#Vendetta Langdon

[basilone]

Sometimes, war is the province of women. An alternate take on the battle for air dominance over the skies of Europe during World War Two, as told through the stories of an American all-female bomber crew and the people around them.

This is a collection of standalone works that all interlock to form one big patchwork quilt of stories. It will see new additions every so often, especially because a lot of it is written to prompts. The collection on AO3 is my best attempt at organizing it in chronological order.

[click here for the WIP story collection!]

Want to know a little more about the OCs featured in this collection? Please click the readmore below!

Charlotte “Lottie” Rivers-Mayhew Fighter pilot turned bomber pilot Can fly anything, will try anything. Big mouth, little heart. Lives in the land of innuendo and crude jokes. Loud about her whole existence. Very smart, but downplays that like whoa. Julie “Jules” Langdon Bomber pilot Runs this gig and everyone else just needs to get with her program. Great at reading people the riot act. Comically unimpressed by everything that lands in her path. Nosewrinkles at any and all delays. Known for slipping people an extra bite to eat. Christina “Tiny” Heartfield Bomber co-pilot Needs five hours to get ready for any kind of social event. Silver spoon baby. Knows all the gossip and all the good songs. Gets a little bit stressed about flying in warzones. Loves a good ghost story. Eleanor “Nora” Graham Navigator The Mom Friend. Prone to giving hugs and peptalks. Bossy and quite rude when things don’t go her way. Cannot flirt her way out of anything. If you see her running, that’s just standard procedure. Valerie “Val” Hodges Radio operator Absolute poker-faced ballsy liar. Most innocent face in the whole crew. Smokes more than her job should allow. Will try to wiggle out of any lectures by offering the most inane excuses. There’s not a puzzle she can’t solve. Genevieve “Two” Hodgson Tail gunner Shows up late to everything except the war. Always chewing gum. Queen of half-hearted salutes and vague politeness. Keeps saying she’s too poor for this level of bullshit. Has a mean right hook. Madeleine “Push” Perrault Flight engineer Making lists calms her down. Can and will call you stupid in four different languages. Thinks planes are better than people. Voice like a foghorn with the attitude to match. Believes she can fix anything. Evelyn “One-Eye” Carter Ball turret gunner Happy-go-lucky baby of the group, rolling with life’s punches. Will talk your ear off. Could probably get away with murder. Best gunner in the crew. Can be painfully naïve. Dorothy “Dee” Llewellyn Waist gunner Born a pessimist. Genuinely thinks no man should ever sport a mustache. Has a limitless supply of stories about her family. Very protective. Would inspire a riot if anyone ever let her talk long enough without interruptions. Maxine “Max” Morrison Waist gunner Bold and brash and crackling with energy. Cracks more bad jokes than anyone alive. Has developed some rather complicated handshakes. Will interrupt any event or conversation. If you see her running, something’s probably chasing her. Stella “Frosty” Lombardi Bombardier Icy calm in any crisis. Can calculate any bomb drop. Complains about the food. Is a true girl’s girl and refuses to so much as speak to most men. Never wants to miss out on the fun.

Lucille Dorrance-Jones, goes by Lucy Jones Nurse The singlemost stubborn person on the planet. Thinks some injuries are fascinating. Harbors a healthy distrust of bureaucracy and paperwork. Can probably drink you under the table. Encourages anyone to sing. Cressida Dorrance-Jones Interrogator Sharp as a tack. Does not forgive, does not forget. Secretly more big-hearted than people would give her credit for. Really wants to fly a plane. Has an ongoing one-sided vendetta with Meatball. Darlene Mayfair Mechanic Cheerful and spirited. Very gifted storyteller. Turns shy when complimented. Ride or die for people and sticks with them longer than they might deserve. Marches to the beat of her own drum. Georgina “George” Campbell Mechanic Has a soft spot for strays. Suffers no fools. Is here to win a war, not ogle cute men. Perpetually fighting a losing battle against the grease stains on her uniform. The best co-conspirator you could ask for. Imogene “Genie” Chapman Clubmobile girl Very outgoing people-person. Better at giving advice than at taking it. Designated hair-cutter. Loves movies and dancing. Knows just about anybody by name. Jack Ellis OSS Doesn’t miss a beat. No-nonsense natural leader. Very determined to do what he believes is the right thing. Talks about the war in terms of “the game”. Warm and caring once he lets his guard down.

[sapphire-weapon]

Hey so... Capcom hates unions, right? If this is the case... I'm kinda wondering if Stephanie even works with them any more.

See, the past couple of years she's been posting stuff on her Instagram stories about strikes and picketing. Not even just with the recent video game VA ones. The SAG-AFTRA stuff. IIRC she even stopped promoting Death Island stuff for a little while there. This is all good, don't get me wrong... all the AI bullshit needs to stop and I'm ecstatic she's being vocal about it.

As far as I've seen, other RE VAs haven't been posting anything about any of that. I could be wrong about this however.

But this could explain why she's been a little more bold with her statements about stuff lately. And when people asked if Claire was going to be in RE9 she said something like, "Oh they're making that?" Like, she maybe legitimately didn't know they were.

Isn't this the reason why they stopped using the last VA for Claire too? Or am I wrong?

Plus, even if she was replaced, we wouldn't know until the next game or movie comes out or is close to coming out since this seems to be the pattern recently.

Again, I'm probably looking too much into this but I just saw someone else talking about Capcom and unions and IDK... got me thinking.

so... this is something that's been lost to time in a game of telephone. it's something i've even been guilty of perpetuating and only just now realized that i fucked up by perpetuating it when i looked it up to refresh myself on what happened.

alyson court came out in 2017 and said that she would not be returning as claire for RE2make and said that capcom had decided to go with non-union actors instead. paul mercier then also came out and backed up her statement -- that he would not be returning as leon. alyson then made a follow-up video stating that this was NOT related to the recent voice actors strike. it was simply about contracting. basically, capcom shopped around until they found actors they liked that were willing to work at a price that capcom was willing to pay. alyson said that it was extremely disappointing that capcom wasn't willing to pay actors a working wage.

but despite alyson's clarifications, the damage had already been done. what was intended as "i was union-protected to ask for a certain amount of money, and capcom wasn't willing to pay it" morphed into "CAPCOM WILL NO LONGER WORK WITH UNION ACTORS."

but that's patently untrue.

because they kept on matt mercer for both vendetta and DI despite him having always been in the union.

capcom also pays top dollar for union actors in devil may cry. reuben langdon (dante), dan southworth (vergil), and johnny young bosch (nero) are all union actors.

hirabayashi has come out and told us that RE2make was built on a very tight budget due to capcom's lack of faith in the project, so it makes sense that they decided to cut costs where they could -- including when it came to voice acting.

so, really, capcom is willing to work with union actors... but only when they see the cost benefit for doing so.

if steph is no longer voicing claire, it won't be because she's in a union. it'll be because capcom doesn't feel she's worth the money anymore.

but her lack of knowledge of RE9 has nothing to do with her still being in capcom's good graces. as far as we know from leaks, claire isn't in RE9. and if claire isn't in RE9, why the fuck would steph know about its existence? game companies don't contact every single main cast actor in a series and update them every single time a new project is underway. only people who are working on the project know about it.

so, unfortunately, the likeliest explanation remains: stephanie panisello is just an asshole.

good question, tho. good ask.

[ajsbookreviews]

Angels and Demons Book Review

Angels & Demons

Author: Dan Brown

Description: When a world renowned scientist is found brutally murdered in a Swiss research facility, a Harvard professor, Robert Langdon, is summoned to identify the mysterious symbol seared onto the dead man's chest. His baffling conclusion: it is the work of the Illuminati, a secret brotherhood presumed extinct for nearly four hundred years - reborn to continue their bitter vendetta against their sworn enemy, the Catholic church. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

WARNING! Medium spoilers ahead. It’s difficult not to broach things that occurred without spoiling, but the context is relevant for my points to get across. 

Review: It’s been a long time since I last read a Dan Brown book, but I remember vividly being completely in awe of how amazing it was. However, Angels & Demons was… a different experience. 

The Robert Langdon movie adaptations have always fascinated me. To say that I’ve watched Angels & Demons at least 20 times is an understatement, being as it is my favourite out of the three releases. Maybe that was my misstake. Maybe Dan Brown books are just meant to be read without any previous knowledge, the surprise factor being key to the whole experience. Maybe my subconscious expectations were too high. 

The storyline of Angels & Demons is incredible, mixing the intricacies and mysteries of Christianity with calculated, dangerous science. The thing about new science and technology however, is that it gets outdated fast. Many of the things mentioned that are ”impossible” are practically child’s play nowadays. Maybe not everybody knows about antimatter, but if you study science in High School you’ve got to at least have heard of it. Additionally, it’s ridiculous that computers can’t make ambigrams! Or, from a writer’s perspective, that there will never be a time in the future where ambigrams will be very easy to procure. I’m sure Dan Brown meant this book to be based in the year 2000, but, personally, it threw me completely off the loop that it was so profoundly based on ”new impossible technology” that didn’t hold up in the real world. 

Another thing I found quite annoying, even more so than the previous point, was the constant media presence and its main characters. I did not like the story’s angle from their perspective. It was quite boring and, of course after seeing how they did it in the movie, pretty unnecessary the quantity of pages it got. The journalist was a horrid character, not likeable in the least, and the camerawoman, who seemed to be the only one who caught my interest, fell flat halfway through. 

Remaining characters were quite bland as well. Langdon lacked charisma, Olivetti was dislikable but then grew on me and Richter seemed for far too long like a side-side-side character that didn’t really culminate in something truly relevant. Yet Vittoria and Chartrand were great. 

Although, nothing beats the awfully written Hassasin. Why was it necessary to make him a sexual predator? Was it truly relevant for the plot? It certainly doesn’t further it, rather it drives from it and loses it’s focus. Also – and maybe it’s just me – but him being Muslim was a weird trait. There was not any true significance to it other than make him brown-skinned and giving him an accent. Why would a Muslim man work for the Illuminati? Wasn’t he religious himself? If not, then why make a big deal of him being Muslim? And if he was, why would he help a satanic group that actively denounces God himself? I’d understand if he was just ”doing a job”, not really caring for who contracted him, but it’s written like he almost worships the brotherhood. It just… did not sit right with me. 

