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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

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romeo must die

this one-shot is based on the song Romeo Must Die by Gabrielle Aplin, I highly recommend listening to it! shout out to @eugeniaslongsword for introducing me to it :) i even borrowed some lyrics from it haha. it is also inspired by the entire playlist I made, "being treated badly by someone doesn't make you love them more"

content warnings: past toxic/unhealthy relationship, the uncomfy 6-year age gap between Alastair and Charles

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"Alastair, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Alastair looked up from what he was working on. He was in the library of the Institute, along with Cordelia, Thomas, James, Matthew, and Christopher. They were searching for any clue as to how Lucie had done what she’d done or what Tatiana and Belial were planning. Alastair wasn't entirely sure how he got roped into the ordeal, but it seemed as though Thomas suggested him as an extra set of eyes, and Cordelia latched onto the idea.

"No," he said curtly, returning to his reading.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. I'm quite busy at the moment." Alastair spoke under his breath, not wanting to draw the others' attention. How many times had Charles barked the same words at him, swatting him away, hacking away at paperwork or planning his next step in his career? The words sat bittersweet in his chest.

"Surely you could spare a few moments."

"I certainly could. But I do not wish to." Charles had a way of getting into his head and twisting his words and his feelings. It was not an experience he wished to revisit. It was better here, with an audience. It had also been easier in the infirmary, knowing that he held all of the power. His father had made him feel the same way, he thought bitterly. He understood now that what he'd done at school was not only to protect himself from the bullies. He wanted to reclaim the power stolen from him by his father; he wanted for once in his life to hold power himself. He hadn't yet come to the realization that holding that kind of power did nothing but harm. It was of no use, anyways, because it didn't matter how much he perfected his tongue and his wit on the other students at the Academy, he was never able to use it when it counted. Not with Elias, and not with Charles.

"It's fine if you need to take a few minutes, Alastair,” Cordelia said gently. All of the eyes in the room had come to rest on the two of them. Now he wished he’d spoken louder.

“It’s alright, Charles was just leaving.”

He had hoped that Charles would give up and leave knowing that everyone was watching him, but he was determined. He grabbed Alastair’s arm. “It’ll just be-”

Alastair stood, but pulled his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

In a flicker, Alastair saw it: the anxiety began to set in. Charles began to realize that he would not be able to play his usual tricks. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I believe I was quite clear when I told you I don’t wish to speak with you. You’re the one who can’t let this go.”

“Must you act so childish?”

He rolled his eyes. “Must you always call me childish for thinking for myself instead of catering to your every whim?”

“I don’t understand. You said we were fine.”

Alastair sighed. Perhaps for a moment, he thought that was true. For just a second, he thought there was a world where he and Charles could be friends. But Alastair had decided that he would no longer call people who hurt him his friends. “Yes, well, I lied. I wanted to let you down gently, but it’s clear to me now that it must be spelled out for you. How shall I put this? You and I are past our dancing days, Charles.”

“But-” He stammered, searching for words. “What happened with Grace Blackthorn wasn’t my fault.”

“Maybe not. But what of Miss Bridgestock? Am I to pretend that what happened with Miss Blackthorn was not the same as what happened two years earlier?”

“You told me many times that you took no issue with that, that you understood.”

“I understood what you told me, which we both know was never the full truth. I was a sixteen year old desperate for your affections, and the fact that you truly believe I never had any issue with your arrangement is proof that you never genuinely cared about me or listened to my thoughts. I told you in the infirmary that this wasn’t your fault because I thought it’d ease the pain, but I lied. And I don’t have time to sit here and watch you cry over it.”

Alastair wished that watching Charles become flustered would have been more enjoyable. Instead, all he wanted was for this to end. “You- you’re different than when we met. You’ve changed. You’re cruel and callous, I don’t understand how I could not see how heartless you were until now. You are everything that everyone claims you to be. How am I to even know what the truth is when it comes from your lips?”

There was a time when those words would have cut deeply into him, eating at his every insecurity, but Charles mistakenly assumed that Alastair was the same person he was last July, with the same insecurities. “When we met, I was fourteen years old. I’ve grown up, and it is time for you to do the same. It’s been six months, Charles. You need to stop writing me. If that makes me heartless, I don’t care. And if you wish to know the truth, the truth is that the moment you leave here, if I never see your face again, it still will not be long enough.”

Charles stared at him for a long while, unable to find a proper retort. In the end, it was Matthew who stepped in. “Charles, I believe it’s time for you to go.”

He obliged, finally turning to leave the library. As he began to walk away, however, Alastair knew that he was not finished. His heart beat a little bit faster at the thought of such a confession, and faster again when he realized who would hear it, but there was no piece of parting with Charles that he wished to regret.

“Wait,” he said. Charles froze and turned to look at him. “I know it’s unlikely that you have it in the cold depths of your soul to care, but let the record show that I would have given you everything. I would have given you my life, all of the love and trust that I had to give, and then I would have given more. And you gave me nothing. So the next time you’re pondering my heartlessness, you ought to wonder what that means for you.”

Finally satisfied, Alastair did not wait for Charles to turn and leave again to return to his seat and pick his reading back up. He waited for a moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him. He stood once more, opening his mouth to speak, but the words were caught in his throat. Instead, he walked out of the library in silence.

Finding the nearest balcony, he attempted to steady his breath.

“Are you alright?” He heard from behind him. Thomas. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He shook his head. “I just needed some air.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Alastair sighed. He backed up against the window and slid down to the floor of the balcony. “I know- I know that everyone sort of knew already, but… by the Angel, I feel so pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Thomas told him, sitting down beside him.

“You were right, of course you were. I was so… taken with him, back in Paris. I couldn’t see him for what he was. I was so naive, so foolish. I just- After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve been through, how did I not realize-”

Thomas put his hand on Alastair’s knee. “You wanted to see the best in him. After everything you’d seen and been through, you wanted to believe that there were still good and honest people in the world. And there are. I’m sorry that he was not one of them, but that does not make you foolish or pathetic. It makes you… kind.”

“I bet you’d never imagined describing me as such before.”

“It seems you’re full of surprises,” Thomas teased. “But that’s not true. I always saw the kindness in you, even back at school, when you did everything to keep it hidden.”

“As you can see, my ‘kindness’ has never gotten me very far.”

“You were out of practice. Following me on my reckless nighttime patrols, that was kind. More than kind. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that, for risking your life to protect mine.”

“I didn’t do it for gratitude.”

“And yet I owe you mine nonetheless.”

“I can’t go back in there, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tolerate you and your friends hating me just fine. But if any of your friends give me even an ounce of pity- well, we’ll see just where the limits of my kindness lie, won’t we?”

Thomas stood up, offering Alastair his hand. “Pity comes from those who cannot even begin to understand what you’ve experienced. For what it’s worth, I don’t think my friends will pity you. But if they do, you can ignore them. For Lucie.”

Alastair sighed and allowed Thomas to pull him to his feet. “Fine. Let’s get back to reading.”

“Speaking of reading, do you have the entirety of Shakespeare’s canon memorized, or only the lines you believe may pop up in conversation?”

“Excuse me?”

“‘For you and I are past our dancing days,’ it’s Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? It’s the only one of his works that I got through.”

Alastair froze. “You haven’t read Hamlet?”

“I tried.”

“Othello? King Lear? Macbeth? Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

He shook his head.

“That’s impossible. And James is friends with you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wait until my sister finds out you haven’t read Hamlet,” he warned, starting towards the library with urgency in his step.

“Wait, don’t- I just don’t like Shakespeare! What’s so wrong with that?” Thomas’ attempts at reasoning were futile, however, a welcome distraction from all of their recent sorrows finally taking hold.

Thanks for reading!! This was self indulgent af lol. I'm not to sure whether some people only wanted to be tagged in my social media AU, so if that's the case I'm sorry & please tell me!: @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @thecodexsays @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @icouldnotask @shadowhunting-hooligans @melanielocke @clarys-heosphoros @kiwichaeng @lightwoodsimp @thecrimsonsorceresss @theenchanteddreamer @adams-left-hand @yozinha-z @ipromiseiwillwrite @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd

#alastair carstairs #charles fairchild #if you're a charles apologist just block me #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh #the last hours #cw toxic relationship #coi spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic

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jackassbroadcast · 3 years

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Hello im a Tommy enthusiast who watched that one stream where he monologued to foolish for like hafe an hour bc i heard it was a cool stream or wtv to realize how much amazing character moments it had that barly anyone in this damn fandom is talking about so ill fucking do it

(Only after finishing this i realized i wrote 1.7k words LOL OOPS)

If u dont know what in talking about its this stream (apologies for linking a clips channel the actual vod on foolish's channel is deleted by now)

Also heads up /rp /dsmp every time i refer to someone here by name is their character unless stated otherwise bc writing c! Before every name Is tiring LOL

Also // suicidal idealization , death mentions

The conversation starts off with foolish and tommy mining for Wilbur, and foolish questions how simply mining will solve the problem to which Tommy reponds with "they dont get solved, do they? It just ends uo with some madman screaming 'Hes solved it!' And now look at him." And how he wants to "prevent the problem before it goes outta hand" something that clearly references Wilbur and his destruction of lmanburg, which paired with him collecting stone for Wilbur as the way to stop said problems he believes if he does anything he can for Wilbur and support him by his side enough this time around, that he wont do anything like thay again, which as im writing this makes be realize by doing that we learn hes blaming himself for what happened to Wilbur in November 16th and pogtopia and a whole, by not being enough for Wilbur in his mind.

The conversation continues, foolish off hand asks why would tommy want to stop Wilbur? Weren't they friends at some point? To which tommy leads foolish to lmanburg and tells him the story of the nation (how it was him and Wilbur's nation, how they made it to espace dream's iron fist and how they held an election "which puts your life on the line, which is good- if you're confident but- perhaps we were too confident", how they lost)

Tommy: "You know the phrase: 'treat other how you wanna be treated', foolish? People dont ever listen to it. Wilbur- he decided he wanted to be treated poorly so he treated everyone around him poorly "

This Tommy quote, to me at least, so so amazingly strong in conveying how understanding he is? To the world around him. Like-

I have not seen one person bring this quote up, and yet its (at least to me) shows such growth and understanding in Tommy i saw little to nothing like it in other streams. It shows he understands, he knew Wilbur didnt change just because, he knows he was struggling, that he thought everyone around him were againt him, were going to abandon him the first chance theyll get- and he thought he deserved it. So he, as a last way to defend himself against that, hurt them first, abandoned them first, so theyll see how much of a 'bad' person he was and take him out- and tommy saw right through that, possibly understanding it more after exile.

This next qoute was talked about much more but i still wanna bring it up

Foolish: "Do you believe in second chances?"

Tommy: "Oh, no I don't really believe that its not really a thing for me foolish its just that-" *sigh* "- i believe everyone has a little bit of good in then and this is not about giving him a second chance or a third chance- its not about *chances* foolish. Its about not giving up on the poeple you care about. "

Which. I mean. I dont know how healthy that mindset is, but comign from Tommy it makes so much sense.

Techno, tubbo, eret, sapnap. These are all people Tommy used to be extremely close to, had either a war or had been betrayed by them, and yet still found it in his heart that he still cares for them, with all of these, they did horrendous things, that hurt tommy physically and mentally, while also not being once or twice, but a contentious thing, but while tommy is to this day still effected by their actions he still found it in himself to forgive, because he knows he fucked up too, a lot, and he knoes they learned from their mistakes just as he had (except c!techno FUCKKK c!techno mf doesnt learn SHITTT) and he knows, when the time comes he knows hed want the people he hurt to forgive him too. (And he wants Wilbur to do the same)

Next qoute i will cut to a couple parts because its really so good and full of character i had to bro

Foolish: "Do you consider yourself to be the good guy or the bad guy?"

