building a nice rapport with the other men of the group. You can tell that they’re all a little afraid of him, but are eager to know him better. Like that older kid and school that could easily beat the shit out of you, or invite you over for dinner at his house in the same breath. Shauna nudges you at one point while Oz is telling some reworked story he’d told you (now significantly more law abiding).

“Is it just me or has Ryan been somewhat okay?” she whispers in your ear.

You nod and think about it. He’s usually the messy drunk at these kinds of things, you had expected the fight earlier to turn into a screaming match like you’d seen before. You both freeze for a second when he abruptly stands from the table to go to the bathroom. You both look at each other.

“I mean I’m tipsy but I’m not that drunk that he could have heard that” she says a little puzzledly. You wave her off.

“He probably has to call his mother - she’s wondering why the basement is so quiet” you mutter back and join in her cackling response. Your laughter has barely died down when he’s back, a little too quickly. He’s much more lively now, trying to talk over Oz and the other guys. You internally cringe and wait for Oz to tell him off, but he’s just staring at him. Your eyes move from Oz to Ryan who’s currently talking a mile a minute before you see Oz’s jaw clench and the hand behind your neck stop it’s movements.

“What?” you lean into him again, the smell of his aftershave hitting you all over again. FOCUS. Something weird is going on.

“I know how I know him now. He’s a fuckin’ drophead. The worst kind at that, the kind that owes me fuckin’ money” he grits out between his teeth. Disdain is evident on his face and your glad the others are too interested in Ryan’s sudden new lease of life.

“Ozzie, I can’t have this guy go fuckin’ missing over dinner” you warn sternly and he turns his head quickly – almost bumping noses in the process.

“I’m not gonna kill the bastard” he says indignantly before realising what he’s said. You both glance around the table and are relieved to see nobody’s paying attention.

“I’m not goin’ to do that, besides I wouldn’t get my money that way” he sniffs and picks at a stray thread on his napkin. He knows to leave it now, and sort it out later. Well, that is if he’s not set off by some stupid shit Ryan says. And if you know him at all, he’s bound to do it.

Watching him now, it’s so obvious he was messing with drops. You all just presumed he was an asshole cos he was drunk, not completely out of his mind. He was paranoid at the best of times, spreading rumours that he’s being targeted by higher ups. You think he mustn’t recognise Oz, he’s far too cowardly to sit across from the man he owes a couple grand to. At least you think he is. It could just be sheer stupidity on his part.

Eventually, he starts getting louder. Other diners looking over at the commotion as he tells an exaggerated story you’re positive you heard on some Netflix special a while ago. You can feel Oz getting more tense beside you, fingers tapping at the chair behind you absentmindedly. You bring a hand to his thigh again when he realises. His large hand returns to your shoulder, cupping around to keep you close. Ryan spots the wordless exchange, wide eyes almost completely black in the light.

“Where are you from Oz?” he questions. You can tell by his tone he already knows the answer. Oz’s accent is unmistakably from the heart of the city. A Jersey boy through and through. He makes no bones about people knowing he grew up poor, but he takes a big issue with people looking down their nose at him for it. He’ll never be a fake.

“What do you mean ‘where I’m from’? What the fuck do you care where I’m from? It’s none of your business” he sneers back, and you feel your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets at the sound. You thought whiskey drunk Oz was the fighter, wine drunk Oz is far more incensed at things like this. The others stop their own laughter and stories at the other end.

“Oz…” you whisper, squeezing his thigh again but it’s pointless. He’s already talking before you can catch his attention. Ryan looks completely dazed now, not following what’s happening even when he’s the instigator.

“You wanna know things about me? Why don’t you write me a little email?” he continues, left hand making a typing motion as he speaks.

“I’ll write you back real quick. Where do you live?” He shoots back another sneer, relishing in Ryan’s embarrassment now. The drugs in his system give him a little boost of bravado however, and he tries to talk back.

“Why don’t you com-” he says, pointing a shaky finger at Oz before he’s interrupted.

“Where do you live actually? I can hand deliver a letter to you!” Oz barks out with a harsh laugh. One that the other guys are unsure if they can join. He notices it and raises his hand a little off the tablecloth.

“I’m just busting your balls, kid” he chuckles, and you can feel the relief in the air.

You know better than them though, that kid struck a nerve with Oz. He can play it off as smooth as he likes but you know most of his insecurities by now. You lean in to his ear again and he turns slightly to listen.

“Play nicely, or you’re not getting your dick wet tonight” you murmur quietly.

You feel his own smirk, and see the way the corner of his eyes crinkle with delight at your words. You pull away from him slowly, maintaining eye contact as you await his response. He holds your stare and bends his head to kiss your bare shoulder in acquiescence. It’s a rather intimate display and it catches you by surprise. It brings a smile to your face to see him reel himself back in under your guidance. He can always break Ryan’s legs another time he decides.

The arrival of the check removes the last of the tension at the table, well the uncomfortable kind anyways. Oz is a quicker draw than the rest, handing the credit card to the sever swiftly. There’s uproar from the table before Shauna shouts.

“I have the boss’ card!” she says, waving the card frantically for the server.

Oz raises his hands like he’s being interrogated and lets out another laugh. The table roars when he says he’d rather it be the boss’ money than his anyways. You roll your eyes at him when he returns the card to his slacks’ pocket. He’s in a better mood, you wonder if that anger from earlier could be repurposed for your benefit. You like your chances. You lay it on thick while the others grab their things. Hand moving dangerously close to the goal before falling short.

“Bring me home, Ozzie?” you ask coyly.

You watch him bite the inside of his cheek at that.

“I could listen to you say that for the rest of my life, sweetheart” he answers with a chaste kiss to your lips.

You know he means it. And you could say it for the rest of his life too. You consider the dreamlike life he would graciously give you, dinners like this every other night when he’s not cooking for you at home. He still maintains he has to give you a proper home cooked Italian meal at his place but you both get distracted. A lot.

You give him a hand getting the blazer back on and before you know it you’re both in the Maserati. You’d said goodbye to everyone, and gave thanks again to Shauna and Elijah as they headed back to their own car. Oz instinctively takes your hand once he’s pulled out of the spot into traffic. Running the wide thumb across the back of your hand. It feels normal again, like you hadn’t spent the majority of the week apart ‘cos of his shitty boss – or that he’d basically threatened a co-worker.

“Thanks for coming again, Ozzie. I appreciate it, y’know?” you speak over the radio. He takes a peek at you from his seat and the thumb on your hand digs in a little.

“Don’t have to thank me, babe. I needed the break from the club anyway”

“From Carmine?” you question and watch him nod as he takes a turn.

You don’t want to poke any further and you most definitely want to bring up Falcone of all people and ruin your night together. You want to steer the conversation and his mind away from that shithole.

“You looked real handsome tonight, babe” you say nonchalantly, watching his strong brow quirk upwards at your praise.

“You angling for somethin’, doll?” he replies. As good as he’s gotten with compliments he still shies away when he can.

“What do I need to butter you up for? You give me whatever I want, when I want – Remember?”

That wicked smile comes back tenfold now. You know exactly what to say to rile him up, and you see him shift in his leather seat a fraction. The digital speedometer starts to climb the closer he gets to the penthouse and you can’t hide the smugness anymore.

It’s still light outside when he pulls into the underground lot, the interior of the car lighting up a vibrant indigo at the sudden change. He parks up at his spot in record time and he makes no show of patience when he opens your door to give a deep kiss. It’s exactly like before dinner, but this time you don’t have to sit through other people’s presence. You head up to his apartment from the elevator, his fingers dancing along your spine as you stand next to him. You think of how out of all the times you’ve ridden in this elevator, you’ve never met anyone else. There’s plenty cars downstairs but you never actually see anyone. They’re probably as shady in their day-to-day life as Oz is and want an even lower profile. Not that a purple sports car is keeping a low profile.

You think you must have drunk a little too much with your food, because before you realise that you’re on your back on Oz’s obnoxious bed with him littering your neck with open mouthed kisses. He’s done it so often but it hasn’t ever gotten boring. Each time he brings his tongue to grace your skin you shudder at the feeling like it’s the first night all over again. Your hands are flat against his wide back and you can feel the muscle twitch as he presses himself to you. All the while grinding his hips between your legs. You feel your mouth fall open to speak without thinking.

“I thought you were gonna make that sad fuck cry at the table tonight” you mumble into his ear. A hearty laugh comes from him before he trails his mouth up to your jaw and then your lips.

“Would you have liked that? Seem to remember how wet you were when I split my knuckles last week” he grunts out as he grinds himself harsher against you now. You swallow and give a shaky moan at his words and it only spurs him on.

“Yes, Ozzie” you sigh as you try push your own hips down on him. Your face is beyond flushed you can practically feel the heat in the air. It begins to heat once more when you a thought enters your head.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur again, Oz stops his ministrations to give you his attention. A hand comes to hold your face the way he likes, thumb brushing over your already swollen lips.

“Anything” he swears. You stare at him for a second, taking in his own flushed face. You can spot a bead of sweat already lining his forehead.

“Do you have like…brass knuckles?” you ask, head a little fuzzy.

He takes a moment to process what you’ve asked. Of course he does, why are you asking now?

“Yeah, doll. In a drawer somewhere, why?” he lets out a small laugh, almost nervous. Are you afraid because of what he said?

“I want you to wear ‘em when you fuck me” you tell him. The words coming out in a rush. The hand on your face goes flat against the side of your cheek. He’s admiring you, you realise. You’re a far cry from the person you used to be and it only hits you now. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be seeing this guy or accepting his blood money and you shouldn’t be asking him to fuck you while he has a weapon on him. But you are. You’re too far gone at this stage. What would have happened if you had cancelled that night of your friend’s party? You’d be innocent for sure. But you wouldn’t be this happy.

“You’re a dirty girl, ain’t you? Did I do this to you, baby?” he slurs a little.

Wine drunk Oz is far more provocative than normal, and you’re enjoying it. He’s got an almost painful hard on pressed against your clothed cunt. Worked up from dry humping and making out on his bed, but your request makes him see stars if he was honest. You can’t even make the effort to answer him, just nodding dumbly at the sentiment.

“Stay right there for me, sweetheart” he tells you with another searing kiss before he shuffles backwards off the bed. You throw a hand over your face, trying to get any relief from your heated skin but it’s useless. You can hear a drawer open in the far corner where his extensive wardrobe lies. A second later he’s back on top of you, spread legs straddling over you. You could squeeze his thick thighs forever you think and he’d gladly let you. You want to work out every knot in his body.

The spiral of thoughts are stopped in their tracks when you see them. Gold glittering from the light of the city below you. They fit his heavy hands perfectly you realise, obviously moulded to his taste. You can feel your heart stutter a little at the sight of him, shirt undone almost all the way and hands at his side. He’s breathing heavily like he did when he had that guy against the wall of the 44 and you feel adrenaline pump through every vein in your body.