Which leads me to the Camarlengo’s speech when he broke conclave… I have never read such religious propaganda in a literature novel before and my eyes rolled so far back it hurt my skull. Yes, it’s the year 2000, but please make it at least seem believable. There’s absolutely no way that the other Cardinal’s would just go along with a Camarlengo breaking conclave, having a 10 minute speech and on top of that bring media presence, who were reporting everything LIVE, into conclave! The previously reserved, mature Camarlengo completely blew his cover for the reader. It became much too obvious that he was involved, thus the later plot twist had no impact. It felt so forced, with Dan Brown writing over and over again how amazing, brilliant, smart and valiant the Camarlengo was for standing up, all from different perspectives to ensure unanimity. 

What had been a solid 6 in my mind plummeted to a generous 3 out of 10. 

Nevertheless, one of the few things that holds this book up is Dan Brown’s writing style. I understand it’s not for everybody, but it is for me. The quick pace, the change of perspective… I like it. However, the action scenes were not well planned nor well written. They were messy, hard to follow and sometimes made absolutely no sense. For example, the fact that Vittoria didn’t go with Langdon to help Cardinal Guidera when he was branded but instead chose to wander around the church. Yes, she saw a man literally being burned to death and instead took a stroll around to see what else was going on. Langdon immediately ran to help, yet she didn’t. Besides being lazy writing, it felt completely out of character for her. 

Lastly, the ending. I… What a way to really nail this book in its grave. It was bad. Too convoluted and took away too much of the significance of the plot throughout. There was no gratification, no satisfaction to it. After everything that happened, it all boiled down to… a miscommunication? Are you for real? 

There’s not much left to say. I can’t with good conscience recommend this book, for its adaptation is far superior. All of the incredible aspects are well reflected in the movie and the insufferable ones thankfully omitted. Maybe I shouldn’t have read the book after watching the movie. Nonetheless, I’m sure I still would’ve found the movie much more enjoyable either way. 

[darling-i-read-it]

Hey😘 Hope you're having a great day! Can i request some headcanons for Bruce Wayne(Christian Bale), Michael Langdon, V(V for Vendetta), Will Graham and Spencer Reid's reaction if they girlfriend make a prank on them (not with a camera) and say "i know bye" instead of "i love you too" after they said "i love you bye" when they are leaving to house? She doesn't look mad of something but she doesn't say "i love you" back even if they repeat themselves. (She tells it was a prank in the end) i am sorry if it's too complicated.

Hi babes! I hope I understood you, I was a little confused at first so I'm sorry if this wasn't what you envisioned! Also, I don't write for V right now (everything with a red x emoji on my masterlist I'm not writing for right now!) but I did everyone else! This is my first time writing Spencer so I hope it was alright :)

- Bruce was busy working in the batcave when you were about to leave

- you were just hanging out with him down there, watching him get things done and helping him out here and there

- he liked it when you were around, he found you were a nice buffer to his actual work

- he was focused on the organization when you got up, stating that you had to leave for the afternoon and try to get work done

- he didn't look up and said "Alright, I love you"

- you started your walk up the stairs and said, "I know!"

- your words echoed off the cave walls

- it took him a moment to process and you tried to hold in your laughter as you kept walking up the stairs

- he picked his head up and looked at the stairs but you were gone

- "Sorry what was that babe?!" he yelled

- "I said I love you too Bruce!"

- "That's what I thought you said"

- Michael was in the Outpost with you and you couldn't really leave that place

- the two of you were in the midst of interviewing everyone, sitting in a confined room with a desk and few chairs

- you stood up from your chair, wipping your clothes off

- he looked up at you, hand still holding a pen, hair flowing down his shoulders perfectly

- "I'm going to try and sleep" you explained

- he nodded and then looked back down at his papers gracefully before saying, "Okay dear. I love you."

- you nodded and turned to the door, opening it slowly

- "I know, goodbye love."

- you shut the door behind you quickly, a small smile on your face as you started to walk down the hallway

- he noticed right away and stood up quickly, walking to the door and opening it swiftly

- you were leaning against the hallway door facing him with a smile on your face

- "I love you as well."

- he nodded curtly and turned back to the room

- you were simply in his home together, the dogs piled around on the floor while the two of you simply coexisted

- you checked your watch and realized it was about time that you left for the night so you could both get some sleep

- you stood up, explaining that you needed to leave and he stood up to hug and kiss you to say goodbye

- you did all that jazz and said goodbye to the dogs

- "Have a goodnight, I love you" he said sleepily

- you nodded and turned to leave out the door

- "I know, bye bubba"

- he was so tired that he didn't register until you were off the porch

- "You wanna try that again?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe

- "I love you too Will" you said cheekily, turning to him with a big grin

- he nodded happily and waved before going back inside to get some sleep

- you didn't like to leave Spencer on the late nights in the office and he didn't like to leave you either

- but you were forcing him out to get some sleep

- you had a couple more papers to do and then you would come and meet him at the apartment you shared

- you threw his jacket at him as he started to leave the office

- "Please be safe," he said kissing your forehead, "Get home soon. I love you."

- you smiled warmly and nodded

- "I know Spence"

- he gave you a confused look and then smiled a little bit but the confusion was still there

- "That's not what you usually say," he said

- the elevator was about to close on him but he held up his hand to stop it

- "I love you too Spencer."

- he nodded pleasantly as the door started to shut

- "I'll see you soon!"

[ultimaxell]

Our Darkest Days : Vampire AU

Sometimes…. Saho wondered if he even had a heart anymore.

It was more than just the fact he could no longer feel, could no longer see the colors he knew ran so vividly through the world, a memory painted in the, admittedly, flawed spectrum his mortal mind had, More than just the missing emotions he knew she should be there, knew he should be feeling but instead of their rampant appeal, he felt nothing but an aching hole in his chest, another reminder of what used to be. He loved his father, He loved his brothers, his friends. He loved them, with every aching fiber in his soul, but he could not feel it, could not feel the burning attachment that he knew was there…. And Yet still, he acted on it, played into like most Vampires did, only his was strengthened by the longing the dwelled within him, that longing for both emotion and the people they were attached to. Saho wanted Amun… He wanted Alta.

He supposed that was the human remains in him, the side of him that had died thousands of years ago when his father had brought fangs to flesh and turned him from a peasant misfit to a king. He could remember seeing in color, could remember the feelings that rushed through him, new, hot, vivid, only to be taken away after one hundred short years, all color fading along with his joy, his happiness, anything light in him. He had been told it was normal, told this was the way a vampires worked, and after thousands of years, Saho had accepted that. It didn’t matter so much anymore, and he even began to appreciate it, content that his chest no longer swelled with sympathy, no longer felt any empathy for those under him.

It was in moments like these, in the flickering candle light of what they had deemed the throne room, his back pressed against the high raised chair with, what looked to him like murky grey but was actually a vivid blue cushions comforting his body, that the thought rose up again, the question he held no answer to and did not really care to.

What what the price of immortality?

Was it simply your humanity, or was it possible that it was the very beating heart that lay in you chest? Sure, it beat against his hand as he held a curious hand over it, his eyes hooded, shadowed as he felt it’s rhythmic thump in one, two, threes, but his question laid more with the ‘heart’ or had he given that up, Handed it to his father In exchange for immortality and power that now sang through his veins? It wasn’t a question he wondered often. In truth, Saho was content with how his life was playing out, in what it was that he could do, what power he held over people and their thoughts. He knew what he was, a Vampire, a king, and most days it gave him a strong vivid surge of enjoyment to see people beg him for small things, a loan, a day… their lives, and their vigorous fear only proved to him what he already knew…. That he was made to be a king.

But sometimes he wondered what price had paid for such a right, what he had given up to make this his destiny.

The question popped up now, fresh in his mind now, as he stared down the men who had fallen to their knees before him, dark long hair falling in his face as his hands pressed flat against the floor, his body, invisible to other who were looking upon him, shook slightly under the weight of his stare, like his eyes weighed more than his body could handle, a thousand pounds of judgement and promised pain. Saho’s head tilted, his eyes blinking slow as he took the man in, his memory, longer than that of a normal human, could vaguely recall the image of this man standing before him, to promised wealth and reputation to the kings should they simply give him a small loan.

Saho had known that he would not be able to hold up the loan that he had given to him. He had know this was how it would end, that the man, so cocky before, so arrogant, so sure, would end up here once more, begging, pleading with him to give him just that one more chance, that if he just gave him a little more time, he could make him double, no triple what Saho had dished out.

He didn’t realize Saho had never intended for him to make it.

“So you’re telling me, that you have come here, empty handed….. And expect forgiveness?”

The man stiffened, his sobs silencing even as the tears spilled from his eyes. He knew. He knew what it was that was coming, the words that would fall from, his lips even before he said them. Saho knew that if he commanded it, the man would slit his own throat, that all the King had to do…. Was simply say no, and they would know just exactly what that meant. In Reality, Saho didn’t have to say another word, didn’t have to even look up from his worn boots, didn’t have to do more then wave his hand in his direction for all of this to be over...

But it was far more fun to go through formalities.

“What’s that? There is no mumbling in my court.”

The man shivered as Saho’s voice ran over him, his body shaking, trembling. Saho gave him a moment, a few seconds of his prolonged silence, before the quirk in his lips became to hard to hid, the twist of his lips into a wicked grin flashing in his eyes.

“You don’t deserve my Protection any longer. All that you have…. Belongs to me now.”

The man snapped up, just as Saho Lifted his hands…. And snapped his fingers.

The sounds of his screams reverberated through the halls as the men lining the walls, the ones hooded, flashing ravenous eyes snapping toward the man’s figure as he spoke, who responded to Saho’s gestures in an instant, their movements quick, a blur of motion, and all that could be heard was the screams, the splash of blood across stone as they tore into his flesh, the sight of it hidden by the splay of limbs, the rush of bodies of starving vampire fledglings flailing and covering the sight of the body being torn apart.