Tommy: "It really depends who you ask, isn't it? Yknow? If you asked dream he'd say im *his little toy that he plays with* you know? It doesnt.."

This part really stunned me when i first heard it because, and correct me If im wrong, but i dont think tommy ever acknowledged how dream sees him, and how right he has his viewpoint too. Just the fact tommy is so *painfully* aware of how dream doesnt even see him as a person anymore but just a toy to mess around with for a while than just throw it away when it get too boring really hurt me. Someone give this kid a hug

(Continued) Tommy: "...foolish, honestly? I used to consider myself 'the good guy', you know? The fuckin'- second in command! But these past- these past like six months or so, foolish, everything got so much harder than it was before. Because before it was just us vs bad guys, it was all so clear! But- its not been 'clear' for so long, right? It wasn't; 'these are the bad guys! These are the good guys!' Now it's : 'he's doing this and it makes him a bit worse-' i mean, it all got so complicated, so- i don't know. Depends who you ask."

He says this, in response to foolish asking if hes a good guy- but its awfully similar to if Wilbur asked him if they were the bad guys. Because foolish just asked about him, and yet in his answer tommy made sure to keep using the words "us, he's, guys" as if hes not really talking about himself, as if hes explaining how Wilbur was wrong. Which he was. Also something interesting ive noticed, he says "the last 6 months or so", which indicated that with Wilbur he knew better to follow his word and leadership- with Wilbur he was always on the right side but when he lost him he felt much more lost alone, and couldn't trust himself enough to be on the "right side" .

Foolish: "I dont know, it all seems strange because just from, you know- hearing from others and, you know, learing a little bit, its seems like you've been the hero, you've been the villain, the conqueror, the savior, and, even now, i have no idea what you exactly are."

Tommy: "that's up to you to decide, isn't it? Im just- *uh* i dont know. These days, foolish, I'm a little weaker than i used to be"

Foolish couldn't be more right with what he said, another example of this we see where a character acknowledges tommy never sticks to one thing us Charlie when calling him "tommy fron nowhere" which shows more how he cant stick to one thing, during the course of him on the server he had been friends and enemy with nearly everyone, been on pretty much all sides, and while never really intentionally, being in the center of conflict. When foolish says he doesnt know who tommy is anymroe at this point and all Tommy says in return is that "hes a little weaker than he used to be" does to show he misses who he used to be, with lmanburg, with Wilbur, when he knew who he was, now he doesn't know who he is anymore, but still so desperately want to be more demonstrated by the lines coming rigth after that one:

(Continued) Tommy: "..I'm not- I'm now who i want to be, but-"

Foolish: "Being honest with you, Tommy, that's the same case for me as well."

Tommy: "...heres the thing, foolish, unlike you i dont really have a choice. I have to try and be who i want to be, because if i dont, very bad things are gonna happen in this server. And now that Wilbur's back i can't- quite frankly *no one* can risk that. So i dont really have a choice."

Tommy want's to change- he wants to be better than he is now, to be closer to who he used to be, no matter how impossible that might be, but he also sees it as an immediate thing, he wants to change now, or asap, which is why hes collecting stone for Wilbur in the first place- old him would've done that with ease just because Wilbur asked and he wants to have that back so badly, asap. The way he talked about this reminded me of when he tried getting over his trauma stream before he went in the prison to kill dream: he knew he wasnt the best but he tried getting over that asap to go kill dream asap. He didnt wanna take the long road of years of healing and instead thought he could get over it just like that, and that experience clearly didnt teach him anything because now hes trying to slide back to the relationship he and Wilbur used to have and ignoring the drastic changes they both had plus the bad moments that were the reason they feel out in the first place, or maybe he knows, but at this point, after everything that happened to him and the server, he doesnt care anymore? He knows hes not the same he was and he'll never be the same, because thats not how it works, but his mentor, president, big brother is back after so long tommy felt so lost and alone he thinks maybe, this time around, with Wilbur, he could try and be better again.

#mcyt #dream smp #dsmp #dreamsmp #tommyinnit #mcyt foolish #dsmp foolish #dsmp tommy #analysis #character analysis #tommyinnit analysis #dsmp analysis #analysis post #long post #long

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pynkhues · 3 years

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.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

#hbo succession #succession fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama #kendall x stewy #gerri x roman

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asflametosmoke · 3 years

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james farrow analysis (+ oliver and richard as they relate to him)

so last night i stayed up until 2 am messaging with my friend about iwwv, and what is tumblr for if not posting your 2 am ramblings. (i’ve streamlined and expanded on them a bit.)

massive spoilers for the whole book under the cut.

(edit: i realize now that the cut doesn’t show up on mobile, sorry 😬)

part i - james farrow + heroism

james’s casting archetype is the hero/lover/prince, but he actually subverts tropes of traditional heroism/heroic characters.

he doesn’t really have classic heroic traits. he’s not really brave, he’s slight of build, he’s intelligent yet manipulative.

he doesn’t really fall in love with the ingenue, wren. he sleeps with her, but more than anything, he does it to make oliver jealous. and i didn’t read his protectiveness of her as something that comes from a place of romantic love. you’re welcome to disagree, of course, because that’s a bit ambiguous, but most of the squad is protective of wren. james isn’t unique there. we see oliver and even richard, in his own way, feeling protective towards her. it’s not really an indicator that he loved her.

he falls into the trope of the hero killing the tyrant (richard), but it’s not a heroic action when he does it. it’s not a noble slaying. it’s the desperate act of a cornered animal.

he has what you might call a “hero complex”, a need to save and protect everyone. but this backfires hugely. his need to protect wren leads to him going into the woods to find richard, which, as we know, ends up with richard dead in the lake. his need to save oliver (and his own guilt over not having been able to save him) leads to the deterioration of his mental state, even to the point where he feels the need to disappear.

part ii - james farrow + villainy [buckle up, this is a long one]

here’s where it gets interesting. there are a lot of moving parts here:

he says he wants more variety on his resume, to not play heroes and lovers and princes all the time.

in gwedolyn’s class, he says he immerses himself in every character he plays, but can’t always find himself again afterwards.

he gets cast as macbeth.

he gets cast as edmund, the villain in king lear.

over the course of acts iv and v, he goes slightly insane.

james’s casting in the role of macbeth is arguably the inciting incident. it’s the root cause of richard going off the rails. it’s also the first time he plays a villainous character (macbeth is the tragic hero, sure, but when i say “villain” i mean it in the moral sense), and it virtually intoxicates him.

being cast in the role of edmund is not, of course, the only thing wearing on his sanity throughout acts iv and v. but it doesn’t help either. he says, “i want to hurt the whole world.” ultimately, this stems from his trauma from killing richard, but it’s no coincidence that he got himself cast as edmund while in this state. he wants to hurt the whole world, as james, and by immersing himself in edmund, he finds rhyme and reason for it.

not only that, but it’s through edmund and lear in general, through the vessel of villainy and tragedy, that he’s the most honest before his confession. in act v, scene ii, he gets drunk and desperately tries to talk to oliver through lear. there’s a lot to unpack in this scene, but here are some of the highlights:

“they’ll have me whipp’d for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying, and sometimes i am whipp’d for holding my peace.”

i’ve never read lear, so i can’t contextualize this in the play, but it’s very relevant to james. he’ll be punished (sent to prison) for confessing, but oliver can’t take any more lies.

“‘where is the villain, edmund?’ i asked. he smiled crazily and echoed, ‘“where is the villain, edmund?” a pause for punctuation, yes? but not the playwright’s - commas belong to the compositors. “where is the villain edmund? here, sir, but trouble him not - his wits are gone.”’

james isn’t really talking about edmund here, of course. he’s talking about himself, calling himself a “villain” and admitting he’s gone more than a little crazy with guilt and fear (“his wits are gone.”) he thinks he can’t be saved. but his hero complex and archetype are still important here. he’s been deemed the hero for years, and now all of a sudden he’s committed murder. his complex, his need to save everyone that in part stems from the role he’s been given for his whole career, is at war with his new belief that he himself cannot be saved.

“‘no less than all - and more, much more. the time will bring it out!’ he wrenched his arm away and smoothed the front of his shirt, as if he were trying to wipe his hands clean. ‘some blood drawn on me would beget opinion / of my more fierce endeavor.’”

clearly, this is a reference to richard’s death. james knows he’s running out of time, and soon enough his secret will be revealed one way or another. it also shows his guilt: he’s trying to “wipe his hands clean”, presumably of figurative blood, and he thinks he deserves to be hurt for his “more fierce endeavor” e.g. killing richard.

part iii - james + richard + oliver + royalty

princes fall into james’s archetype along with heroes and lovers.

kings fall into richard’s archetype along with tyrants and conquerors.

in the woods, richard repeatedly calls james “little prince”, placing james “below” richard in both literal and figurative stature.

after james’s confession, oliver says “worthy prince, i know’t” to him onstage even though he’s supposed to say that line to camilo.

he’s reclaiming the word from richard, in a sense, and telling james that no matter what he’s done, he’s still a “worthy prince”. he means everything to oliver despite the fact that he’s a murderer, and despite the fact that he himself doesn’t believe he’s noble anymore (though he desperately wants to be). it’s quite literally a love language for oliver, and perhaps the closest he comes to a declaration of love.

part iv - james + richard + oliver + the water [this is also a long one]

richard wants to see james drowned, and oliver is the only one preventing this.

the first appearance of this motif is on halloween, when richard tries to drown james in the lake.

this foreshadows james’s eventual fate. whether or not he truly drowned in the end is, of course, a point of contention. for the purposes of this analysis, i won’t take a position on whether or not james is alive, and i will address it with the same ambiguity that canon gives it. however, regardless of whether or not james is alive by the end, it’s undeniable that he went under the water, and in a sense, it was richard that dragged him under. filippa says, “it was the guilt, oliver.” and once oliver isn’t there to comfort him, enable the two of them to forget richard for a little while, it’s only a matter of time before his guilt weighs him down so much that he feels the need to disappear from his own life. even if he’s not dead, he’s certainly not james farrow anymore, wherever he might be.

james reveals that richard kept pushing him towards the dock. it’s unclear if he really intended to drown james or even push him in the water, but it’s not unlikely that this was his intention.

in the dock scene (act iii, scene i), james tries to dive into the water to save richard’s life, and oliver stops him. but oliver goes into the water himself in that scene (to make sure richard’s dead before they call the police). this parallels how in the end, oliver will turn himself in and falsely confess to save james.

finally, there’s the epilogue. when filippa tells oliver “james is gone”, oliver sees richard’s ghost again. “there he sits, in lounging, leonine arrogance. he watches me with a razor-thin smile and i realize that this is it - the denouement, the counterstroke, the end-all he was waiting for. he lingers only long enough for me to see the gleam of triumph in his half-lidded eyes; then he, too, is gone.”

this is the confirmation: from oliver’s perspective, at least, richard has always, always wanted to drown james. it was certainly his intention at halloween. while to us, it’s unclear whether or not that was his intention at the dock, oliver believes it was. so he sees richard’s ghost again and gets a final confirmation of what he’s always believed. richard, as oliver sees him, is finally satisfied.

but we’re not done. how could i be, without addressing the pericles in the room?

disclaimer: i’ve never read pericles, so as with lear, i’m not going to contextualize the monologue contained in james’s “suicide note” in the play as a whole. that’s a separate analysis, albeit an interesting one i’m sure, for someone with more shakespeare knowledge than me. (although i have read caesar, so i might analyze iwwv and caesar some time in the future.)

