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mousehole5000 · 3 years

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this is it... the final post.... 226 through THE END!!!!!

this shit with mu qing and the river of lava is SOOOO dramatic im loving it

oh my god theyre on a FUCKING bridge of course they are okay let’s go boys

“You’re right. We’re alike. You think me odd, I think you to be rather weird too.” - so what im getting from this is that xie lian and mu qing are the only characters in this book with working gaydar okay yup got it this checks out

god... the fact that xie lian is ready to be like “look mu qing we can just forget about the past it doesnt matter we dont have to be friends i know you dont like me but im not gonna let you die over it” and then mu qing is like “.... god i really do admire you huh”

“You...certainly...are rather amazing. You’re...also...a better person...than me. Long story short, I...very much wanted...to become your f-f-friend.” - going to think about this for the rest of all time im about to become utterly unintelligible im overcome with emotions

“And, at the end of the white silk band, Feng Xin was gripping Ruoye with one hand while the other was holding on to a steel-faced Mu Qing, and he shouted towards him.” - the fucking IMAGE of this im gonna cry this is everything i could have asked for im so happy also mu qing dangling there like “ welp. guess ill live“

“Feng Xin was almost burnt by that pillar of fire, and he shouted in outrage. “WHAT’S WITH THIS BAND OF DOG SHITS, ATTACKING PEOPLE WHILE THEY’RE DOWN, SO VILE! FUCK YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY!” Xie Lian responded, “IF THEIR ENTIRE FAMILIES ALL LOOK LIKE THAT, YOU SURE YOU WANT TO FUCK THEM??” - theyre so funny!!! and theyre best friends!!! theyre joking together now in the middle of all this i could cry theyre back!!!

“Using sticks as arrows, he held the bow with one hand and used his teeth to bite back the bowstring.” - no clue how practical this is but okay archer boy. hot

i actually have so many little quips between the three of them highlighted but we’d be here all night if i included them all. im literally so delighted by this omg worth the wait

“Each sabre strike slashed to the bone. It wasn’t like Xie Lian had never seen Hua Cheng use the sabre before in the past, but his style had always been easy and leisurely, nonchalant and casual. Rather than say he was handling a weapon, it was more like he was toying with a small knife. Yet those blade marks were filled with killing intent. It was easy to imagine just how skilled the one exchanging blows with him was, and how perilous this battle.” you have no idea how mad i was when i read this and thought we missed witnessing the fight between hc and jw omg

“Behind him, Feng Xin muttered, “Dear fucking god, may all the gods and buddhas grant their blessings, that better absolutely be Crimson Rain Sought Flower, otherwise he’s gonna go mad!” “Stop your rubbish,” Mu Qing berated. “We’re all the gods and buddhas ourselves and we can’t grant shit, just keep up with him! Look at the stumbling way he’s running, he’s gonna trip and fall to his bloody death before he even sees the man!” - okay i know i said no more quips but this is literally too funny i just wanted to read it again

“ However, for whatever reason, that vicious ghost, in its muddled state, took that large group of live mortals under its wing and fled for many days. In the end, they were still surrounded by millions of ghosts, trapped in a dead end, and it was going to be eaten along with those humans.” [...] “That vicious ghost almost made a move against those humans, but for some reason, in the end, it didn’t. It instead used one of its own eyes as the price to forge a blood weapon. That vicious ghost was already forcibly hanging on with its last breath; after digging out its eye it should’ve broken apart completely. Yet somehow something had shocked it, and it instead woke to its senses completely. “ - THIS IS AMAZING ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? IS THIS ALL WE GET ABOUT HIS GHOSTLY LORE?????? HUA CHENGGGGGGGG

“What a terrible offence, his old habit had come out, and he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! You don’t have to listen to me!” Hua Cheng, however, only smiled happily. “Everything gege tells me is the best advice, so why wouldn’t I listen?” - this isnt the fucking time afjdkfjsdkl they really never stop

“So you can hold the illusion of a perfect Crown Prince of Wuyong to face and dismiss the Jun Wu now. Isn’t that your objective? Did you think I don’t know what you’re thinking?” “THAT’S NOT IT!” Guoshi cried. “Stop getting tied up in right and wrong, victories and defeat, I’VE NEVER THOUGHT THAT WAY BEFORE!” - jun wu only being able to see xie lian as his successor and believing that thats all anyone else sees too... okay

honestly this whole final showdown was a blast i cant put everything in but it was so much fun to read. the DRAMA the LAVA the SHOUTING t

“Hua Cheng had poured too much spiritual power into him. There really was too much, so much that it was completely outside the amount the cursed shackle could withstand.” - okay.... okay... the love you give will set you free... okay....

“With Jun Wu in his grip, he carried both their bodies and forcefully slammed into the incomparably-solid rock wall! He used all of his power in this smash, and in the rumbling and crashing of rocks, he also heard the sound of something breaking.” [...] “A moment later, Jun Wu suddenly asked, “That move. What is it called?” “...” Xie Lian raised his sleeve and wiped away the blood on the side of his face. “Shattering boulders on the chest.” YES!!!!! YES!!!!! xie lian actually lived that life!!!!!! i loved this detail so much

“After a moment of silence, Xie Lian took off the bamboo hat carried on his back, took it in his hand, and covered it over Jun Wu’s face.” - xie lian... good... another detail i love. a hat that protects from the rain, given in a moment of need, even to someone who has caused you hardship... we do not forget the kindness granted to us

“There was gratefulness, there was shame, there was heartache, there was wild joy, but above all else, there was incurable love.” - :pleading: i wish it was just that easy tbh. “i have to tell you about the worst parts of myself” “ive already seen them and i dont care i still love you“ truly the dream

“ It’s been so long since anyone listened to me talk, won’t you stay? Don’t...actually do this. I won’t be able to take it. Twice, it’s been twice already! I really don’t want there to be a third time!!!” - the bit about just wanting someone to listen to him talk... xie lian... :(

emily corpse bride moment.... i knew it had to happen.... butterflies.... death and rebirth.... inevitable

xianle trio bickering about ruoye..... mu qing complaining but not letting anyone else fix it... im so happy