You rise up on your elbows as much as they can support you. You’re definitely tipsier than you thought, but this has to be the best idea drunk you has ever had. He brings his right-hand to your face slowly, so not to freak you out at the contact of the metal. It feels electric on your skin, the cool relief your flushed face was searching for is finally found. He can’t touch you as well as he’d like but you don’t care. You can only imagine how wet you must be and you let out a groan as he caresses your face with the jewellery.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks you so gently as he turns his hand over, enjoying the view.

It’s so soft you’re amazed you heard him at all. You lick your lips and give another nod. In return he offers you an almost proud smile. Of your request, or his ability to indulge you you’re not sure. Not that it matters.

“Take off your dress for me, honey” he murmurs, like you’d refuse him.

Without a second thought you do your best to pull it off your clammy body and he can’t help much with his hands in his defence. You’d kill him if he ruined that outfit. Once it’s off and hits the floor you grab either side of his hips and he almost recoils in surprise. You look him in the eye before licking a long stripe up the middle of his dark chest. You can taste his cologne that he put on hours ago, mixed in with his own scent. You’d wanted to do this for a while but he’s still hesitant with you near his chest. You don’t understand it but praise him when he lets you get this close. You want to continue this little game of him being in charge, however.

“I love how you taste, Ozzie” you tell him, delighting in his gasps.

You move your head slightly to the swell of his chest and suck a deep mark into the plump flesh. He actually moans at that, bringing his hand to the back of your head to keep you there. He lets his own head roll back a little as you continue to lap at the hot skin. You bring a hand up to join the fun, giving his pec a firm pinch between your fingers before you take his nipple into your hot mouth.

A hearty groan comes from his throat at the feeling and he opens his eyes to see you enjoying yourself at his pleasure. His breaths are deeper and laboured now, he pulls you back from his chest. The cooler air of the apartment rushing around the abused flesh as you leave it. You look entirely fucked out of it now, and he’s barely touched you so far. It’s driving him insane.

“Lie back down for me, doll” he coos and you do so without question.

It’s fun letting him be in charge for once. You sink into the cool sheets and watch him undo the hook and eye of his trousers. It’s so much hotter when he keeps the thick braces on his broad shoulders. You open your legs as wide as they’ll go, that initial burn of resistance from the first night long forgotten now. It’s all muscle memory with him and it’s a comfort.

His dick is already beginning to leak profusely it’s almost cute in a way how much he’s enjoying this game. He brings his left hand to run down your chest, watching the skin goosebump in reaction to the cool metal adorning his fist. You twitch involuntarily as you watch it travel your body until he gets to your lower stomach. He’s slightly rougher there, knowing it gets you wetter as he externally massages your g-spot. Your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly at his touch and you think you can see him smile a little as you watch him pump himself in hand. He’s enjoying the feeling of the brass knuckles on himself as well. After a few seconds, the hand on your stomach goes lower to rest on top of your mound. He digs the heel of his palm in to expose your clit to the air and to him. You feel like you’ve been waiting forever but that’s not true. Oz is never a tease, he likes to spoil you too much. He’s said it himself plenty of times.

He shuffles a little closer now, rubbing the head of his reddening cock against your swollen clit. A simultaneous gasp comes from both of you before he drags his dick lower through your folds. He can feel exactly how much you’re enjoying this and it’s just spurring him on. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before, not even when he was younger fucking anything with a pulse. He doesn’t want to waste anymore time for either of you, and starts to sink into you as much as you allow. There’s practically no resistance however as your insides welcome the intrusion quickly. The hand that was guiding him in goes back to the side of your face, making sure you watch his expression as he bottoms out. That intensity he gets whenever he first enters you is back in his dark eyes, and it’s the same look he gives before he snaps at someone or tells them off physically. He’s a passionate man, but you don’t think he’s ever admitted it to anyone.

He starts to move his hips slower than you’d like. You want him rougher tonight, but he’s too gentle in the beginning as always. It’s another endearing detail about him. He has no qualms about hurting anyone but you, even involuntarily. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense as he tries to start of slow and you know just what to say to make him lose any self-restraint. You pull his head down to kiss you before you move to his ear and moan deep and long. You can feel his slow rhythm falter and you know you’ve got him.

“I love your cock, Ozzie” you sigh dreamily and you mean it. You think about it all the time, you know for a fact your work productivity has plummeted since meeting him and you have an inkling he’s the same. Hovering around his phone during meetings with Carmine, waiting to hear from you about the things you’ve spent his hard-earned cash on.

You get exactly what you wanted when your words hit him, a deep grunt coming from his chest before he takes one of your thighs in hand and pushes it against your torso. The roughness of his calloused palms and fingers is broken by the rigid metal pushing his fingers apart and you push your own hips down against him as much as you can from this position.

“That all you can fuckin’ think about? You’re here in bed with a guy like me and you can only say you love my cock? You think your friends at dinner know who I am?” he grits out. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was pissed off, but it’s just how he gets when he’s turned on you’ve come to notice. He gets a little prouder, a little more possessive.

You play along and nod again, mouth falling open when he starts to slam his hips against you. You can feel him almost pull out the entire way before he pushes back in. The slap of your skin together is filling your ears along with his words.

“You saw me nearly hit that guy earlier, and all you could think about was me fuckin’ you like this?” he sneers again, but it’s not malicious. Not with the way he kisses across your face, any bit he can get to. It’s the same rough and tender way he is in everything.

“Say it” he grunts out, left hand now digging in painfully into your thigh as he pumps into you faster. His other hand cups your face entirely, thumb pressed into the dip of your chin to keep you where he wants you.

“It’s all I think about” you confess in a hushed whisper and you see the way he has to close his eyes to focus on not finishing there and then.

He pulls out of you in the next second and you think you’ve done something wrong before he gasps at you to get on your stomach. Your brain is blank at this point from being so close to finishing. He grabs a silk pillow and slots it under your hips like it’s not going to be ruined. Like it costs nothing. One hand spreads the cheek of your ass, and you feel his blunt fingernails scratch the raised flesh. The sting is cooled by the presence of the warming metal but it still gives you a shiver when he pulls it to expose your wet pussy. Your face down in the covers now, feeling completely overheated and exposed the way you wanted.

He pushes back in and he hisses behind you at the angle, you’re taking him deeper now than in missionary. And he knows you enjoy the way his stomach pushes you into the sheets, even if he can’t quite understand it himself. He resumes his punishing pace, right hand cupping your shoulder to push you back onto his cock. His index finger brushes against the back of your ear softly, still wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. As if you aren’t close to crying from how close you are grinding into the plush pillow underneath you.

“I’m gonna have to fuck you like this in Carmine’s office one of these days, y’know that?” he spits out as he moves to cover your body with his. His mouth is hot at your ear now, one hand slipping underneath you to rub roughly at your clit. You almost jump out of his arms when the metal glides over the slick skin but he keeps you there. You always try to shy away from his touch when it’s overwhelming but you love it when he makes you face it head on.

“When it’s your office, Ozzie?” you pant out and you feel his dick twitch a little inside you. He loves when you talk to him like that, remind him that he’s going to be in control one day. His teeth graze your ear at that and he fucks you even deeper somehow.

“Will you fuck me like this on that pool-table, baby? Please?” you cry out with a little smile and you can feel him start to bite and kiss at the flesh of your neck. That chain of his hitting at your shoulder blade with his harsh movements. His free hand holds your head between his thumb and forefinger, but it nearly covers your entire face with the way he’s moving so frantically. You’d mentioned it to him before in passing at a late-night game with Falcone and his thugs. Oz had to pretend he was getting a call when you went to the private bathroom to wait for him. You knew it’d rile him up to no end to picture you bent over it, but he had to make to with the marble countertop of Carmine’s personal en-suite in the upstairs office.

“I’ll fuck wherever you want, sweetheart. Just say the word, and I’ll do it” he grins and you can feel from his thrusts he’s getting sloppy the closer he gets to finishing. You do your best to grind down on his palm and back against him to get yourself there. You would try to quieten down but you can’t help yourself this late in the game. It’s all too much. You bring your hand to cup the back of his own head, turning as much as you can to catch his dark eyes.

“I’m yours, sweetie” you get out between moans, eyes almost fluttering shut as you grind against his now sopping hand between your legs one last time.

You feel the way you involuntarily grip his cock as you cum that he’s losing it entirely. He pushes you down against the sheets harder now after telling him you’re his and his alone. He’s still fucking you through it that you almost go into a daze before he pulls out again. To be honest, you hadn’t thought he had it in him to stop again. He rolls you onto your back once more, relishing in how dishevelled you look lying there for him. He takes himself in hand again and finishes on your chest when your eyes meet. His head rolls back again, and you bring your shaky hands to rub soothingly into his stomach and hips as he cools down. The sight of him touching himself with the brass knuckles on is something you hope you never forget. You want every detail seared into your brain.

You’re both panting heavily after that and you expect Oz to get a rag to clean you up. He’d never finished on you before, always deep inside. It was unusual but with what you had asked of him, it was fair. Instead of fetching a facecloth from his sink, he bends down once more to lick the cum off you. Wide tongue leaving patches of spit on your chest as he cleaned you. He hums loudly to himself as he does so and you feel as though you could die happy at the sight of him. When you’re sufficiently cleaned, he rises up to give you an open-mouthed kiss, you moan heartily at the taste of him while your tongues slide over each other. He pulls back a fraction, eyes boring into yours while staying half-lidded somehow before he says it.

“I love you” he murmurs unconsciously almost to himself. Your own eyes widen a little, too drunk and too tired to believe what you just heard. He hears what he said a few seconds too late and before he can pull away and apologise you wrap your arms around his neck and return his deep kiss. You whisper your own confession and he looks more flushed than he had a few moments ago. You don’t say anything else, there’s no need to. Not right now anyways. He just watches you for a second, hand gently caressing your cheek once more. You lean into it now, and kiss along the inside of his palm. He lets out a small hum at the feeling before leaving you with a chaste kiss as he gets fully undressed for bed.

Your legs feel like jelly as you crawl up to the headboard and under the covers. You see him place the brass knuckles on his bedside table before he knocks the soaked pillow off the bed entirely. There’s a soft smile on your face when he joins you and pulls you close to him. You can still get that scent of his cologne when you cuddle into his chest. He gives one last little peck to the top of your head as you start to doze off.

It's unfortunately one of those sleeps where you close your eyes and open them to the bright morning, feeling no rest or comfort in slumber. You groan a little at the light, Oz had forgotten to close the curtains before he’d left to get you. You roll slowly onto your back, not without its difficulty and realise you can hear him in the kitchen again. By the look of the outside, it must be afternoon. The city looks busier than ever from up here you think. You rub a hand over your face and swallow a deep yawn before you try find your phone and confirm the time. Shauna had sent you a few pictures from the night that you can’t remember taking in the bathroom but they’re cute. You send her back a message of thanks and look through your other texts. There’s nothing out of the ordinary you find and you go onto twitter. You know it’s not good to open social media like a newspaper when you wake up, but it’s a habit.

You see a dm from one of your friends and expect to see a meme about Gotham but your jaw drops at what you see. She sent a “??????????????????????” message with a screenshot of some tabloid page. It’s two pictures of you and Oz from last night at the restaurant. You frantically click into it, and see tons of traction on the pictures. One is of you whispering in his ear, his heavy arm slung over the back of your chair with a smirk on his face. The other is when he kissed your shoulder.