“alas, the sea hath cast me on the rock / wash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath / nothing to think on but ensuing death.”

right from the outset, we see that james might be alive. he’s been “wash’d [...] from shore to shore, and left [...] breath”. the water has transformed him (to use a christian metaphor, almost like a kind of baptism. i think. i’m Extremely jewish so i might be using that wrong.) but not necessarily killed him.

death consumes james’s thoughts, and it likely has since he killed richard seven years earlier.

“what i have been i have forgot to know; / but what i am, want teaches me to think on: / a man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill, / and have no more of life than may suffice / to give my tongue that heat to ask your help; which if you shall refuse, when i am dead, / for that i am a man, pray see me buried.”

all the life has slowly been sucked out of him since he killed richard to the point where he’s little more than a shell of a man by 2004, so he decides to disappear into the water. again, whether or not he’s dead, he’s clearly not living the life of james farrow anymore, wherever he may be. so he’s disappeared. he may not be dead, but james farrow, the identity if not the man, did drown in that freezing water.

and yet, he has just enough of a will to live, just enough of a desire to be known (and perhaps loved) that he writes this note and puts oliver’s name on the envelope. he’s not ready to drown just yet. maybe the water didn’t care and drowned him anyway. but maybe, just maybe, it saved him.

part v - conclusion/author’s notes

if you stuck around all the way here, to the end, wow. thanks for suffering through my ramblings. seriously, thank you. and congratulations i guess.

i tried to write a tl;dr, i’m sorry, i failed. i know my strengths, and conciseness isn’t one of them.

i do wanna say this, though: james farrow is not a good person. neither is he a bad person. iwwv does not deal in moral absolutes, or really any absolutes at all. and i do feel like we as a reader base and fanbase don’t always do the best job at acknowledging james’s moral complexity. (or oliver’s, or meredith’s, but that’s another post for another time.) this is not a direct callout to anyone in particular, nor is it an attack. it’s really just meant to be food for thought.

#iwwv #if we were villains #iwwv spoilers #james farrow #oliver marks #richard stirling #analysis #tw suicide #tw drowning #tw death #tw murder #tw water

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infinites-chaser · 3 years

Note

are you still doing the librarian thing? Can I request hmmm#14 with Lucien please? Thank you and I love your writing!!!!

this. is SO LATE but anon I was planning one thing and then finals came and then the holidays and then Lucien’s theater date happened and I was inspired to do another thing bc Shakespeare and tragedies is my absolute JAM. this is rly just an excuse to draw parallels and analyze characters and themes from both mlqc and lear and there is so much talking. and it ended up. a little very pretentious but I'm not sorry I love shakespeare there is a Kiss tho :> and I think. that counts for SOmething

14 + Lucien/MC (Second Person POV bc it just felt more right)

‘Hear the words like it’s the first time you’ve heard them.’- If We Were Villains, M. L. Rio.

lowkey spoilers for Lucien’s Theater Date, which you can read a translation of here <3 but rly the main thing I’m absolutely capitalizing on is the fact MC/Lucien were hosts for a production of King Lear so really, spoilers for King Lear long story short it’s arguably shakespeare’s biggest tragedy Everyone is Sad and Dies awiofjklsds

“It’s interesting, really.”

Lucien’s voice, as quiet as it is, is clearly audible to you over the scattered applause from where you both linger in the wings, waiting to re-emerge and close out the show. Onstage, the actors take their last bows amidst the cheers, their characters resurrected for one final moment of glory before the curtain falls.

You pause in your clapping to cast him a sidelong look.

“What is?”

“Why King Lear, of all plays?”

“For students to choose to perform, you mean?” You frown, suddenly thoughtful. “I guess you’re right, it is strange-- it’s not exactly a crowd-pleaser, not to mention it’d be hard to find a talented actor mature enough to play Lear, and be believable as an old man, too.”

“Their Lear did great, though,” you add on hastily, as the actor steps forward into the spotlight and sweeps into a deep, dramatic bow, fake beard clutched in one hand, Lear’s crown in the other. “I didn’t expect that from a twenty-year-old at all!”

“You think so?”

“Mm. I just--” you break off. Take a breath. Try to rearrange your thoughts.

"I guess I'm a little biased,” you say. “I like Lear. A lot."

Around Lucien, it’s not often that you feel you can keep up with his seemingly endless knowledge and his quick wit, but you’d read Lear in high school English class, and the teacher had made you all go over the lines with a fine-toothed comb.

You’d wrung the meaning out of each carefully-phrased soliloquy back then, and gotten full marks on the essay you’d written on it, on Cordelia and her sisters, and what it meant to be selfless, what it meant to love. But it hadn’t been until college that you’d understood it, understood Cordelia, felt every inch of her care for her father, her devotion to him, to her ideals, to honest, true love above all else.

You’d read Lear again, after one fateful night, one call from the hospital. The nurse’s I’m sorry. Your phone, falling from numb fingers.

The funeral.

You’d read Lear again in the dark, grey days that had followed, and it’d felt frustrating, it had all felt so futile, for Cordelia to love and love in her own way and not know how to properly express it, not until it was too late, not until the very end. (It had felt human, too human-- and you’d loved every word of it, despite the tragedy. You’d vowed to never be too late ever again.)

“Ah.” Lucien’s gentle interjection brings you back out of your thoughts.

Has he been waiting this whole time for me to continue? You wonder, your cheeks heating at the thought. You open her mouth, ready to apologize, but his next words cut you off.

“Your father,” he says, dark gaze unreadable. “That’s why you like Lear.”

You nod.

“I-- I like thinking I understand Cordelia,” you mumble.

“Do you think it should’ve turned out differently, then? Did she deserve her ending?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just think... She and her father get to make up and maybe they finally understand one another, but then-- she just dies. For no reason.”

“Does death need a reason?”

There’s some dark undercurrent to his voice, a cold, lurking thing that nearly gives you pause, but you answer anyway.

“Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it never really will ever make sense, no matter how much we think about it... What we could’ve done differently. What we did wrong. But I don’t think she had to die. Not her, or Lear, either.”

“So you think it should’ve ended differently. Happier?”

“No,” you start. You falter. “I don’t know, I guess. Not really.”

He shrugs. When he speaks again, his voice is warm again, tone light, teasing.

“Speak what you feel,” he quotes, “not what you ought to say.”

You huff. He smiles and waits. After a long moment, you finally reply.

“On one hand, it’s sad. There’s much death over a misunderstanding.”

“But?” He prompts. You swallow.

“But, maybe there’s more to it than just sadness. There’s some hope in the tragedy of it all. Or, at least, I like to think there is. After all, Cordelia and Lear-- they get their feelings across to each other, before the end.”

“Hope,” he murmurs. Then, more hesitant than you’ve ever heard him: “And what about Edmund?”

“The villain,” he says, half to himself, “Edmund.”

There’s a question hidden in his question, you know. There are parallels he’s trying to draw. You reach for his hand instinctively. He lets you take it, and you hope the warmth of your interlaced fingers takes the bite out of your next words.

“Edmund betrayed his kingdom,” you say, and Lucien’s hand stiffens under yours. “He betrayed his brother.“

“A traitor,” he agrees, detached and carefully calm. “A villain.”

“A villain on necessity,” you quote as response. Then, quieter, more gentle: “Yet Edmund was beloved.”

“Was he?”

You nod. His fingers tighten around yours, and he tugs you closer, deeper into the stage curtain’s shadows, ‘til there are bare inches between you and him. His eyes seek yours in the dim light.

“Is he still?” He asks, leaning in close, voice low. You know he’s asking about himself, not Edmund, he has been all along.

“He is,” you say. “He always will be.”

Your words are all the invitation he needs to close the remaining distance between his lips and yours. It’s a hungry kiss, almost desperate. as if at any moment he’s afraid this moment will end, but you loop your arms around his neck, deepen the kiss, draw him closer, memorize the feel of his mouth on yours, one hand gripping your waist, the other tracing down your back to the butterfly brooch, the nerves of your spine a wild flutter in his fingers’ wake.

He pauses at the small of your back, his hovering hand a silent question. You whisper a yes against his lips as answer. A smile ghosts over his lips. He kisses you even harder than before.

The butterfly falls.

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #mlqc fanfic #val writes #thIS IS ABSYMALLY LATE AND HUGELY PRETENTIOUS IM. SO SORRY.#catch me ABSOLUTELY PROJECTING mY PHILOSOPHIES ONTO MC and rambling on bc. i love shakespear #lucien stans; the world at large: thE Karma was spicy i wish the date was more spicy #me: what. if . i made it eVEn less spicy and they just talked.#I DID PUT IN A KISS THO IM PROUD OF MYSELF FOR THAT :> and. it is up to the reader's imagination what happens after but. that's it #yes. i wrote this instead of watching my biochem lectures yes. i am proud. yes i am caffinated

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pit-and-the-pen · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4

Just a short chapter to kick off my ideas for this series! Hope you enjoy!

A knock on Fred’s door interrupted him from a rather pleasant dream, the smell of apples faintly being chased away as he stirred awake. “Go away” He grumbled as loudly as he could muster before pulling a spare pillow over his head and rolling over onto his stomach.

“You’re late for training.” George calls from the other side of the door. Fred just groaned loudly and swore. He’d never hear the end of this from the guys. Trudging out of bed, he threw on whatever clothes he touched first. Deciding he could put together a better outfit later. His training gear would cover it anyways.

Walking out of the door, George whistles lowley when Fred passes him. A cup of warm coffee was shoved into his hands by George. Fred’s not normally a coffee drinker, but grimaces and downs the small cup anyways. “Boy, you would think you stayed up the whole night.” George laughed at Fred’s disheveled appearance. “She even got you home at a reasonable time and everything.” He laughs a little louder at the slightly starstruck look that takes over his brother's face at the mention of last night. He claps his brother over the shoulder. “Look at you, losing sleep over a pretty face.”

Fred winds up to argue back before George holds his hands up. “Mate, it’s a good look on you. Well not right now obviously but overall.” George winks at his brother as they start to walk down the pathway outside to the training arena. “I haven’t seen you that lively since Bill was crowned.” Fred really wants to argue but he can’t, he knows he became a stiff the moment he became next in line.

He remembers how him and George used to run rampant through the castle, pulling as many pranks as they possibly could. Minerva or even their mother yelling after them. The thought brings a smile to Fred’s face. How much of a simpler time that was. Back before they were looking face down at a war. Before his father’s problems we’re thrown into his lap because, in all reality, Bill wants nothing to do with them. The same way that Charlie had wriggled out under the guise of helping peace relations in Romania. The same way that Percy left the weight on Fred’s shoulders by being a royal face on the front and getting so good at raising morale that they decided to keep him exactly where he was.

Plus, as much as everyone loved Percy, he cared too much about how he was perceived to make a great king. He would be too powerful in the wrong hands and the family had its fair share of people that would take full advantage of that fact before the crown even touched his head. He. realized he had been silent for a little too long and just sighed.

“Sorry George. I know I’m no fun anymore.” His brother nudged him in the ribs.

“Whoever said you were fun in the first place eh?” George said in such a serious tone it made Fred pause. He saw the look on his brother's face and realized the joke had gone right over his head. I really do need to lighten up. He thought to himself and chuckled at his brother.