Saho only watched, grinning slowly as he leaned back into his chair, his hand coming up to catch his cheek against his knuckles. He settled, tilting his head to the side to allow himself to soak in the screams…. For a moment, anyway.

“So…. you couldn’t have killed him in a normal way…. Like say slitting his throat? Stabbing him with a knife that I know you have on you…. Snapping his neck maybe? You know, like a normal vampire king might have? Do you have to use the starving fledglings? I hate the sounds they make….”

The smile that had been creeping along his lips dulled into a surly pout as Saho turned his head to look at the person who muttered the words lowly, softly, to the point that they were reserved simply and only for him. Saho took a moment to take in the image of the man lying across one of the other thrones, his hands raise so his fore arms rested on his chest, his eyes, blue as the oceans and just as deep, just as vivid, locked on the little cube of what should have been colors that rested in his hands, fingers moving over them to rearrange the smaller squares again and again and again, his expression never changing from his typically bored mask.

Alta Lee was a Formidable man. It didn’t matter that he was currently sitting in a throne with a child’s toy in his hands, It didn’t matter that he had seemingly never allowed his eyes to move from his hands, his fingers that moved easily over the little rubix cube, Saho knew that the brown haired king had seen, heard, processed everything that had transpired with a troubling ease. He didn’t have to look to see the bodies on the ground, didn’t have to look up to know who it was that stood before them and whose blood now painted the ground. A Lee’s business was knowing, and Alta was a picture perfect Lee.

“I like using the fledglings…. What the point of starving them if we can’t use them?” Saho huffed, slipping from his Kingly air for a moment as he huffed back, a child again in a golden crown. Alta huffed, scoffed at the words, his gaze only flickering once toward the black haired boy.

“That would be the point. What’s the point of starving fledglings? It’s almost cruel.”

“As if You care about what’s cruel or not.”

There was a moment of silence as Alta could not say a single thing to that matter. Saho grinned. It wasn’t often he won in a battle of words against the Lee. If he were to keep score (Which he wouldn’t, that would be pointless) Alta would have 18654 wins to his 4.

Including this one.

So he soaked in it a little.

“Next. Shalen Tustin.”

Saho, still reeling in his little victory against Alta, hardly heard the words that the courtkeeper had spoken, the rest of the court’s head turning as the wide double doors opened, revealing a small man with nervous mannerisms, his fingers touching as he shuffled forward, blues eyes flicking toward the fledglings that had returned to lining the sides before moving on to the kings that sat, unamused and imposing, at the head of the throne room. Saho’s head tilted, his mind racing as he tried to bring up some fragment of a memory on this man, but for the life of him, he could not remember.

The man stopped,paused in front of him, and from the corner of his eye, Saho saw Alta move, fingers dropping the rubix cube as he straightened his spine, twisting so that he faced the man with a  visible interest in his stance, something that caught Saho’s attention immediately. Alta didn’t care for court dynamics, and he very, VERY rarely showed any interest in anyone who walked in. Infact, Alta made it a point to simply ignore almost everything that was going on before him when it came to the days he had to hear what the public had to say, choosing to play some sort of childish game or ignoring everything around him. To capture Alta’s attention was something extraordinary, and now they whole heartedly had his attention as well.

“Why are you here, Mr. Tustin?”

The man shifted, mumbled something under his  breath as his gaze slid along the ground. Saho could hear Alta starting to shift again, and he knew from experience a restless Alta was not a Alta that anyone really wanted to deal with. It really wasn’t a matter on if he could hear him or not. Saho was, if not just a king, but a Dhouti, one of the strongest lines of Vampires, turned by by the originals themselves and holding their blood. He could hear him, perfectly, hear the words that slid past his lips, but Saho wanted to hear him articulate. He gave no special treatment, even to those that interested him.

“Why are you HERE, Mr. Tustin. I can’t be bothered to try and hear you if you want to whisper.”

“MY DEBT! I’m here…. I’m here to settle my Debt.”

“And what do you think you have that might interest me?”

There was a silence, before the man before them seemed to steel, and his eyes hardened as more people stumbled through the open doors. His voice was clear now, his mind already made up, long before he had even set foot before the Kings.

“My Daughter, Caven.”

And there was that human nature, the nature of loyalty so easily broken in the fragile creatures that made up most of the world's population. Saho blinked, his expression betraying nothing. He could not deny that he had expected something of the sort, the man's fortune, his house, his servitude, but to off his own daughter as repayment for a debt was something that saho had very rarely heard. He moved, shifting slightly as his gaze narrowed, the grin twisting his features, black and blue strands falling into mismatched eyes as he breathed his question, a simple one with a hopefully interesting answer.

“Tell me, why would your daughter be worth your debt?”

--------------------------

Vampire males, any of the males of the Originals blood without a lifemate, without their one, didn't dream. They didn't see in color and they certainly didn't feel emotion. Pain, yes, but not any good emotion. So why had he been reaching for a dream for the past few years? He was an ancient, an experienced warrior. He had no time for fantasy, or for imagination. His world was stark and barren, a necessity for battling an enemy who, inevitably, had been a friend or family member.

Over the first hundred or so years after losing his emotions, he had held out hope. As centuries passed, the hope of finding his one had faded. He had accepted he would find her in the next life and he was carrying out his resolve to do his last duty to his people. Yet here he was, an ancient of great experience, Alta of the Lee line, a lineage as old as time itself, a man of wisdom, a warrior renowned and feared, sitting wide awake, dreaming.

Dreams should have felt insubstantial, and at first his had been. A woman. Just a vague idea of her appearance. So, young in comparison to him, but a fighter in her own right. She hadn't been his concept of the woman who would partner him, yet as she grew in substance over the years, he realized how perfect she was for him. He had fought far too long to ever lay down his weapons. He knew no other way of life. Duty and sacrifice were bred into his very bones and he needed a woman who could understand him.

Perhaps that was what dreams were. He'd never dreamt until a few years ago. Never. Dreams were emotions, and he'd long ago lost those. Dreams were color, although not his. But they felt like color as the years shaped the woman. She was a mystery, sheer confidence when she fought. She often had fresh bruises and wounds that left scars on her soft skin. He'd taken to examining her carefully each time they met, healing her had become a traditional greeting. He found himself smiling inside, thinking how she was entirely confident when it came to viewing herself as a woman. For a few moments, he contemplated why he should be smiling inside. Smiling was equated with happiness, and he had no emotions to feel such things, but his memories of emotions were sharpening as he moved toward the end of his life, instead of dimming as he had expected. Because when he summoned the dream, he felt a sense of comfort, of well-being and happiness.

Over the years, she had become clearer to him. A fierce leader with exactly the same values he held on loyalty and family and duty. He would never forget the night, only a week ago, when he saw her eyes in color. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, looking at her in wonder, shocked that he could remember colors so vividly that he could attribute an actual color to her eyes.

Her eyes were beautiful, glowing blue with faint hints of gold and amber that darkened when he managed to elicit a laugh from her. She didn't laugh often or easily, and when she did, he felt it was more of a victory than any of the battles he'd won.

As dreams went, and they only occurred when he was awake, they always seemed a bit out of focus. But he looked forward to seeing her. He felt protective toward her, as if his allegiance had already swung toward his dream woman. He wrote to her, songs of love, saying all the things he wished to tell his one. And when she refused to rest, he'd lay her down, her head in his lap, stroking her thick mane of hair and singing to her in other languages. He'd never felt more content, or more complete.

He had often called her Varis, his tongue caressing the word. She had no idea what it meant, but that single word made a swarm of butterflies take flight in her stomach. Something that made him soar, made that smile that usually only played over his expression for his Dhotui display with a brilliance he could not wipe away.

And now, she was here. Her figure moving out from behind a man who did not even warrant a second glance. Alta could hear Saho’s words. Could hear the man speaking in hushed, trembling tones. But none of the words clicked with him. None of the words made any sort of sense when she moved forward, those blue eyes down cast.

He stared down at her, afraid to move or blink, terrified she would disappear, that his perfect dream would shatter. She didn't want them to see her injury. In his dream, she wasn't supposed to have an injury. She'd always been able to control his dream, but lately, reality had crept in a little too much.

Alta shifted out of the throne, his leg that was thrown so haphazardly over the side over the chair threw over to hit the floor. His fingers dropping the rubicks cube without a hesitation as he moved to tower over the small girl.

He gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward the light of the flickering fire, a small frown settling over his features.

“Your face is bruised.”

Those bruises shouldn't have been there. Reading her thoughts, as he always did, her warrior swept her hair from her face with gentle fingers. He allowed himself to just feel, to drink in her presence, to enjoy that moment of not just dreaming of her. He touched her hair, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers.

A very male part of him rose up, dominant, protective, a hint of rage at the idea of another man uncovering her vulnerability, at the thought of a person striking her. The woman, his Caven belonged to him alone, as he did to her. The world could see the warrior in them both, but the man and the woman were an intimacy no other needed to know.

“She’s mine.”

His words were meant for Saho’s ears, his finger still tracing over features of a woman so small in comparison to him.

Colors as bright as the sun swirled in front of his eyes, nearly blinding him. Every emotion was magnified a thousand times. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Sorrow. Rage. A terrible sexual hunger, raw and volatile, a craving he'd never experienced.

This need, this craving, was stronger than any one thing he'd ever experienced. It took his breath and stole his sanity. The passion didn't just involve his body, every single part of him, heart and soul, seemed to have an overwhelming desire to be with her. Life mates. His one. She had seen the devotion his grandfather’s Alder one had to him. He paid attention to the smallest thing, seemed completely focused on her every moment, and that kind of concentration would make Alta crazy. He'd been waiting for her too long. He went weeks without seeing or talking to another person besides Saho. How could he possibly be in a relationship? He didn't know how. He didn't know the first thing about sharing his life or, or anything. He could barely breathe, his lungs burning for air.

He would try for her though, he knew this with only moments of finally knowing her.

“Who gave these to you, Varis?”

-------------------------------

Caven never thought she would be the kind of girl who would long for death.