“OZ!” you shout from the bedroom.

#oz cobblepot #oz cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot #ozzie can be bossy as a treat #milk and roses

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helena-edge · 4 years ago

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The Great and Powerful Ozpin (RWBY fic)

So, I usually post og content on my page, but in honor of RWBY Volume 8 coming out I thought I’d share a fic I wrote awhile ago. I have to give a shout-out to @tigerstripedmoon. After reading “three small words,” which you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12372592/1/three-small-words. I had to write a cloqwork fic of my own. Seriously, you guys, it was THAT GOOD. Please check it out. You can find mine at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13511024/1/The-Great-and-Powerful-Ozpin. I’ll also post the whole thing here. I’m hoping that Oz gets some love in volume 8. That poor old wizard deserves it.

Okay, so here it is, “The Great and Powerful Ozpin” in which Qrow is an alcohol-soaked cinnamon role and Oz is sadder than he lets on...

The Great and Powerful Ozpin

“What kind of headmaster lets a student die on his watch?”

The shout that cut through the amphitheater forced the man on stage to pause mid-sentence.

“I—”

From his place in the balcony seats, Qrow watched Professor Ozpin adjust his spectacles and peer out towards the crowd.

“Pardon me?” Ozpin’s deep, calm voice echoed in the vast room, the gathering place of Beacon Academy. Regular classes had been interrupted for a special ceremony. The screen behind the speech podium was black, the color of mourning.

“You heard me, murderer! You killed my sister!”

Gasps erupted around the room. The sea of students parted aside in the wake of a giant—no, a human, the largest man Qrow had ever seen, making his way, stomp by angry stomp to the stage.

“Hazel.” Ozpin’s soft whisper of recognition sounded loud through the microphone.

“Ozpin!” the man roared in response, a sound that could have come from the mouth of an ursa.

Glynda, Oobleck and Port stood behind Oz, watching Hazel Reinhart approach. Glynda clutched her riding crop tightly, Oobleck nervously sipped coffee from a thermos, and Port gritted his teeth beneath his mustache. Unlike the other teachers, Qrow had chosen to attend the memorial service for Gretchen in the shadows of the balcony. He liked to be up high. It helped him to see better. He clenched the hilt of his sword as he watched Hazel jump onto the stage. He was only a few feet from Ozpin now, who despite, the nearing threat, remained a steadfast presence behind the podium.

“You will pay for what you did!” Hazel bellowed. He raised a beefy arm to point a finger at Ozpin’s chest.

From above, Qrow saw the tightening of Hazel’s body. He knew what he was going to do before anyone else.

None of the students understood how Qrow managed to reach the stage so quickly. There was just a blur of black—one student swore they saw a few feathers—then a clang of something heavy impacting metal. When everyone opened their eyes again, Hazel’s fist was firmly planted in the flat side of Qrow’s blade.

“Not one step closer.”

Qrow heard his own voice pulsing in his ears, low and gravelly—and dangerous. “Make a move, you son of a grim. I dare you.”

A deep, rumbling sound issued from Hazel’s mouth. Qrow couldn’t believe it; the lunatic was actually growling at him.

In response, he turned his blade ever so slightly so that the sharp edge was cutting into Hazel’s knuckles.

“Qrow.” A gentle voice spoke from behind him, and Qrow felt the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder, one with pale, delicate fingers, but with a grip stronger than Qrow had ever known. At that moment there was the sound of a cane being tapped decisively on the ground.

“Why don’t we all calm down,” Ozpin said, his manner congenial as if he, Hazel and Qrow were merely sitting down to a cup of afternoon tea.

Hazel’s eyes looked past Qrow and instantly narrowed. “You,” he hissed. “You killed her; you killed my little sister.”

“Your sister was old enough to make her own decisions.” Ozpin sighed. “Gretchen was brave—braver than most. She would have made an excellent huntress.”

Hazel continued to push harder against Qrow’s blade with his fist. Blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the stage floor. Qrow stared. Did the man not feel anything?

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Ozpin continued.

“What do you know about loss?” Hazel cried.

“More than any man, woman or child,” replied Ozpin in a tone that grew heavier with each uttered syllable.

Qrow saw rage grow in Hazel’s eyes. He was certainly not calming down; in fact, Ozpin’s words seemed only to have incensed his rage.

“Oz, stay back,” Qrow warned.

But Ozpin had never been one to take orders from Qrow, or anyone for that matter.

“Hazel,” he said softly, imploringly.

The resistance against his blade intensified. Hazel was strong, too strong. Qrow wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long.

“Drop dead,” Hazel seethed at Ozpin, spittle flying out of his mouth and hitting Qrow in the face.

“Dead,” Ozpin repeated with a wry chuckle. “If only.”

With a single thrust, Qrow felt his sword give way. The barrier that he’d made between Hazel and Ozpin clattered to the floor as Hazel rushed forward, letting loose a yell of savage fury.

“Aaaah!”

“Oz—!” Qrow cried, reaching, weaponless, for the professor.

Before he could take another step, the sight of Ozpin raising his right arm, quick as lightning, caused his shoes to skid upon the ground to a halt. He realized that Hazel couldn’t get closer than a cane-length away from Ozpin. The headmaster held him back with the tip of the walking stick. Hazel was a towering mass of muscle compared to the slim figure of Ozpin, but he couldn’t force the man back an inch.

The student body gaped collectively, spellbound by the scene. The whole amphitheater seemed to be holding its breath, and the teachers themselves were frozen with shock. Glynda, Oobleck and Port had their weapons out, but they appeared to have forgotten that they were authorized to use them. Ozpin’s face remained coolly unaffected; his eyes never broke from Hazel’s fiery gaze.

“Go home Hazel. Your family needs you.”

“My family?” Hazel’s incredulous scream traveled all the way to the ceiling and bounced back again. “You destroyed my family!” He struggled against Ozpin’s cane, but just then the doors to the amphitheater burst open and men and women in uniform came streaming in, guns drawn. Someone with sense (Probably Glynda, Qrow thought) had called the Vale police.

“Hands up!” they shouted at Hazel.

Hazel, finally understanding that he was vastly outmatched by Ozpin and now outmanned, did as he was told, raising his massive arms above his head. With one final hostile glare at Ozpin, he let himself be led away by the police.

After the doors slammed shut behind them, every eye in the amphitheater swiveled back to the stage. His cane lowered, Ozpin walked calmly back to the podium.

“That concludes the service,” he said into the microphone. Then he left the stage without another word.

Glynda took up the mic after he was gone, using her commanding voice to usher some order back into the disoriented crowd.

“You heard the headmaster. Back to class!” she barked at the students.

Qrow picked up his sword, flicking off some of Hazel’s blood before putting it back in its hilt. He was secretly glad that he hadn’t been forced to waste the scythe mechanism on a piece of scum like Hazel. He knew Oz would sympathize with his grief, but Qrow had no patience for people who took their pain out on others.

He pulled a metal flask out of his shirt, hearing it clank against the sideways cross necklace he never took off. He took a large swig and waited for the burn of alcohol to chase away the memory of Hazel, the hatred in his eyes. He would have destroyed anything in his path just to get to Ozpin, all for the sake of his suffering.

He stood alone on the stage as the room emptied out, gazing at his reflection in the flask. He saw dark circles beneath his eyes. The bright red irises matched the tiny veins popping out against the white. All the while he denied the voice in his head that called him a hypocrite.

Self-destruction is still destruction, the voice taunted.

Qrow took another swig. Shut up.

***

“How long has it been since you ate something, Oz?”

The sky was dark outside the circular window of Ozpin’s office. Because the window doubled as giant clock, Qrow was able to watch the minute hand tick up and around the shattered image of the moon, which illuminated the ground below in pearl-white fractals.

“Ate something?” Ozpin said from across the room.

“Yeah.” Qrow turned away from the window to face the headmaster, who was busy shifting books around in his shelves. “You know, food? Hot cocoa doesn’t count by the way.”

A hint of a smile played over Ozpin’s lips. “That’s a shame.”

Qrow couldn’t help but notice that, between reaching up for books, Ozpin was leaning on his cane more than usual. In fact, the slight slump of his shoulders made it seem like the stick was the only thing keeping him upright.

A softer note took hold of Qrow’s voice.

“How long has it been since you last slept?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s one a.m., and you’ve decided that now would be the best time to rearrange your bookshelves.”

Ozpin paused, running a hand over one leather-bound cover. The History of Remnant. The sound of gears churned rhythmically above them. The gears, along with the cool emerald walls of Ozpin’s office had always had a soothing effect on Qrow. Everything about the room was familiar to him. He used to spend a lot of time here during his student days. Granted, he had been in trouble most of those instances, sent to the headmaster for speaking back in class, starting a fight in the hallway, or sneaking booze into his dormitory. None of the teachers had ever been very fond of Qrow in his younger years, but Ozpin had always gone easy on him. Now as an adult, not much had changed; he continued to rub people the wrong way, but being back with Oz, looking down at the clouds from the tallest part of Beacon Academy, he felt like he was back home again.

“Time is relative,” Ozpin said at last.

“Right,” Qrow replied.

“Why are you here at this hour?” Ozpin turned the question on the huntsman.

“To give my report on the spring maiden,” Qrow lied.

“Young Spring is residing at Haven Academy. Leonardo keeping me updated for the time being…a fact which you are well aware of.” Ozpin raised a silver eyebrow in Qrow’s direction. “Why are you really here?”

Because I saw your face when Hazel called you a murderer, and there’s no way I’m leaving you alone after that.

“To help you organize your books.”

He took a step closer to the shelves. At the same time, a book wobbled and fell, and on its way down, knocked over a figurine of two intertwined dragons that had sat guard there for as long as Qrow could remember.

Ozpin caught the book in one deft swoop. Qrow rushed forward for the figurine but, his reflexes, dulled from drink (he had been outdoing himself this week), were too slow to catch the dragons. They hit the floor, shattering into tiny bits.

“That’s a bit of bad luck.” Ozpin frowned at the mess.

“Sorry,” Qrow grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know I can’t always control it.”

“No need to apologize.” Ozpin squinted at the broken dragons, poking a shard with the tip of his cane. “It was a gift. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been fond of it.”

He started to put the fallen book back on the shelf. As he looked up, a daze came over his eyes. He blinked and staggered backwards like someone who was about to faint. Qrow made ready to catch him, watching as the weight of the book carried his arm downwards. Finally, it slipped from his fingers, which appeared to have no strength left in them, and tumbled to floor, joining the shattered dragons.

Ozpin closed his eyes and hunched forward, resting his forehead on his cane, breathing hard. If Qrow hadn’t know any better he would have thought that he just finished fighting off fifty grim. Before him was the shell of the man who had held Hazel back with no effort one week prior.

“Oz,” Qrow said hesitantly, placing a hand on his back. At the touch, Oz straightened up.

“I’m fine; I just became a bit dizzy there for a moment.”