Running a hand through his hair a small pang of sadness hits him harder than he thought it would’ve. He’s really just lost so much of himself by the prospect of being king someday. And he really knows it’s just a matter of time. The entire family is waiting with baited breath for Bill to finally run off with Fleur. They keep getting closer every day and it’s only a matter of time until the couple run off to the hills of France. Fred mentally curses at the thought. Bill isn’t doing it to be selfish, he knows that but Fred will be damned if he lets George suffer through everything he’s going through. If it becomes Fred’s turn he’s bringing them through a war and he’s never been more terrified at that idea.

Fred walks down to the arena in a bit of haze. His thoughts run all over the place. Worse case scenario, one after the other, plays in his mind. How they don’t have enough bodies to fight a war. About how everyone will hate him when he has to draft. The kingdom falling because Fred couldn’t make the important calls at the right time. It’s enough to make him wish that he had stayed in bed.

Before he realizes it, he’s stepping onto the gravel rink of the training arena. Trying to clear his head with a small shake, he realizes he can spiral later. Right now, he��s doing what he can. Everything else for now can wait. This is what he needs to do to play his part. Keep an eye out for who has leadership potential.

With the Triwizard tournament coming up, currently being worked up and finalized as he stands here, he needs to keep a clear head. Does he think that right now is not the time for all the usual pageantry? Of course, but for now, it’s not his call to make and he’s grateful for that. He just falls in line and takes his orders when they are given. George gives him a firm pat on his back as he takes his usual spot on the bleachers, pulling out a large book and a quill. Ready to take notes down to report back to Bill. As he expected, there are a few lears and teases about his tardiness, comments he brushes off with a shrug. A few comments on seeing him with someone last night and he quickly shuts down that line of thinking.

He pairs the men off into their small sparing groups. Deciding that he didn’t trust his own reflexes today, he informs them he wants to work on non-wand fighting.

“Why would we do that when we have wands?” A voice calls out from the crowd. He sighs heavily. Of course these knob heads would think that.

“What are you going to do if your wand gets lost, or heaven forbid, were to break in the middle of a fight?” He squints at the man that questioned him. “Are you going to run in the middle of a fight because of that? No. That’s why this is just as an important skill as dueling.” Fred pats the longsword currently resting on his hip. A few people from the crowd chuckle. They just assume it’s for show. He notices a few of the men looking behind him as he’s speaking. He sends a glance over his shoulder and he wants to curse from the sight in front of him. None other than Draco Malfoy. Loud and proud, standing like he owns the damn place.

He bites back the eye roll and gestures to his men. “Work amongst yourselves for a moment.” He looks at the defiant faces. “With wands if it’s that damn important to you.” He says dismissively but with a tone that says this isn’t the last of that conversation.

The relationship with the Malfoy family and the Royal family is rocky to say the least. They were part of the group that broke off and tried to become important in the Dark Lord's personal court, before it crumbled, of course. They were also some of the loudest opponents for the Weasley family to become the ruling family and decided to let that little detail fuel every one of their actions for the last fifty years. They did all of this while trying to worm their way into the most powerful positions. Much to Fred’s displeasure to admit, Lucius had managed to redeem himself quite well and from that Draco grew up just as good as a prince would have.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of your presence Draco?” Fred sighed out. Not bother to care about diplomacy. There was something about the boy that just made his blood boil, too many smart comments aimed at his fathers competency when they were in school together he reckons. Malfoy just scoffs, pointing his head high in the air as he always does.

“I was sent from the castle to come and get you. Important meeting apparently.” His voice full of discontent, obviously not liking being sent to run errands.

“And why are you even in the kingdom again?” Fred taunts. “Front line too scary for you?”

Once again Malofy scoffs. “They pulled Potter and I both out last week. That’s all that I know. Sent in replacements and everything.” Draco raises an eyebrow at Fred’s shocked expression. “Do you not even know what’s going on in your own kingdom? I thought they would be filling you in before him at this point.” He laughs and Fred lunges forward. Grabbing the shiny armor that Draco is wearing. Proof of how little he actually had seen of battle.

“Woah. Not here Freddie” George says, coming to pry Malfoy out of Fred’s grip. Fred looks back at the group of men currently inspecting every detail of this interaction.

“Better watch that temper, your majesty.” Malfoy spits out before Fred lets him go, giving him a large shove to get some distance between the two of them. He watches with a small smirk as the blond stumbles back and takes a second to regain his footing.

Fred turns to the crowd, not even bothering to pretend they haven't just seen the interaction. “Well looks like you have been saved from a boring day.” Fred addresses them. “You’re dismissed but we’re doing double training to make up for this interruption.” He calls and claps his hands, letting everyone know they’re dismissed.

There are a few groans from among the crowd but after the little show Fred put on no one thinks it smart to try to test his patience at the moment.

I’ve tried to get this up three times and tumblr has decided to hate me so sorry if the formating is a little off. I tried to fix it but I’m terrible at editing if you havent noticed already.

Taglist: (some wont tag so if you changed urls and still want to be tagged please let me know!) @they-write-once-in-a-while @magical-spit @birdie-writes @ickle-ronniekins @heart-of-tempered-steel @wand3ringr0s3 @thoseofgreatambition @things-that-start-with-f @elf-punk @bitchywhisperswizard @a-little-too-much @izzytheninja @kpopgirlbtssvt @shadowsinger11 @harrysweasleys

#dont underestimate me #royal harry potter #ROYAL AU #royal!au #oc character #harry potter oc #fred weasley #george weasley

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itsgrishaverse · 4 years

Note

Andy gives me a vibe of being very methodical about every aspect of his life. So when he meets reader, at first he thought he had reader figured out in his methodical way. But as things progressed and they spent more time together Andy doesn't know what to do with himself & feelings anymore, until he finally cracks and all hell and passion he feels breaks completely free. He will stop at nothing to keep reader by his side. Anyone flirts with reader? Dead by the next day mysteriously.

I haven’t stopped thinking about this ever since you sent it. Thing is, I absolutely love how this all turned out, not going to lie. And I hope so do you.

tag list because I know some people are waiting for updates for ANDREW, so I’ll give you this little thing instead for now. let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed. @jimmason @theneverendinghunger @angelicmichael @michaellangdonstanaccount @jimmlangdon @angxlmichael @langdons-butterfly @thewarriorprincessxo @9layerdevilsfoodcake-deactivate @elfilibusterismo

ANDREW DOLAN | TONIGHT

A man like Andrew could only be pushed to his limits to a certain edge, and he was reaching the ending of a sharp and painful path where there would be no return. Not being the same man he was known for anymore. Not being the father he had promised himself to be, but the one he had been attempting to keep to himself only for a long time now. Years. He felt exposed; as if his behavior or desires took longer to be controlled beneath his fingers. As if they had a mind of their own. The mirror between who he made himself to be and who he really is, was slowly breaking into pieces. The reason? A woman. Not any random woman, but (Y/N). The one who had managed to cling to his heart; unseen and as silent as the night, and who was about to rip it off his chest.

This love felt like a dance in a losing game; the more he desired to be closer to her, the deeper that a knife between them would dig into his chest. The less he could prevent himself from doing something absolutely questionable to earn her attention. For her.

And it began with mixed signs.

Puerto Rico, 12:00am. Their holiday house. Iris, his daughter, had insisted on bringing (Y/N) along. Andrew didn’t complain at all; it was still a time where his thoughts about her, his certain liking remained within the walls of his mind. Only for himself. Part of him was certain that she didn’t feel the same — and perhaps, it was the main reason why he kept reminding himself, hoped that it was true. Everything was okay. His surroundings remained the way he wanted it to be. They treated each other as a close circle. Drinks were shared. Sounds of joy. Little teases. Stolen smiles and glances.

At 3am, everything changed. The sound of the door opening, allowing (Y/N) to walk in the bathroom was met with Andrew standing before the mirror, attempting to clean his stained buttoned up shirt. As their eyes met, there was an initial surprise between both.

“Oh. I — Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I’ll use the other bathroom.” She was soaked from head to toes, letting Andrew assume Iris had thrown both of them into the pool. Clouded gaze, he noticed the way her eyes trailed down and up his figure. Her dressed clung to each inch of her figure, which he didn’t bother on pretending not to notice either.

His mind was clouded by thoughts of bringing her closer and claim her there, up against the wall. Just for one night. To ease the burning feeling that didn’t seem to fade by time. How well she would take his length between her tight walls. How sweet would be the sound of his name falling from her lips at each deep thrust.

“Stay.” An accented tone of voice, laced with the slight intoxication from the tequila he drank previously. “The other room is downstairs. You’re already here, aren’t you? I’ll be out in a minute.”

As his gaze fell back onto the mirror, minutes later, he was taken away by the sight of her behind him. Her fingers reached out for her own clothes, stripping down. Andrew’s breath hitched. Staring through the mirror. Despite her back facing him as if they didn’t see them, she knew that he was there with her. (Y/N) turned to finally face him, greeting the sight of Andrew leaning closer to the sink, his hands gripping both ends of it. His eyes looked into hers through the glass; she expected him to make a move, but he didn’t. Did he not want this? It wasn’t easy to read a man such as himself, but there were so signs of him not wanting it either. One step closer behind him, she allowed the contact of her wrist against his arm. His eyes closed at the touch and then — the ghost of a smirk. Oh, he did want this. He wanted her to be the one to come to him.

“I thought you were leaving, Mr. Dolan.”

A week later, and the taste of (Y/N)’s lips remained in his subconscious. Memories of that night kept playing— at some point, Andrew couldn’t just wait another week to see her.

It has already happened, didn’t it? They kissed. As passionate as the desire itself he had felt since the beginning; her bare body pressed up against his clothed figure, her arms around his neck, needing to pull him impossibly closer against hers. It didn’t go any further than a heated, messy kiss. However it was enough to have him hooked up on what could come next. She was his. Wanted him as much as he did want her, and that was enough for him to begin crossing little lines.

At the university, he looked for her. The last thing he heard from her was a text about how busy her schedule would be all week. Her next project consisted on visiting a morgue and then, a crime scene. Therefore, surprising her before she would leave was a good idea in his mind. Truth be told, all he wanted to do was taste her, again.

It was a terrible one by the end.

Awaiting outside the known class building, the curly-brown haired male spotted her walking out with a pair of classmates. The sight of her holding someone else’s hand struck him with confusion. Eyebrows furrowed— watching the scene of her giving the other male a smile unfold. The blond long haired male, whoever they were, seemed as pleased by her presence as she seemed by his.

He should’ve left. Why was he there, in the first place? At a place where he could be recognized easily? He didn’t. The mere scene was enough to have him walk up to them, steady steps, with the same airs of a confident male. As he was easily known for. It didn’t go unnoticed the surprise coming across (Y/N)’s face upon seeing him. Was it pleasant?

“Mr. Dolan.” She walked away from the other male in order to head towards him. The smallest of such a detail pleased him. The fact they were so formal after all had amusement swing through his ocean blues. “I’m surprised to see you here. Iris always makes sure we know how much you dislike this place.”

“I do, in fact.” His index finger traced along his bottom lip. A sign of him being thoughtful. He knew the other was staring at them. “We must allow ourselves to make exceptions. Sometimes. I wanted to see you.” It was the burning jealousy within him that had him making a move on her out in public without second thoughts. He claimed her by the waist— gentle, bringing her close against him. A kiss onto her lips; short enough was given.