It was a strange concept to her, to be sure. Death was something that she knew, every human familiarizing themselves with the ideal and concept when they were young, a just in case mentality on most and a forced perception on others. It wasn’t hard, not really, to grow used to the idea of it, the act of it almost becoming something of a rite of passage, a coming of age for most people that called Heaven’s Falls thier home. Death was familiar, an ever present constant, a shadow that stalked, hunted, followed around humans. It was a creature lingering, a companion that trailed in the shadows they left behind, always there, mostly unnoticed, but forever connected, pressing dark fingers into spines to send little ripples of fear along their bodies.

Caven knew that she should be scared. It would have been the logical thing, the most appropriate feeling. She should be terrified, she should be fighting against the bonds that held her, the rope that bound her wrists together and tied them to her waist,, she should be cursing the day she was born because this was it, this was how she was going to die. She knew that…. She knew what she should be feeling with a vivid clarity. It was the vision she had always had when the subject was broached, as it always was, particularly in the early hours of the morning as kinds, children, hid under blanket forts with nothing but a candle to illuminate their youthful, naive faces, hushed whispers of what they would do if they should ever be caught by the monsters that went bump in the night, grand illusions, bold boasts of fighting, of ripping them limb from limb as they went down fighting….

No one ever realized it wasn’t like how you imagined. It was never going to be the picture perfect scenarios you thought of in your head. Sometimes…. You didn’t get to play the Hero. Sometimes, you had to accept that you were never going to amount to anything….

Except a Pawn.

Caven moved, following silently behind the man she was forced to call her father. Her hands twisted, not in struggle,in simple discomfort, her fingers clenching as her eyes, bright blue locked on the ground before her as it passed under her converse clad feet, worn shoes scraping along the floor as she heard the doors open to reveal her tomb, her deathbed, her grave.

She didn’t mind, not really. It was strange, but rather than curse and bemoan the luck that had fall upon her, the luck of having a father too arrogant for his own good, too cocky to think he had to pay back what he owed to the Vampire Kings, Caven instead choose to greet death as an old friend, a creature so bonded to her it might as well have been her twin. She was no stranger to death, having dealt her own hand of it, dealt her own pain, and so she simply graze past him, her soul lingering, fluttering about in bony hands... She straightened her back, eyes dry of the tears that most expected of her, her blond hair falling to frame her face, pigtails spilling down her back to lightly graze over the small swell of her hips.

She found herself thinking, marveling at how little she regretted her short life. She had only lived for eighteen years, but there was only two things that she even found herself feeling even the slightest bit of remorse for.

One was she never really got to say goodbye to Vendetta, her one true friend in this world, the only girl that Caven would give anything for. Caven and Vendetta had been born on the same day, the same year, within minutes of each other at the same hospital. It had been simply fate that she had met the girl in her later years, when she was about three or four and her mother had dained to take her to the park on one hot summer afternoon. Caven, who had been nursing a bruise the side of a baseball on her side, hadn’t been moving much, simply playing in the sandbox when some kid had come up to her and knocked over her silly little castle, a tragedy of a castle really, but it had been hers and she had spent a total of twenty minutes on it, a eternity to a child. Caven could remember the sting behind here yes, could remember the rage, but she never got to express it, as there was a sudden yell, a scream that was more battle cry then anythings he had ever heard before, and the form of a small girl, perhaps smaller than even her at that time, the cry on her lips as she came flying in feet first to slam into this person, some random whose names she could not remember, whose face had long since faded from memory.

But Her first look at the girl who would come to mean everything to her was something that would never fade from Caven’s mind, forever ingrained in her soul, her heart, her mind.  She was beautiful, even back then. Her hair had been much shorter, long white strands that flowed around her in an almost mystical halo. Caven could remember looking at her, her eyes wide as she looke dup at the girl who was grinning down on her, thinking that there had to be some mistake, that there had to be some sort of mishap because this girl was far to gorgeous to have ever paid her any mind. She was like some sort of mystical creature, a warrior, a valkyrie on angel’s breath come to save the common rot that littered this earth. She was ethereal, strong and powerful, and she choose her to befriend. Years were not kind to Vendetta in terms of life, both Caven and Vedetta drawing short ends of the straws in terms of parents. Caven could remember Vendetta standing before her, another protective stance as she took a beating that should have found Caven’s already ruined flesh.

She was like that, protective of her, even when Caven had not earned such a gift. Caven did what she could to make it better. She was not strong, something she knew from her father's hand, her mother's whips, but hands that could not strike could heal, and Caven’s fingers had skimmed over Vendetta’s ruined skin, her bruises, her cuts that both belonged to her and did not. Caven would trace over the smile, false, it always rang so false, fingers brushing pretty pink lips and bright blue eyes wide and watery with tears she would not shed, a weakness they could not afford. She wouldn’t cry in front of Ven, for crying would equate to failure in the young Albino’s mind, and if Ven could fake a smile for her sake, Caven would do the same, her lips forcing a smile even as they brushed over bruises and cuts that she knew would sting long into the night.

Caven had not seen her this morning. Had not seen her when her father had woken her at the crack of dawn and told her to get ready, to not bother with breakfast because they were running late. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye, but she had left a note, knowing, assuming, that whatever her father had planned wasn't good.

It was the only thing she could have done, but it wasn’t enough to express her heart on tiny lines on a page.

Caven’s only other regret was something that she couldn’t really explain. For as long as shecould remember, Caven had been dreaming, thinking, envisioning someone who had long since become a comfort to her, a shoulder to cry on when she could not show tears to Ven. She didn’t know if they were real, she had to assume they weren’t, as she only ever saw them in her dreams, hazy images of a tall man with dark hair and bright eyes who brushed fingers over her skin, pressed kisses to her cheeks as she breathed in the comfort he offered without words, her hands grasping, clutching, reaching and wishing for such a handle in reality.

Her regret was she never found out who this person was, and now…. She never would.

But These regrets were few, and truly if she only had two regrets at the end of her life, This was something Caven could, figuratively, live with.

She heard her father speak, mumbling in his meek voice,earning an eye roll from the blond as she huffed her breath upward. She didn’t hear him as he moved, didn’t hear the footsteps approach her as she shifted on her own feet, fingers clenching, clasping, until she felt it, a hand on her skin as fingers hooked under her chin. Her face was forced up, a light gasp pulling from her lips as she blinked in surprise, and her eyes snapped toward the man whose hand brushed her skin so easily, whose touch rang a thousand bells in her mind, his very presences a soothing familiar feeling.

“I know you….” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt her heart, once hammering in her chest as his touch sung it’s call in her veins, stall at the sight of the frown that pulled on his lips. It was Him…. It was him, it was him, it was him, the man from her dreams, the one who so sweetly calmed her tears when she came to him crying, the one who in meeting healed her before all else, her body refreshed and vivid whenever he made her drink from his wrist. She recognized him, not by his looks, but by the sound of his voice, by the touch of his skin, light, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure it was her…. That frown however was a clear contrast to what she knew of him, and her heart plummeted. Had she disappointed him, was she not to his liking? The thought of being less than satisfactory suddenly hit her harder than it really should have, her eyes welling, stringing as she blinked rapidly and drew in her shaking breath. She wanted to be enough…. God she wanted to be enough.

His words, however, caught her off guard. No one had ever cared to ask that before…. Not anyone who didn’t know the answer already anyway.

“.... They were my fault, my lord… I was not fast enough to get ready this morning….”

She mumbled the words, her gaze lowering slightly away from him. The name he called her, she could remember it from her dream. It was always spoken so affectionately…. And today was no exception. Her heart fluttered a little at the sound, her breath catching as she leaned slightly away from him, though her body moved, leaned closer to his touch.

So absorbed with her discovery, Caven didn’t hear the commotion until it was at their front door, the doors slamming open and her name being called by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“VENDETTA!”

-------------------

Her life was a living hell.

There was no way around it, no denying the world she lived in was wrapped in a dark mist of pure hell fire. Every minute of her waking hours nothing but a sad excuse of a life. Something that she would not wish on her worst enemy. There was no happiness besides the little moments she would steal away Dragging Caven and their sisters off, pulling from the fist and the lashes. The moments where her and Caven would sneak away, their secret spots hidden from prying eyes so they could just be. So they could just have each other. Wrapped in the little bit of happiness that both knew would not last long.

Her life was sad.

She didn’t want to be save though. Hell, if anything she wanted to be the hero of her and Cavens story. Wanted to be able to come down on the vicious world that they lived in. She couldn’t count how many times she had saved each of the small girls from the hands of their parents. Could not count how many times she had sucked down her own tormented emotions so she could show a toothy smile to the other girls. Show some sort of hope in the dark reality they called life. Her only saving grace, her only reason for continuing through the world was for Caven. For those blue eyes that stared so hopefully at her.

So she would be damned if her life was going to be a sad, hellish, and Caven-less.

With that thought in mind and blood dripping down her lip, dribbling down the column of her neck she pushed forward. Pushed through the onslaught of humans who tried to barricade the door from her, pushed through the guards, who she knew could have honestly taken her down. Fist pounded at her flesh, her mother’s screams reached her ears, but they held little suede over her. Not reaching any empathy as her voice cracked in a weak attempt of betrayal.

Elbows flew, catching her ribs, the side of her cheek, but nothing deterred her as she reached the spoked doors. Her hands pushing them open with a huff, tears that she had not even realized were falling causing her gasp to come out a little too desperate as she caught sight of the small blonde.

“CAVEN! DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Hands caught her as she lunged forward, fingers digging into raw flesh and squeezing on the what seemed fragile bones under their grasp. There was not too much she could do as her head slammed into the marble flooring, her head instantly pounding and brilliant lights playing behind her vision. But still she moved, even if it was lagged, sluggish under the assault of the body guards. The guards who seemed to be mildly distracted, their words flying towards eachother. Swearing at the guards at the door for even allowing her in.

The second she had a hold on her hands and knees, a white-hot flash of pain burst in her ribs, the red heads boot finding a home in between crushed bones. The air was gone and all she could do was arch, her mouth agape as stared wide eyed at the spiraling ceilings.

“I killed the last one, you gonna pick up the slack or do I have to do all the work?”

The red head spoke as she turned her head, her vision swimming as she tried to move out from under him. Blood poured from her mouth as she got back to her knees. Where she was only meet with yet another whip of pain, her head crashing back into the marble flooring.