“The Rain Master sat down on the spot, looking like she was going to perform a passing service for her. After all, Xuan Ji was the only one left of the Kingdom of Yushi besides herself.” - xuan ji you sure the hell were... a character. this little moment tho..... yushi huang... many thoughts

“ Who hasn’t made promises, or swore to the mountains and the seas when they were young? Talking of affection, of love, of forevers. But, the longer I hang around in the world, the more I understand, something like ‘forever’ is impossible. It’s never going to be possible. Having it once was already good enough. No one can truly achieve it. I don’t believe in it anymore.” - jian lan im happy for you bummer it didnt work out with feng xin but yeah that was looooong ago. also this quote me same mood kin but its chill. having it once was already good enough

although yeah tbh if theres anyone who can have a forever like that... it would be a ghost and a god

fasdfjadklfj GOD... pour one out for ling wen.. but is that not the truth of this world? the one can be pardoned for being good at paperwork that no one else wants to do? isnt that the plot of the shawshank redemption?

okay but the fact that all xie lian’s friends come to visit him while he waits for hua cheng is making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.... fengqing coming together to try to get him out of the house but get scared off by his cooking... amazing

“Last time, they spent eight hundred years running towards each other. This time, it only took an instant to fall into each other’s embrace.” - im completely unaffected by this. im not lying i swear (i am lying im very emotionally affected)

okay i love this final wrap up chapter party its so fun. mu qing moving on from the broom thing!!! good for him!! the beggars get their reward!!! the fun ghost city chefs!! SQX!!!! and he xuan is?? here too??? he’s hungry??? fjadlkfjsdl

“The grounds that Feng Xin and Mu Qing had just swept were once again filthy from that giant crowd of muddy feet. Mu Qing gripped his broom, looking like he felt someone had infected him with fleas, and his eyes were wide.” - me when my dad comes into the kitchen when ive just finished washing dishes i get it king

the little folklore bit... fun!!! oh my god its over..... :(

that was really fun i had a blast reading it and on the whole really liked it i WISH soo badly that hua cheng had gotten more outside of being cunty and devoted even tho those are both important i just wish there was more about like how he got by during those 800 years and like did he ever have doubts? what shaped his worldview was it all xie lian or was it his experience as a mortal as well? why is he so mean to e’ming? theres bits and pieces here and there and i know it was already SO long but that really would have been great if there was more about hc cuz tbh by the end, at least for me, the hualian relationship didnt actually feel as fleshed out as the xianle trio relationship like i still liked hualian’s dynamic and it was really sweet how much they clearly really liked each other and everything but i kind of wish some of the other subplots had been dropped or diminished in favor of more hc development i think that would have been cool

but anyway thats some of my thoughts and i really did enjoy the hell out of book 5 that was a riot and uhhh thanks to everyone who read these or commented *lends you spiritual energy through a high five*

#tgcf liveblog #it is Complete i can move on now #i actually have a lot more thoughts about hl because i uhhhh relate. to things. and have opinions due to my experiences #but its also quite Personal soooo i might just keep them tucked away #anyway im freeeeeee #mouse mumbles

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sweetlangdon · 5 years

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Steal Into My Melancholy Heart (Michael Langdon x Reader Beauty and the Beast AU)

Notes: Here it is (finally), the start of the AHS: Apocalypse Beauty and the Beast AU. There’s going to be a lot of changes to canon. Some characters have been left out, others have a different backstory and purpose to suit this AU ‘verse. Hopefully everything makes sense as the story goes on! The title comes from the song “Evermore” in the 2017 version of Beauty and the Beast, because I can’t help myself.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Some violence, mentions of gore and blood.

{Prologue}

A thin veil of moonlight fell across the obsidian spiral, a monolith shrouded in a layer of dense fog. It parted around Cordelia Goode’s shoes, chilly and damp, clouding an otherwise clear night. The Hawthorne School looked abandoned. That was for a purpose, for protection, but a feeling clawed its way deep into her gut that suggested maybe they were already too late.

That the warlocks had suffered the same fate as her girls.

She could still hear their screams, their agony echoing in her ears. The shadow of their blood still clung to her hands. Even in the dark, she saw the trails it had leached under her nails and how it sat in the creases between her knuckles. The house had reeked of it, the blood and carnage heavy in the air, bright red pooling on the immaculate floors. She’d sat there for the longest time, minutes turning to an hour she didn’t have, hollow with grief. That house was now their tomb. Cordelia had left their bodies where they’d fallen, cold and still and pale. Fingers and lips turning blue. The halls of her school silenced.

Four had survived. It was enough, for now, to hold together Cordelia’s shattered heart.

Madison, Mallory, Coco, and Emily trailed in her wake, footsteps whispering across the dry, desert earth. She could hear their quiet weeping, their sniffling and heartache so palpable it settled on her chest like stones. They hadn’t spoken on the plane ride here, too stricken with heartache and shock and anger that words didn’t seem enough. The march up to the doors of Hawthorne felt like a funeral procession. Somber. Bleak. Their black clothes, still holding the scent of their fallen sisters’ blood, a sign of mourning rather than tradition.

Cordelia steeled herself, wiping the last of her tears from the corner of her swollen eye with the edge of her thumb, as she came to a halt at the doors. Where they were still coming from, she didn’t know. How could she have any left to cry? What would she do if they found the warlocks slaughtered inside their school?

The quiet unnerved her. The hum of crickets, the distant sway of leaves in a nocturnal wind. The strange, dark cylinder towering over them stood resolute and still as a grave. If it had become one, then she couldn’t see a way out of this. She couldn’t see a light beyond the hurt and despair. Not right now. Not when they’d already lost so much.

Every muscle in Cordelia’s body tensed when the door slid open. The surviving witches, gathered at her sides, looked up once warm, flickering light spilled over the threshold and broke the chill of the night. Golden candle light illuminated the tears that glistened on their faces.