She didn’t react in the way he thought she would. Having her withdrawing, wide eyes. Surprised. “Andrew.” Her tone of voice laced with a warning. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What you begged me to do a week ago if I’m not mistaken. Have you changed your mind? I’d be amused with the thought of making that little boyfriend of yours uncomfortable.”

Words left his lips before he could stop them. He was acting like an immature man, clouded by jealousy. And he would regret it eventually.

That same thing minute without an answer, in disbelief, she walked away from him.

Texts remained unanswered. No matter how many he would send, there would no answer from her. It was the unknown, the lack of knowledge about her thoughts that had him driving close to the edge. She was hard to read, he’d give her that. One night a shared kiss between them had him believing it would, finally, break the line between them. The next, he felt further away from her than they were at the beginning.

Perhaps, it was how unpredictable she could be that had him allured to it all. A change in how controlled he kept his life. Perhaps not, perhaps he loathed it.

All of this. Because of her. The irony he wouldn’t allow himself to go through the same, once again, years ago had him despising himself right now. The worst was that he was already into it. He couldn’t stop it. It was too late.

[ delivered message. ]

“Where are you?”

[ delivered message. ]

“I’m certain we can talk this out. Could you, please, stop ignoring me?”

[ delivered message. ]

“We’re not fucking kids anymore.”

[ READ message.]

“My apologies. Truly. I shouldn’t have done it. We forget about everything that happened, and done. Have a good evening.”

The last text was sent with a new knowledge of the following events. Iris had spoken about her own plans for the evening and with that, Andrew persuaded her enough to speak about (Y/N) without looking that obvious. Apparently she had a date— sort of. Someone who had asked her out and ended up accepting it.

A few hours later, he sat before the bar. At the same place his daughter mentioned. A young lady remained by his side, murmuring topics he truly wasn’t interested in at the moment. Things he would answer to with a gentle raise of eyebrows and grin; as if interested. It was little masks that one could manage to their own convenience. A compliment to her eyes and smile would have her look away, cheeks heating up— a comment about how much her mind amazed him would have her be interested in him. Ladies enjoyed the physical attention, but being interested in their own intellectual had open doors for him most of the time. It was about knowing how to touch someone’s soul, to observe and learn. Having them wanting it.

The same way he was about to learn how much the same person he couldn’t keep out ot his mind was interested in him.

Raising his drink up to his own lips, he would allow his gaze to roam around the place. It wasn’t until three hours later that he spotted that same blond man he saw weeks ago. He was heading towards the door. Andrew’s head tilted in the slightest, catching a glimpse of (Y/N) following behind them.

So now, he would take him to her place, wouldn’t she? Was she punishing him for his immature behavior weeks ago? If she had intended on pushing him to the edge, certainly she was quite great at it.

Five minutes later. He followed them, their destination did end up at her apartment. As he assumed it would be. Awaiting for them to go in first, it wouldn’t be hard to find hers again. Standing at the same front door as he once did made him think of the first time he was alone with her. Memories that would haunt him more, the longer she was away from him. The longer she ignored him. Andrew tried the handle of the front door— surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. Inside her apartment, he was greeted by silence and dim lights, except the sound of someone’s voice coming from the passageway. It came from one of the rooms.

“It’s not as easy as it should be.”

“We could try again.” It was a male’s voice. “I’m here, okay? Look at me, hey. Look at me.”

Andrew attempted to peek through the cracked open door. He caught the sight of (Y/N) leaning against his chest, the blond one’s arms wrapped up around her. Lips pursed. Unpleased at how good they tried to be for her. The little mask of being the good one, there for her maybe would make her fall for it. He wouldn’t. Andrew was a man of masks, therefore, he knew when he met another.

“Come on. Look at me. Let me see that beautiful smile of yours I love to see.”

He turned away from the door upon hearing such words, uninterested in witnessing what would come after between them.

What felt like long, painful hours of awaiting gave him what he has been looking forward to since the beginning of the night. It had begun to rain, lightly. Not enough to prevent him from getting out of his car once noticing that same stranger leaving the building, all it would take was for them to walk past him. And he would have him.

In hands, Dolan carried the same cane he kept inside his car for certain reasons. He didn’t need it, yet coming off as someone who did was strategic enough to get closer to people out in public. To be unexpected at the right moment. Especially for men, who most of the time, put up a fight.

Observing him walk down the street, heading closer, Andrew awaited patiently until they walked past him. Playing with the cane in hands. Such man didn’t seem to notice him — if he did, they didn’t give him enough attention. As any other stranger in the streets.

“Hey, love.” Andrew called out behind him, low yet enough to be heard by them. Now they did have their attention. As soon as their steps came to a halt and their body turned to him, the head of the cane swung, striking their face in a shift and harsh move. Carried by enough strength to make him fall backwards. Certainly caught off guard.

One free hand reached to grip the collar of their shirt, hovering over them, standing still. A grin across his features. Dilated blues swimming in adrenaline. His heart beat with anticipated excitement. He tugged on it, bringing the injured one closer to him. Whispering. “You may have been hers, but you’re mine now.”

#cody fern #andy dolan #ahs fandom #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #andy dolan fic #headcanons #andy dolan x reader #ii. writing

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illusion-of-death · 3 years

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hey can you talk about the relationship between regan and cornwall in your ideal adaptation? i'm so into this murder couple, you have no idea!

Oh ABSOLUTELY this is like my OTP and I literally never shut up about them so

Regan and Cornwall are pretty much the polar opposite of Goneril and Albany—obviously this is venturing FAR into “purely headcanon” territory, but my thought process here is that while Regan’s marriage was surely political, she as a second-born child would not be nearly as sought-after as Goneril and therefore had more of a choice in the matter, and you know all this already; your post about it was so good and better than anything I could come up with at the moment. When I look at the text, I think they’re clearly in love, and even after Cornwall’s death Regan never quite seems to get over it. What bothers me about several of the adaptations I’ve seen is that they don’t seem to take this into account; they’re very “elder sisters evil” about it and make Regan behave ruthlessly to everyone, including her husband. Maybe this is because the first performance of this play I ever saw did not portray the sisters in such a black and white way, but all of the subsequent productions I saw that took the easy route just felt wrong to me.

I have Further Opinions about them all over my blog already, but we all know tumblr’s tagging system is broken so good luck finding it lol. TL;DR: Regan and Cornwall may be ruthlessly violent and textbook “evil”, but they are not so to each other: they both care very deeply for the other one, and also are constantly building each other up and egging each other on when their schemes turn more violent. Any adaptation of the play that I think portrays their relationship well ought to acknowledge that.

Here’s the thing about *my* adaptation of Lear: it’s a circus show, because I grew up performing in one and I only have one brain cell which is dedicated to combining things I love. This means that while there will be some voiceover, the majority of the story gets communicated through physical body acting rather than the actual words the characters speak. What gets semi-complicated about circus shows (but is also super fun) is that everyone in them is super typecast, since you’re not going to put someone who specializes in Acrobatics in a role that’s heavily composed of aerial acts. The way I wrote it, Regan and Cornwall have a lot of acts together, meaning that whoever’s in those roles are already going to have a ton of chemistry because they’ll have been training in said acts together even outside of the more theatrical choreography that they’d also be learning.

Let’s talk about 3.7 for a bit because that’s The Scene. Gloucester is bound to a chair on one end of the stage, a couple members of the servants ensemble are up on Silks in the background, and the main event is Regan and Cornwall on Pas de Deux, an apparatus very similar to Flying Silks but with narrower fabric (I think? I’ve never done this one; I have a few aerial acts but I mostly specialize in balance). Pas de Deux is arguably one of the most physically gruelling acts there is, and yet if you’re good at it you can make it look super easy, which is why it’s so commonly used for ~the romantic scene~ in contemporary circus shows like this one—seasoned audience members will probably get the vibe. This time, however, the soundtrack is not a soft romantic one, but a very driving, boarderline aggressive song to match the much more energetic way these two will be moving. Also of note about this act, since I realize many people are probably not familiar with it: you’re absolutely reliant on your partner to be able to do just about anything, and it’s pretty obvious to the audience that there wouldn’t be much of an act if it was just one of them. This makes Cornwall’s death halfway through the scene that much more jarring, because the act practically falls apart without him (I’m no choreographer, but I’d want to emphasize to whoever plays Regan that I want to see at least a few “attempted” tricks that just can’t be done without her partner before she exacts her revenge on the servant and takes Glousester’s second eye. Then she tries to help Cornwall stand—maybe they even manage one last finale trick where it looks like he’s barely holding on—I haven’t gotten too far into this yet, but my point here is that I’m going to be making this scene as emotional as possible). For the rest of the production, Regan no longer really has a partner in any of her acts—she had a few with Goneril at the beginning, but as their relationship falls apart so does their ability to perform together, Cornwall is dead, and anything she tries with Edmund will be undercut by Goneril getting involved as well. Visual symbolism!!

That’s the end, though—what about the beginning? Well, there’s the obvious “couple who yeets each other across the arena together stays together”, but also just general scene blocking; these two are always flanking each other’s sides, if one moves in a certain way the other will copy it, etc. Though I’ll be limited in the number of spoken lines I can include, since too much voiceover starts to sound clunky and fitting the actors with microphones is not an option, I’ll make an effort to include at least a few of the important ones (“my Regan counsels well”, “till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night too”) and of course direct the actors about the relationship these two have so that they can make their own decisions about the little things.

I don’t know where I’m going with this, really; it’s all still a fairly distant dream. I’ve got some people on board so far, but not nearly enough, and don’t even get me started on the complexities of finding a space to perform in or equipment to do it with, but things are slowly coming together and maybe some day Circus Lear will be a reality. For now, though, I just have four copies of this play on my desk to look at and I’ll have to content myself with those.

#idk what happened with the spacing here that’s a big yikes #thanks for the ask though!!! i love talking about this #long post #asks #shakespeare #king lear #circus lear #regan and cornwall

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suits-of-woe · 4 years

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i keep forgetting to ask you about your edmund and cornwall thoughts... ik you've mentioned their relationship (wrt 3.5) a few times and now that i'm rereading lear im like. [lightbulb glowing over my head as i remember to ask for your analysis]

Okay so. God I am in the midst of working on so many essays and packing up my life to move back to Canada but my brain cannot stop thinking about this so here goes because I have Thoughts. This is gonna be long sorry.

Here’s my hot take: Cornwall understands Edmund better than anyone else in the play, and he honestly might have been able to play him like a fiddle if he hadn’t died when he did.

First of all, I think he knows exactly what Edmund wants. He comes at him with flattery from the first moment they interact, and a very specific kind of flattery: “Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father a childlike office.” I could go off for ages about 2.1 but basically I think it’s a VERY big deal that Edmund “look sir, I bleed” of Gloucester chooses to wound himself and make himself vulnerable as part of his ruse and Gloucester just, fully brushes him off and basically just focuses on where Edgar went and doesn’t say a word about him getting hurt. And then Cornwall walks in and INSTANTLY praises him for being a good son when that’s so obviously what he wants to hear (and THAT’S what causes Gloucester to finally mention his wound but ANYWAY). Just like. Who knows what their relationship was before the play but the fact that Cornwall instantly jumps to getting Edmund on his side in this scene, because he can tell he’s going to be valuable, and he knows how to say exactly what he wants to hear. Even “you shall be ours” is just...it’s obviously political but it’s all so loaded. And then of COURSE we get The Line that makes me lose my shit in 3.5, “thou shalt find a dearer father in my love,” aka the only time ANYONE seems to get that he just wants love until he actually says it out loud in 5.3. He’s gone from praising Edmund as a son to offering himself as a better father because he gets that it’s all about affection with him, and it’s wild to think how that might have played out, because if there’s key to knowing how to manipulate Edmund that’s definitely it.