“That’s what happens when you starve yourself for a week,” Qrow muttered under his breath. Then louder. “Are you alright—really?”

Ozpin, either not hearing him or choosing to ignore the question, said nothing. Instead he let his cane guide him towards the center of the room.

“Is there a real reason you came here?” he asked Qrow without looking back at him.

At that moment, anger for the headmaster bubbled up in Qrow. Why couldn’t he be straight with him for once and admit that something was wrong?

“Yeah, there is.” He struggled to keep his voice steady. “I came to ask if you think letting yourself die will bring Gretchen Reinhart back? Well, in case you didn’t already know, professor, Beacon lost a student forever—and you can’t die!”

Oz was silent for a minute before turning slowly around. One look at his face made all the anger in Qrow’s body dissipate into thin air. With his chin lowered into his green turtleneck and golden eyes raised in supplication, Qrow was instantly struck by how vulnerable, how sad he looked.

“Please…I know. You don’t have to remind me,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Qrow immediately apologized again, disgusted with himself. Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, a betrayal of stress that Qrow had come to recognize over the years.

“I try to eat, but—”

“—you can’t keep it down,” Qrow finished for him. He knew the symptoms of guilt.

Ozpin nodded.

“I try to sleep, but—”

“—let me guess: the nightmares.”

Ozpin nodded once more, pinching his nose harder and furrowing his brows as if a bout of sharp pain had just seized him.

Qrow wasn’t surprised. Ozpin had been suffering the nightmares long before Gretchen’s accident. Another side-effect of a mind steeped in shame. Qrow had heard him cry out in the night before, screaming at someone only he could see.

“The children! Where are the children? What have we done? What have we done?”

He knew that there were parts of Ozpin’s past that he had never shared with him, might never share with him. The man had certainly lived long enough to rack up plenty of secrets.

That doesn’t matter, not now. Qrow told himself. Let him keep his secrets for the time being. What mattered in this moment was getting Oz through the night.

“Even if this body does give out on me, death would be no release. I…I get to carry my guilt through each life,” Ozpin continued.

“Oz, you know Gretchen wasn’t your fault.”

Ozpin lowered his hand and looked Qrow squarely in the eye. Regardless of how old he became, the headmaster’s piercing gaze never failed to make Qrow feel like the scrawny first-year again.

“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Ozpin said firmly. He moved to turn away but Qrow caught him by the shoulders.

“Then don’t talk, listen. You were right when you said Gretchen was old enough to make her own decisions; she chose her path, she met her fate.”

All of a sudden, an image of Summer came to him. His breath caught in his throat. His team leader had left for the mission that day and never came back, leaving Qrow to somehow make a life without her, to keep Ruby, her infant daughter—his niece, safe. But in the end, he was positive that even if she had known what awaited, she still would have gone.

“That’s right,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Choice. We can’t forget that they made a choice. If we do that, then we insult their—I mean Gretchen’s memory.”

Qrow could feel Ozpin’s body shaking between his hands. He brushed the professor’s silver hair away from his eyes, letting his fingers linger against the side of his face.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he whispered.

The utterance of those three words was all it took to make Ozpin break. He crumpled to the ground, face buried in his hands, his cane clattering beside him.

Qrow dropped to his knees after him. He waited a moment while Ozpin took deep, shuddering breaths. Gently, he removed Ozpin’s hands from his face, his chest tightening when he took in the agonized expression beneath.

Past the black spectacles, past the gleaming gold, Qrow could glimpse a millennium of suffering in his eyes, a man whose life stretched beyond what he couldn’t begin to imagine. A man who had seen a thousand years pass by, life after life. How many mistakes had he, Qrow Branwen, already made in his short lifespan of less than thirty years? He thought of Summer again. Enough to turn to drink to numb the pain. Pain. Once he thought he understood it, but as he gazed down at Ozpin, so small and exposed once the façade of the calm, collected headmaster had come tumbling down, he realized that he only knew pain as an inkling, a small sliver of the suffering that the human soul, that Oz’s soul could and had been made to endure.

“It’s okay,” he said again, hearing how feeble his attempt at comfort was, like trying to staunch a stab wound with a band-aid.

The tears began to stream now, down Ozpin’s cheeks, dripping into tiny puddles on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Qrow repeated, taking off the spectacles to better wipe away the tears. “It’s okay…”

He pulled Ozpin into an embrace, rocking with him as the sobs wracked his body. How long had he been holding them back? It was a while before his breathing steadied.

As Qrow pulled a way, he automatically reached into his shirt for his flask. He contemplated its contents and the weeping man before him. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, and it certainly wasn’t hot cocoa, but it was the only remedy he could think of.

“Here. This might help you sleep,” he said.

Ozpin, his face pale except for the puffy redness around his eyes, stared at the flask. A split second passed and he seemed to make a quick decision. He took the offered drink, suckling the alcohol from it like a baby with a bottle.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Qrow took the flask away, making use of his sleeve to dry the left-over drips of liquid on Ozpin’s chin.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop. No more apologizing,” Qrow whispered.

He leaned close, using his lips to kiss away the wetness on his cheeks. Then he moved on to the mouth. Ozpin’s lips were stiff and trembling, but Qrow knew how to work them until they melted into his.

He would stay with him tonight, be there to soothe the nightmares away. With a sigh of exhaustion, Ozpin sank into Qrow’s chest. Qrow’s hand naturally fell to the task of stroking his hair.

Yes, he would be here, always.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Despite everything, Ozpin managed to chuckle through his tears.

“I thought you didn’t want me to starve.”

“Right. I’ll steal some pancakes from the cafeteria then.”

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #cloqwork #rwby ozpin #ozpin x qrow #ozpin appreciation

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marithlizard · 4 years ago

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Impressions of RWBY v8c7, “War”

Will Winter act on her conscience? Will Yang deck someone? Will they deserve it? How annoyed/depressed/horrified will I be 18 minutes and 50 seconds from now?

Farm fields? Somehow I'd thought of the floating city as having only greenhouse-type agriculture. Is there a heating grid underneath the fields, or something else clever? (And, now that I think of it, does Mantle have food production of its own? We'll probably never learn.)

Hooooly.... That is something. That is "Sauron could take notes for his next invasion of Gondor" levels of something.

I never thought about the whale being used in actual combat - it's terrifying enough as a floating fortress and symbol. But Atlas is just a platform in the air. It doesn't have to land, it can just sort of wriggle itself onto the edge.

The human soldiers standing there facing this deserve more recognition than they will ever get. Not all valor belongs to small teams of elite heroes.

Apathy spotted. They're not fast or strong but oh duh they are perfect frontline forces against a human army, aren't they?

Ironwood, you should've evacuated the entire city to shelters hours ago. I hope you thought to prepare the subways for hundreds of thousands of refugees for an indefinite period of time. But then you never thought you'd be facing this, did you. You expected to recover Penny and raise the city and that Grimm somehow wouldn’t be able to fly that high.

Obviously the soldier protesting that order has not actually looked outside and seen what's happening. Which means most of the civilians haven't either. They are not prepared for a sudden evacuation order and they're going to resist way more than the Mantle citizens did. In a less doomed situation it'd be satisfying to think of all those Schnee party guests stuffed into a dark subway tunnel.

Look, I've always seen the limitations of Ironwood's chess-game perspective. And I'm certainly not on the side of a cartoonishly evil dictator who shoots unarmed people when they disagree with him. But just now preserving the relic looks like both the ultimate priority and maybe the only achievable goal.

...okay, they're not resisting. Grimm overhead are very convincing.

A suicide bomb attack into the mouth of the whale makes logical sense. And Winter won't hesitate to carry it herself. She's certainly not going to hesitate because Oscar is in there. Tbh if I thought it would actually work, I wouldn't either - Oscar and Oz wouldn't put their own life over a city full of civilians.

Salem gracefully conducting her army like an orchestra. Emerald has reached her limit for atrocities. Beautifully constructed shots here.

SALEM DEATHWISH THEORY CONFIRMED. Oz has known all along. And horribly, I think he's being sincere when he agrees with Hazel that he deserves to be tortured like this.

(Is that where we're going with the endgame? The gods are summoned, realize Salem expects them to destroy the world and finally kill her, and say "Nah"? )

Oh, Nora.

I guess there's no point in the Manor occupants evacuating. At this rate it would only buy Whitley, Willow and the servants a matter of hours.

Weiss, Vacuo is halfway across the world - even if they sent an army it wouldn't get here in time. Forces from Argus led by Cordo, now that might happen. Though I don't know if they could make a difference. What can take out that whale? SEW is all I can think of.

Yeah, that's the problem isn't it? All the heroic good will in the world only lets you make a last stand in one place. And no matter which you choose you're abandoning someone else. Only in shoujo anime do sparkly love powers allow you to transcend that limitation.

Trans pride statement from May!

Whitley! Okay, he's going to do something to help, and Weiss had better recognize him for it.

Oooooooooh. Oz trusts Oscar, Oscar trusts Hazel, and now both Hazel and Emerald have Jinn's name. Who will use it, and to ask what?

That moment when you realize that Tyrian has had more common sense than you all along. That moment's embarrassing.

Now, how much of all this did that Grimm in the ceiling hear? Was that the Hound? I think perhaps it was.

A nod between Mercury and Emerald. He gets it. And they were saying goodbye. *sob*

Good job, Jaune! Make it to her practical benefit to do what you want. That's how you diplomacy.

"Like Marrow replaced Ortuga, and Winter replaced-" Ow OW. Harriet has the most depressingly mechanistic outlook on life ever. Everyone's a cog, including herself.

Ren's panic and resentment haven't wiped out his understanding and perception. And ...what *is* that? Those petals? Is Ren's semblance evolving?

This is what was being hinted at back in v7, isn't it. In episode 1 when he sensed the Ace Ops about to attack, and then later that odd little moment in the training room. Ren can detect as well as mask emotions now. Nice!

So Winter doesn't intend to make her own attack a suicide run. But how else does she think she can get the bomb deep enough inside to count? TBH if I were her, I'd put the bomb on a timer and make JRY *carry* it in. They'll be in the best position to put it somewhere vulnerable. It's not like they really have time for this "test run" idea anyway.

Qrow in his jail cell, mumbling resentfully about making Ironwood pay, seems so completely irrelevant to the plot right now. I think the writers just don't know what to do with him. :(

KLEIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

KLEIN IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY HE HAS MEDICAL SKILLS

Whitley called him, didn't he. Now I am happy, however briefly.

Well, THAT is not who I expected to finish out the episode with.

18:50 later, I'm not very annoyed, and not as depressed and horrified as I probably should be. There are certainly worse cliffs to leave us dangling off for the next 7 weeks or so.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v8 spoilers #rwby volume 8 spoilers

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lily-onher-grave · 5 years ago

Text

hey

y’all want an excerpt? i got the good stuff

(from the prologue of my new project)

They say the Witch is going to die. They say that’s why the Wizard sent Dorothy.

Glinda pays the rumors no mind. Perhaps the Wizard wants Elphaba dead—does he remember them, from all those years ago?—but the idea is laughable. Elphaba’s survived the marshy Quadling lands, a campus haunted by Morrible, and the filthy, shadowed streets of the Emerald City. The Wizard will have to do much better than a little farm girl if he wants her gone.

