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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, you once mentioned something about Tom Riddle being a little suicidal. Your new post reminded of that and I wonder why you think that. It’s the complete opposite of what the books want you to think.

Alright, it’s time, let’s do this.

My standard disclaimer whenever we venture into the dark pit that is my thoughts on Tom Riddle: I’m going to say a lot of controversial stuff that fandom generally doesn’t agree with, I will say so much of this shit that I simply do not have time to explain it all, I expect 99% of you to disagree with me and the other 1% to be so horrifyingly offended that I dare to contemplate a world in which Tom isn’t always an overly competent psychopath that they leave me notes telling me to take this trash out of their character tags.

We good? Alright.

So, when I say a little suicidal, I mean that he is suicidal.

Not on the level that he’s going to kill himself tomorrow, or even has plans to kill himself, but in that he makes very strange decisions for someone who desperately wants to live.

And yes, I realize I speak blasphemy given that Tom Riddle’s entire m.o. is supposed to be his crippling fear of death.

Oh man, this one’s going to be so long.

So, my reasoning comes down to a few things:

The location of the horcruxes and the nature of their protections.

The events of Deathly Hallows and Tom’s final actions in the novel

The nature of horcruxes and what it means to not only be able to create one but what it does to you (caveat that I am going to headcanon hard here and speak utter blasphemy)

So, let’s start in order this time, because I think the first two are actually far easier for me to explain.

The Location and Nature of the Horcrux Protections and the Trouble with Backdoors in Security

So, first, the horcruxes are all conveniently located in Great Britain. Not even just in Great Britain, all in places that Albus Dumbledore and later Harry Potter can track down with relative ease, all fairly close to each other.

Now, part of this is undoubtedly attributable to Tom’s overly romantic nature.

Yes, Tom Riddle is a giant romantic, though not necessarily in the traditional sense everyone thinks of. The film “Patton” and its treatment of Patton comes to mind. Tom Riddle is a man enamored by a sense of greatness, of being remembered in this world rather than fading into oblivion, by the significance of places and times in history not only of the world but of himself. He creates an entire, grand, persona for himself because to live an ordinary life for him is to be worthy of nothing.

So, given that, of course Tom places the horcruxes in sentimental locations that have personal meaning to him.

However, it also makes them perilously easy to find and collect.

By itself, this wouldn’t spark my notice.

The ability to destroy horcruxes are not easy to come by. There’s only one basilisk and it’s by chance/Lucius fucking up that Harry gains access to the necessary basilisk venom. Using Fyendfire is an incredibly dangerous thing to do and just as likely to blow up you and the next three towns over as it is to destroy a horcrux. And if there are other means of destroying a horcrux they’re just as hard to come by or just as dangerous.

It’s not quite throwing it into the fires of Mt. Doom from which it was forged but it’s pretty damn close.

So, really, without JKR’s convenient Deus Ex Machina giving both him and Dumbledore the means to actually destroy these things, Tom Riddle’s horcruxes are pretty damn safe no matter where we put them. As we see from the locket, which Regulus manages to collect but Kreacher cannot destroy even after several decades.

However, what does spark my notice, is that the horcruxes can be collected by someone other than Tom Riddle when it appears as if they were never intended to be. What do I mean by this?

From what we see, there’s no benefit to Tom if the original horcruxes are found by anyone. He doesn’t seek them out to restore his original body, they’re just anchor points that should be hidden at all costs. So, he’ll never need a Death Eater to go collect them for him should he be indisposed (indeed, to do so would require a tremendous amount of trust in people he has very little trust in).

So, why hide them in such a way that others can access them? There are canon based options which would have prevented anyone else from reaching them. Given the existence of age lines, I imagine Tom Riddle could make some arbitrary barrier keyed only to himself. There are mokeskin pouches, such as the one Harry is given in the seventh book, which we know can only be accessed by whoever they’re keyed to. There’s the Fidelius Charm which, true requires a secret keeper which Tom would be very meh on, but options exist.