Anyway that’s the main thing I go feral for but he also really understands Edmund in other ways, like when he sees right through all of his protestations that he feels ~so bad~ for betraying his father. Let’s take a look at the earlier part of 3.5 shall we?

Edmund: How malicious is my fortune that I must repent to be just. This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not- or not I the detector!

Duke of Cornwall: Go with me to the Duchess.

Edmund: If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.

Duke of Cornwall: True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.

I’m sure you could play this scene in a number of ways but what I see is Edmund doing his dramatic little routine about how woe is him for having to put his country over his family, and pretending to be cautious like he did with the fake Edgar letter, pretending not to know if it’s real and hoping it isn’t and Cornwall just...doesn’t buy it at all. He just tells him what to do, and tells him what Edmund actually cares about, which is that it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, either way, he’s getting all the power he wants. And it’s definitely not that he’s being cold because (see above) Cornwall is absolutely affectionate with Edmund when he wants to be. Here, he just doesn’t want to be, because he knows he doesn’t need to be. And that’s kind of terrifying? Edmund is supposed to be such a good liar but Cornwall sees right through him.

Oh and, he ALSO realizes that Edmund doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, and should not be there for Gloucester’s torture. This is something even the sisters don’t seem to get about him, because Goneril asks him to kill Albany for her, but he just won’t. And it’s weird, because he’s 100% willing to commit treason for her, he clearly cares if he’s willing to risk all that for her instead of just marrying Regan on the spot, he has no problem with the fact that Albany will die, but he wants her to do it. I mean he duels, it’s not like he faints at the sight of blood or something, but his preferred method of killing is getting someone else to do it for him, so I think Cornwall is spot on in thinking he would not deal well with seeing Gloucester tortured in person. So he gets him out of there: “Edmund, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding.” He even sends her with Goneril, and honestly, with all his other insights, I would not be surprised at ALL if he was purposefully trying to set them up. He knows how much Edmund wants to be loved after all.

It’s just...ugh...it’s such an interesting dynamic because Edmund’s whole thing is being a good liar and manipulator and hard to read, but Cornwall seems to kind of understand him perfectly. And their interests always align in the play but it’s hard to know what would have happened if Cornwall lived and at some point they didn’t. I honestly don’t know if Edmund would have been able to get out from under his thumb. Maybe he wouldn’t even have wanted to.

Also due to how interesting their dynamic is and my incessant need to ship Edmund with literally everyone, Edmund/Cornwall/Regan is an incredibly unhealthy OT3 from hell but I’d still like to see it.

#king lear #asks #shakespeare #just when you thought i had run out of lear takes...absolutely never #this also just makes me want my awful cornwall-lives-and-the-villains-live-happily-ever-after au even more #edmund #mine

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giyuwu-san · 4 years

Text

burn the stage — part 1 // dabi

— A multi-chapter fic complete with your favorite indie and mainstream bops. Watch as you fall in love with the captivating guitarist of a band one drunken, perfect night. (BAND AU)

↱ PAIRING : Dabi x Female!Reader

↱ WORD COUNT : 5K

↱ WARNINGS : Mentions of alcohol, Suggestive themes, Strong language, Dabi being hot

↱ TAGS : @yusemis @lordexplosionsextra @astrrnmy @basicallyberry @j-brielmalfoy (I actually remembered my taglist this time wow)

↱ AUTHOR’S NOTE : Thank you sosososo much to @kaikamikazi for allowing me to use her likeness for Kai’s character! Happy birthday to my favorite clown <3 everyone please wish her a happy birthday woot woot !!! And also huge huge thanks to @doughnuts-5ever and @jojosmilktea for helping me proofread/betaread this fic huhu it was a whole ass mess you guys are absolute legends tysm!!

↱ PLAYLIST

↱ SERIES MASTERLIST

------------------------------------------------✈

scene one; no song

"Thousands of years ago, our ancestors looked up at the night sky and saw a field of lights."

The aged man paced around the room, hands folded behind his back and hair graying by the roots. His side facing the blackboard on the wall, he continued;

"None of them really knew what they were," he stopped and looked at the vast sea of students perched atop of chairs in the big room. "But, they made a fascinating observation."

You sat listening to your professor, your chin perched on your open palm, and eyes focused on the notebook that sat idly on your connected desks.

"They noticed that the patterns were predictable and had clear effects." The man said with some form of self-acknowledged eureka, his left hand coming up to the height of his face, index finger pointing up at the heavily-lit ceiling. "The seasons, the tides, the harvests."

"Incredible, isn't it?" he resumed.

The man was about to continue on his tangent. But that was until a hand shot up in the air, followed by a voice.

"Uhm, professor?" the boy who raised his hand asked. "Aren't we supposed to be learning about chemistry?"

Your professor looked at him, who now appeared to be slightly frightened by the blank but disrupted gaze of his teacher.

“Pfft—”

You turned around to see your friend Kai, her head resting upon her folded arms. Was she seriously trying to sleep through the lesson again?

“The one opportunity we got to sleep,” she sighed. “You just had to ruin it, brainy.”

“Is that seriously what you call a sufficient insult?” you asked as you fully tilted your head towards her direction.

“Wasn’t saying it to insult him.” She said casually as she massaged her head with the hand closest to her, face still partially buried within her entangled arms. “Wasn’t saying it to compliment him either though.”

You scoffed.

“You’re unbelievable,” and at that, the darker-skinned girl turned to you with horror in her eyes.

“Oh no,” she said petrified.

“What?”

“You’re being a Karen again.”

You looked at her dumbfounded, sighing.

“I am not being a Karen,” you started. “I’m just saying—”

It was already too late, however, as Kai had both her hands covering her ears, blocking out your protests as well as all her other life issues.

You sighed once more and turned your attention back to your professor, your notebook still open on your desk.

“Your semester is practically over,” said your professor, standing idly in front of all the students, his left hand reaching up to habitually play with the fabric of his suit tie.

“So, let me have some me-time every once in a while," he continued.

‘You never let us have any me-time—’ is what you could feel the hoard of tired students internally screaming around you.

The aged man cleared his throat and set along to once again resume his lengthy ramble.

“Where was I?” he asked himself, his feet already departing from his standstill position in the middle of the room as he started walking about once more.

“Ah yes, so it seemed logical that these lights shaped everything else in our lives. But with the scientific method disproving all these theories, why do people still look for meaning in the stars?”

A hand shot up in the air once again, only to be shot back down by a quick hand gesture from the professor.

“Calm down now, I’m not done yet,” he said.

“Many prolific historical figures of our kind, such as the Iikes of William Shakespeare, have used the concept of astrology as a metaphorical expression, more than an actual study. Whether or not he truly believed in it, he still used the idea of astrology to create some of his most well-known epigrams to date,” he continued.

“With lines such as; ‘These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us.’ from King Lear, ‘A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life.’ from Romeo and Juliet— I’m sure a lot of you are familiar with that one." He faced the students once more. "And my utmost favorite, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars—’”

“But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

“—From Julius Caesar,” the professor smiled. “Well done, Miss L/N.”

Shock settled into your form, having realized that you had said that much louder than you had anticipated. Now with the burning stares of your classmates and uncontrolled laughter coming from a seatmate you used to call your best friend, you let out an exasperated sigh, head falling onto your desk and arms protecting you from the unfiltered judgment of the outside world.

You sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day before finally coming out of hiding, your chin once again finding shelter in your welcoming palm. You stared down at your open notebook, observing each line and angle. Stared at the drawings of orbits clashing together with the unwelcome intrusion of jotted scientific equations. A picture of the sun as each planet aligned themselves accordingly within their rotation, along with the lengthy compound formula of 4 Bromo, 3-4 Dichloro, Ethyl Hexanoate, written briskly, and uncared for.

But despite your apparent unhappiness and deep-rooted sorrow, you lifted your head forward and listened to the lesson in front of you.

"You seriously need to loosen up," said Kai, her head faced towards you. "When was the last time you danced to music alone in your bedroom?"

You thought about it for a second.

She sighed.

"You're so sad," she sighed once more and patted your head. "Poor baby."

She brought her hand down from the crown of your head, arm now resting on your shoulders as she brought you in closer.

"I'm gonna get you laid tonight," she said with conviction. You looked at her profile, absolutely bewildered.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"That's right," she nodded her head in content. "You're having sex tonight, just leave it to me."

"Shouldn't we work on having me dance to music alone in my bedroom first?" you countered.

"Even better," she grinned at you with the type of grin your primary teachers warned you about. You know, those creepy man smiles that you should run away from when faced with in a dark, ominous alley? "I'm taking you to a bar."

You could feel Mrs. Peterson screaming at you to run.

But nobody really listened to Mrs. Peterson. Sorry.

You sighed once more at your beaming friend and nodded your head slowly.

"Whatever," you finally said. Attention spanning back to the lecture in front of you as you turned your head. "After the class ends."

Kai smiled and leaned back into her chair, legs crossing and folded arms supporting her head from behind. She looked utterly satisfied.

"Alright Karen," she said.

"My name is not Karen," you grumbled.

"Then stop being such a Karen and let me have my fun," she closed her eyes and smiled. Totally abandoning the lecture playing out before her. Chemistry was all just a bunch of bullshit anyway.

scene two; black eyes

Ambient lighting and muffled voices were what greeted you and Kai as you both entered the bar. The light that shone down above you cast an evanescent sheen across the tiny, hidden bar.

You fumbled in with your red dress and heeled boots, bridging the edge of comfortable and painfully exposed. It’s been years since you've last worn a dress.

"Are you sure this isn't some kind of ancient speakeasy?" you asked Kai, uneasy.

"A speakeasy for bands and stuff sure," she shrugged. "Sadly, no dancing flapper girls, so sorry to disappoint."

You nodded and started heading towards the bar. No matter how badly you wanted to keep up the 'holier than thou' attitude, college was rough and unforgiving.

You ordered your drink and sat down on the stool, Kai following you shortly after as she sat beside you.

"I heard there's gonna be a good band playing tonight," she rings up the bartender and orders a drink.

She takes one look at your drooping face and sighed, her hand coming up to massage your shoulder.

"Loosen up," she takes a sip from her drink, "just for tonight, okay?"

You sighed and nodded timidly, copying her as you took a swig of your own drink.

"Looks like they're almost up," she taps your shoulder. "Mr. Compress is about to introduce them."

"Mister wha—" she shushes you before you could continue, leaving you no other choice but to sigh and watch.

The man with the strange name took center-stage with the microphone in his hand. The crowd seemed to know who he was, for they cheered and started gathering at the front of the stage.

"Let's go take a closer look too," Kai stood up and started dragging you with her. "Take your drink with you."

You looked at the already half-empty glass and shrugged, opting to chug it down instead. You finished your drink and walked with Kai towards the pit of people, still confused about what exactly was going on.

The strangely named man started to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he threw his free hand in the air by his side flamboyantly. "What an incredible pleasure to have you all here tonight. I am delighted to see some familiar faces, and some new ones too."

He grinned.

"I'm sure a lot of you are here to relieve some stress, no?" he asked, and the crowd cheered in affirmation. The man chuckled and continued;

"Well, I best not keep my wonderful patrons waiting then." The crowd cheered louder. "Without further delay, may I present to you, The Villain League!"

