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writer-and-sinner · 5 years

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Wasted potentials of AHS Apocalypse, Ryan Murphy and Superiority of Fan Fiction

I have a lot to say about this season but one thing that bothers me the most is the lack of effort put in the writing. All of us read fan fiction and most of the time it’s to fill the need to explore the what could have beens and what should have beens. I have seen amazing stories written by aspiring writers or people that just enjoy writing. Generally the fanfics that are properly written comes after a season is done and they only get better. Maybe it’s because of the fact that they have more freedom in the writing process and are less limited by external factors that they are able to take on more interesting subjects. But this still shouldn’t be an excuse for writers and show runners to be inadequate with their storylines.

AHS Apocalypse had the chance to explore so many aspects of religion, mythology, science fiction and dystopian politics. They tried and started off well, gave an interesting, full of potential introduction. I understand that the season focused on Michael which was the only best thing but one of the worst things too. As much as I enjoyed him to the point of obsession, the season should have had the apocalypse as the focus and characters around it. This would have prevented plot holes and would have fill the unnecessary scenes with rich content about The Cooperative or details about Mallory who we know almost nothing about despite her being the hero.

This brings me to the main problem. Writers try to create their stories with as little cliche and stereotypical plots as possible, especially in fantasy. With fan fiction, writers are already writing their stories mostly around two people, which makes the story about love. I have been reading a few fics about Millory where characters feel more real in words than on screen and every single time they give her a different origin, I have seen original characters be the embodiment of Persephone, Hecate, a nephilim or combination of things where she’s part of something unknown to the witchcraft community. Even though their focus is the relationship, the plot still move on while also focusing on individual perspectives. Now these are all written by people who expect so little in return, a few readers and maybe a question about the next chapter. People like Ryan Murphy who have built an empire with their shows surely should come up with better stories. I feel like the season started its downfall with satanists being portrayed so mundane and went down with time travel, a concept, with this story ends up being only a cheap getaway. Then there was the illuminati thing which is pure bullshit and unoriginal to say the least. Still Murphy has in fact created some of the best works in TV, like Asylum. That season handled demons, nazis, serial killers and aliens in the same storyline. However one good season, even a couple of awards doesn’t give you an excuse for shitty, lazy writing as big as this. Especially not when you are paving the way for an actor who is fairly new in the industry. Even though Michael was given to Cody, he was the one who made it with details of his acting. I extract Cody and all actors from the flaws of this season, everyone of them did amazing. They should be judged only with their portrayals and performances.

It’s never good when the fans do a better job with the content you created and most of those fans are people who would want a place in the industry but still continue with their work expecting no tangible reward. I myself have been trying to get my foot in the door for a while as a proper scriptwriter and I am only motivated more to make something of myself, to do better when people at the top fail to do so.

Over all, bless you if you made it this far into my rant. I just wanted to criticize Ryan Murphy also thank him because he introduced us to Cody Fern. I just hope, while AHS fails more every season, the brighter side of things come through and gives talents like Cody a chance to climb the ladder.

PS: The given examples for fan fictions are mainly based on Hunter and Prey by @drowning-ophelia-writes and The Unlucky by @mvllorylvngdon

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writer-and-sinner · 6 years

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Indecorous

Summary: you kill someone out of jealously and michael punishes you for it.

Warnings: murder, spanking, fingering, dirty talk.

A/N: this is unedited so I apologize for any mistakes within the writing. And if you guys want a part two a might do one, just let me know! I hope you enjoy this filth and requests are always open!

The blood had pooled at her feet as quick as a river flows. The crimson liquid would sure stain her light heels and the bottom of her Victorian purple dress would need a good washing as well. The bottom sitting in the pool of blood, coating every ripple. The rest of her dress not escaping the red stains either. Blood coated her the tops of her breasts that stuck out of the dress, a trail flowing down to her midsection. She could feel her dress clinging her even more than it already did from the wetness of liquid.

Her nostrils could only smell that of copper. It filled the room. The smell of death. The smell of her rage. And as she stared down at the lifeless body, her perfect hair now disheveled from fighting back. Her purple dress drenched in her own blood as it pooled out from her throat, her stomach, everywhere. In the heat of the moment she didn’t care where she pushed the knife into her skin as long as it stopped her from breathing. From living. She wanted her gone, and there was no doubt now that she was gone.

She almost admired her own work. This wasn’t her first killing, but she knew better. Knew better than to do it herself. To get her own hands dirty. She was above such things. Michael would sure remind her that they don’t do such acts unless necessary.

But in her mind this was necessary.

Necessary to put it an end to the young girl’s life. To make her bleak existence on this earth that of the past. She wanted what she had. Something she knew deep down she could never get, never have. But, the anger she felt as she watched the way she looked at him. The way everyone looked at him. Like he was walking excellence. Like he carried every want and desire they had within his eyes, and with just one touch he could give it to them.