Tom Riddle could wipe the locations of his horcruxes off the face of the map. He chooses not to. Which leads me to believe that, at least on some unconscious level, he wants the horcruxes to be found.

Then we have the protections.

Specifically, I’m thinking of the locket here.

Yes, the protections are very formidable, but they’re also goddamn weird.

Rather than make the horcrux simply inaccessible, kill all those intruding, instead the intruder has to go through a very “Saw” like puzzle in which they drown themselves in despair until they finally get the locket, at which point they likely suicide by zombie.

More, there’s no hint that there’s any other way to retrieve the locket.

Backdoors in security are a very bad idea. What they do is weaken the security as a whole and, if you can take a short cut is, it means that someone who is clever enough and motivated enough can to. Dumbledore is both clever and motivated enough, and I imagine if there was a way to get the horcrux that involved not doing this ridiculous task he would have done it.

More, we’d be back to the land of Tom making sure only he can access the horcrux by requiring a password, keying it to his magical signature, or something so that no one else could get it.

Which means, that’s right, if Tom wants to get the locket he’s drinking the goddamn despair juice just like the rest of us.

What kind of a person would do any of this?

I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t think Tom Riddle’s crazy. Rather, in this case, I think he’s driven by an unbelievable amount of nihilist rage and is also quite depressed.

Tom goes to collect his horcrux, “Ah, it’s time to remember what a miserable life I’ve led and the sheer awfulness of my own existence. Good, I was starting to feel a little too happy. Let’s see if I get eaten by my undead, vengeful, victims today.”

The Events of Deathly Hallows and Tom Riddle’s Death

I think Tom Riddle’s final death in the books was suicide.

Tom takes over the Wizarding World, finally, and it’s as miserable as ever.

He’s trapped in this sham, barely functional, probably very painful body. His Death Eaters are completely out of control and for all that he wanted society to burn it’s now burning and no one’s even learned anything from this. Children in Hogwarts are being routinely tortured and have now staged a rebellion in which he’s having to slaughter them (I have reasons to believe that this is not what Tom Riddle wanted, at all, but that’s best saved for another post), and then he learns his horcruxes have all been destroyed without him even noticing.

There’s so little left of him, he has accomplished nothing, and there’s Harry Potter back from the dead yet again, gloating at him that love conquers all and Tom Riddle will never understand.

And Harry’s right, Tom Riddle will never understand, the world is meaningless and flat to him now and he finally understand that there’s no point to it. I think Tom Riddle decides he’s done. He’s just done.

He enters in a duel with Harry Potter knowing the weird nature of their wands. Now, it can be assumed he used the Elder Wand, but we know they get locked in Priori Incatatum , and that makes no damn sense with the Elder Wand (well, wandlore in general is silly, but I’m working with what JKR gave me here). So I choose to take JKR at her somewhat established canon and say that, no matter what Harry thought, Voldemort was using his original wand.

He throws out the killing curse, despite having now witnessed Harry resurrecting twice to this thing, and within two seconds it rebounds and kills him.

Voldemort’s death is a lot like this scene from the recent, terrible, 2020 live action Mulan (10/10 do not recommend). Now, we’re supposed to think that this scene is the witch saving Mulan’s life and thus showing her hope for the next generation. In actuality, the witch literally flies into an arrow she could have easily deflected from Mulan’s path. It’s a suicide that Mulan is too stupid to notice.

Tom chooses suicide in the most ridiculous, flamboyant, and easily written off manner one can and no one even notices. Instead Harry crows that he has personally defeated Voldemort, with the power of love no less, HUZZAH!

And the castle parties.

The Nature of Horcruxes

I almost don’t want to include this because it’s so... well, I’m really drifting far from canon and fandom now.

However, with horcruxes, there’s always an overriding question of why Tom is able to make so many when we don’t see anyone else with these things around (especially as it’s clear that murder doesn’t simply happen for those that now have horcruxes).