The crowd roared as four people took the stage, varied instruments at their disposal, but the one that caught your eye was the one that stood at the center, a guitarist, and a good looking one at that.

He was mostly dressed in dark clothing, aside from the white t-shirt he wore under his long coat. His features were hidden beneath the shadow cast by the dimmed lights.

And that was when the music started.

Electric guitar blinded your senses and opened your eyes. The exhilarating sound numbed the nerves that coursed through your entire body. Every hair on your body stood on its roots, awakened by the new thrill of music.

The lights turned on to the max, and the crowd went wild. Hands flew up in the air, the drinks in the opposite limb gambling on the edge of death.

It was music like you've never heard before.

"Holy shit," you said to yourself, the alcohol in your system taking its effect.

The man in the middle started singing, and you gasped as you took in the rest of his features. A good portion of his face and neck were covered in burn marks, as well as the top of his torso, which then spread across his arms. You awed.

How could someone who looked so damaged be so perfect?

Your eyes watched in wonder as your ears listened with delight. You made a mental note to thank Kai for dragging you into one of the best nights of your life.

So this is what college was supposed to be like.

You smiled, feeling the bricks fall off your shoulders. You stood straighter as your eyes opened wider, and shined even brighter.

This is so awesome.

You threw your hands in the air and let out a scream with the rest of the crowd. Kai catches sight of this and follows along with your mania, a laugh escaping her lips.

You were enjoying the aura of absolute chaos, but nothing had prepared you the moment your eyes caught his, staring right back at you. His mouth formed a devilish smile that made all the heat rush through your body in mere seconds.

"The girl in the red dress," he said into the microphone. Your eyes widened in unalloyed shock as they caught sight of the mischievous glint in his own. "Come out on stage with us."

What the fuck?

The crowd cheered louder and started to look around to find who he was referring to. They soon caught sight of you, who was still calculating the odds of you being the only girl in red.

The sea of people parted and formed a direct path from you to the stage, and you were honestly shell shocked.

Kai laughed and cheered you on.

"Congrats Karen, you've officially been promoted to Moses!" she cheered even louder.

"What, I—" you sputtered out.

Kai took her left hand and smacked your back, forcing you to stumble forward.

"Go!" she yelled at you through the howls of the crowd. "Get. Fucking. Laid!"

At that, the crowd burst into an explosion of screams. Whistles and hoots were all that was heard as your shaking legs made its way towards the stage.

You eventually made it to the edge, and the enigmatic guitarist leaned down to help you. Grasping your hand firmly in his, he hoisted you up easily.

"What's your name?" he leaned into your ear as he said it, his steady voice combating all other noises, and winning.

"Y/N," you said right back into his ear, a shiver coursing through your body as the current situation was doing its number on your sanity.

"Nice shoes Y/N," he said cooly, and your head started spinning.

"Uh, thank you—"

"Let's have a good time together," he smirked at you, who blushed madly.

You looked over at the rest of his bandmates. A young girl with a blonde fringe manning the second electric guitar, she looked at you and grinned widely at you. Eyes smiled shut and tongue jutting out, she threw you a peace sign in welcome.

You looked behind you and saw a strange-looking man playing both the bass and keyboard. You made eye contact with him and he smiled, only for him to completely change his expression and give you the stink-eye, much to your confusion and anxiety.

Finally, you looked over at the drummer who had dead-looking baby blue hair; he glanced at you and nodded briefly in acknowledgment.

"Don't mind the last two," the mysterious guitarist chuckled, "they're a lot more decent than they seem."

You nodded and smiled at him.

"So," he started. "Care to join in on the fun?"

You took a deep breath.

"Okay."

It was funny how you had started with not even being able to dance alone in your room. And now here you were, dancing along with countless strangers to music you never felt before.

scene three; ilysb

"You're new here, right?" the man said. He was sitting across from you with his head resting on his hand. His piercing blue eyes were focused only on you.

It had been about an hour since you stepped foot inside the hidden bar and thirty minutes since you were standing on stage with the band having the time of your life.

You looked over to the stage and saw your drunk friend Kai singing 'I Kissed a Girl,' microphone in her hands as she belted her heart out to the cheering crowd.

You couldn't help but chuckle, before turning your attention back to the enigmatic man staring intently at you.

"That's not slightly creepy at all," you answered jokingly.

The man chuckled slyly.

"I play here almost every night," he retorted coolly. "I would have definitely remembered you if you weren't new."

You nodded. Smooth.

"Fuck men!" you turned around to find Kai screaming into the microphone, one hand on the microphone stand and the other on the microphone itself. You sighed at the common occurrence.

"Fun friend you got," the man with burn marks said, attention also brought over to your crazed friend.

You sighed and nodded.

"I'm this close to dropping her," you said with no conviction.

He seemed to have caught on to your tone and answered accordingly.

"But you never will," he said.

"Yup," you nodded once more.

You looked over to him again, the alcohol in your body taking full effect.

"Wanna get out of here?" you asked him.

He looked at you with his eyebrow raised, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"And abandon your fun friend?" he asked you.

"Yes," you looked at him straight in the eyes as you said it.

"Sounds fun," he said, already standing up from his seat.

You followed suit, casting your drunk friend one last look before following the strange man out of the small speakeasy.

The cold night air greeted your body that clung tightly onto the limited warmth of your sweater jacket. You walked idly with the man standing beside you, the streets painted a dark vignette by the evening sky. The night suited him, you thought.

You let out a deep exhale which invaded the darkness with its cold color, the hues fighting until the dull white was engulfed by the overwhelming darkness of nightfall.

You looked up at the stars that were scattered across the sky, their white twinkle enrapturing the night sky with its light and color. Their light so bright that it couldn't be overthrown by the darkness of black. Instead, they were displayed up in the sky, allowed to show off their beauty with no restraints.

"Orion's in the sky," you observed quietly.

The man turned over to look at you.

"The constellation?" he asked as he too tilted his head up to watch the night sky.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I can't find the Pleiades, though."

Absentmindedly, your feet started moving in hopes to catch sight of the constellation. The dark-haired man watched you quizzically.

"Do you really think moving around will make them appear?" he asked you, who was now trudging farther and farther away. He sighed and started following you.

"There're so many buildings around," you groaned in your drunken state. "Can't a girl just see her stars when she wants to?"

He tilted his head in slight amusement and chuckled lowly.

"If it's the buildings you're worried about, I know where there's a field," he said. You turned around instantly.

"Show me this field, good sir."

"It's this way," he tilted his head over to the right, feet already walking towards its direction. You followed him, skipping.

You eventually were led towards an open field located on a small hill in the park. Wow, we had a park?

"Woah," you said in wonder. Your arms flying up from your sides as you spun around the grass, hair dancing in the breeze from your movements.

The man just watched you curiously, a small smile of endearment flickering on his lips.

You let out a big sigh of contempt and threw yourself down onto the grass floor, feeling at peace as the earthly bodies embraced you. The man who led you here followed suit, leaving little to no distance between your two figures as he laid down beside you.

"Can you see the Pleiades now?" he asked from beside you.

You looked up and examined the heavens, and your eye immediately catches the open star cluster that painted the sky. A gasp escapes your lips as you point up at the constellation you were looking for.

"There they are!" you squealed slightly, unable to control your excitement in your drunken state.

"Why'd you want to see them so badly?" he looked at you and asked.

"If you catch sight of Orion, then you're most likely gonna find the Pleiades too." You started, eyes focused eagerly on the stars. "There's this whole story behind them you know, about Orion and the Seven Sisters.

"It was said by Greek mythology that Orion fell in love with the sisters, and pined over them for 12 years. He would always chase after them in hopes that they would become his someday. But that was until one day Zeus decided to turn him and the sisters into stars. So Orion could chase them forever for the rest of eternity but never once be able to touch them."

"Wow," he said from beside you.

"Yeah," you said from beside him.

"You said they were the Seven Sisters," he said.

"Yeah?" you turned your head over to look at him, his eyes seemingly glowing under the star studded sky.

"But I can only see six at most," he stated.

"Oh," you turned your head back to the sky. "That's because those are the only ones visible to the naked eye. If you look through a telescope, a dozen more stars are visible."

"Is there a story behind that, too?" he asked.

"Yup," you stated and continued. "According to storytellers, Merope— one of the sisters, is hiding her face because she's the only one of the sisters who married a mortal and thus isn't respected for it.

"Her husband, Sisyphus isn't represented in the night sky either, cause he was condemned by Zeus to forever roll a stone up a hill in Hades only to watch it roll down again when he almost gets it to the top."

"That's..." his voice drifted off, "really sad."

You hummed in affirmation.

"You really like astronomy, huh?" he stated. "I'm assuming you're into astrology too?"

"Yeah," you answered.

"So, you're some type of zodiac girl," he said. "How quirky."

You scoffed.

"What type of music are you into?" he suddenly changed the subject, surprising you.

"I don't listen to music that much honestly," you said, surprising him, but not showing it on his face.

"Okay," he said. "Very quirky."

You laughed at yourself.

"Are you okay?" he asked you jokingly, maybe the alcohol was finally starting to get to him too. "Childhood trauma? Emotional baggage? Crazy ex-boyfriend?"

"Traumatizing college life," you said matter-of-factly. "And also just downright not having the time to listen to music."

"Spotify's expensive, too," you added.

"Ever heard of a radio?" he asked.

"Yes, but I can never concentrate on studying when music is on," you said.

"Ah," he said in a moment of realization. "It all makes perfect sense now. What's your major?"

"Organic chemistry," you said.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Makes sense."

"Kindly enlighten me then, cause I can't make sense of anything going on in my life," you said.

"You're a young adult suffering from the expectations and academically-focused constructs of our society," he said.

"Damn," you started. "You're right."

You sighed and placed your attention back at the azure before you.

"The moon's crying," you stated.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"The moon feels sad," you answered vaguely.

"The moon is sad," he stated beside you, eyes now focused onto the heavenly body in question. "The moon's just a broken planet that needs the sun to make it shine."

"Just because it needs help doesn't mean their shine is any less beautiful," you said back.

A long silence passed between the two of you, he looked at you, whose focus was still set onto the night sky. Whatever had you so enchanted by them, he might never know, but as he watched your features bloom with the ethereal sparkle of night, the twinkle in your eyes matching— no, outshining that of the stars you looked so fondly upon, he just sighed softly.

"Whatever you say, zodiac girl."

scene four; still with you

You were walking home with him in the cold night air, wind dancing softly around both of your figures as the gentle shrill tickled your senses.

It was colder than usual, you thought. But maybe that was just from the thrill of not spending your nights like you usually did, alone in your bedroom studying a topic you couldn't care less about. You sighed.

When was the last time you were able to lay down on your bed listening to music?

You were grateful for Kai, who you just realized had been abandoned at the bar she forced you into. You prayed for your survival the following day. You say that, but in the end, you were nonetheless thankful for giving you a college experience other than cramming every day.

You thought about what you would have been doing if you weren't forced into the bar, and laughed at the predictability.

You finally made it to your front door.

"Goodnight," the blue-eyed man said to you.

"Yeah," you said back. "Thanks for walking me home."

He nodded and watched as you made your way over to your front door.

You stopped.

You didn't know if it was the alcohol in your system, the cold night air, the thrilling atmosphere of spontaneity, or all of the above. But right now, you weren't in the mood to answer any multiple-choice questions.

You wanted to live for once. You wanted to feel anything else other than the dread of an upcoming deadline or relief after a grueling exam.