They weren’t wrong to look at him like that. To think that. He was a wolf among sheep, except the sheep didn’t run away from him, they ran towards him. Wanting him to rip them apart, begging for it. If it meant being in his presence or feeling his hand around their throat, they’d let him tear them apart without a second thought.

But this one got too close. Thought she actually had a chance. A chance to feel his mouth against hers. A chance to feel his skillful tongue between her legs. She wanted him in every way she had had him. And if it wasn’t for Michael’s known devotion to her she would almost think she might. The young girl was attractive. Pretty. Her olive skin seemed to be flawless, a thing of the past now as it was covered in slash marks and blood.

She should of felt bad. Felt fear as to what might come from this. But she didn’t. Her conscious was clear. Her shoulders were not heavy. She felt free. Free of worry. Free of having to watch a parasite like her gaze upon her man as if he were her dark lord. She had fixed a problem. She saved the girl the embarrassment. A mercy killing.

And as the creaking of the door being opened she didn’t have to look up to know he was standing within the door way. She could feel his presence.

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes meeting his. He showed no sign of distress. No sign of any emotion. His features were soft. Almost amusing.

Michael wasn’t a yeller. If he was angry he showed it in other ways. He would reprimand in other ways. No of distress would ever plague his face. His features would stay soft, a smirk being the only sign of emotion.

Her on the other hand, she was different. He could see every emotion she was feeling within her eyes. And now he could see the fear in her. It surprised him. Little made her feel fear. But below that fear he could see the satisfaction, the praise she had for herself for ending the others life. He could smell the excitement she got from it that pooled between her legs. But the fear. The fear is what made his dick ache. The fear she had for him. The fear of what he was going to do to her.

His eyes never left hers as he stepped further into the room, the clad door shutting itself behind him. His hands clasped behind his back. Every inch he got closer to her, her heart pounded harder in her chest. She didn’t know what he was going to do to her. She had never disobeyed his rules like this before. The anticipation made her skin crawl and her cunt ache.

His eyes leave hers to gaze upon the dead body that lay at their feet, but then there back on hers within seconds. He’s so close to her and she can’t hold his gaze anymore. It’s too intense and makes her squeeze her thighs together.

He places one finger under her chin and tips her face up to look at him. His touch burns her skin.

“You’ve been indecorous.” His chides disapprovingly, his voice low. His fingers trail an electric path up her jaw line and to her cheek. His thumb wipes at a drop of blood and he rubs it between his fingers. “As much as I love seeing you covered in blood, my blood.” He corrects. Her mind flashing to times they’ve spent surrounded in a circle of candles, her running the blade of a knife down the lengths of his arms, his hot blood coating her naked body, low moans leaving his parted lips as he watches, his blood stained hands coming down to grip her blood coated breasts, slipping the knife from her hands as he teasingly runs the blade down her chest, her midsection, the cold metal making her moan, her body arching in anticipation, waiting to feel the sting of it cut her skin, and when it comes he covers her mouth with his as breathy, needy moans mix with the taste of copper.

The memory makes her swallow hard. Repressing the moan she wants to let out. He can see it. He can see everything, feel everything she’s feeling. She can do little to hide herself from him. And he loves it. And he knows she loves it too. He has her. Mind, body and soul. And she has him the same way.

“And,” He continues, “you know I love a good show.” He sighs heavily, “but this, love, is sloppy.”

She can see the look of disappointment on his face and it makes her bow her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He chided, voice velvet smooth. “I can see every move you make before you make it, remember. Every thought, every desire. I can feel it.” He steps closer to her, his face inches from hers. “I can taste it. You liked killing her didn’t you, love?” He asks as he moves a strand of hair from her neck, the back his finger drawing along her collar bone, leaving a burning path in it’s wake. “Each time you dug that blade into her body yours ached for more, more blood, more carnage.” Her breath hitched, and her mouth went dry. She knew he was waiting for her to respond but nothing came out. All she could feel was the pressure of the aching between her legs, every word he spoke traveling through her body and stopping there. “Answer me, love.” He orders.

“Yes.” Her voice is shaky, but confident. Truthful. He knows it. It wouldn’t excite her as much as it is if it wasn’t true.

His hand falls from her neck and back behind his back. His eyes trail over the tops of her blood stained breasts and the material of her dress. He really did love seeing the crimson color stain her skin. The clash of the red against her skin made him ache. It made him want to wrap his hand around her neck as they fuck, blood all around them. The thought makes him clench his jaw. He was never a man to get unfocused. To stray from the topic at hand. To change from what needed to be done. She made his thoughts go wild. But he was not going to let her get away with this. This was not going to be easily forgiven. He did not like acts like this. They were messy, unneeded. As much as he loved to see her in action, he didn’t like seeing her get her hands dirty. She deserved better than such humanly things. She knew this. Knew of his disapproval of these kinds of acts. And yet, she killed anyway.