John Henry Moore leaned against the doorway, a pale wisp of smoke coiling up from the cigarette between his fingers. Cordelia’s knees almost buckled from relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhaled. “Are you all right? The students—are they all okay?”

One of John Henry’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Why?”

“Michael Langdon isn’t here, is he?” Her tone had turned dangerous, the hate dripping from her curt question.

“Haven’t seen him since he fucked off into the woods, Cordelia.” He pushed off the wall and moved to let her and the girls through, then took a drag from his cigarette. He sounded annoyed. “What is it? Kind of late to be making unannounced house calls. It’s past curfew.”

“We’re not here for your witty comebacks, asshole,” Madison countered.

Before John Henry could take offense, Cordelia started down the hall toward the elevator, the girls following close behind, a cacophony of heels ricocheting across marble and stone.

“We don’t have a lot of time.”

“You want to explain what’s going on?”

They took the elevator down beneath the earth. John Henry leaned against the wall, taking long drags from his cigarette and eyeing the group of young witches congregated tightly opposite him. Madison was silently furious, arms crossed over her chest, her sharp glare fixed on the closed doors. Mallory sniffled, drabbing at her eyes with the edge of a long, black sleeve. Emily found solace in Coco, her head pressed to Coco’s shoulder. Cordelia looked beside herself, her gaze distant, restless as they waited for the elevator doors to hiss open.

“You were right.” Cordelia’s voice broke, frayed with the tears that still trickled down her cheeks. “About everything. You were right.”

“Now what’s all this?” Behold Chablis joined them as they filed into the cavernous heart of The Hawthorne School, a labyrinth of candle lit staircases and hallways. His question, rising sharply at the end, filled up the quiet. The students were locked away in their dormitories for the night. Safe and oblivious to the danger heading their way, for now.

“Miss Goode was just about to tell me.”

“Langdon,” her voice cut deeply into the name as her eyes fluttered closed to stave off more tears, “Michael Langdon…murdered my girls. We were lucky to escape when we did. And if we don’t act now, then this school—you and your students are next. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Jesus.” John Henry muttered. He turned away, scratching at an eyebrow with the edge of his thumbnail.

Behold’s dark eyes widened. “I’ll evacuate the school.”

“No,” Cordelia said. “We might need them.”

“For what?” Behold asked. “I’m not leaving our boys to be some Antichrist’s cannon fodder, Miss Supreme. Not after he slaughtered your girls.”

“Coming here wasn’t about just warning you. We need a curse,” she explained. Madison and Mallory exchanged looks of surprise before they caught her eye. She’d kept her plans to herself, an impulsive decision on the flight to California. “And if memory serves, the reigning expert on curses is you.” She turned to John Henry.

At her pointed look, he scoffed. “We need a firing squad, not a curse.”

“Shockingly, I agree,” Coco said softly.

“You never said shit about that,” Madison said. “I mean, what the fuck, Cordelia?”

“We have to fight him,” Emily agreed. “I don’t care what it takes.”

Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of curse?”

John Henry held up a hand. “Forget it.”

“He has too much power now,” Cordelia reasoned. “We can’t kill him…we can’t even stop him if we tried. I felt that power when he broke past the defenses at Robichaux—Langdon’s the Devil’s son, and that makes him invincible. Our only choice is to play the long game. Survive the impossible, together, and create something that tears him down, bit by bit. Make him his own demise.”

“So your solution is,” Behold drawled, “to…sit back and watch the world go up in flames? Let him win?”

“He’ll think he’s won,” Cordelia said, a determined grin curving one side of her mouth despite the tears that welled in her eyes. “And then he’ll get what he deserves for all the chaos he’s wrought, slowly, until his death sets things right again. A hard reset. Everything back to the way it was.”

She’d had a lot of time to think on the plane.

John Henry laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s a tall order.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Madison rolled her eyes.

“Wait,” Coco interrupted. “Can we…really do that?”

“No,” Behold answered at the same time John Henry deadpanned a halfhearted, “Definitely not.”

“Yes,” Cordelia insisted, her voice shaking. Her gaze flittered to Mallory, who hadn’t spoken a word of dissent or skepticism. “There’s enough power in this room—in this school. If we combine that magic, I know we can. I have to believe it, otherwise what else do we have left?”

“Curses are stubborn. Delicate,” John Henry said. “They have to be precise, not to mention the amount of magic they require. You can’t engineer a curse in a single night, Cordelia, it can’t be done. Not for what you’re asking.”

“We have to find a way.”

“It’s just not possible,” seemed to be John Henry’s final answer. Resolved to defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Behold offered. “Wish we could—”

“I think we should do it,” Mallory said. “I know…I know Cordelia’s right. We have enough magic right here in this room. We have to try.”

“What the hell, right?” Madison flicked her long hair behind her shoulder. “Mallory’s magic could power the whole curse by itself. I’ve seen it.”

The witches murmured their agreement.

“It’s not the magic I’m worried about,” John Henry replied. “Curses are unwieldy. I’ve never designed one this complex.”

“Well,” Coco said brightly. “First time for everything.”

***

They settled into the central hub of The Hawthorne School, their work lit by roaring fires and sconces on the walls. John Henry gave each of them a task based on their skill level, some facet of the curse that was theirs to render with their magic. By that time, he and Behold determined that they’d only need a few of the students lend their talents, and the rest would be sent in groups to scatter themselves in different directions across the state. To escape and survive the impossible, as Cordelia said.

Three Hawthorne students had joined the witches and John Henry, chosen by Behold’s own meticulous eye. He knew those boys well enough, saw their magic at work in his classes. They’d proven to be the most proficient with the incantations and sigils needed to design their curse.

Timothy, Andre, and Gallant circled around John Henry like a trio of baby ducklings, a force of habit that couldn’t be broken even under the unusual circumstances. The boys cast wary glances at the witches in their midst, unused to working alongside them. They were half-dressed in their Hawthorne uniforms, not quite so polished, the dress codes forgotten. Sleep still clouded their vision as they struggled with whatever archaic texts John Henry shoved at them.