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe her letter will reach Elphaba first, and she’ll think of a way around the Dorothy girl. Glinda imagines different scenarios, reveling at the cloak and dagger of it all. A faked death, perhaps? The new ruler of Oz reuniting with a criminal. It excites her, and not just because she’ll finally get to see Elphie again.

Without meaning to, she finds herself wholly tied to the prospect of being with Elphaba once more. Years of separation have taught her wariness, but now there is no doubt in her mind. And why should there be? They were reunited in Munchkinland. And though they left on such bad terms, they had also been able to pick up again so flawlessly. Glinda remembers the thrill, the bliss, the hope. It was a sign of things to come. She’s certain of it.

But she’s smart enough not to let it show. After she sends her letter, she finds herself waiting. Her life carries on mostly normally, but she notices the small details that are changing. More politicians are showing up at the dinner parties she’s invited to. A sorceress from the palace extends an invitation to meet for tea.

“We should do the same,” Chuffrey says one evening over his nightly brandy. “Host a dinner, invite over all these new friends you’re making.”

There’s a touch of bitterness in his voice. She’s amused by his jealousy—as if she were ever his in the first place.

But it’s a good idea nonetheless, and so she sends servants out with handwritten invitations for all of the city’s finest: palace officials and Gale Force officers, heads of estate and bank owners. She even invites Madame Morrible, just to be cheeky. She knows the old woman can barely make it out of her bed these days.

She doesn’t particularly like hosting, but she knows she’s good at it. Her smile is dazzling as each guest is ushered in. Men bow low and kiss her hand, while ladies dote over her dress, her shoes, her necklace.

Chuffrey stays unusually close, and she both expects and hates it. Usually he’s inviting men to the den for cigars and business talk. How patronizing. But tonight he’s at her side, tagging along as she wins the hearts of the city’s most powerful people.

“I’m just happy my Glinda is getting the recognition she deserves,” he tells people. He doesn’t smile down at her as she says it. He doesn’t even act like she’s there. “She’s always been a bright one—for a lady, of course. Went to that college up in Shiz.”

There’s always an air of mockery when Chuffrey talks about Shiz, as if he’s revealing something scandalous about her. But Glinda places her hand on his chest and smiles, saying nothing. Nobody ever asks her what Shiz was like, what she studied. Usually they just awkwardly move on, not sure how to address the idea of an educated woman.

“A college girl?” asks one of the bankers around them. He winks at Chuffrey. “You caught a wild one, didn’t you?”

Or, if they’re feeling bold, they say something like that.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Glinda says before Chuffrey can speak. The man looks at her, smug with her sudden attention. “I was quite serious about my studies.”

“Of course, Lady Chuffrey. I went to university myself. I know not all studies are purely academic.”

Chuffrey chuckles good-naturedly, cutting off any response Glinda can come up with. “What does the past matter?” he asks. “It brought her to me in the end.” She feels his fingers tighten around her waist.

“Indeed.” The banker raises his glass. “And we are all the better off for it. Congratulations, both of you.”

Their little group disperses at that. Alone for a moment, but with eyes still on them, Chuffrey turns to her. He leans down, and she tilts her head so his lips brush her cheek.

His other hand comes up, touching her jaw and turning her so he can kiss her mouth. She feels the prickle of his mustache against her lip. It’s quick and light, nothing outrageous in front of the company. But it doesn’t need to be a lot for her to understand what’s behind it.

These are the nights when she misses Elphaba the most. Elphaba, who knows how important Shiz was, and how hard Glinda fought to be there. Elphaba, who asked about her studies, her thoughts, her passions. Who would let Glinda tell a smirking businessman off, unless she just couldn’t hold back and had to do it herself.

Elphaba, who sees Glinda as her own person. A real human being, with ideas and desires and complex emotions. Not someone to be won or owned. And who, when she kissed Glinda, never did it for show.

And now her missing Elphie is not only an ache, but a craving.

When she first married, she would try to imagine Elphaba in bed with her instead of Chuffrey. It was a lost cause, of course. They are too different, in every possible way. But sometimes, on the rare nights when she sleeps alone, she can pull up old memories: lumpy beds in noisy rooms where Elphaba could never seem to let go of her, or their freezing dormitory. Yes, that’s one of her favorites. When she heard Elphaba shivering across the room and gathered her blankets, going to wrap both them and herself around her. And when she went to kiss Elphaba’s cheek good night, Elphie turned her head to meet her. Glinda thinks of how they didn’t sleep, but they kept plenty warm, and her fingers are close enough to Elphaba’s that, for a moment, she’s no longer alone.

A shrill laugh brings her back to the party. Chuffrey is standing too close, his hand still on her waist, and the heat flooding through her turns to something sickening. She pulls away.

“Let me go fetch us some champagne, hm?”

He smiles his thanks, already turning away to greet one of his business associates. Once free, Glinda takes a breath to steady herself. She almost makes it to one of the servers, but a graying man in a sharp emerald suit steps into her path.

“Lady Chuffrey,” he says, tilting his head toward her. She notices the gold stripes at his shoulders.

“Captain of the Guard.” She holds out her hand. “You honor me.”

He kisses her knuckles. His movements are curt, formal. For a moment, she’s genuinely intimidated.

“You have a lovely home,” he tells her, “and lovely taste in guests.”

“I count myself as very fortunate.”

“Perhaps, though the people tend to believe you deserve it.”

The intimidation is gone. He’s wrapped around her finger, too. Glinda gives him her most charming smile.

“I’m flattered. I only hope I can continue to do so.”

“I’m sure you will.” He meets her eyes. “It is safe to assume, then, that you’ve heard the rumors of—”

“Captain!”

A boy runs into the ballroom, one of the servants on his heels. Glinda thinks, briefly, of Boq. This boy is so small. So young. He nearly skids to a halt before them, coming to attention.

“News from General Lakree, sir, in the Kells.”

The servant bows low. “I’m sorry, my lady. I told him to wait for me to fetch someone, but—”

“It’s quite alright,” Glinda says. “I won’t have my household getting in the way of Gale Force business.”

For the first time, the boy seems to realize who he’s interrupted. His eyes dart nervously between her and the captain. His suit is also emerald, but it bunches at the shoulders, a touch too big on him, and there is no gold save for the buttons.

“Report,” the captain says.

A hush has fallen over the room. The boy relaxes his stance.

“The general has broken camp. He and his troops are personally escorting Dorothy and her company back to the city.” The boy runs out of breath and has to pause before continuing. He looks less nervous now. “Kiamo Ko is now abandoned. He checked the castle himself. The Witch is dead.”

Behind Glinda, a champagne flute explodes.

#horrors #excerpts #writing things #gelphie #wicked fanfiction

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rideboldlyride · 6 years ago

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Winter Siren

A Hummingbird AU. This will only be a one shot. I’m NOT going to start another series that I have to struggle to finish. I’ve already got two I need to finish. Maybe if I get those done and feel so inspired... But otherwise, enjoy!

There wasn't much left for her to base her next leg of the journey off of. It had been a year prior, and the trail was long cold. A month on the road already, she was missing her little girl. But that was the same little girl she owed to follow through on the journey.

Ozpin had given her a long respite from her missions in able to heal, or rather, for both of them to heal from the loss. Even still, the first time she strapped on her urumis and wrapped her cape around her, a pang of guilt nearly bowled her over. Their little girl was still reeling from the loss, crying over the lack in the middle of the night, and here she was preparing to leave her for an undefined time to go on what she had been told many times was a fool's errand.

In the same breath, her heart tugged at her. If he was alive, somewhere, somehow, wouldn't it be better if she brought him back home? To be with his little girl? For her daughter to have her father back -- wouldn't that make her absence worth it all?

With those reasonings, she had set forth, leaving her daughter with a multitude of kisses and promises to return, safe, and in the care of a dear and trusted friend.

Once she was on the road, it had become apparent how much was lost in the time spent healing. Trails had become cold, informants either died or moved away, cities and towns abandoned or built up to the point of no recognition. A different culpability quietly slipped in to the cracks of her mind, often plaguing her in the foreign dark of distant inns.

She had waited too long.

If she had left as soon as her legs cooperated again, she could have found him, saved him, brought him home.

In the daylight, those thoughts were reasoned away and she relegated them to the corners of her brain. Instead, she devoted her mind to the task of thorough investigation.

The latest had led her to a small mining town in Mantle. It's populace was dominated by a tired group of mostly Faunus workers, with a spattering of larger houses at a respectable distance from the worker's shambles. She stayed far away from those imposing homes.

It was just dusk when she had arrived. Choosing to keep herself occupied with something than the liquor she'd prefer to use to drown out the intrusive thoughts, she trekked out into the sloping tundra between the mountains. The icy ground crunched under boot, while she mulled over the scant knowledge she was left with.

"He's dead."

It was a voice she had not heard in years. A bitter taste filled her mouth, but she bit down the acrid response she so desired to give. Turning, she took in the full scope of the pale woman before her.

"A little far from the tribe, aren't you, Raven?"

Glancing away, the tall woman sniffed, peering down her nose at nothing particular.

"Sometimes the business of the tribe is further traveling than the actual tribe."

Nonplussed, the smaller rolled her eyes.

"You're looking for him too, aren't you?"

Raven's bravado faltered for a moment. When she finally spoke again, her voice was small.

"I've followed this path, Summer. There's nothing at the end."

Defiant, the petite woman raised her chin.

"Where's his body?"

Raven shook her head. "No."

An eyebrow rose.

"No, as in you're not telling me? Or no, there isn't one?"

Eyes sparking, the bigger women rounded on her.

"As in, I'm not sending you down a path that already cost my brother!"

"Until I see a body, he's still alive. With or without your help, Raven, I will continue looking for Qrow."

"What about your daughter?"

The bark of a laugh that escaped Summer was biting.

"That's rich, coming from you!" With a wave, she continued. "Don't worry, Rae, I'm not you."

Turning, she began her trek back into the town. It was only a few steps before Raven spoke again.

"She has him."

Her words hit Summer like a physical blow. A burning sensation emanated from the year old scar, and her feet refused to work. Wind knocked from her, she gasped to gather her breath.

Willing herself to move, she forced thoughts to her legs, remembering how to move them as they rebelled. Joy and terror danced behind her eyes in harmony. Hot tears fell fast and hard, the words slipping out of her lips of their own volition.

"He's alive."

A sigh escaped the other woman as she stepped forward to help her old friend. Summer brushed her off.

"You need to let him go, Sum."

Temper flaring, the silver eyed woman rounded on her.

"How can you say that? He's your brother!"

Raven dropped her head, hiding behind her hair. When she spoke again, it was quiet and subdued.

"That man is not my brother. He's done things... It can't be him. Even in the tribe..." Red eyes peered through a veil of dark hair. "That isn’t Qrow."

Taken aback by the sincerity in the older woman's voice, Summer reeled slightly. Shaking off her feeling of distress, she forced herself to her feet stubbornly.