For once, you wanted— needed to be free of the expectations and academically-centered constructs of society. Constructs that you never wanted to question until now.

Even if it was only for tonight, you wanted to do the thing you wanted to do.

Even if it turns into a mistake, you would gladly take it for a few minutes of freedom.

You turned around and ran towards the man whose names you realized you didn't even know. But you were too far gone to be stopped.

Your hands found the side of his face and pulled your faces close, eyes meeting and lips almost touching. You breathed nervously.

"Can I kiss you?" you asked suddenly.

Shock and confusion flickered before his eyes but disappeared just as quickly.

"Sure—" he said, and your lips finally connected.

The kiss lasted for mere seconds until you pulled away, flustered and drunk and confused.

What were you doing?

You turned back around to enter your home and scream at yourself.

How could you just throw yourself at him like that?

But suddenly, his hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards him, connecting your lips once more. You could have sworn you melted.

The kiss lasted much longer, lips moving against one another and breaths being mixed together in the cold night outside your apartment building. Your hands in his hair and his arms around your shaking frame.

You pulled away to catch your breath, your air puffing up in the chilly twilight.

You pulled onto the sleeve of his jacket and led him towards your apartment, rushing past the other tenants and employees, you quickly got on the elevator where more kisses were exchanged in a drunken haze.

The elevator doors opened, and the two of you rushed out with you guiding him to your door.

You hurriedly put in your key, hands slightly shaking, the door opens and you hastily go inside.

He comes into your small apartment and closes the door with his foot, the door meeting the frame with a soft thud. He pushes you against the wall and your lips meet once again.

You didn't know how much time had passed with his lips moving against yours and hands roaming across your body, the contact sending both heat and shivers to course through your entire being.

His lips moved to your jaw, slowly making its journey down to your neck. Your breath hitched.

Some more time passed with low moans and heavy breathing coming from the both of you, now laying on your twin-sized bed half-naked.

You looked out the window beside your bed and saw the stars and moon staring back at you, illuminating your figures in its magical glow.

It was like time didn't exist when you were engulfed in his arms, his lips peppering your body in kisses and bite marks causing you to moan softly. You wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, with the moonlight shining softly on his features.

Your hands found themselves buried in his soft hair, time passing by faster as more clothes were being discarded around you.

"Y/N..." he said your name softly. His light voice passes by you, sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitched. Having no name to call out to, you whimpered instead. Your bodies intertwined together under the dim light of your apartment, and your heart taking timid steps towards him, tripping and falling deeper and deeper.

It was colder than usual, the low-pitched hum of the air conditioner you forgot to turn off comforting you from afar. Your body shivered more, not used to the sensations. It felt good, it felt really good, but there was something about it that pained you and made you want to fall apart.

The unfamiliarity of the pleasure and sweat clouded your mind and made you think back to the times when you were studying instead. This was far different than the dull absence your mind feels when reviewing all your lessons. But even then, thinking back to the simple emotions that came from your textbooks and notes, maybe these simple feelings were special to you too.

The night progressed further, and time was lost once and for all in the midst of your shared pleasure, the night turning darker as the sparkling sky glowed onto your sweaty figures.

You both reached your climax and breathed heavily, eyes meeting and foreheads touching in what seemed like a hazy afterglow, both your minds fogged and judgments clouded.

Your hand delicately went up to touch his cheek, his eyes shimmering in the glow of the night sky. He looked at you with the faintest smile. Underneath it was painted the most beautiful purple, his broken and damaged face sending your heart into a fit of shooting stars.

His body collapsed next to you on the small bed, arms encasing you tightly against his warm body.

You looked over to the window beside your bed. The sun was slowly rising, and the moon began to fade away into the brightening sky.

You felt your eyes slowly closing, finally giving in to the sleep you denied yourself all night.

Goodbye moon.

And just as the moon left your sky that February sunrise, so did the man who slept next to you that very next day.

#dabi x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha oneshot #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #mha oneshot #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi fanfic #dabi fanfiction #dabi oneshot #happy birthday kaiiii #mwah mwah !!

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littleblackqrow · 3 years

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((I think the most frustrating part of watching people analyze the actions of characters in vol8 is that the biggest complaint is that logic is thrown out the window and I would argue that’s the point. Especially because of the perspective of the show. I really hate to keep picking on Ironwood, Qrow, and RWBY, but those characters are the ones driving the plot, so I guess we gotta.

Lets start with RWBY. They’re kids first off. WBY are all about 19-20 years old and Ruby is 17. Lets start off by saying those are ages not exactly known for smart, long term decision making. Most people that age are trying to figure out what they want to do for the rest of their lives, struggling with college, dates, drinking, sex for the first time. They’re stumbling around in adult bodies while still having more or less the mind of a teenager because society has suddenly stopped treating them like a kid and expects them to be an adult. Except instead of having to struggle with decisions about their near future, RWBY is being asked to save the world. If you think you could handle that pressure well at 17-19, you’re lying.

Does it make their decisions right though? No. The way they treated Ozpin for hiding the worst of his abuse and the fact that his ex-wife was an insane bitch who is functionally immortal is wrong. But again, I ask you, could you handle having all that dumped into your lap in an already stressful situation? The person who should be (and rightly is) condemned for his reaction is Qrow for throwing a punch. No matter how upset you are no hitting. Once you throw a punch in that situation, you’re the bad guy. And until he makes an effort of an apology he’s the bad guy in that situation.

The biggest problem that team RWBY has is that all of their terrible decisions throughout the show have either been rewarded, or the got bailed out from having to see the real consequences.

Ozpin allowed Blake to hide her White Fang past and therefore missed the least subtle component of the Fall of Beacon. Things could have been significantly less bad if he’d known about their involvement and was able to send Qrow in to spy on their operations. Maybe he could have figured out what Roman or Adam was up to, realized they were working for Cinder and by extension Salem.

Ozpin allowed team RWBY to do a mission that was a couple grades too advanced for them because he knew they’d break the rules otherwise. That was a tacit acknowledgement that he thought whatever they were up to was alright, and that they had his blessings on whatever it was that they wanted to do.

The best example of terrible decision after terrible decision that RWBYJNR makes is Argus. They have no idea how they’re getting the Relic to Atlas, and they seem road blocked. Jaune suggests stealing an airship, and Qrow, the adult in the room tells them that this is a bad idea, and if it goes bad it has the potential to screw up their entire life. He’s right. The problem is that he’d run off on his bender, and therefore the kids, and we in the audience, are supposed to see this as an unreasonable suggestion.

However, it plays out as him being right. The incredibly complicated plan did go wrong. Now, they had no reason to suspect at the time that Adam was stalking Blake at the time (and I could go into why thats perfectly ic for him at another date), but there were a lot of moving parts in this plan and literally any of them could have broken. Everything that happened after they put this plan into motion was reactionary. Cordovan, obsessed with showing the Might of Atlas (TM), jumped into the mech suit. At that point, Ruby didnt really have a choice of not breaking it. But the ensuing fight created enough general unease that it summoned a Grimm hoard.

By rights, Argus should have fallen because of their bad decisions and in spire of their best efforts. Instead, Cordovan had a change of heart at the last moment and bailed them out.

This just reinforced the flawed idea that RWBY is always in the right and directly lead to s7′s climax. They are the unstoppable force.

Now you have Ironwood, quite literally the unmovable object, which I now realize is sort of his name. Ha.

Ironwood’s behavior does not come out of nowhere. Since his appearance, he’s had problem stamped all over him. He showed up with an entire goddamn army to a supposedly peaceful event that is to promote unity and the excellence of each kingdom. His rationale is that the people are going to be impressed with his big guns and feel safe. Ozpin gently points out that those big guns also signal to people that there is something out there that those big guns are designed to shoot.

If its not a Grimm, could it mean that Atlas intends to shoot people?

Remember we’re not even 100 years out from the last World War, one that was basically started by Atlas. People are nervous. There are still grandparents and great grandparents alive today that were kids when the Great War was happening. Not only that but we’re also made aware that Atlas has rolled in the apolitical protectors of the people, the Huntsmen, into its military. This elite fighting force that is basically above the law and can go to any country in the world whenever they want, is now part of the military. The ONLY standing military that Remnant seems to have.

All of this has obviously caused friction in the Inner Circle. Qrow is not quite and never has been quiet about his disdain for James’ heavy handed techniques. Glynda calls James’ actions a dick measuring competition, and Ozpin was trying to be gentle about it, but he was clearly telling Ironwood to get his army off his fucking front lawn. And what did Ironwood do? He’d gone around Ozpin and talked to the Vale council. They were threatening to remove Oz fro his position because they agreed with Ironwood: he was being too passive. Ironwood even tells Glynda that he cant believe that a man he trusted for so long would just sit by and stand to the side instead of meeting the problem head on. He didnt seem to understand why Qrow would want to go gather intelligence on an operation before sending in the big guns.

Ironwood has never been a man to put a well thought out plan with all his ducks in a row into motion. This is a man who plows through opposition at every opportunity.

And when we see him again, we can see him steamrolling through opposition again. Somehow he got himself two seats on the council. That gives him an enormous amount of power. And his position as general means that at any point he can declare an emergency and become the de facto dictator of Atlas if he deems it fit. The problem is that he’s having these arguments against Jacques Schnee a man that the audience rightly hates, so he seems reasonable. Who gives a fuck about Jacques loosing business, he’s a dickhead. We’re not noticing the fact that James is consolidating power, or that he’s using that power to make unilateral decisions with no one telling him no.

There’s no one left in the room who is able or willing to tell him that these are bad ideas, that there will be consequences that he cant foresee. His bullish behavior lead to both Robyn Hill and Jacques Schnee running for an empty council seat, and that created the environment that we walked into in s7.

Now, not all James’ ideas are bad. The Amity Project is actually a really good one, and James is right in wanting to keep it from the general public until its near completion. But you know who should have known? The other fucking council members. Probably the candidates. Playing your cards too close to the chest when you clearly need help and allies is a bad thing. But again, James didnt even trust Ozpin to be able to run his own kingdom, so durr hurr of course he’s the only one who can take care of Amity. And run a kingdom. And run an academy. And protect an ageing, ailing Maiden. And of course he doesnt have time to treat his horrific PTSD from the Fall of Beacon.

So when things go tits up because again, of course they will with a plan that complex James Ironwood doubles the fuck down on his terrible solo decision making. Clearly, non of this is his fault. No one is listening to him. He cannot trust others to make decisions so he’s going to make all of them. There’s no one around him to tell him no, especially because the first person that tried was publicly executed.

James is scared. He’s had a mental break because of that fear. His paranoia, his PTSD, and the fact that there’s nothing there to help him back to stability means that he’s just going to be bouncing from one terrible choice to the next. He’s Hamlet in the throes of paranoia, heading down a road that is going to get everyone, including himself killed. He is King Lear as the world crumbles around him, acting cruel and making unreasonable, horrible demands of those around him.

Working with Watts seems like an absolutely terrible idea, but to someone who thinks that he is in control of the situation because he has to be in order to keep functioning, there’s no way that this can bite him in the ass. For James, if no one is willing to follow his orders, he’s going to make them. This attitude is probably exactly why Watts did what he did and joined Salem in the first place.

So when you combine the unstoppable force of Team RWBY, who’s been told they’re the child saviors of the world, and who’ve been either rewarded or bailed out of their bad decisions against the immovable object of Ironwood and his absolute conviction in himself, you have the mess Atlas is in now.

Honestly I find it kind of brilliant.

#headcanon #rwby meta #ok to reblog

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