The room was a mess—papers littered with John Henry’s inelegant scrawl, more discarded on the floor than kept for revision; old books heavy with a musty scent in careless piles for reference. Most were in Latin, others almost unreadable even to Cordelia’s rather astute magical knowledge.

She hoped these archaic words and symbols would be enough. There had been more than one argument ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings in the long hours they’d spent working on this. Cordelia knew what it would take, how she wanted the curse to evolve as time wore on, but translating that to magic had John Henry at his wit’s end.

There were variables to consider. And layers upon layers of incantations, each with a specific purpose. Not to mention, they had to put the entire world back together—and billions of lives—once the curse had slowly withered Langdon away. One wrong link in that chain and everything else would crumble. So, of course, there had been shouting matches and a litany of swearing and one instance of John Henry walking the fuck out of the room for another cigarette as tensions ran high.

“We need a failsafe,” John Henry decided.

Cordelia reached over the table of papers and books to reach her wine glass. “Like what?”

John Henry sighed, ink-stained fingers splayed on the tabletop. He slumped forward a little and stifled a yawn. “You said it yourself. Kid’s got the protection of fucking Satan. If this isn’t enough to wear that down and kill him over time, we’re gonna need backup. Another way to take the shot. So to speak.”

“Well, he’s still half-human.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Behold mused. He refilled Cordelia’s wine glass with a languid sweep of his fingers.

“I’m talking about emotionally,” she explained. “He’s…sensitive. You saw his reaction when we retaliated. The way he cried over that woman. I don’t have much hope for whatever humanity is left in him, but if we can use it to bring him down, that might be our only shot. If the evil in him doesn’t break him, then maybe his heart will.”

“You think the Antichrist is capable of love?” Behold raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “That human heart of his—Michael’s heart—might.”

John Henry heaved another long-suffering sigh. “That’s a gamble.”

Cordelia took a sip of wine, her gaze downcast to the scattering of notes. “It’s all we have.”

They chose the main foyer to lay their trap.

Right below where the two central staircases converged, there was ample floor space. Langdon would have to set foot there when he arrived at Hawthorne, and by the time he recognized the power that surrounded him, it would be too late. For that to work, they needed the curse to soak into every single fiber of the room, to make the space itself alive with the full force of their magic.

And piece by piece, it did.

Sigils were burned into the floor, where they disappeared out of sight. That was Mallory’s doing, her strong, unwavering magic building the foundations of the curse. She had the most work of all, though she didn’t complain about it. Not once. Not even when she and Cordelia and Behold had to figure out the complex magic involved in restoring the entire Earth. The hard reset Cordelia insisted on seemed to be beyond anyone’s capabilities. But she was the exception.

More sigils were inlaid in the walls. John Henry oversaw the precise order and placement of each one from the notes that no one could read because he’d written them. The incantations were the most important—and required every single witch and warlock to chant the ancient words as one. That was the trickiest part. John Henry, Behold, and Cordelia went over the exact pronunciation beforehand until their students were tired of it; archaic Latin wasn’t everyone’s best subject at either school of magic, and one wrong syllable would topple all their hard work.

Designing a curse was fucking exhausting.

Emily slumped onto the staircase. Through a yawn, she asked, “So, what happens now?”

“This is going to get ugly,” John Henry said, running a palm across his face. “He’s coming here for revenge. He’ll want blood.”

“Which means you all need to get yourselves out of here,” Behold agreed.

“The three of us will stay behind,” Cordelia said. She studied the weary faces in front of her, so young, trying to hide their fear. “We’ll get out once we know Langdon’s activated the curse. But if this works—”

“And it should,” John Henry grumbled.

“We’ll have to stick close,” Cordelia told them. “We have to see this through to the end.”

***

A midday sun blazed scorching hot across the dry desert earth. Michael Langdon inhaled the scent of dust and heat, pausing to consider the gruesome scene in front of him. Three large birds, their pitch black feathers fluttering, beady eyes reflecting the bright sky, poked at an animal carcass. He couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe a rabbit or a squirrel; tufts of brown fur were lost in the gore, dark scarlet staining the cracked earth. Two of the birds fought over the animal’s innards, pulling at them with their sharp beaks. Michael turned away, slightly unsettled, the edge of his cape rustling in the wind. He had no reason to fear the blackbirds—they were harbingers of his father’s presence, they kept a watchful eye from above.

And they wouldn’t be the only ones to spill blood today.

Michael drew in another deep breath, his fingers curling into light fists at his sides. He wasn’t so blinded by his own rage and vengeance that he couldn’t sense the magic inside Hawthorne. It was almost oppressive. It had never been that way before, not when he was a student. Maybe then he hadn’t been so sensitive to it. The power inside him was far stronger than it had been when he turned the library into a furious snowstorm. But now Hawthorne’s magic felt different to him, seeping out of the strange building to coil at his shoes like a fine mist.

It was strong. Defensive, he thought, if he had to give it a particular quality. But it wouldn’t give him any trouble. No witch or warlock had the power to rival Satan’s own son.

Hawthorne was quiet. Michael noticed an unusual tension in the air, a breath away from snapping. He could still remember the meticulous class schedules and customs, how the halls were always buzzing with noise and footsteps and voices chanting. Lessons took up every odd corner and room. The only time he’d ever seen it this quiet had been long after curfew, when he’d slip away to visit Ms. Mead, memorize the layout of the school, or try and contact his father.

It was just after twelve thirty in the afternoon. And yet, the halls were abandoned.

No, Michael thought, a snarl on his lips. Evacuated.

Someone told them he was coming.

“Cordelia,” Michael growled.

“Hello, Michael.” The voice was a gruff, familiar one that hadn’t so much said his name as it had spat it back at his feet.