Usually, you have fic authors just sort of shrug and go, “Well, he’s that evil, I guess.” Sometimes you have them go, “No one else is crazy enough to keep going, and that’s why Voldemort’s cuckoo bananas.”

One very good explanation I’ve seen is that it’s because most people, when they murder, feel remorse immediately. The soul split happens, but they’re haunted by the murder for the rest of their life, and thus the horcrux isn’t made. Voldemort, feeling nothing when he kills anyone, is thus able to make them even for when he’s only indirectly associated with the death in question.

However, to me that never really jived philosophically.

Mostly, I simply cannot imagine that tearing apart your very soul is an act of indifference. Here’s how I see it: to do something like that to yourself, you must care, you must care beyond all imagine and human endurance. Your soul literally cannot abide it and saws itself in half, purging what you cannot stand about yourself the most.

The remorse part is, yes, remorse for the act and the victim but more to the point it is the ability to forgive and reaccept the worst part of yourself. That part of yourself that you purged and destroyed, which is nearly impossible to do and might very well destroy the fabric of who you are).

In other words, while creating a horcrux is an abominable act of hatred, it is also one of profound self-hatred.

Tom Riddle loathes himself so much that he is able to do this over and over and over again.

As Tom Riddle goes on he makes himself into less and less and less of himself until he probably doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He just knows, whatever is left of him, he loathes that too.

And then, of course, he gives up, runs into the nearest flying arrow, and dies.

TL;DR: Tom Riddle’s is a miserable existence that ended in a miserable if unintentionally hilarious manner

#ask #anon #tom riddle #voldemort

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failedskillcheck · 4 years ago

Text

Change with the Tides (Part 1/??)

A/N: Hiya! This is a little thing that I wanted to write, where the reader is a changeling wizard/rouge working for the Gentleman and joins the Mighty Nein! This takes place around 2x14-2x16. I’ll probably write it for the whole campaign.

You grew up in the various orphanages of Wildemont, starting in Port Damali, then Alfeild, Nogvurot, Trostenwald, Rexxentrum, and Deastock, eventually ending up in Zadash.

Due to your race, people found it hard to trust you. You didn’t really blame them, you had been picking pockets since you were seven. In Alfeild, you managed to steal a few spellbooks off of a traveller and began teaching yourself magic. Mostly Illusion spells, but you got your hand on some water-based magic as well.

When you grew out of the system, you were in Zadash, so you went about looking for the Gentleman. By the time you were 23, you had a secure career with him.

That is until a group barged into the underground bar, a strange collection of individuals calling themselves the Mighty Nein… but there were only seven.

From your seat at the bar, you couldn’t see them. You subtly put up your usual disguise, a human woman with brown hair and dark eyes, except you keep the hair a platinum blonde, the closest colour to your true form.

Cree noted one of the adventurers, a purple teifling she called Lucien. The man was a literal peacock. In fact, you’re pretty sure you saw a peacock tattoo creeping up his neck. You noted the others. An aloof half-orc, an energetic blue teifling, a massive woman who could probably crush you, a human woman in Cobalt Soul blue, and a human man in dirty brown clothing, sticking close to a small goblin. The goblin surprised you. You were all too aware of what people thought of monstrous races like hers.

The group went to the Gentlemans’ table, and you snickered, sipping on your drink. Then, Clive comes over and leans over the bar, “He needs you.” You sigh, down the rest of your drink, and walk over to the table, knowing that the drink will be paid off later.

“What’s up Boss?” You say as you reach the table, grabbing the chair closest to him. You’re his best employee. He knows that, everyone here knows that. There’s very little you can’t get away with.

“Ah, Y/N. Meet the Mighty Nein. You may recognize those two,” he gestures to the purple teifling and the monk, “as the two who murdered the High-Rictor. They’ve agreed to do me a favour, in exchange for me clearing their names.”