He didn’t have to ask her why. He already knew. He could see it in her eyes the day the other had laid hers on him. It amused him to see such ridiculous jealousy come from her. When she knew he was bound to her, and she to him. When she knew her cunt was the only one that could make him drop to his knees and beg. She was his desire. His need. There had been no room for anyone else. And yet, there was doubt in her mind. Enough so that she stained herself red.

And for that. She needed to be punished.

He circles her like she’s his prey. He can see the heavy heave of her chest. The hitching of her breath as she pushes her thighs together, anything to relieve the aching of her cunt. He can smell the want on her.

He stops behind her, a hand coming up to the zipper of her dress and slowly pulling it down until it reaches its end. His hands graze against her skin as he pushes the purple garment off of her shoulders and down her body. She steps from the dress and he tosses it to the side.

She’s left in her corset, garters and stockings. Her lack of underwear makes his lips pull into a smirk. He leans forward, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he speaks, sending chills down her spine.

“Bend over.”

She is surprised at his words. Usually her punishments included being tied up and his mouth and hands teasing her for hours. A punishment that was more pleasing than torturous. But she doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t question. She knows better. She does as she is told. The palms of her hands coming to rest at the edge of the bed as she bends her body over. Exposing her back side to him.

He runs his palm down her lower back and over the arch of her ass at a teasingly slow pace. The heat from his hand makes her body grow with anticipation and she finds herself involuntary fidgeting.

“Don’t move.” His voice is deep and stern. He breathes in deeply. “Do you know why you’re being punished?” He asks. His finger tips running softly up the back of her thigh.

She swallows, “Yes.”

“As much as I love a good blood bath, this,” His fingers continue up the back of her thigh, to the curve of her right butt cheek. “Was unnecessary. I thought I taught you better.”

“You have.” She blurts out. “I–I just–“

“You were being a little girl. You let a jealousy take over you. It was childish.” His palm rubbed small circles into her cheek. “I’m disappointed in you, and as much as I am going to enjoy watching your ass turn a lovely shade of red from this spanking. I don’t like cleaning up unnecessary messes.” He lets out a heavy breath.

He can feel her body tensing up, waiting for the expected slap of his hand. She’s waiting for it, excited for it. Proof of her arousal coats her inner thighs. He knows that she will enjoy this. Enjoy each blow. Each sting. But, there was more in store for her than just the slap of his palm. She wouldn’t enjoy this punishment for too long. He was sure of it.

He doesn’t give her a warning when the first smack comes, the palm of his hand making sharp contact with her bare behind. Her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to repress the moan of pleasure she feels from the sting. Her hands ball up into fists, the top blanket on the bed gripped between her white knuckles.

A second smack comes, this one harder than the last. This time she can’t help but let out the moans that escape her lips. She can hear his heavy breaths behind her, she knows this is turning him on to. The twitch of his hands when he rubs the bright red mark he just left, and his erection rubbing against the back of her thigh confirms that he’s enjoying this just as much as she is.

Three more smacks came before he began the same assault on the other cheek. Both a warm red and stinging from the skin on skin contact, each one being harder than the last.

At this point she could not stop herself from wiggling her hips. Trying to get any friction she could between her thighs. Anything to appease the ache. She could feel her wetness run down her thighs.

“What have I always told you?” His voice is more gruff. Filled with arousal.

Her voice is shaky and comes out in needy puffs, “don’t stoop to demeaning levels of killing, when,” she swallows trying to catch her breath. “When we can make others do it for us. Don’t get our hands dirty. Let them. We are better than that, than them.”

“Exactly.” Another smack. His hand his burning red and the pain he feels from each smack stings a lot less than her ass does. He knows that. And it makes the buzzing he feels within his hand almost euphoric feeling. Each moan she lets out gets louder with each hard blow. Her cries out alone are enough to make him want to free his straining dick and fuck her into the mattress.

But this is a punishment. A punishment he is pleased to give. Pleased to ignore his own needs so she can suffer with her consequences.

“So,” he rubs his palm against the reddened cheek he just smacked. “Why did you disobey me?”

She knows she cannot lie to him. He already knows the answer. He would see right through her even if he didn’t. He knows hearing her admit why she diss obeyed him is all a part of it, her punishment.

“I didn’t like the way she looked at you.” She admits. A mix of a loud cry and moan belting out of her as another smack comes. “She wanted you.” Another smack. She groans, deep and from within her chest. Coming out more like a growl. The were getting harder, her more. But the more they hurt the more her cunt ached. “She couldn’t have you. I would never allow it. So, she had to go.”