Michael found John Henry Moore sitting in the middle of one of the main staircases. A single, flickering flame from a lighter—which he appeared to have some trouble igniting—illuminated the purple shadows beneath his eyes and his jaw shadowed by stubble. His gaze was dark, sharp as a razor.

“I thought you would have been smart enough to leave,” Michael said. His voice carried, bouncing off the cavernous walls as he approached. “After all, you were the one to see past the bullshit. You had me all figured out.”

John Henry’s gaze didn’t break from him, not when he took a long drag from his cigarette. Michael tilted his head a little, a provocation for whatever sarcastic comment John Henry had to offer him. The school’s magic still pressed in on him at all sides, in relentless waves, though there was no one else in sight. He listened, fingers flexing at nothing, stirring up the air. Testing it.

With a rough flick of his wrist, Michael sent John Henry flying backward up the staircase. His lighter clattered onto the steps at the same time his body landed with a crack, his neck twisted at a sickening, abnormal angle. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth onto the floorboards. His open, sightless eyes reminded Michael of the blackbirds feasting on their gory prey.

Michael lifted his chin in approval. But when he stepped forward to admire his grim handiwork, the magic in the room seemed to shift. Michael staggered back from the intensity of it, the crushing weight he felt from all sides. It immobilized him, kept him rooted to the spot where he stood. His hands curled into fists so tight that his nails bit into the skin of his palms. He tried to push against it, break it down like he’d torn through the defenses at the witches’ school. A hoarse, mournful, frustrated cry ripped free from his throat as the magic overpowered him and forced his knees to collapse.

And when he looked up, beneath the curls that had fallen into his eyes, he saw how the room itself had changed. He watched the markings surface on the walls. Symbols that meant nothing to him, scored into the stone and wood and tile as if they’d been etched there by fire. He lifted his palm when they appeared under him like they’d scorch his flesh. The complicated patterns arranged one by one, circle by circle. There was no one else in the room with him, not that he could see, but the air echoed with voices. They chanted as one, their ghostly chorus filling up the silence. Words he’d never heard before.

Words, he realized, that were meant to harm him.

“You’re not used to weakness, are you?” another voice asked.

“Cordelia,” Michael spat.

The ground trembled under the influence of magic. Some of the fires in the sconces on the walls flickered out. Michael let out a sob when the suffocating weight of the magic surrounding him turned into a sudden flash of pain. He fought again, pushing a hand toward Cordelia, fingers rigid with agony and a surge of pure hatred. Cordelia didn’t even flinch.

“You’re just a sad, scared little boy,” she told him. “And if you want to embrace that evil, then fine. You do that. You can tear apart the world until there’s nothing left. But now…it will cost you, Michael.”

“It already has,” Michael sobbed through gritted teeth.

“No.” Cordelia shook her head. “Not like this. If you want to become a monster, then who are we to deny you that? Your actions will have consequences, now; ones you won’t have any control over. The further you descend into darkness, you’ll have to live with what your choices have done to you. Every time you look at your reflection—when you see all that beauty withering away, you’ll think of the lives you’ve stolen and all the times you could’ve stopped. But no amount of regret will help you. It’s too late, Michael.”

A pain Michael couldn’t find the words for took hold of him, forcing another strangled cry from his lips. He was sprawled on the floor, muscles tense, tears streaming down the swell of his cheekbones. He felt the magic seeping into him, latching onto his bones, branding itself onto his very soul.

“Enjoy your apocalypse.”

The air went still and silent. Michael sensed the remnants of the magic as it receded and let go of him. There was nothing left except the sound of his ragged breathing. When he pushed himself off the floor onto his elbows, ignoring the deep, lingering ache in his body, Cordelia had disappeared. Her escape, and the warlocks’ covert plan to destroy him, renewed the flicker of rage in his heart.

Michael staggered back into the daylight with a curse sitting in his veins like poison.

***

Tagging my usual list + people I think might enjoy this fic (I hope you don’t mind)! And as always, if you want to be tagged, just let me know!

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @batgirlbride @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle @wroteclassicaly @monsucre @ritualmichael @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton @kaetastic @blakewaterxx @duncvns @codyssfern @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @langdonsoceaneyes

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #fic: batb au

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exultedshores · 4 years

Note

🔥 + breanna ashworth, please? 👀

(Send Me a 🔥 + a Topic, and I’ll Tell You My Honest Opinion About It)

Dishonored’s one and only functional lesbian.

Breanna is yet another character about whom I’ve had to adjust my opinion over time. During my first playthrough of the Royal Conservatory? I was utterly indifferent towards her. I don’t think it helps that the Royal Conservatory is the weakest mission of the game, in my opinion – taking place right after the intricate Clockwork Mansion, it just feels incredibly lacklustre, especially with how easy the low chaos option makes clearing out the Conservatory itself (although I will confess, on my first playthrough, not knowing about the low chaos option yet, I painstakingly went through the Conservatory from the basement to the top knocking witches out by hand). And Breanna herself didn’t immediately catch my eye as a character. I could appreciate her loyalty to Delilah (because we all know by now that I am the worst sucker for loyalty), but other than that she felt sort of like a standard lieutenant of the main villain. The strongest feeling I had during my playthrough of that mission was, ironically, not about Breanna at all, but about Jindosh again – because he had a much smaller role in the conspiracy than Breanna did, yet he gets lobotomised while she gets… to walk away scot free, just without magic powers? Yeah, I wasn’t particularly sympathetic towards her wallowing about losing her connection to Delilah. Try sitting in an electric chair, then we can talk.

But then I got to A Crack in the Slab. And watching the séance take place, I wasn’t expecting Breanna to take the lead in the group of conspirators. Perhaps I should have seen that coming, since she is the only actual witch out of them, but I was expecting the Duke to take the lead in everything pertaining to Delilah. So, just like with Billie in the Knife of Dunwall DLC, I got intrigued. And on my next playthrough, I paid closer attention to Breanna. My conclusion?

Breanna Ashworth is a BAMF.