“So you’re the sorry sods he’s making go to that blasted facility,” you turned your head to the Gentleman, “Let me guess, I’m going with them?”

“You are the one who found it.”

“So when do we leave?” You asked, looking back at the group, who all seemed to be talking to one another. All of them except for the half-orc, who was instead watching you.

“Tomorrow, we need to prepare first.”

The Gentleman waved you off, and you went to your bed in the upper part of the Evening Nip, then preparing some things for your mission tomorrow. You went down to the bar, waiting for the Mighty Nein.

They finally arrived, and they were blindfolded and escorted to a dock, where you parted ways with you’re colleagues and rowed down the river with the Mighty Nein. You led them down the river, not talking and very aware that the half-orc and the monk were watching you. The Nein then decides to pull a race, and the goblin uses her ring of water walking. Until she hits a rock.

As she’s being pulled into the boat, you see a dark mantle drop, wrapping around her head, as well as the man and the half-orc. Luckily, you’re able to defeat them with almost no injuries.

“Those weren’t there before, I swear.” You say as the monk woman accuses you of trying to kill them. As she’s yelling at you, she stops and urges everyone to go faster due to rock monsters.

You drift downward before docking and sitting on the gravel beach as the large woman and blue teifling clear the rockslide.

“Mind telling us your name?” the half-orc asks, sitting beside you,

“Y/N,” you say, looking over, “And no, no last name. What about you?”

“I’m Fjord,” he says, then points to his party, “That there’s Beauregard and Jester. Then Mollymauk and Yasha. Those two are Caleb and Nott.” He pointed to where the goblin was braiding flowers into the man’s hair.

“Right. Apologies for the cave-in, when I first discovered this place, my group got attacked, one of them decide to destroy the wall.”

“Not a problem Y/N!” says Jester, clearing away the last rocks, “See, already cleared”

Mollymauk walks over and offers you his hand to helo you get up, as he does, he pulls you close to whisper in your ear, “Do you have any clue who I was?”

Was. Interesting choice of words, Mr. Mollymauk. “No, Cree seemed to though. So whatever little gang you two were in, I certainly wasn’t a member.”

“Something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye Y/N, and I for one, am interested to find out what.”

Mollymauk back off at my shocked expression, walking away before saying over his shoulder, “And it’s just Molly, dear.”

We go down the stairs, through many trapped rooms (which Nott kept forgetting to check, leaving you to pick up her slack), Fjord almost falls down a pit, before finally reaching a large chamber.

The first thing you notice in the room is a teleportation circle, though it’s broken. You tell this to the Nein, which makes Caleb give you a quizzical look “And how do you know what a broken teleportation circle looks like?”

“I may be nothing more than a thief, but I am somewhat educated.”

You all begin searching around, and eventually, Caleb finds a journal written in Draconic. As you discuss it, the temperature drops and a skeletal form stretches from the group, ghastly skin stretched over its face.

“My secrets are yours.”

After that, you and the Nein launch into battle, and shockingly, you all fight very well together, working in sync.

You watched Jester sink to the ground, your own head pounding from the mental attacks. Molly charged at the undead Siff Dunder, and you shouted “Finish this Mollymauk!” as you ran towards Jester, giving her a healing potion you kept in your pocket.

The temperature drops again, cold energy emerging from a bookshelf. You can physically see Caleb remembering something, his eyes lighting. He mentions a physical form, like will o’ wisps and you swear under your breath as a series of attacks knocks Yasha unconscious. Jester is by her side instantly, healing her, before she and Beauregard pull down the bookshelf.

A large urn stands amongst pots and small cases, and Molly reaches through and destroys the urn. Siff, who was just attacking you and Fjord as you tried to distract it, disintegrates, and you both breathe a sigh of relief.

You all take a bit of time to collect yourself, and Fjord once again sits beside you, “Alright, I need to know. Why no last name?”