“Let’s not be so hasty, why don’t you get your foot off our esteemed guest so she can speak properly.”

The voice echoed against the walls, reverberating through her very veins. Soothing a piece of her that she didn’t think she could get a hold of at the moment. There was a calm to it, a whisper of a promise that she could not grasp. But you could hear it, the tone lying right underneath the words. The tone of a leader, of a man not to be played with. A man in charge.

And Vendetta shivered against the cold of that tone.

But the boot moved, sparing her. Though she would not admit it, her heart hammered out a rhythm of fear as she laid there, pain radiating through her body. It would be a lie to say she was not letting said fear affect her, that she was only laying there still because of the pain. The truth was she was scared. Scared for Caven, scared for herself.

By the time she made her move to stand, her mother had entered the room. But Vendetta did not give her passing glance as she stood, a whine spilling from her as she winced from the pain that splintered at her side. Pale fingers gripped at the already bruising skin, her eyes finding those blonde locks again. Then finding the blonde locks of her best friends father. And she could not detain the rage that instantly burned through her, easily covering the fear as she approached the small group of three.

Her fingers of her free hand fisted, and the second it took for her hand to connect to the Shalen’s cheek seemed endless. But he went down, her hit so hard that she could feel her knuckles screaming from the contact. But her own body fell forward, breathless still.

“You’re not taking her from me. She’s not an ‘offering’ for a shit hole you cannot even keep up with.”

[culturecultpress]

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Symbols. What do they signify? What meaning were they meant to communicate?

Enjoy this little take on #Symbols from CultureCult

[thesophiewhit]

Bookworm📝Problems

Here’s to the antiheroes. . .

The ones with the tortured pasts.

The brooding visage.

The complex character development.

The morality that isn’t just black and white.

You know why I like the antihero, despite all their flaws?

Because they’re imperfect.

They’re all of us.

[mysterious-ocarina]

Tate Langdon Playlist

Come As You Are - American Horror Story, Evan Peters Cover

King For A Day - Pierce The Veil, Kellin Quinn

Murder In My Mind Sped Up - Kordhell

Pumped Up Kicks - Foster The People

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

Helena - My Chemical Romance

Heathens - Twenty One Pilots

vendetta! - MUPP, Sadfriendd

Bxmb Threat - Chauncey666

Take Me To Church - Hozier

Afraid - The Neighborhood

Heaven - Julia Michaels

Limbo - Freddie Dredd

[matildaofoz]

A Snake in The Water (Hogwarts!Headboy!Michael x Headgirl!Reader)

Summary: You, newly appointed head girl at Hogwarts, head to the perfect’s bathroom to relax, when none other than head boy Michael Langdon, your long-time enemy, decides to join  you. 

Warnings: Light Smut, mentions of past bullying, slurs (Mudblood), Cursing

(Y/H/N) = Your House Name

A/N: I hold @littledemondani​​ fully responsible for blessing us with that slytherin!michael moodboard and the images in my head which led to this oneshot.

Word Count: 1.9k

You sank back against the marble basin of the bathtub in the perfect’s bathroom on the fifth floor, your fingers absentmindedly swishing around the bubbles on the surface as you felt the stresses of the day seep from your bones. Being head girl was a dream come true but you’d be lying if it wasn’t an enormous amount of effort on top of all your coursework. Worst of all, you shared that duty with none other than the self-proclaimed prince of Syltherin, Michael Langdon, Head Boy. Between the two of you there had been a long history of petty dislike when you both first came to Hogwarts. In his eyes, you were a mudblood, a mutt amongst the pureblood witches and wizards, not worthy to be here. His taunts and slurs in those first years cut you deeply. You used that hatred of him to throw yourself into learning everything you possibly could to be better than him. You didn’t owe him a damn thing but you loved the looks he threw at you when you succeeded quicker than he did. 

Over the years, it had all festered into an open rivalry between you and the boy. The way he carried himself, that air of superiority around him wherever he went, you hated it. One thing you could not deny him was his pure skill when it came to wizarding, he was a fucking natural and it only made you hate him more. As if his gorgeous face, those long silky lashes, icy blue eyes, full lips, sharp jawline and his family name wasn’t enough to project him into any position, he had the skill to go along with it. You tried your best to keep your distance, remain civil towards him despite his personal vendetta against you and what you represented in his eyes and focused on your studies to distract yourself from the ever growing attraction you felt towards him. 

When you had both been appointed head boy and girl at the beginning of this year, that plan was blown to smithereens and you were forced to spend more time with him and you were beginning to lose the tight hold you had on your growing infatuation with him. Your mind wandered aimlessly, conjuring up the many interactions you had had over the years and you noticed that as of late, he hadn’t called you a mudblood. Maybe there was some hope for him after all, seeing as you would need to be seen as a tandem from now on. You became lost in thought, gnawing at your lower lip as you pondered over the gradual change in his demeanour towards you, encompassed in the warmth of the bathwater and you didn’t hear the lock on the bathroom door unclick by magic.

“What the hell?” you muttered, a cold chill flitting over your bare shoulders and you sat up to find the source of the cold air. Your eyes fell to the door, revealing Michael, only a towel draped around his waist. Your arms flew around your exposed chest and you dipped down further beneath the water, not sure if you had revealed your modesty to the young man. He smirked, sauntering down the steps at a languid pace, completely at ease.

“Occupied, Michael! Do you not know the meaning of a locked door?!” you hissed, shrinking further back when he approached the big bathtub as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, I was aware you were in here. I wanted to go over some aspects of the new curriculum and the way we handle the perfects. What better way than relaxing in a bath, together,” he drawled, his eyes travelling over your face and falling on your hands covering your breasts. 

“Listen, Michael. I’m glad you want to bury the hatchet and all but right now is not a good time,” you retorted, trying your hardest to not let your gaze wander over his bare torso like his was wandering over yours. 

“Come on, (Y/N),why so prudish?” he winked, his hand coming to loosen the towel and letting it fall to the floor.

“Fucking hell, Michael! What is wrong with you?!” you yelled, your hands flying up to cover your eyes before you could see him fully, leaving your breasts exposed to the crisp air above the water. Feeling the chill pucker your nipples, you slid down lower, a bright red blush creeping up your neck and face.

“Nice rack, (Y/H/N). I knew you were hiding something marvelous under that uniform,” he chuckled, an appreciative hum reverberating from his throat as he took you in. So painfully shy, you really didn’t know the first thing you were doing to him. Seemingly unaffected by being completely exposed in front of you, Michael stepped into the bath and sat down on the opposite side of the tub, his arms resting on top of the marble ledge on either side of him. You let your hands fall from your eyes and pulled your legs into your chest, your eyes solely focused on his and not at all on the way his chest was gleaming in the low candle light. 

“You’re insane, Langdon. If we’re found out you can kiss that head boy title goodbye,” you sputtered.

“Oh and who’s going to find out? There are no perfects on duty on this floor tonight. It's Just you and me,” he grinned, giving you a wink that made your stomach somersault.

“Jesus, (Y/N), just relax. I had pegged you for somebody who could hold it together,” he remarked. Ah, there it was again, that slight disdain.

“Oh fuck you, Michael. You don’t get to come in here, flashing me and then telling me who you think I am. Newsflash, Slytherin, this mudblood,” you hissed, pointing a finger at yourself, “has stopped to care a long time ago what the likes of you think!” You breathed through your nose hard, not quite knowing where that outburst had come from. His brows furrowed, a deep line etched into his forehead.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he responded, leaning forward. 

“Oh excuse me, I wasn’t aware that only you were allowed to throw that slur at me!” you threw back sarcastically, all that pent up anger over the years bubbling to the surface now. You didn’t care that you showed him how much it affected you. You had made peace with the fact that you could never be an equal in his eyes even though you both now held the same position. 

“I didn’t come here to argue, (Y/N)! And I haven’t called you that in a long time!” Michael matched your tone of voice and surged forward, his arms encasing you on either side of the tub. 

“Yeah, well you sure as hell never apologized for it!” you seethed, your hands trying to push him off you. This was far too close for comfort. The bathroom grew quiet then, except for both your heavy breaths mingling. Your gazes were locked in a battle of wills, neither of your willing to back down. 

“Get.off.me.Michael,” you whispered. He leaned in closer so that your noses nearly touched, his gaze interlocked with yours.

“No,” he rumbled and surged forward to close the distance between you and crashed his lips onto yours. You squealed, not expecting but wanting him to kiss you all the same. How many times had you gotten yourself off the the thought of him dominating you like this. You were sick to fall for somebody like him. Michael used your surprise to sweep his tongue past your lips and over your own. For a split second you struggled, debating on whether or not this was a good idea. You pulled away from him after several moments, pupils blown wide, panting. You looked at him, equally as flustered as you were.

“Is this some sick joke you can use to taunt me with?” you whispered, not trusting that those late night fantasies you had touched yourself to might come true. Michael’s hooded blue eyes darkened at your accusation. Wordlessly, he grabbed one of your hands that you had slung around your knees and guided it to his throbbing dick, his fingers wrapping around your hand to make you form a fist around the thick shaft. 

“Does this feel like a fucking joke to you, (Y/N)?” he huffed, relishing in the feeling of your delicate fingers around him. You shook your head in disbelief, biting your lip as you held him between your fingers. You let your legs slide down between his and he straddled your hips. He let his forehead fall against yours and you experimentally stroked up and down his length once, making him moan. 

“Fuck, (Y/N). You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that,” he rasped, his lips finding yours, this time much softer. You began to pump him underwater with languid strokes, the feeling of his velvety shaft throbbing beneath your fingers travelling straight to your core as you began to explore eachothers mouths. He dipped one hand underwater, his fingers finding your clit and he began to rub slow, calculated circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your moans and whimpers mixed with his as you pleasured each other and you could feel yourself getting close. 

A loud crash resonated outside the hallway that had you both sitting up in shock.

“What was that?” you looked at him with raised eyebrows, head snapping to the door.

“An unwelcome interruption is what it is,” Michael rumbled as he pulled himself away and out of your grasp. You let out a frustrated whimper at the loss of contact but knew better than to pout. 