"There has to be a reason. Or- or at least a way to save him..."

"Summer..."

"NO!" She rounded on her old teammate. "Just because you gave up on him doesn't mean I will!"

Raven's hands shot up in surrender.

"Don't."

A puzzled look passed over Summer's face. Sighing, Raven dropped her shoulders.

"Don't give up on him. Oz may think its a lost cause--"

"What about Ozpin?"

"--doesn't mean you need to. But, for the sake of my brother, think everything through."

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't a war that's going to be won in a single battle."

"... Oh." Crestfallen, Summer's eyes dropped, the fire in them quenched.

A small snort escaped the taller woman, and she placed a hand on Summer's shoulder.

"Qrow deserves someone to believe in him. Someone stubborn enough to keep believing in him despite everything. Just... Don't kill yourself doing it. He'd never forgive me."

Turning away, the lady bandit threw one last parting statement.

"Please keep our families safe, Summer."

A flutter occurred just beyond the petite woman's peripheral, and she knew that she was alone.

As the final purples and reds disappeared over the horizon, the young woman took stock of what she now knew. The last lights in the city clicked on, and a cold wind wrapped down over the mountains and into the hilly valley she stood in. Still, she did not move.

Finally heaving a deep sigh, the sharp pain of loss was replaced with an abiding ache in her chest.

He was out there, alive.

He wasn't himself, and she needed to do something about that.

But for now, she needed to go home to her daughter.

I am coming, Qrow. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will find you.

Then you'll have a lot of explaining to do.

----

Not one of my bests, but I’m getting motivated again.

Inspired by Winter Song by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Barellies.

#hummingbird #rwby #rideboldlyride #rbr #hunter's dream #flown north #qrose #dusty rose #summer rose #qrow branwen #summer x qrow #au #hummingbird au #reversal: part 1

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forkanna · 6 years ago

Link

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

The small lump in the corner that was Dorothy only seemed briefly startled when Glinda came to get her the following morning. However, she was far more surprised when instead, she went to the Tin Man's cell.

"So we're going to do a thing," the blonde witch began uneasily. "You… have to have figured out by now that we can't just let you run around willy nilly. You attacked Nessa more than once, and the threats you made were pretty graphictitious! So while I-"

"HMMHHPHH!" he growled through the makeshift gag.

"Enough of that, now," she warned in a sing-song, as if scolding a small child. "Anyway, you're going to be moved upstairs into one of the other rooms, and I'm going to try to tinker with you for a while. Maybe it'll do some good, maybe not. But all the same, I think we should give it the old Shiz try, don't you?"

Clearing her throat, Dorothy approached the bars and whispered meekly, "You aren't going to hurt him, are you? I kn- I know he hasn't been kind to you, but he's been most kind to me!"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," she replied in a soft, consoling tone. "I can't promise what I do won't hurt, but I'm not going to do anything purely to hurt him. My hope is that I can help him some way or other. And if I can't… well, I guess we could just pop him right back into this cell afterward. No harm done."

Then Glinda unlocked the cell and went inside, securing manacles around his wrists and arms and legs — ones not bolted to the wall. Once he was secure enough that he could not escape or attack, she released him from the wall and stood back, raising her wand.

"Alright, let's try this one again… bubblitio!" Nothing. She took a deep, calming breath and attempted, "Bulbulious bubblissimo! Bumbulous bumbletonia! Spheroidimax voluminia!"

"Uhmmm," the Scarecrow that was Fiyero said as Glinda waved her wand frantically. "None of those sound like very magical words."

Her lips pouted at him and her brow furrowed. "And just whom amongst us is a witch? You? I don't believe so!"

"You're not much of one, either," the Lion grumbled lazily from atop his paws.

"Hey! That isn't very kind!"

"I'm not much of a Lion myself; no offense was intended."

Shrugging that off, she narrowed her eyes and tried the first word again, focusing hard. "BUBBLITIO!"

This time, an almost invisible pink film began to wrap itself around Boq. His metallic eyes went as wide as could be to see the magic actually taking shape this time, and he looked at Glinda with a mixture of anger and betrayal. But she did not acknowledge his gaze, and merely sighed.

"You brought this on yourself." When he didn't react, she shook her head sadly and began to back out of the cell, wand raised to direct the bubble she had formed. "A pity, a real pity, Biq."

He only began to struggle and grunt once the bubble began to move him, muffled though his cries were. Casting a semi-apologetic look over her shoulder at the others, she continued to bounce him up the stairs.

"You and I need to have some serious discussion, little boy of tin. And why don't we try out some things from the Grimmerie, too? That sounds like so much fun!"

~ o ~

Elphaba only waited a few minutes after Glinda left to slip down into the dungeons. Both the Lion and Dorothy recoiled to see her, tall and imposing, green and black, framed by the stone doorway. Fiyero, of course, merely watched all parties with curiosity.

"H-Hello," Dorothy attempted in a nervous tone. "Is… is it alright if I ask-"

"Not yet," Elphaba said, dragging a simple wooden chair from the table by far wall over to the Lion's cell — a few inches out of reach of his claws should he suddenly decide to take an idle swipe at her. But she did not sit just yet. Instead, she opened Fiyero's cage, and simply stood back to let him exit.

"Much obliged," was all he said, cheerful as ever.

"What?!" Dorothy gasped in a hushed voice, watching him fetch two other chairs from the table. "Wh- but I… I thought you were going to let me out if I behaved, I didn't… you aren't even shackling him! I don't understand!"

"No, you don't," the witch said evenly, tossing the same old cuffs through for her to put onto herself. Her eyes were sad and wary, but she did as she was silently bade. As her captor unlocked the door, she went on, "But you will. If you listen, and try not to ask too many questions, I think you'll find you understand a great deal…"

~ o ~

Hours passed, and Glinda found herself flummoxed. She had paged through every single page of the Grimmerie, skimming the contents with her eyes, and she was no closer to finding anything that would make any difference as far as Boq was concerned. This was made all the more frustrating by the fact that she was not nearly so adept at Lurlinic as her chartreuse counterpart, and the meaning of certain phrases or passages eluded her. Still, she had been hoping that persistence would pay off where education failed.

"Fine," she finally sighed, drooping against the arm of the chair she had sank down into already, the book hanging limply from her hand. "I know a spell cannot be undone once it's cast, but there has to be a way to… to de-tinnify you! Something in here, not to undo the spell exactly, but that would still turn you into a normal Munchkin again!"

Of course, Tin Man had nothing to say. At no point had Glinda felt comfortable removing his restraints, so she hadn't. His large, sad eyes continued to follow her everywhere while she stood to replace the book on a table, as if pleading with her to see more than was visible.

"Enough, Biq. I don't care how long you give me the puppy dog eyes."

Still he stared. Bitter tears began to slide down his cheeks as he sat in the chair opposite her, unable to do anything else.

"You'll only rust if you keep that up." Throwing up her hands, she snapped, "What did you think would happen?! The moment Nessa lets you go, you start to run away? To what, find me?" She let out a blast of laughter. "Hate to break it to you, Munchkin Boy, but I've never even had the tiniest shred of interest in you! Just because you liked me doesn't mean I had to like you back!"

His face turned away. She wanted to feel less hatred, less annoyance at his attitude and more compassion toward his obvious grief, but it wasn't going to happen. Even though Nessa had done things to him that weren't fair, there were reasons for that. And she intended to set the record straight.

"I should have been this honest with you from the beginning," she confessed. "You… you really don't deserve it now, but you did then, and… and so did Nessa. That part is your fault; I know there had to have been a thousand times you could have told her you weren't interested, and all you did was go along for the ride. And then you complained too late, and… well…"

A muffled sob filled the room. To try and put some distance between herself and the source of her annoyance and grief, she crossed to the window, grasping the ledge and staring out over the jagged rocks of the Kells both near and distant, down at the village of Kiamo Ko.

"I know Nessa shouldn't have trapped you in Munchkinland or cast any spells on you that she didn't understand; nobody's saying any different. But does that really make it right for you to try to kill her? None of us is free from guilt for this, Tinny. I wasn't honest with you, and you weren't honest with Nessa. So easy to start out that way, huh? Best of intentions. And we really loused things up." Turning again, she fixed him with a curious gaze, wringing her wand in her nervous hands. "Isn't it funny how Nessa was the only one who was honest from the beginning? She may have failed in other areas, but by golly, she was always truthful about her feelings for you. Just… funny."

Then she strode closer and spat at him, "But all you know how to do is lie. You lied to Nessarose about your feelings for her, and you lied to Dorothy about Elphaba and I." When recognition sparked behind his eyes, she growled, "Yes, that's right! I know all about that! How could you tell her she and I are… that we would do things like that? To a girl barely old enough to start holding hands?! Shame on you! Makes me wonder if you ever did have a heart in the first place!"

Things were going nowhere fast. Grunting in sheer annoyance, she made a couple of quick swishes with her wand and wrapped his chair with more ropes.

"Obviously, I can't do much for you right now. But I'll… I'll try again tomorrow, I guess. Sorry." The last word might have sounded insincere, but Glinda meant it deep down. She didn't even wait for a response before grabbing up the Grimmerie and heading for the door; even if he did respond, it wouldn't be anything worth hearing.

Within minutes, she was descending back to the dungeons again, having stashed the book somewhere safe. Though she had high hopes everything would have gone well with their other prisoners, she could not risk the Lion pouncing on her and stealing their most powerful artefact.

The scene laid out before her was an interesting one, to be sure. Fiyero was sitting lazily in a chair near Elphaba's, and the Lion was lying in the cage with his great, shaggy head on his paws. The manacled Dorothy, however, was cross-legged in her seat, leaned forward with rapt attention. This was obviously the greatest number of direct answers she had ever received from anyone since being tossed into Oz, and she was drinking them in like a parched wanderer of the Shifting Sands.

"Well, I think you're very brave to try and rescue them," she was assuring Elphaba. "What I don't understand is, why does the Wizard want them to be silent in the first place? Surely he can be the President without doing that, he already is one and they haven't bothered him so far!"

"President?" Fiyero asked, the word sounding as unfamiliar coming from him as it did in Glinda's ears. But Elphaba answered her question instead of focusing on Fiyero's remark.

"He needed a scapegoat — no offense to Dr. Dillamond. As I said, we've had a few droughts, and the Wizard hasn't handled the economic recession very well. It was either start squandering his treasury to balance things out, or find something to distract the citizens of Oz, to keep them from blaming him and rioting. It's a calculated diversionary tactic."

Dorothy bobbed her shoes-that-wouldn't-come-off up and down and frowned down toward the stone floor. "My Uncle Henry says we're just coming out of another one of those 'recessions', too. I don't know much about it, except that we haven't had much to eat, or money for new clothes. That's why..." She bit her bottom lip.

"Go on," Glinda said gently a moment later, startling her and the Lion very slightly. "That's why…?"

"Oh… hullo, Miss Glinda. W-well, I know it's silly, what with everything you're troubled with. But I should like to have my gingham dress back, if we c-can manage it. Aunt Em had to henpeck Uncle Henry for weeks to buy that, because she said a girl ought to have a proper dress for Easter Sunday! A-and the thought of going home without it..."