“Never got one.” You said, drinking from your waterskin and checking for any injuries.

“Orphan?”

“Yeah”

You notice a flash of something like sympathy on his face, and but in “I don’t need your pity. I’m perfectly fine without parents.”

“I was gonna say me too.”

You look at Fjord, “Right, sorry.”

Fjord looks like he’s about to ask another question, but you’re interrupted by Nott rubbing oil on herself and squeezing through the hole. Yasha just breaks the wall.

Why was that hot? You think to yourself

You see Nott bent over a case with her thieves tools out, trying to open a lock. Two minutes pass and you hear a gas leak and repeated coughing. “Poison,” she croaks, handing out the jewelry she found, even handing you a piece.

Beauregard searches through the urns, finding a spellbook, which she gives to Caleb. He traces some pattern in the air and finishes the spell, looking around the room. Your back is turned, but he gives you a look, nodding at Beau. You’re definitely hiding abilities other than the rouge ones you’ve displayed.

He points out a sword called the Magicians Judge, which Yasha takes. Molly, Jester, Fjord, and Beau leave to investigate further down the river, while you make camp with Caleb and Nott.

“You know magic,” Caleb says after a long stretch of silence. “How?”

A simple question, but you were reluctant to answer, Fjord already knows too much about you. “I stole some books off of a travelling wizard when I was 15. I was going to sell them, but they seemed interesting, so I taught myself.”

“How old are you?” Nott asked in between sips of her flask.

“23.” You answer, resting your head on your bag.

“What spells do you know?”

“Just a few illusions. Makes thievin’ easier.”

The interrogation seemed to stop then, and a few minutes later, the others return, and you all fall asleep.

You dream of being chased through Alfeild after stealing the books. You ran and ran, jumping on carriages until you deemed yourself far enough away. Late nights of learning magic, trying to get a hold on precious components with no money. Slowly learning.

When you woke up, you realized you shouldn’t have slept around strangers, your true form peeking through. You shift slowly back, keeping your cloak wrapped around you.

“Fjord, you have a little something right here.” Jester says, pointing out the dried blood on the corner of his mouth.”

“Oh, yeah, I grind my teeth,” Fjord explains blushing slightly as he wipes it. As he does you notice his tusks are shorter than other half-orcs you’ve seen.

Jester notices it too and starts questioning him about them. Fjord gets nervous and says “When I was younger, they used to make fun of my teeth, so I got rid of the target.”

“The kids at the orphanage?” You ground out, all too familiar with asshole kids

“Yeah, it just kinda became a habit.”

“Did you ever kill them?” Yasha asked, looking very serious,

Nott quickly became concerned “Yasha. Have you ever killed a kid?”

No answer.

Immediately, the Mighty Nein promised that if he grew them out they’d support him. You had a moment then. These people hadn’t known each other long, minus a couple of obvious pairings, but you could tell they were good people. Certainly better than the Gentleman’s goons.

You all make your way up to the Gentleman’s lair, keeping quiet. You’re lost in thought, right up until you take the blindfold off of the Nein. You pull Fjord aside before he gets to the Gentleman.

“I still have to talk to the Boss about it, but would it be alright if I maybe tagged along with you guys for a bit? You seem like good people, and I think I need a change of company.”

“I’d have to talk to the other, but I don’t have a problem with it. You’re a good fighter Y/N, we could definitely use you.”

You nod and wait for the Mighty Nein to finish the meeting with the Gentleman before you sit down with him.

“Hey, Boss?” You say, waiting for permission to speak, “I was thinking, I might try travelling around a bit. I’ve never been good at staying in one place, you know my past. And those Migh-”

The Gentleman held up a hand, and you felt the entire bar fall silent. He was going to say no, you knew it.

“Y/N, you’ve been my best employee for the last several years. Your talents are unmatchable, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a replacement. But I get it. A change of pace is always needed. Go pack up your things, and don’t worry about your bar tab, I’ll pay.” He slid a pouch of gold across the table, “Here’s a little something to start you off.”