“Looks like we have to finish what we started another time, (Y/H/N),” he said remorsefully and you could tell he was just as upset as you for having been interrupted. You watched him step out of the bath and he offered you his hand, which you took and he pulled you up before he began to dry himself off hastily. You stepped out of the bath and picked up your own towel to dry off, before picking up your wand.

“You want to head out there naked, (Y/N)?” Michael chuckled and you rolled your eyes at him. 

“Consummo,” you said, pointing the wand at him. Michael’s clothes suddenly appeared, wrapping themselves around his naked form and in less than a second he was fully dressed.

“Well how about that? You do know that makes me what you fuck you even more now, right?” he said with a cocky wink. 

“Not the time, Michael,” you countered and turned the wand on yourself and spoke the spell again. 

Dressed, you both headed for the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

“This isn’t over, (Y/N),” he said, his eyes still brimming with lust.

“Oh I know but right now we have our duty to fulfill and find out what the hell made that ruckus,” you replied. Michael nodded and swung open the door, sticking his head out to make sure that no one was outside and leaned back.

“After you, head girl,” he winked and gave your ass a resounding slap as you slipped by him. 

“Michael, stop it!” you squealed, still in disbelief at the turn the night had taken.

“You wish, little witch,” he laughed as he followed you out the door, letting it fall shut behind him and you both jogged down the dark hallway to investigate the disturbance. Little witch, you could get used to his new nickname for you.

[talk-time-live]

TTL EXCLUSIVE with REUBEN LANGDON

The one and only voice of STREET FIGHTER'S KEN MASTERS & DEVIL MAY CRY'S DANTE actor REUBEN LANGDON returns to TALK TIME LIVE and talks about what is going on in his world.

REUBEN talks all things Acting, Stunt works, traveling around the world and much more. Check out this can't miss EXCLUSIVE only on TALK TIME LIVE!

[icyharrington]

Mercy (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so....um........yeah. this fic is just pure, self-indulgent filth. last night i rewatched 8x09, and could NOT stop imagining this nasty scenario during the scene where michael kills the witches. so, deciding to channel my current anger about the finale into sexual frustration, i ended up writing.......this. you’ve been warned.

plot: with your life on the line as michael closes in on you, the sole survivor of his vengeful attack on your coven, you come to realize that desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings: fem!witch!Reader, mentions of death, blowjobs, face fucking, michael gives u a facial if ya know what i mean, dirty talk, degrading language, just overall filth

word count: 2k 

Your world as you’d once known it was over.

Huddled in the corner of the dining room, the once-pure white walls now stained with angry splotches of deep maroon, you anticipated what was only inevitable. Tears trailed down your face and wet your clothing- around you laid the lifeless bodies of your coven, your sisters.

You knew Cordelia was upstairs with Myrtle and Mallory, but besides them, you were the only one left. And now, as the crisp footsteps of expensive shoes on wood flooring drew closer to you, it was evident that your time had come to join the fallen ones.

“Now where, oh where, could our last little friend be?”

The man’s voice was cool and steady, tone mocking as he rounded the corner of the dining table, putting you directly in his line of sight. You had no idea how you’d survived the initial slaughter; luck, you supposed, although whatever “luck” you might’ve managed to grasp onto was now gone. As the shards flew through the air towards your coven, you’d ducked, pressing yourself flat against the ground and silently praying to yourself. Somehow, it had worked. You’d done the same thing when Mead, or Mead’s apparent robotic replica, had opened fire on the remaining few. Now you were all alone, just you and the all-powerful antichrist who held a personal vendetta against your kind.

You were doomed.

Weakly, you looked at him, vision partially obscured from the hot tears that refused to cease their falling. He was dressed in all black, hands folded neatly behind him as his eyes fell upon you. When your eyes met, he grinned.

“There she is,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “You almost missed out on all the fun.”

“P-please,” you sobbed, knowing all the same that nothing would change your fate. You couldn’t help it, though; you were terrified.

“Your coven fucked with my family,” he said, suddenly dropping his previous act in favor of a more serious approach. Still, you could see the smirk playing at his lips as he looked you over. He was fucking enjoying this. “And for that, you have to pay.”

“I didn’t know- I didn’t- it wasn’t-“ you were incoherent, scrambling for words as if anything you said would make any difference now.

He came closer to you, and you could swear you felt the raw, sinful power radiating from his every pore. You knew he could disintegrate you into a pile of dust right then if he so chose, but you were sure he’d opt instead for something a bit more personal. He cocked his head to the side, a nasty smile appearing on his face.

“I can’t understand a word out of your mouth.”

You pressed your back into the wall, cowering as he came close enough to touch you. You looked up at him, at that impeccable blond hair and flawless skin and chiseled jaw, his features combining to form a face of pure evil. And god damn it, that face of evil was beautiful.

You racked your brain for your last few options at survival, never being one to give up easily. Your stomach dropped as you realized there were no more options- a shaking mess of useless magical ability, you were cornered. There would be no running, and even if you were able to, you were sure he’d disintegrate you before you reached the doorway. You looked down at his well-shined leather shoes, slowly easing yourself into the task of looking into your soon-to-be killer’s face.

You dragged your gaze upwards, eyes landing on the presumably expensive belt that was threaded through his belt loops. And then you had an idea. A crazy one, at that. But an idea was an idea, and it was worth a shot.

Looking up into his apathetic eyes, you prepared yourself to beg him again for your life. But this time, you’d give him something of an incentive to let you live. “Please,” you said shakily, tears still leaking from the corner of your eyes. “I’ll do anything.”

You brought yourself forward to rest on your knees, coming face-to-face with his crotch. Before he could react, you began undoing his belt with trembling hands, glancing up at him nervously every few seconds, fearing the worst reaction. He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard by your bold actions, but then he licked his lips.

Back came the smug exterior, and he let out a dry chuckle. “So this is how you’re begging for your life? Getting on your knees and sucking my cock? I have to say, I didn’t expect this.”

Wordlessly, you released the button of his pants from its hold and worked down the zipper, reaching impatiently inside to feel his warm, massive bulge. To your surprise, he was already semi-erect. If not given the circumstances, you probably would’ve been having the time of your life.

“It’s certainly refreshing to see one of your kind actually attempting to do something useful, though,” he taunted as you pulled his cock out of the confines of his boxers. It was big, to say the least, striped with protruding veins around the thick circumference.

You met his gaze, wordlessly asking for his permission to proceed. He smirked down at you, easing his cock further out of his pants. “Well, go on. Convince me to spare your pathetic life.”

You wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting salty precum on your tongue. He sighed as you slid your head further down, taking as much of him as you could, and his hand found itself on the back of your head. He held your hair firmly at the root, following your motions as you bobbed up and down, reaching one hand up to grip his shaft.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” he said, thrusting your head forward suddenly so you choked on him. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could imagine the look of satisfaction that was bound to be plastered across it.

Saliva made its way down your chin and you let out a stifled gag, a jolt of pain shooting through your scalp as he jerked your head forward for a second time. You couldn’t believe this was happening, or that he’d even allowed you to get this far. “Put your hands behind your back. Let’s see how far you can take me.”

Immediately, you did as you were told, knowing that you couldn’t afford to disobey him. The second your hand left him, he forced himself deep into your throat, your nose nearly brushing against his balls. You cried out against him, struggling to breathe, but he only tightened his grip on your head to keep you firmly in place. You pulled back slightly, before bringing him all the way back into your mouth, burying his cock in your throat. You sucked him like your life depended on it, which made sense, since your life actually did depend on this.

“I wonder how your supreme would feel about this. One of her own sucking off the enemy like a whore,” he drawled. “It’s pathetic, really. You could have chosen to keep your dignity, die with honor with the rest of your sisters. And yet...”

Your cheeks bloomed red with shame; he was right, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. This was pathetic. But you were desperate; you didn’t want to die. You had so many things planned for yourself. He grunted, letting go of his composure for a fraction of a second, pushing his hips forward as he kept your head locked in place. Your hands fumbled nervously behind you, clasping and un-clasping them as you focused on breathing through your nose.

His words halted and he began to fuck your face rapidly, bringing his other hand down to grab another fist full of your hair. He panted, letting out raspy moans that sounded more like inhuman growls to you. Your eyes burned, snot dripping from your nose, face prickling with humiliation as he used you so mercilessly.

His cock twitched and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing to swallow his load. To your surprise, though, he removed himself from you, looking down at you over his massive length.

“You don’t get to swallow my cum.”

He loosely jerked himself, parting his lips as he looked up at the ceiling. All you could see was his perfect, angular jaw and the drooling head of his cock in front of your face as his fist pumped it up and down.

It only took a few seconds of this for him to cum, and then you had his warm load all over your face. He watched your expression shift, anticipating your reaction with a cocky half-smile as his cum crudely painted your features. You reached up to wipe it away from your eyes, mouth trembling and throat aching.

He brought his hand under your chin and tilted your head up, admiring the way he’d defaced you. You could hardly bring yourself to make eye contact, too embarrassed with your actions, but you knew you had to.

“Now thank me,” he said coolly.

He tucked himself neatly back into his boxers and zipped up his pants, buckling his belt noisily as he looked at you expectantly.

“Th-thank you for sparing me,” you said, your voice cracked and raspy.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Who said anything about sparing you? I still haven’t decided if I’m going to let you live”. His eyes glinted as he witnessed your face fall, all remaining color draining from your skin. “You’re going to thank me for letting you suck my cock.”

You whimpered, a fresh set of tears making way down your face and mixing into your saliva, which had already melded with Michael’s cum. “M-Michael, thank you for- thank you for letting me suck your cock. Thank you, thank you-“

He rolled his eyes, reaching to grab your hair without warning; you flinched, jumping when he spoke. “Enough. I’m going to let you live. Only because it’s apparent to me that your only real worth is on your knees, and therefore, you’re no threat to me.”

You sniffled, too afraid to wipe the back of your mouth or even blink, worrying that the smallest movement might make him change his mind.

“Truthfully I should be having you lick the bottom of my shoe to thank me for being so charitable,” he said, pausing to turn over his shoulder, eyes trailing over the staircase that was visible through the opened double doors. “But I have other matters to attend to.”