Breanna has always been a BAMF. When she was a young aristocrat and she was about to be forced into a marriage with a man three times her age who wouldn’t stop wheezing about their wedding night? She ran. Left her whole life behind and really just said ‘fuck this shit, I’m out’. The Outsider hints that if she’d stayed, she would have been so unhappy she’d likely have committed suicide, so her own bravery saved her life. Then Breanna met Delilah, founded the Brigmore Coven with her, presumably helped her with her plans to take over Emily’s body. And then she lost Delilah because of Daud, which must have been absolutely devastating for her. Delilah was the first good thing she ever had, after leaving her family, and Breanna was so in love with her, so loyal to her, that losing Delilah must have been the very worst thing she could imagine.

You’d expect someone like that to wallow in self-pity. But in the decade or so between Delilah’s first defeat and the moment she was brought back, three years before the events of Dishonored 2, Breanna went and made something of herself. She went to Serkonos and worked her way up to being curator of the Royal Conservatory – which I imagine is one hell of a feat, considering how important that Conservatory is to Karnaca. Despite the heartache, she pulled her life right back together and thrived, and if that’s not badass I don’t know what is.

And then Delilah’s return? How Breanna immediately sprung into action when she began to hear Delilah’s whispers from the Void? How she made that sculpture of bones that’s capable of housing a human spirit? How she organised and led the séance successfully? How she went and gathered the Serkonan branch of the new coven? How she truly cared about the witches under her guidance? How she designed and built the Oraculum with Jindosh? Iconic. All of it. I really did not give Breanna Ashworth the credit she is due in my first playthrough, but hot damn. If everyone had the amount of competence Breanna has in her pinkie finger, the world would be a much better place.

I do think her non-lethal option is a very light punishment, especially when compared to Jindosh’ lobotomy or even Luca’s imprisonment. Yes, you take away her magical powers, her connection to Delilah, but she otherwise gets to go and just live her life. If you play low chaos and spare all the main targets and leave Byrne and Paolo alone, she can be seen being arrested in the council ending for Karnaca, but that requires such a specific playstyle I doubt it’s canon. However, despite the fact that her punishment is not nearly as severe as it could have been, I still feel awful for her every time I take the non-lethal route.

Because by taking away her magic, you take away everything from Breanna. Her whole life has been about Delilah, from the moment she ran away from home. She lost her once, fought tooth and nail to get her back, and by taking away her powers, you strip away Delilah, too. Delilah says as much, when you engage her statue after eliminating Breanna – that they will not speak again, because Delilah couldn’t bear to see her in her weakened state. Which makes me furious every time, because even without her magic, Breanna is still that strong, determined woman who brought Delilah back. She’s still the same woman who loved Delilah, who risked everything for her. For Delilah to just cast her aside the second she’s not useful anymore… Well. Let’s just say I have no trouble killing Delilah during the final mission of the game.

But Breanna already dealt with the loss of Delilah once, and came out on top, so I hope she’ll be able to do the same thing the second time around. I think Breanna needs to figure out who she is as a person, without Delilah looming over her. If she can do that, she might be happy again someday. I hope she will be, because she’s badass and she most certainly deserved to be loved better than she was.

#Dishonored #Breanna Ashworth #Delilah Copperspoon #the Brigmore Witches #ask #Shores answers #Shores rambles #thank you! <3 #I love Breanna #the loyal characters always get to me #Delilah did not deserve her

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

Text

An Opera on Separation - Chapter 13

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | CH. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: Emily’s relationship is on the rocks, but as far as Marietta Jones is concerned, the last word is still to be said on the matter. Will it be enough? Especially now that vultures roam to peck on the loves lost’s carcass.

Rating: T - Content not suitable for children. Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1640

Notes: Today’s song, Kate Bush’s Suspended in Gaffa, holds a special place on my regard. I got third place back in 2016 with that on the SADF Cape Town Dance Open. So listen, and comment for my own sanity’s sakes, please.

Furthermore, I have another announcement. I placed Wildest Dreams’ sequel on temporary hold. I’m not sure I’ll finish it or if it’ll rot on the Purgatory, AKA my Documents folder, but the thing is I’m finishing a Chris fic, so...

The funniest thing is that I don’t even like The Freshman, and yet it seems to be everything I write about. I think that’s because the characters are so vain and unidimensional (they’re whiny millenials, after all), I have an easier time into molding them to suit my own evil purposes.

Enjoy.

Suspended in Gaffa

In the course of the following weeks, things seemed to settle with Emily, Queenie and Nathan.

They fell into a comfortable routine that allocated little time to pointless arguing between the three of them, and, not unlike every other morning, the young man was cooking breakfast, whistling while doing so.

“Good morning!” The youngest roommate walks into the kitchen, all smiles as often.

“Good morning, Emily!” He responded, in equal amount of cheerfulness, while flipping a pancake with a cheeky flair. “I’m almost done with your stack.”

She took a seat at the counter. “You’re on a great mood this morning.” She noted.

The blond took to an uncharacteristic move and chuckled heartily. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Any special motives?” The redhead probes, appreciative of the enjoyable and non-conflictive new mood of her housemate.

“No, nothing special.” The man answers, and after a while, continues: “I don’t know, I just have so much free time these days. I’m caught up with my movies and books I’ve been wanting to read for years. I picked up squash again with Mr. Hibert, down at 4B. And I’m cooking! I love to cook, but I couldn’t even eat right back when I was working.”

The young woman smiled kindly at him. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I am very happy.” He nodded. “Today’s the last day of school, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Nah, the students get off today, but the teachers will have to wait until Friday to leave for the Winter break. We have exams and planning meetings to attend.”

“So you’re free this weekend?” He asks while settling the stack of pancakes in front of her.

“I have to grade the end-of-term tests for my students, but after that I’m completely free.” She responds. “And these pancakes are to die for!”

The fair-headed man smirks. “Thanks. And I was thinking of watching a stupid blockbuster on the big TV on the living room Saturday night. Would you care to join?”

The ginger tutted. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I didn’t finish it all on the first day of break. Sure, why not? Six works for you?”