Holy shit.

“Thank you, sir.”

The Gentleman nodded, and you ran to pack your things. Fjord said something about the Leaky Tap, so you headed over. Right away, Jester threw her arms around you.

“Welcome to the Mighty Nein!”

#mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #jester lavorre #fjord stone #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #nott the brave #Change With The Tides #fanfiction #Critical role #this wasn't supposed to be so long

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zirkkun · 4 years ago

Text

just before.

just before. (Undertale fanfic - based off of Wickedtale by @alch3mic - rated M by AO3 standards.)

+ soldier!sans x dancer!reader (they/them prns)

+ 4456 words, english

+ prologue to soldier’s story. first time he ever meets dancer.

+ cw: mentions of murder, classism, yandere/obsessive personality, abusive/controlling parents

+ “he hadn't heard that phrase in years. so constantly aware of the corruption plaguing the world... well, as it seemed, there was still one highlight to live to protect.”

+ AO3 link

Ebott City. The corrupted hell hole that was somehow above ground, while the actual hole the "monsters" came from had been far more palatable. At least, in one case. Many didn't have the same experience he did, but… whatever. That didn't really matter. He didn't really care about it anymore. Why dwell on the past? There's too much shit going on in the present to even have time for something like that.

Day-to-day life was flooded: constantly moving, constantly working, never slowing, never stopping. There's no time for that. The day he gets time to take off and sleep, get whatever medication he's sure he needs for his horrifically weak non-stomach, and lead a healthy and safe lifestyle while retaining his wealth? Ha. In dreams, maybe. This city wasn't kind enough for that. Though, maybe if his ambitions weren't so specific, he wouldn't have fallen into this path of endless work… but it's a little late for that.

His brother had made use of their skills the two of them had attained growing up, and with that opened a dance studio where others of all sorts could come through and learn how to dance. A small corner of peace in this awful world, that little building, where monsters and humans could both dance without feud, where rich and poor could both talk without judgement. Maybe it was ironic, maybe it was fate, or maybe it was straight coincidence that his brother had named the place "Enchanted Dancing." He knew that the name was merely in reference to the magic of their home where everyone had their own sort of dances they practiced, which they all soon found was very different from most other monsters who had battle magic specialties. But even still… heh, ah, it just further proved his point. The only decent place in the world was the Underground, before they ever surfaced.

A beep. 6:00 P.M. Work.

Or, rather, his second line of work.

While he'd abandoned his dance skills long ago, he never really fully disconnected with music as a whole. It's not like he really could when he doesn't have anything else to his life or history -- he doesn't know anything else. So, he made it a pastime to make his own musical works, trying to sell them online for money, but quickly found it's not exactly easy for people to find your work… let alone get them to pay for it when they do. He had run low on money fast -- so fast that he needed something quick and easy that he could do to not end up on the curb in a weeks' time.

He doesn't remember how he heard about it, or really what possessed him to go along with it anyway; but somewhere along the line, he'd caught word of some pretentious wealthy human furiously rattling off how their reputation would be "demolished" if the rumor that had begun about their business didn't come to a halt. How they would pay "insane amounts of money" to have that rumor "eradicated." You know, without really doing any work themself, or trying to better the work that they were doing, or fixing the root of their problem to begin with… Yes, because throwing money at the problem until it's pushed onto someone else is the better solution.

And yet… when someone comes up to you in your hour of despair, presenting to you an arguably invisible layer of protection in this world of work or die, something to get you out of the dark and stop the ticking clock of your otherwise inevitable doom…

It's not like he was going to turn down the offer.

He'd forged some sort of alias -- whatever it was at the time no longer mattered, since he'd had many over the half year or so he's been doing this -- and scribbled out a note of sorts explaining what was, at the time, a feigned, short "resume" for work as an information broker. The note was left with the pretentious prick, who did, in fact, end up contacting him in the end, offering more money than he thought he'd ever see in his waking life. Needless to say, he took the job… and found the issue to be so incredibly simple to resolve that even a child could have done it.