“Mm.” He says softly. It’s not news to him why she did it. Like he stated before he already knew what she had done before she had done it. They were bound. She could never keep anything from him. “Childish. Pathetic.” A hard smack. A loud groan. “Am I not yours?” She doesn’t answer only hisses and moans from the way his hot hand feels against the burning red of her cheeks as he massages them. “Answer me.” Another smack.

“Yes.” She cries out. “Yes, you’re mine.”

“And you mine.” His hand travels down her cheek and to the base of her inner thigh. “We are bounded together by satan himself. There could and would never be another. This is what makes this so pathetic. So childish of you.”

She expects to feel another blow of his palm, but instead feels his warm fingers running along her wet folds. The contact making her moan and push her hips back in to him. Wanting more. Wanting him to open her up.

“Please.” She moans. Begging. Needing more.

She can hear the smirk within his voice without having to turn to look back at him, “do you think you deserve this? To have me touch your cunt?” His fingers continue to run along her folds teasingly. “You’re dripping for me. To have me fuck you. But, do you deserve it, love?”

It’s not a trick question. She knows the answer. Yet it makes her scowl. Makes her almost mad at his teasing. “No.” She says flatly. Trying to hide the neediness in her voice, but he can hear it. He can feel it.

“Hm.” He hums. “But you want it anyway, don’t you?” He pushes his fingers past her folds and feathers them over her clit, the soft contact enough to make her lean her head back, a loud moan escaping her parted lips. “Answer me, love.” His voice is smooth. His other hand runs down the middle of her back and to the burning red patches of her ass.

“Yes.” She breathes out. “Yes, I want it. Please.”

The corner of his mouth pulls into a slight smirk. He loves when she begs. It makes teasing her all the more enjoyable for him. The torturous act being a game of cat and mouse that the both of them love to play.

But he appeases to her, his thumb coming up to run slow circles around her clit. Moans and profanities leaving her lips at the wanted contact. That ache within her cunt being filled with pleasure. Her knuckles turning white as she grips onto the material of the blanket. This, this is what she needed. To feel him touching her. Just like this. And when he slips two fingers inside of her she knows she won’t last that long. She’s wanted for so long and now she finally has it. The stretch from his fingers inside of as they curl and hit that bundle of nerves only he knows where to find, how to touch. It makes her cry out. Makes her moan his name.

And he’s eating it up too. The way she’s pushing back on his fingers, the way her body shakes every time he curls his fingers. Her body was made for him. He knows every spot, every nerve that makes her feel good. That makes her say his name, claim herself to him. Her body is his and his only. And he fucking loves it. Loves the way her juices run down her hand, oh how he wants to lean and taste, to lick her clean. But he can’t and he won’t.

“You’re such a naughty girl.” His fingers fuck into her faster, harder. His thumb continuing it’s assault on her aching clit. “Was your cunt dripping wet when you sliced her throat? It made you so wet to kill didn’t it, love? To take a life, for me.”

She’s can’t respond. Moans and heaving needy breaths the only thing she can suffice. His fingers feel so good. So right. She can’t think of anything but the pleasure. The building inside of her. She’s close, very close.

He can feel her walls start to clench around his fingers. He knows with only a few quick thrusts from his fingers that she will be coming on them. Coating them even more. She will fall onto the bed, weak, worn out and hurting from how hard he spanked her, from how hard his fingers fucked her. He loves the way her cheeks burn red from being spent, from exhaustion. Her shallow breaths and the look of need in her eyes for him to wrap her up in his arms to help her fully come down. He loves it. Praises it. And if this was any other night, or any other circumstance it would happen.

But tonight it wasn’t.

And as her walls clench around him again, her moans becoming more frantic and loud, a sure sign that she’s about to come. He pulls his hand back. Leaving her empty and whining. She turns back to look at him, confusion laced with the brim of slight tears meeting his smirking grin.

He wraps his hand around her arm, pulling her back up so she’s stood in front of him. He can see the frustration in her eyes, as he places his damp finger under her chin, to lift her gaze to his. “You don’t get to come.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t fight it. No matter how high and dry she feels or the burning of frustrated tears she’s holding back. This was her punishment.

He sighs softly, his feeling of enjoyment slightly gone as he see’s the frown that plays on her lips. “Go get cleaned up, love. I’ll have Ms. Mead come in and clean up your mess.” She nods, bending down to grab her dress which he helps her slip back on, and she soon leaves the room.

He doesn’t feel bad for punishing her. Such selfish acts deserve to have repercussions. He knows she holds no anger towards him. The frustration she feels will soon pass. And from the straining ache he feels from his dick he knows that he will surely make it up to her later.

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