Once she had shaken off wondering what "gingham" and "Easter Sunday" might mean, Glinda was a little shocked to see that Dorothy looked ashamed. It spoke volumes about her family; she was less afraid of her their reaction and more worried about disappointing them, inconveniencing those she loved.

"There, there," she shushed her as she walked over to pet along her shoulders. The girl sighed despondently, but did at least seem calmed. "If the rest of our plans work out, I promise we'll search the palace. And if we can't turn it up, we'll make you two new dresses! The best Oz has to offer!"

Though she rolled her eyes, Elphaba refrained from commenting on whether or not she considered this important enough to discuss. Instead, she told the young lady, "For now, I'd like an answer."

"Answer? Oh…" She gulped, glancing over at Fiyero and back. "I'm just a girl, I can't fight, or use magic, or do anything useful. What difference does it make if I join you?"

"I'm not saying you have to face the Wizard head-on," Elphaba assured her. "Just don't get in our way. Your moral support is better than opposition."

Glaring at Elphaba for the callous way she had phrased things, Glinda added, "And you'll be plenty useful! Besides, we don't only want you around because of that — we like you! Don't we, Elphie?" No response. Glinda kicked her. "Don't we?"

"I don't dislike her," she offered more truthfully. "Other than that nasty business of trying to kill me."

"You know we're pals, Dorothy," Fiyero put in, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "I owe you for rescuing me from that cornfield, at the very least! But I can't ignore how badly the Wizard's treated my old classmates. Ooh, it chafes my straw! So I'm sorry to say it, but if you keep supporting him…"

At that, Dorothy quickly shook her head and said, "No, no, I'd never dream of saying it's alright! What all he's done, and then lied about it all to me! I don't understand how he came to be in charge of Oz in the first place, an old humbug like him!"

The two witches shared a weary look. Never had they expected to be history teachers when they enrolled at Shiz, but that seemed to be their fate for the afternoon.

"Let's go upstairs to get something to eat," Elphaba recommended gruffly, pushing to stand. "Nessa should have one of her infernal stews ready to force down."

"Can you bring me back some infernal stew?" Lion asked as they stood. "I'm so hungry; milk only goes so far for a full-grown Lion, and I don't much care for vegetables. Even an old bone would be something."

"Of course," Glinda told him. "We'll bring it with us when we return Dorothy."

As they ascended the steps, Elphaba began, "The Wizard came to us… oh, a couple of decades ago. We were all too young to remember what the time before he ruled was like, I'm afraid — but we know from our studies that our previous queen, Ozma the Billious, had left behind a newborn when she was poisoned; we don't know the gender, there was no formal announcement — already unusual in and of itself. But it's assumed it was a succeeding princess, because that child vanished when the Wizard flew into our world in a foreign contraption the likes of which we had never seen before."

"Poisoned?!" Dorothy gasped.

"Yes," Glinda supplied. "A pretty unregal way to die, isn't it? Her husband was supposed to look after the heir, but… well, he died, too. Boating accident. Worse yet, nobody knows how it was done, or who's responsible for either deaths or the baby disappearing. Still a mystery."

"But… but that's how my parents died," Dorothy was breathing. "On a boat. Imagine that."

Elphaba was shaking her head. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn it was all the Wizard and Morrible's doing. True, he had not arrived yet when the Ozma line ended, but who's to say he hadn't arranged for it beforehand? Or his 'secretary' could have been laying the groundwork."

"Conspiracy theories are fun, aren't they?" Fiyero observed with a light chuckle. "But it might be smarter to stick to what we know, and what we have to do."

"Right. Go on, then."

Somehow, his painted-on eyebrows arched high. "Me? You know what kind of student I was!" But he shrugged and went on, anyway. "Simple, really. Everyone thought the old Wizard was magical because he flew into our world from another, and that made it pretty easy for him to claim the empty throne. Right place, right time."

Head shaking much like Elphaba's, which amused Glinda to notice, Dorothy said, "If he really did kill either of them… oh, even the baby… that's one of the most awful things I've ever heard! And he's never been thrown in jail?"

"How can we? He's the jailor." Elphaba huffed in annoyance as they came to the kitchen and pushed inside. "And there's nothing we can do to prove what he's done, either way. At least Glinda and I are witnesses to the way he tricked us into transforming the Monkeys. If there are any witnesses to his alleged murders, I haven't found them, and I doubt they'll come forward now."

"Such light conversation," Nessa observed as she toiled over the stove. "I was just standing here, lamenting that you two have taken the more interesting jobs and left me to be scullery maid, but perhaps I haven't missed anything, after all."

"You haven't," Glinda sighed, breathing in deeply. "Mmm, that smells good… I'm starvatiously hungry!"

Dorothy glanced down at the plates and silverware laid out for the four of them who actually owned stomachs, then back up to Elphaba. "Can you at least move my handcuffs in front of me so I don't need help to eat?"

As no one much wanted to spoonfeed her again, they relented, and Dorothy did her best not to drip on her dress as they discussed all that had transpired. Nessa looked morose when Glinda reported her failing at improving Boq's outlook on life or his physical condition, but did not say a word; she seemed entirely defeated in that area. Privately, Glinda thought that was for the best - the faster she moved on, the better. Even if she was somewhat spoiled, she deserved better than a man who wanted to chop her head off.

"I'm not sure what I can do for you," Dorothy finally told them as Glinda and Elphaba were washing the dishes and Nessa was disposing of the scraps. "But if you'll just… help me with two things, I'll do whatever I can, anything at all!"

"The shoes and the dress?" Elphaba guessed.

"Oh… three things." When the green lips pursed, she rushed ahead, "I forgot about the dress already! The other thing was to help me get home, if you can. Of c-course, I'm only asking you to try your best, you know. If you can't, well… then I guess I'll live here forever with these heavy shoes weighing me down."

"That, we will promise," Glinda said for all of them. Elphaba shot her a look, but she ignored it. "We'll do what we can, and if we can't, then we'll figure out somewhere for you to stay in Oz. Deal?"

"Deal." She held out her manacles to be unlocked, and they blinked at her. Slowly, an inch at a time, she lowered them as she whispered, "Oh… am… I still… going back to the dungeons?"

Glancing at the other two briefly to gauge their responses, Glinda then walked over and freed her. Dorothy turned a smiling face up toward her that was so earnest she couldn't help but grin back. "Good. I'll just take you to get washed up again — even if you'll have to hang your feet out of the tub."

As they walked down the hallway, Dorothy slipped her hand into Glinda's, which surprised her very slightly. But she squeezed it in comfort; she could only assume the girl was still scared of the big, drafty castle, and the less alone she felt, the better.

"Miss Glinda… thank you so much. I know we've only just met, but I… feel like you're how I'd like my mother to have been, if I could remember her."

"M-mother?!" Glinda burst out in mild surprise.

"OH! Oh, is that not alright?" she breathed. "Of c-course, I didn't mean to say you're old enough to be my mother! Not a w-woman so young and lovely as you, not at all! But only… you're so kind, and thoughtful, and I'm sure it's because of you that I'm not a prisoner anymore. I can't believe I was ever afraid of you, or thought you were a deviant!"

Entirely mollified, the Witch of the North had to chuckle — mostly in chagrin at her own overreaction. "Fine, fine, I'm glad to have helped how I could. You are a sweet little thing, all in all, aren't you?" As they came again to the bath, she said, "Of course, I can't promise you anything… certainly not that we'll live to see the end of this fight with the Wizard, or that we'll find a way to send you back to Amerikansas, but…"

"You'll do your best," Dorothy finished for her, squeezing her hand again before she began to help heating the water. "That's all a girl can ask."

~ o ~

"...and that was the last spell I tried," Glinda was telling Elphaba as they fell to the task that they had both been putting off for far too long: unpacking. It had taken some careful plotting to retrieve their few effects from the cave behind Wicca Falls, and since then too much had been transpiring to worry about opening the pair of disparate trunks and making a good run at their contents. Presently, half of what they owned was strewn across the bed, the rest either hung up properly in one of the wardrobes or stacked on the vanity. Privately, Glinda lamented not being able to use said vanity for its intended purposes, but there was no place for that type of "vanity" in their current lives.

"I can't say I'm surprised, Glinda. You know that spells can't be undone, and it's slippery work even changing them somewhat the way we already have with Boq. Tampering further… if we do succeed, he'll either wind up dead, or completely unrecognisable."

A sigh welled up powerfully from the pit of her stomach, but ended up sounding pathetic and soft when it came forth. "You're probably right, but I'd still appreciate it if you could take a look for yourself. I mean, you're clearly the better witch between us, right?"

"Only through study," she hedged. Then she stood a little straighter, shooting over her shoulder, "At what point did we start embracing the word 'witch' instead of hating it? When did that happen?"

"Search me, Elphie; I just work here."

Tutting briefly, Elphaba laid out a few of her older school effects from within her travelling cloak. A sniffle threatened to break free from Glinda when she recognised the Shiz guidebook, small bound leather tome that it was, lying next to the green bottle and a few spare coins that weren't even accepted outside the Emerald City as valid currency. Much though she protested, her Elphie truly was a sentimental creature.

Something stirred in the back of her mind. It took her a long second or two for it to bob its meandering way along to the front, and until that point, she hadn't even been sure what the stirring was in relation to.

"Nessarose isn't much of a witch at all," her roommate was saying as she put away a few of her dresses, more neatly into one of their closets than previously. Plenty of room to work with in there, now that they had cleared away some of the decrepit old junk. "However, I think she might have an aptitude for magic if she works on it as hard as she's worked at making her awful stew into tolerable stew. Just needs a swift kick in the-"

"That bottle."

"Hm?" Glancing down, she picked the bottle back up, then stared over its mouth at Glinda. "What about this bottle?"

"Didn't you tell me once before that it was… important to you, for some reason?" Even now, Glinda was still barely aware of why this mattered, but the threads were beginning to weave themselves together now.

"I did. It was my mother's. Father would often tell me that it was a prized possession, and she never wanted to be apart from it. When he would ask, she would simply state that it reminded her of her firstborn, but…" One shoulder rose and fell. "I got the feeling that wasn't the full story. Or at least, old Frex didn't believe it was."

"Hm."

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing." Keeping her tone carefully distant, aloof, she went on, "Just that… it looks conveniently similarly to the bottle the Wizard was drinking from when we dropped in on him."

Elphaba started, glancing between her and the bottle. "Really? Well, it's just a green bottle… no label to say what's in it. Could have been just a similar shape."

"No, not similar. The same. I'm telling you, whatever's in his, or used to be in yours, it's the exact same type of bottle, shape and colour."

This silence was a bit longer and quieter than the previous one. Glinda wouldn't have guessed that silences could be quieter or louder; they were either silent or they weren't. Until now.

"No. Well, I mean… maybe she visited the Emerald City. Could have been anything."

"Could have."

"Then why are you bringing this up? We have a lot to do."

"Elphie…"

Exasperated, she threw up both hands. "What am I supposed to do? How do you want me to react to this news? So my mother and the Wizard both have identical vessels for holding liquor. Big twigging deal. Dorothy and Nessa both have shiny shoes; maybe they're related."