Well, no.

A child would have had more sense of morality.

... probably.

Who was he kidding here, honestly? He complains about the rich on a regular basis, their foolish waste of money, their apathy towards those that didn't have any money, just pure care for only money.

But here he was.

Morality erased.

Lives ruined.

Bank account overflowing.

Doing the same things they were doing.

The very least he could do -- and the very least he does do -- is support those whose music he'd wanted to support while he was on the edge of homelessness. Even some of his online friends, music composition friends, were consistently met with the cash they needed in a moment's notice. "Where did you even get this kind of money?" they would ask him. He would just jokingly say that an old witch blessed him with unending wealth, or something else to that extent of unbelievable ridiculousness.

But, unfortunately, not all of his money could go towards such good causes. While he did have far beyond the money to sustain multiple dozen families, at least a third of it was thrown right back into the exchange as he paid person after person for job after job he was unwilling to do.

There was no blood on his hands. No dust caked into his bones.

But it was splattered all over the money he handed out like trick-or-treat candy.

He'd met two others, notably, that did a lot of work alongside him. A crafty cat and a wily wolf… figuratively, of course. The three of them sharing the same first name, they merely tossed nicknames at each other. More often than he probably realized, they took much of his budget for work he was far too lazy to bother with. You know, scouring the dark web for information, stalking people to track their pathing… the occasional hit here and there. Sometimes, he would do it himself, but only if he really felt up to it… and frankly, he was never in the mood for murder. But that damn wolf was shockingly willing -- for the right paycheck.

He did recognize, however, the two of them did seem to have a mutual similarity that he, personally, did not share.

… he did not have anyone close to him. He didn't have anyone who looked after him, cared for him. It didn't bother him until recently, when apparently that damn wolf managed to lock the object of his affection into a relationship. Even the cat seemed bitter when he heard the news. Someone so fucked as him still manages to find someone?

… the world was just trying with his emotions at this point. Taunting happiness at the end of a pole taped to the back of his head, leaving it just out of reach, but always in his way and always in his line of sight.

Of course, he had his brother…

... who he doesn't talk to for weeks at a time…

... and he keeps turning down his offers to meet up again…

… yes, he had his brother. A strong emphasis on the "had."

He was alone. He knew that. But, at least for the case of his brother, he'd done it on purpose.

The last thing he wants is to have his brother, someone so passionate and pure, hands still clearly clean of sin; find out he has the richest humans of the city wrapped around his fingers out of both fear and dependability.

So, frankly, sometimes he found himself jealous of the other two. The other two who had someone to care for them.

He supposed the trio of them could sort of be friends…

He'd met the wolf a few times in person, both intentionally and not.

He'd bumped into the cat, wasted in a bar, more than once.

… No, they really weren't his friends. Co-workers is the best way he could probably describe them.

Yes, he was just jealous of them.

He was alone.

…

… Well, work isn't going to start itself. He pulled his phone back up to his face, clicking it on to see how long he'd zoned out for. 6:03 P.M. Not too terrible. He slammed shut his laptop, pushing back from his chair as he went to put on the outfit that had practically become his "uniform" at this point. A dark under layer of tight leggings and a fitted long-sleeve athletic tee with a zip-up turtleneck; a desaturated over layer of a baggy, now sleeveless hoodie and equally as baggy gym shorts. And, of course, a hat, as usual… but he wore those no matter the time of day.

His apartment door clicked shut behind him as he left, and once the door was locked, he evaporated into thin air.

-- only to appear, moments later, in front of one of the most lavish mansions in the richest part of Ebott City. It was so bleeding with "I'm such a rich, extra asshole" energy that it made his Soul twist with disgust. The walls were marble, shimmering from small lights below them to show off their sparkling, smooth surface. Each edge of the building was lined with gold-plated metal, even the rails to the stairway. Arching windows stood on either side of the front door, which was probably big enough for an average sized elephant to fit into with some extra ear room to boot.