He scoffed. “I’ll be sure to work it out on my busy, busy schedule.”

“Don’t you make a girl feel special?” She laughed of his comment.

The two of them continue to talk amicably until it was time for Emily to leave for school.

“Hello, Ms. Harper.” Marietta knocks on the door of the classroom while Emily got ready for lunch. “I wanted to have a word with you today. Could I walk you to the teacher’s lounge?”

“Of course.” She responded, wary of what could possibly be the subject of such conversation.

The two women walked out the room, Emily locked the door and Marietta begun to talk: “You see, Ms. Harper, I have been speaking with a few of your students about your classes.”

The redhead gasps softly in concern. “Is there something wrong? If there’s something I could do better, I would be more than happy to rectify my behaviour.”

The Caribbean woman laughed, dismissively. “Oh, no, not at all. Much the opposite, the students say they love your classes. I believe their words were ‘kind’, ‘patient’ and ‘smart’. You’ve made a great impression on them!”

Emily giggled in embarrassment. “They are great students, as well. I’m glad they like my teaching, especially for me being so inexperienced.”

“Experience is the one thing you can be sure it comes with time.” Ms. Jones smiles kindly. “Ms. Harper, I have to ask, what’s your plans for the next school year?”

“I’m not really sure.” She confessed. “I’m still trying to settle in New York and all the singledom and living with my mom again.”

The two educators reach the teachers’ lounge and take a seat over an unoccupied table.

The black woman, then, nods to the other’s declaration. “Well, I think you already know, but Mr. Smith of the English department is retiring in June. And the superintendent insists in sending the worse hires, we rarely take the long end of the stick with teachers around here.

“Which leads me to my question: would you be interested in teaching high school come August? You’ll receive a raise, of course, and you’ll have your own classroom. And…” She stops to think a little. “I guess those are all the benefits I can offer you.”

“But what about my GED classes?” The younger woman asks, concerned for them not having a Reading teacher in the coming year.

“That’s up to you. If you feel that you can handle the extra workload, then you can keep on teaching both levels. But if you prefer teaching high school only, you also may. The raise will be less generous, but you’ll still have enough hours to qualify for full-time.” The principal explains.

Emily, hearing that, smiles widely. “Well, then I’m in. I’d love to teach high school and GED classes next year.”

It seemed like a load got out of Marietta’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll contact the superintendent and inform him we’ll have a full English department next year, and you should talk to Mr. Smith about the transition.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The redhead nods.

“Moving on to lighter subjects,” The other woman smiles. “Who’s your Secret Santa?”

The white woman smirks. “Shouldn’t it be a secret?”

“I don’t do Secret Santa ever since a student thought it’d be funny to gift me a pair of lacy underwear.” She says, a hardness of an unfulfilled hatred shielding her eyes for an instant. “And I like knowing things before anyone else. Come on! Indulge a poor, old lady!”

Emily looks around to check if there was someone overhearing their conversation leans over and says: “Ms. Perth, from the Chemistry department.”

“She’s into cats. Try to find a porcelain statuette, she loves those.” Marietta responds and the two of them share a laugh.

It was then that Zig entered the room. He looked forlornly at Emily, who faced him with an equal expression of heartache.

Sensing the awkwardness, Marietta calls out: “Mr. Ortega! Why don’t you join us?”

He coughs. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jones, I just remembered I have to stop by the library to check on some books that arrived this week.”

“No, please, stay.” Emily stands up. “I’m already finished either way. Thanks, Ms. Jones, for your kind offer.”

She walks to the door, her perfume brushing Zig’s nose on her way out. He, then, occupies the seat left vacant by the woman.

“That was painfully awkward.” Marietta says, looking pointedly at the burly man next to her.

“Yeah, well, what can I do if she prefers to frolic around with her jailbait excuse for a husband?” He said, bitterly.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You can fight, for one. Last I understood, she made it very clear she wanted to be with you.”

“It’s useless.” He grumbles. “What frustrates me is that every time I am close to get the girl, down struts Nathan Sterling, the third,” The man sneers the filial name. “And messes everything up.”

“That’s enough, Zigmund Ortega!” Marietta hits with her fist against the table. “I forbid you to hold a pity party for yourself! You’re going to stand up, act your own age, and go after what you want right this instant!”

He looks disinterested at the older woman and drawls: “You got any ideas?”

“In fact, I do.” She fished a small slip of paper out of her pocket and shows it to reveal Emily’s name. “I rigged the Secret Santa. Congratulations, you drew Emily! Now go out and buy a nice present that shows her all your love and care. Now!”

Nathan was enjoying a nice cup of tea, brewed to perfection by his own two hands, while reading a light book. He was by himself at the apartment, and the tall floor made the traffic bellow sound like a soft white noise machine.

His peace, however, was soon to be destroyed by what seemed a wind gust running through the front door: “Emily hasn’t come home yet, has her?”

The man sighed. “No, Soraya, she has not.”

She smirked and pulled a small bunch of notes. “Here’s your cut for our little bake sale. The fatties loved your ‘fat-free’,” She used arrogant air-quotes. “chocolate croissants.”

The blond man laughed derisively. “Thank you, they flatter me with their voraciousness towards my cooking.”

“Speaking of which, how’s your Friday night?” Queenie walks over to the kitchen to grab a water bottle and Nathan trails behind.

“Nothing much.” He responds.

“Congratulations, then. You’ll win our TV back on a raffle I’m organizing.” The older woman smiles wickedly. “It’s for the poor children whose families can’t afford Christmas, see?”

“Of course.” He smirked and shook his head. “What about Emily, though?”

“Don’t worry about her.” She dismissed. “She’ll be on a Secret Santa party with the other teachers.”

Nathan grimaces with the thought and Queenie looks pointedly at him. “I know what you’re doing.”

He looks at her with his patented derisiveness. “What?”