With one swift motion, he pulled you up forcefully by your hair and threw you to the cold ground. You laid there on your side in a heap, heart racing, looking up at this all-powerful man with fear and awe. He observed you back, tilting his head as if to admire a piece of artwork he’d created, his tongue dipping out of his mouth to run across his plump upper lip.

“We’ll cross paths again, eventually,” he said, turning on his heel.

Cradling your body with your arms, curling your knees up to your chest, you watched him go. He sauntered through the doorway, looking pristine and utterly untouched in his fancy clothes as if he hadn’t just annihilated an entire coven of witches. Not a strand of his blond curls were out of place, and not a drop of blood had touched his porcelain skin.

You, on the other hand, were a shivering mess. You laid amongst the carnage, too weak to clean yourself off, unsure of how you’d even managed to make it out alive.

Tomorrow you’d look at yourself in the mirror, questioning the person you had become. You’d refrain from spitting at your reflection for allowing such a man to defile you, for betraying your coven. You’d tear yourself apart with guilt, wondering why there was still a tiny inkling of satisfaction hidden deep beneath your self-loathing.

You’d save that for tomorrow, though. Right now, all you wanted to do was lie still with a blank mind, images of the antichrist flickering behind your eyelids.

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

You are Michael's partner/one & only/second-in-charge. You & Outpost Michael have gotten into an argument regarding the selections & you've had enough of him having the last word. While he's away from your chamber, you pack up & secretly leave the bunker towards the next Outpost without a word of where you're going. Michael immediately senses your absence and ... how will he react to this? 🤔

Breach Michael x Reader

Word Count 1,895

A/N: absolutely loved this concept enjoyed working with it!

Requested by @master-langdon

It was a cold grey day in late November. The weather had changed overnight, when a backing wind brought a granite sky and the nuclear winter with it. It has officially been eighteen months since the bombs fell beginning the apocalypse.

Y/N stepped out of the carriage that had pulled up outside of Outpost 3. Looking around it could best be described as a scene out of a low budget horror movie, there was rarely much left that would pass as suitable much less look like an even remote possibility of surviving. To you it looked like ground zero and to be completely honest it left you with a rather superstitious feeling, hell it actual creeped you out.

Y/N and Michael arrived at outpost 3 it was the fourth one they have visited that actually had even.an inkling of any survivors. The first three outposts they has been either abandoned, destroyed or in the case of the output they visited in Syracuse New York the survivors had been massacred.

Y/N stood inside the main commons area a little later on. Michael glided across the floor im stealth like movement. The nervous faces of the survivors watched in anticipation

Michael spoke up piercing the dead silence that had fallen across the room. “My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative, I won't sugar coat the situation humanity is on the brink. My arrival here is critical to the future of your survival.”

When leadership from the Cooperative arrive it was a moment that caught everyone by surprise. Michael is Venable's superior within the Cooperative, she was unaware that a representative had any intentions of course unexpectedly, Michael stood in front of the fire in the commons area. He says the other outposts had been overrun — by what, he didn't specify — and that Outpost 3 is the only surviving beacon besides another mysterious "facility" that he now wants to whisk some of the survivors to.

The questions started firing out one after the other, where was this 'sanctuary. Was there enough food supplies tp last, ect.. ect. Michael turned his head cocking it to the side, he looked stoic showing no sign of commotion. “Classified!” He responded sharply. A few more questions were asked, each receiving that same answer.. “It should take a few days at the most to conduct my interviews and can inform everyone of the results shortly after.

Michael and Y/N had been involved in a relationship for years on both a professional level as well as personal. You served as a second in command to Michael as your role in the Cooperative. They both held in their possession ID cards that contain their signatures. Michael's saying"President" and yours "Chancellor" of the Cooperative, as well as having ID numbers, ranking numbers, and other coding. Your role being that it is second in command means that in the event that Michael that was unable to or not present to carry out the work of the Cooperative then you would act in his place.

There were times that you both equally worked together, but when Y/N and Michael started to pay visits to the outposts to conduct the interviews you noticed that Michael was adamant about doing these interviews himself. You tried on multiple occasions to offer your help because honestly you felt like why should one person be bogged down with all that work it's stressful. Michael often spent late hours either conducting interviews or he was going over files or emails in his laptop.

It wasn't uncommon for you to loiter around the passageways or close to his office door to hear that was discussed between him and the survivor being questioned at that time. Y/N paid attention and absorbed info that she retained to be able to formulate your own observation/opinion as well. Normally you two were able to talk to each other when it came to any matters pertaining to the Cooperative. Y/N and Michael had that dynamic where they could talk to one another, discuss options, offer insight and work together for results. You couldn't understand why Michael seemed to be keeping you 'in the dark’ when it came to the interviews and the information revolving around it. At first you didn't confront him about anything. You stayed pretty closed lipped, knowing that given time you would bring it up. Timing was everything when it came to approaching Michael with something Y/N know was viewed as controversial and or possibly sensitive.

Y/N at various points of time had the opportunity to gain enough info on each of the survivors of Outpost 3. You weren't certain who Michael in his opinion deemed as worthy to join you both at the sanctuary. Ultimately when it came to making choices you were known to think practically and logically. You took into consideration with each person their strengths, weaknesses, the positive and the negative.

Y/N approached Michael carefully, you happen to catch him in a halfway decent mood so you hoped that maybe that since you were discussing this that maybe it would be done so in a civilized manner. “I take it the interview process must be completed.” You observed. “Just about, got a few more to take place tomorrow evening. I may some in mind though but waiting to see after I complete the final ones though.” He responded not looking up from his laptop. You had paid careful attention to who he had already interviewed, you knew exactly when and who as most of the interviews took place when everyone was gathered in the commons area. You would watch as Mrs. Mead approached each party saying “Mr. Langdon wishes to speak with you.” The only two people left yet to be interviewed was Mallory (the grey) and Andre Dinah Stevens son.

You were vaguely curious as to who Michael had in mind or thought to be worthy. “Oh really… who are the possible viable candidates if you don't mind me asking.” You asked carefully silently hoping that he would answer. Michael paused momentarily to briefly look up at you, “Mrs St Pierre Vanderbilt and Gallant.” Your jaw dropped slightly and your eyes held a shocked expression. You just as quickly regained your composer praying that Michael hadn't witnessed your initial reaction of absolute shock. “I have been paying attention to the inhabitants here, just from witnessing actions, overhearing conversations ect it seems to me that Mr Campbell and Emily seem to be viable.” Out of those you have had the opportunity to observe as well as overhear conversations about that those two seemed pretty decent. They seemed level headed and out of those that were currently residing there they had the most common sense.

Michael let out an amused chuckle “When we begin our journey through the new world I would rather have people with experience. Not deal with two fairly wet behind the ear young adults.” You felt your anger rise, normally you and Michael could talk to each other, or at least discuss things maturely. You took a deep breath before you spoke again…”Michael..you might want to consider this. Others may have not acted with the best of intentions—and that you might not know the whole story.” Michael's eyes flushed red, he was definitely angry. Despite the fact that you appreciated this as tactfully as possible it was clear you still somehow managed to strike a nerve with you. There was clearly some difference of opinion, which is heartening, you did your best to hide your emotions from Michael.

You made a final attempt to try and discuss this with him. “I understand it can be a slight oversight..” Pausing for a moment you tried to approach this professionally. “Maybe you haven’t finished thinking this through, the whole selection process a surprise to you, or you want to get a clearer sense of what is going on,” Michael's eyes held yours in a stare that read quite defensive, “I know what I am doing Y/N just drop it!” You could see that your difference of opinion is based partly on the differing understandings of the purpose of the purpose at hand. You didn't say anything more, it seemed clear that Michael wasn't open minded enough to listen to your point of view on this.

The next day while Michael conducted the final two interviews you remained back in the suite packing your things. Michael seemed determined to handle the selection process in his own way here, you took it upon yourself to leave before him to the next outpost. You wanted to handle things professionally and fairly, Michael however seemed to make it personal. Later on that night Michael returned back to the suite, it had been a long day. He didn't completely notice it at first, at one point he caught sight of a dresser drawer that was open ajar. Michael immediately got the sense that something was off, he opened the drawer all the way it was completely empty. Michael looked through the rest of the drawers and your side of the armoire..bare empty everything of yours no longer there. You were gone. Michael had never been so confused in his whole entire life. He didn't understand, why, why had he allowed this to get to this point?

Michael needed to see Y/N again, to speak to her but he was faced with a simple conundrum: what should I do next? Email her? Would the Cooperative or anyone know of your where abouts? Michael could only blame himself, he had let a personal vendetta get in the way of not only a professional relationship but his feelings for Y/N.

Michael POV…

‘My beloved Y/N, you are the greatest thing in my life and it breaks my heart to see that I have hurt you. I hate knowing that I have upset you. The last thing I want to do is hurt your feelings and make you feel insuperior. To make you think that your opinions hold no value. You mean the world to me. You deserve so much better than this and I promise I will make this right, Please Y/N forgive me and I hope that I can prove that I mean it when I say that I am sorry.’

An encrypted email came through from Jeff Pfister, Y/N had left heading to outpost 8 in Phoenix Arizona. Michael wasted no time on packing up his things and heading that way. He was going to make this right with you no matter what it took, you were far to important to him professionally and personally to let it end this way.

Neither Michael nor Y/N depend on the other for their feelings of self worth- they know in their heart that they are just as valuable to the world as the other. Good looking, optimistic, and they spark a light in the world that people recognize that goes beyond a normal relationship.

They are the perfect power couple...one of them is flawed, the other makes up for their weaknesses in their strength. Together they are the epitome of what anyone would desire in a relationship. They encourage goodness in the world and make it a better place by being together.