"They are. The shoes, not Dorothy and Nessa," she snapped when Elphaba raised her eyebrows at her. "Both are because of our spells! So they are connected! And it might be the same with the Wiz-"

"I don't believe you really believe this, this… what was it Fiyero said? 'Conspiracy theories'. That's what you're spinning. Wilder and more fanciful by the minute, if you think I'm going to follow your logic to where it's leading."

Glinda's hands went to her waist, impatient at the attitude she was receiving. "I'm not outright saying anything! Just bringing up possibilities! What you do with them is up to you!" When she got no answer right away, she approached Elphaba, grasping her forearms to stop her from continuing to dig in her closet. "Elphaba, please? Just… doesn't it sound like something we ought to try figuring out?"

"Maybe. Another time."

"But we don't have-"

"I need to finish this. Either with your help, or without. But for now, I can't…" A slight flicker of pain showed in her eyes before she mastered it, suppressed it and returned her features to their quickly-becoming-normal steely resolve. "We need to worry about how we're going to depose the Wizard and bring peace to the Animals. That's first. Secondarily, we have to keep an eye on Dorothy, and look through the Grimmerie for the sake of a stupid, ungrateful wretch of a tin can."

Feeling stupid for having brought the whole thing up, Glinda strode for the door. "Fine, Elphie. I can tell when I'm not wanted around. I'll see you at supper."

As she slipped out of the room, she just scarcely caught Elphaba's sigh. She probably felt bad for being unpleasant just then, but couldn't quite find the humility to chase after her. Maybe that was for the best; this way, they could both have a few minutes with their own thoughts to ponder the situation and to let their tempers settle.

But she certainly wasn't going to let the matter drop. Not if it meant what she thought it might.

To Be Continued…

#The Coven Of Oz #forkanna writes #wicked fanfiction #femmeslash #gelphie #forkanna the writer

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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The 2019 Oscars will feature the first new category since the animated feature prize joined the ceremony in 2002: Next February, the award for Best Popular Film (which is still a nebulously defined, hard-to-understand title) will join the other 24 categories for the first time ever.

But if the Academy is going to start awarding prizes in new categories, there are so many other things it could be rewarding, things that actually have something to do with the craft of making films, not just an arbitrary distinction between “popular” films and everything else.

Some of those categories are ones that Hollywood folks have been requesting for ages. Others have only recently become trendy causes. But if the Oscars want to expand, here are six categories they should prioritize over “Best Popular Film.”

Finally, an Oscar for Mission: Impossible. Paramount

If the Academy’s (dubious) goal in creating a “Best Popular Film” category of some kind is to bring more recognition to films with broader audience appeal — and to get people interested in the Oscars who gravitate toward big-budget fare — stunt coordination would be a stellar addition to the roster of categories. As with some of the other technical races, like those for Costume Design, Makeup, and Special Effects, stunts are usually the purview of films with a big enough budget to pay for them.

And as with those other technical categories, if the stunts are great, you notice them. The people who coordinate the stunts are usually seasoned stunt performers themselves, and their job is multifaceted: Often they both cast the stunt performers (which requires finding both a specific skill set and, in some cases, physical resemblance to the actor they’re doubling) and figure out how to execute the stunt safely and with maximum impact. That deserves recognition — especially since great stunts can and often do elevate a movie with otherwise predictable plotting, dialogue, and even performances into something memorably mind-blowing.

Some recent possible winners of this category: Darrin Prescott (Baby Driver, Black Panther, the John Wick movies), Wade Eastwood (Mission: Impossible — Rogue Nation, Edge of Tomorrow), Sam Hargrave (Atomic Blonde, Captain America: Civil War), Glenn Suter (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Imagine Moonlight winning an Oscar for how effortlessly it found mostly unknown actors to play instantly iconic parts. A24

There’s long been a call for the Oscars to add a “Best Ensemble Cast” award, similar to the Screen Actors Guild’s ensemble prizes for the casts of films and TV shows. But ensemble awards often struggle to figure out which actors to include and which to leave behind when it’s time to hand out prizes. (The SAG Awards make incredibly arbitrary cutoffs — like if you share a billing card with another actor, you’re ineligible — because there’s basically no other way to adjudicate such a prize.)

And then there’s the problem of, if all of the actors in a cast win the ensemble prize, do they all automatically become Oscar winners? The Academy likes to make the idea of winning an acting prize somewhat selective, which would go out the window in this scenario.

But you know what a good way to reward an ensemble cast where each and every actor was perfectly chosen would be? Awarding the casting agents who selected those actors for their roles. This would help explain the process of how your favorite actors wind up in certain movies, and winners would probably alternate between movies where a bunch of famous actors were terrifically suited to their specific roles (like The Shape of Water) to movies where the casting directors had to find unknowns to perfectly inhabit the characters (like Moonlight).

There’s danger that this award would just become the “largest cast” award — something like The Post might be hard to avoid honoring — but hey, it’s not like other Oscar categories don’t occasionally award the most of something, rather than the best.

Some recent possible winners of this category: Robin D. Cook for The Shape of Water; Yesi Ramirez for Moonlight; Kerry Barden, John Buchan, Jason Knight, and Paul Schnee for Spotlight; Beth Sepko for Boyhood; Lindsay Graham and Mary Vernieu for American Hustle

Oscar! Winner! Jim! Cummings! As! Winnie! The! Pooh! Laurie Sparham/Disney

Voice acting is most frequently associated with animated movies, so there’s an argument to be made that honoring voice acting separately from the “real” acting categories further ghettoizes a medium that already has a hard time breaking into the top-tier Oscar categories. But that argument overlooks the fact that, in addition to its rich history in animation, voice acting is an increasingly important part of modern live-action film.

This is especially true as movies continue to embrace the use of computer-generated characters within a live-action environment. This year alone, a Voice Performance category would hold the potential for an ursine showdown between Ben Whishaw (for Paddington 2) and journeyman Jim Cummings (for Christopher Robin), not to mention a handful of big names who provided CGI character voices for Avengers: Infinity War (Bradley Cooper, Carrie Coon, and, erm, Vin Diesel? Maybe not that last one.)

But more crucially, this category would also be a way to honor less recognizable faces who have nonetheless been integral in the characterization of many cultural icons, like the aforementioned Cummings (who’s been voicing Winnie the Pooh since 1988, in addition to several dozen other animated characters) and puppeteering legend Frank Oz, responsible not only for most of your favorite Muppets, but Yoda himself. Hell, the opportunity to give Frank Oz an Oscar should on its own be reason enough for this category to exist.

Some recent possible winners of this category: Frank Oz (as Yoda in Star Wars Episode VII: The Last Jedi), Dwayne Johnson (as Maui in Moana), Ben Kingsley (as Archibald Snatcher in The Boxtrolls), Phyllis Smith (as Sadness in Inside Out), Scarlett Johansson (as Samantha in Her), Alan Tudyk (as King Candy in Wreck-It Ralph)

Andy Serkis should have at least an Oscar nomination by now for his groundbreaking motion-capture work. 20th Century Fox

It’s impossible to propose a motion-capture Oscar without talking about Andy Serkis, whose work as Gollum in the Lord of the Rings films helped establish the notion that a motion-capture performance could be just that — a performance — rather than a technical exercise. His subsequent mo-cap roles in King Kong and especially the excellent recent Planet of the Apes trilogy have ensured that every year in which there is an Andy Serkis mo-cap performance has been a year in which people wonder whether this is the year the Academy will deign to nominate him in the acting category.

Serkis himself has said that the Academy has been nudging its members toward recognizing motion-capture performance, so why not just cut to the chase and make it a breakout acting category?

And it wouldn’t just be the Honorary Andy Serkis award, either (though he likely would and should be a winner in this category). Motion capture — and its close cousin, motion reference, which could be folded into the same Oscar category — has become an increasingly common component of filmmaking in recent years.

Several of the most, ahem, popular films of the last decade have relied heavily on actors doing motion capture, from Lord of the Rings and Avatar to this year’s Ready Player One and Avengers: Infinity War. So if the Academy is indeed looking for ways to recognize more blockbuster films, why not honor a performance medium that’s increasingly at the heart of those very films?

Some recent possible winners of this category: Andy Serkis (as Caesar in War for the Planet of the Apes and/or as Snoke in Star Wars: The Last Jedi), Lupita Nyong’o (as Maz Kanata in Star Wars: The Force Awakens), Sean Gunn and/or Bradley Cooper (as Rocket Raccoon in Guardians of the Galaxy), Zoe Saldana (as Neytiri in Avatar)

Lady Bird was director Greta Gerwig’s solo feature film directorial debut, and she didn’t win anything for it. Let’s create a category to rectify THAT issue. A24

It’s hard enough to make a great movie, but coming right out of the gate with a stellar debut is especially difficult. Most first-time feature directors — even those who had thriving careers as actors or in television — are still relatively unknown quantities to the often risk-averse purse-string controllers, which means lower budgets, tighter timeframes, and possibly less artistic freedom.

Many first-time directors end up going the indie route with limited budgets — and when their films break through the noise, it feels like a miracle. A new director often rattles the cages, challenging conventional films in a way that audiences and critics alike respond to. And it usually takes a fresh vision and distinctive voice to pull that off.

But without the name recognition of more established directors, who command attention before their films have even been seen, a first film doesn’t always get the Oscar campaign push it might need. A Best First Film category would even the playing field, and also help bring attention to movies by a more diverse set of filmmakers than the Oscars have typically honored, setting them up for future success.

Some recent possible winners of this category: Lady Bird, Get Out, The Act of Killing, The Babadook, The Witch, Dear White People

[embedded content]

Hear us out. At this point in the zeitgeist, trailers can often have as much cultural impact as the films they are made to promote. The best of them can spawn entirely new trailer sub-genres and continue to impact the cultural conversation years later.

Don’t believe us? Look at the Ringer’s recent bracket for the greatest trailer ever made, which ended in a battle between two of the most iconic trailers in history, Inception and The Social Network. Both examples show how a trailer can shift our cultural language and our cinematic language, while still remaining relevant nearly a decade later — all thanks to powerful editing, an almighty backing track, and a spark of creative innovation. That’s the kind of feat that can get diluted over the course of two hours.

The omission of the technical awards presentation from the Oscars’ televised ceremony means there’s even more need for a Best Trailer category, since trailers are a synthesis of technical achievements, editing, sound design, and cinematic magic.

Plus, the creators of the best trailers go overlooked even as their films get love. Not many people know that the iconic Inception BWAAAAAM, which originated from its trailer, was created not by Inception composer Hans Zimmer but by the trailer composer, Zack Hemsey.

Are you outraged that this information has been kept from you for the past eight years? There’s a simple solution: Add a Best Trailer category to the Oscars and give more geniuses their due.

Some recent possible winners of this category: Skyfall, Mad Max: Fury Road, Gravity, Blade Runner: 2049, It Comes At Night, Get Out

Original Source -> Forget Best Popular Film. Here are 6 new categories the Oscars actually need.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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