“You’re trying to web Emily back with you.” The woman declared, hard and cold like steel. “I don’t know why, if you are competitive to the point you can’t see anyone else to be with what you once considered yours, or if you hate her and can’t stand to see her happy.

“What I do know, though, is that you’re not going to succeed. My daughter is trusting, naïve and good. But she’s not stupid. You’ve done some terrible things, Nathan, and you don’t get to come back from that.”

He scoffed. “You’re wrong, Soraya.”

“Am I? Am I really?” She smirked and left the kitchen.

Nathan, now alone, contemplates the glass full with water laying abandoned on the counter.

Queenie was wrong.

<< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >>

An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

#an opera on separation #the junior #zigmund ortega #nathan sterling

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ucbcomedy · 7 years

Text

Tales from the Set of Divorce Complex!

UCBComedy and Digital Team Gordon are proud to debut Divorce Complex, a short film you can watch here. Just in time for Valentine’s Day, it tells the story of a very divorced man, living in an apartment complex full of divorced people, who learns who he is when no one wants to be his emergency contact. It’s a story of looking for that special someone...or, honestly, anyone.

We asked the amazing artists and comedians from Gordon about some of their favorite memories on set and about all the work that went into production.

Here’s what they had to say!

Emily Maya Mills, Performer (Wendy) & Co-Producer:

We knew the complex was going to be a character in the story and I love that we achieved the claustrophobia and strangeness we were dreaming up in development...I'm all about heartache in comedy so it was really satisfying to run at it so completely - and with so many deeply funny people.

Marie Lively, Producer & Story Development:

One of the apartments that we were using was owned by a very nice, but particular guy. It was clear his bedroom was off limits, and he wasn’t super stoked we were using his kitchen and living room as Basecamp. One day when he was at work, we locked ourselves out of his apartment, so naturally I looked for a way in. We ended up breaking into his bedroom by climbing through the window. We agreed best to keep it to ourselves and not let him know. However, later he says, ‘Was anyone in my bedroom?’ I played dumb and said, ‘No, I don't think so.’ He ask if I could come look at something. There on the bedroom wall was a dirty black handprint under the window and a red sharpie on the ground that had fallen out of my pocket. We all had a big laugh, and I realized any hopes I had to be a cat burglar were dashed.

Emily Alpren, Co-Producer & Production Designer:

The challenge for Gordon isn’t unique to web series: how can we create a visual world that authentic to the story and characters without spending much more than a dime? However, what’s unique is the spirit and generosity of the team. For art and production design for Divorce Complex, probably 98 percent of art came from the team. We tear down curtains in our homes, ransack our own personal shelves, walls and storage spaces to pull together a cohesive look for Ron and the supporting characters. We were able to find a location (apartment complex) that was filled with members of the UCB community. So this production was really homegrown. Production wise, being able to use multiple - we used three - apartments in the same complex was a dream.

Even though I’m responsible for Production Design and Art, it’s Gordon that makes our shoots possible to look so good. (My apartment, on the other hand, has been stripped of any interesting touches since our first Gordon production.)

Will Hines, Performer (Ron) & Writer:

I enjoyed getting to be sad on purpose for the sake of art.

Carissa Dorson, Director of Photography:

The apartment that we shot in was perfect because a handful of our friends within the UCB community live there. They basically let us take over their apartments for three days, and we are eternally grateful for that!

I’m amazed at the production quality that we achieved on zero budget. The only money that we spent on equipment was to rent some Lomo anamorphic lenses. I was really excited to shoot with them and add a distinct style to the short.

I chose anamorphic lenses because they really served to isolate our main character, Ron, in his world. The depth of field of anamorphic lenses is really special - the out-of-focus area in the background takes on a painterly quality, and it really helps draw the audience's eye to the subject. The Lomo anamorphics also have a significant amount of distortion, which gives a heightened vibe to the shots. It really matches the world of Divorce Complex, which is slightly ‘off.’ Anamorphic lenses automatically make films look more cinematic, and we are the ‘cinematic narrative’ team, after all.

Danny Cohen, Head Writer:

It was important for me to make Will Hines roll his eyes when we were writing. That’s how many of the dumber things made it into the script. And we still have never met each other.

Dave [Theune] said he was a huge pizza fan, even suggesting places to order from. When we finally had pizza for lunch, he quizzically declared ‘what the hell is this?'

Diana Fishman, Editor:

Carissa [Dorson], our Director of Photography, shot on a RED Dragon camera in 4 and 6k, and I edit in Avid. This was the first project for which I have done an offline edit and then an upres myself without an assistant editor so it was a good challenge and learning experience for me.

A fun tidbit that I was nervous about on set, was that we had to cheat a lot of the apartment entrances because the doorways of the actual apartments weren't right for the scene. We would shoot the exterior at a different location than the interior of the scene. Ryan [Moulton], Carissa, Emily [Alpren] and I figured out the framing so that the shots could be cheated and it was very satisfying to have it all work out in the edit.

As for editorial process, I did a first rough-cut and put some temp music in, which I sent to Danny [Cohen], who composed all the music and Ryan, who directed. Then Ryan and I worked together for several days to try different takes, refine the edit and make cuts. Danny fed us new tracks to score with as he created them and we gave him feedback and new videos as we adjusted the edit. The process was smooth, very collaborative and went quite quickly as we wanted to submit to festivals. When Ryan was happy with the director's cut, we sent to the rest of the team for notes and eventually to Nate [Russell] for his input. Everyone was super positive and gave constructive notes which we were able to incorporate.

In Divorce Complex, we found our voice as a team: a quirky melancholic tone that doesn't take itself too seriously, that is funny yet grounded in real human experience. Once we locked the edit, my husband, who is a re-recording mixer and mixed our last project Pricks, enhanced the sound design and did the audio mix and Carissa with the help of a colorist friend did the color correction. I'm really proud of how Divorce Complex came out, particularly since it was entirely a labor of love and so many people helped us just because they believed in the project. I hope that lots of people will see it and enjoy it.

Check out Divorce Complex on Vimeo now and have a great Valentines day!

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