[qlfx]

44 minuti di brividi a causa del documentario sul massacro della columbine high school. sono sinceramente incazzato e sorpreso, perché davvero si poteva evitare una tragedia del genere. sapendo che i genitori dell'ex migliore amico di harris, nonchè brooks brown avevano già denunciato harris, per le varie minacce di morte e per il sito creato con klebod, ma lo sceriffo dei tempi, aveva scelto di chiedere solo l'allontanamento di harris dalla casa dei brown e di archiviare il caso, nonostante ci fosse l'opportunità di perquisire l'abitazione di harris e quindi, scoprire l'idea folle che aveva partorito il ragazzo o almeno le sue intenzioni. klebod secondo psicologi e psichiatri era letteralmente manipolabile, soffriva di depressione, ma ovviamente ciò non giustifica la sua azione, sottolinea solamente il fatto che harris fosse la mente in un certo senso, la parte più forte della coppia. da un lato, mi solleva il fatto che nelle serie ispirate a questa storia, non vorrei essere di parte, ma cito la prima stagione di american horror story, il personaggio scelto a livello fisico e mentale sia klebod; tate langdon infatti rispecchia molto klebod e dico sollevato perché, harris al contrario di klebod era in un certo senso quello più stabile con il suo essere. klebod si odiava, letteralmente, la sua è stata una vera e propria vendetta, per poter vincere la sua depressione, dovuta al bullismo. per quanto riguarda harris invece è sadismo, essendo uno psicopatico, sempre a parola di psicologi e psichiatri. se non si fossero suicidati, dei due ragazzi credo che klebod si sarebbe pentito della sua azione.

[dream-girls-evil]

Episode 8 Reaction

Hi kids! Sorry, I know I promised this yesterday, but I was so stressed about work that after I got my assignment done I completely checked out lol

That episode was alright. I’m significantly less interested in things that don’t involve the coven, but I’m glad we’re kind of starting to see pieces fall into place. 

Michael Langdon

Cody really got to show off this episode! He’s a great actor, and as much as I don’t like feeling sympathy for the Antichrist, I do like that they’ve made his path to evil not so clean cut.

That opening scene with Michael and Cordelia was amazing.

It’s so in Cordelia’s character that she offered Michael a chance--even now knowing he’s the Antichrist and being completely prepared to go to war, part of her still genuinely wants to help him.

As I mentioned in another post, I think she does see herself in him. They both know a thing or two about living up to your parent’s expectations.

Problem is, she has no idea what she’s done to him. She only has the story up until Michael left the Murder House--that he was abandoned and rejected by everyone who was supposed to care for him until meeting the satanists. But she doesn’t know that he had anyone to love. She just knew Miriam Mead was a follower of his who killed a warlock, so she got the same punishment that anyone who harms a witch or warlock gets.

She also, I think, overestimates how much he really is like her. Pre-Supremacy Cordelia was desperate to please anyone who offered her a kind word, and she crumbled inward when they hurt her. As much as I hate to say it, believing that he would accept her compassion was either arrogant or incredibly naive.

Okay, so Michael really does just fuck off to the woods to think sometimes lol he’s literally such a teenager

This entire scene was super trippy.

Did anyone else catch the Bible parallels with that angel and the kid offering Michael a soda? It reminded me of the story where Jesus goes into the desert to fast and is tempted by Satan, except reversed? I guess? Not super clear if those were actual angels or Dad’s test to see if he was strong enough to resist.

The angel man in the diaper made me very uncomfortable

Also asking the goat if it was his father just made me remember that kid’s book “Are You My Mother?”

The Satanists

Lol the actual church of Satan must be so pissed about this portrayal

Michael literally has a replacement mom for his replacement mom

Tbh, I wonder how inadequate Michael feels with everyone talking about how they expect him to ride in on a black horse and lead them all.

“Nobody gave me an instruction manual” he is literally every Millennial ever

And he looked so weirded out by everyone fawning over him, it was so funny

Gotta say, I was disappointed that there were no creepy morphing shadows following him around or setting people on fire with his mind, just normal throat-slitting (though setting that girl on fire with his mind later made up for it)

The Scientists

COCONUT HEEEEEAAAAAADS

Oh my god everyone’s hair is SO weird

Venable looks SO weird--but hey, she’s back and scathing as ever!

S/O to all the people who theorized she might have been one of the nuclear scientists--we were kinda close!

It’s interesting though that she didn’t actually meet Michael. I wonder how she’ll get roped into the Cooperative in the future.

And now we know where the “purple” thing comes from

And THE SONG

Ryan Murphy simultaneously exposing his crush on Ryan Reynolds and vendetta against Mark Zuckerberg

Speaking of the Cooperative, original theories were split between whether this was a group of powerful people that Michael worked for or something he actually created with the satanists, and it looks like it’s actually a mix if all the powerful people in the US have made deals with Satan.

And now we know how Mead ends up a robot! 

So, they created her totally from scratch. Does that mean Cordelia still has her actual soul hidden?

Michael Langdon casually calling Satan “Dad”

Next Week

Okay y’all, we only have two episodes left, and I seriously don’t know how or if they’re going to wrap this up. There’s still TWO YEARS between now and when the coven even arrives at Outpost Three, not to mention that they’ve only JUST arrived and still need to actually defeat Michael. My suspicion that this arc will extend into next season is growing, but also...

The preview for next week shows the bomb dropping scene from episode 1, and Murphy’s picture of the witches on Instagram looks like they’re in the aftermath, so I wonder if we’re in for more time jumps. I really hope not. I just don’t see how they’ll wrap everything up in the next two episodes without making it feel rushed and skipping scenes that fans would really like to see. I want to know what the coven has been doing to survive during the 18 months between the start of the apocalypse and actually catching up to Michael. And I really want to know where Zoe, Queenie, and Misty are by then. I swear to god, if any of them die, especially Misty--

Speaking of Misty, THEY’RE IN HER SHACK!!! I really have no idea if Misty herself will be there. She could have gone back after returning to the coven and the others go to her when Cordelia gets sick, or she could be with Stevie and the witches head there because they know it’s safe. Tbh, as much as I want Misty to be back in the next episode, I like the idea that the witches head there without her better because if she hasn’t been back yet, it means Cordelia is the one who’s been taking care of it. The last time Misty was even there was when she ran from the witch hunters, but the mattress has been replaced, her radio fixed, and it looks like a bathtub installed. 

I really, really do think that Cordelia has been keeping everything in order these past four years to prepare for the day she finally got Misty back. And remember how Myrtle said that Cordelia wandered off for a couple days after becoming Supreme? The shack is 100% where she went, because that would have been the one and only chance she had to mourn privately before actually assuming leadership. I think the witches went there when Cordelia got sick not because they hoped Misty could heal her, but because they know the shack is Cordelia’s safe place. Then I want them to contact Misty and tell her Cordelia needs help, just so we can see her reaction when she comes back to her home for the first time and realizes that Cordelia’s been taking care of it all this time.

Also, I’ve had this one-shot idea forever of Cordelia visiting the shack for the first time to mourn after she dies and walking around touching everything to try and get visions of Misty’s life, and DEAR LORD I WANT A FLASHBACK SCENE WITH A VOICEOVER WHILE CORDELIA TELLS MISTY ABOUT DOING THIS.

[ofodinn]

7,8

Be Honest Meme -- > @daggermxchanic -- > Accepting!

What’s your opinion on call out posts?

I really don’t like them, unlike they’re absolutely needed, like with that toxic person in the GOT fandom. A lot of the time, they’re just people having a vendetta, being oversensitive, and there’s more than one side to a story. I’m not really a fan of call out culture, in general. Now, if it’s something needing to be addressed, that’s different. 

Name any three things about the rpc that bother you.

People who obsess over aesthetics, to the point that they won’t write with someone who really is just here to write.  A basic theme, writing with basic writing doesn’t make you a bad writer, nor does your tiny writing, overdone theme and tags make you a good writer. When did roleplaying stop being about writing?

The assumption that you have to like someone’s character. There’s a lot of characters I don’t like. There’s a lot of female characters I don’t like and anymore, you get accused of being sexist if you don’t like ALL female OC’s, and if you don’t want to ship same sex things, oh you  must be homorphobic. Just the social justice shit on tumblr, I’m so over it. Trying to decide what people can and can’t say too, but that will go in to my third point.

People who expect you to change your character’s characterization for them. Make your character how he/she is. If they think sex before marriage is a sin and want to call it that, fucking deal with it.  It’s your character and you owe no one anything.  I refused to change Jax Teller for anyone and I damn sure am not changing any of my others for anyone. I mean, I also play Michael Langdon from AHS and I’m not changing him, either.

[astrodenzbotw]

Book of the Week No. 6 Angels & Demons by Dan Brown Rate: 10/10 Favorite Line: "Our minds sometimes see what our hearts wish were true." Review: The first of the Robert Langdon phenomenal series, this book is a best-selling mystery-thriller novel of 2000. It is about the frantic ventures of a famous Harvard symbologist (Langdon) to save the Catholic Church against its prime vendetta (Illuminatti) and to prevent a powerful antimatter explosion. One of the best books ever written. Angels & Demons is one of those books on summit level fiction with a deep trench of plot and theme—that are seemed and deemed factual. The main theme mainly focused on showcasing the ever-existed rift between science and religion. It was a hell of a rip-roaring read! I was really hooked from the first page until the end. It was the official introduction of Robert Langdon and I was really clenched on every drop of its plot. It is really a page-turner given that all the ravishing suspense is delineated successfully. The book has a lot to do with four stuff. Like, four altars of science, four cardinals and four churches. The catalyst of whatever happened in the novel is actually a mere product of his curiosity. He refused to go on Switzerland but since he was sent a photograph of a dead physicist with an ambigram on its chest, written Illuminati, he accepted the quest. Dan Brown is a distinct author, in the very sense that it is really his talent to describe the place in a very detailed manner. You will somehow be immersed in the actual place with his use of grandiose words. This is evident in the novel since A&D was really wondrous and ponderous to read. Every place is described as if you are really there! Angels & Demons has no slow burns to be encountered at all. Symbology seems unappealing but Dan Brown really did a good job on keeping the excitement going high. The plot, theme and the characters alone are all compelling for the story. #fiction #books #novel #danbrown #angelsanddemons #scienceandreligion #bookstagram #bookrecommendations #bookreview #booklover #booknerd #bookaddict #bookphotography #goodreads https://www.instagram.com/p/CfdsyAOuqh2/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=