Thank the stars he didn't have to go inside again. He already knew what his job was for the night, and to be back inside that disgustingly overdone building these pretentious humans called "home"... Just thinking about it made him feel beyond insulted.

He took another shortcut -- this time, finding himself on the rooftop. Although the sun had not yet fully set, even so, it was still much darker here than standing in front of the artificially-lit trophy they called a front entrance. He popped open his phone again. 6:05 P.M.

Unlocking it completely, he pulled up a message from the cat he'd gotten this morning.

morning soldier~ i managed to get done what you needed me to for today last night. which, you owe me BIG-TIME for, mister.

i was up until 4 am doing this!!

Soldier checked the timestamp. Yesterday, 11:34 P.M. Does that cat think he's an idiot? Whatever, it's not like this was the important part of the message. But, if anything, he's getting docked pay for really bad lying. It's not like the guy needs more alcohol money, anyway.

here's a list compiled of all the parties in ebott tonight. i only looked for ones starting after 6 pm like you asked, but there was still far too many… the list is very long (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

[file download link]

i hope you're happy!!! cause im not looking any more than that!!!!! ☆⌒(> _ <)

He downloaded the file to his phone, browsing through it to see what parties had been collected into the spreadsheet. He only could assume that's what was bringing them out, at the very least.

Oh, yes, his job for the evening. That's integral information, I suppose.

The mansion whose roof he sat upon currently was owned by a human family with the surname King. They had twelve children, all adopted, but were all also kept on very rigorous and strict schedules. The eldest of the children very recently had been caught sneaking out of the house every evening by one of their siblings, and sleeping noticeably late in the morning, their final semester of university was suffering from this all as they refused to finish their thesis. So, naturally as it is for all the rich, they threw their money at the problem hoping that would fix it.

Today's "that" was the skeleton monster sitting on their roof, waiting to see when someone would eventually leave the house.

With a hefty sum of money, upfront payment, as usual; Soldier was told to follow their child for three nights, and to report back after that time with what they had been up to. Seemed easy enough. Of all the jobs he'd gotten, tailing someone for a few days and tracking their every move was probably the easiest he's ever had the misfortune of doing.

He continued to scroll through the list. He had been given absolutely nothing to work with from the Kigngs as to where their kid was headed or when they tended to leave the house, or any information of actual use; so he was going into the job without a clue as to what he was really looking for. It was probably the most difficult aspect of the job -- hence why he outsourced the bulk of it. As for the "where," parties seemed like a reasonable assumption to make for a human college student. That's a rather common stereotype of sorts, college students getting drunk at party after party, is it not? Better than nothing, he supposed. Nothing else really came to mind anyway, but that doesn't mean there wasn't another option. Even still, it's a better start than nothing.

Now he had to just wait for the "when." He had the list in front of him, hoping he could deduce when the human would leave their house… but the more he read it over, the more bored he got. Guess the cat wasted his time. Oh well. That's not Soldier's problem.

Just as he locked his screen shut, planning to come down from the roof and investigate any exits that might be hidden to most of the house, he heard an absurdly loud sound he initially thought was a gunshot, followed by a raspy huff of various curses. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, after shortcutting there silently to avoid making attention towards himself; he noticed there was, in fact, no gunshot, but rather, an awfully messy and junky trap door of sorts, seemingly made of plywood. A human, who he assumed was the one who swore earlier, grabbed a bush that had been sitting next to it, picking it up like it was nothing and placing it over the door. It was in line with several other, similar bushes. The human dusted off their hands before walking, keeping a close eye on the mansion walls to their side.

Well, looks like he's found who he's supposed to tail.

He kept watch over them for as long as his eyes could follow, and then, the moment they left his vision, he shortcutted to where they had been moments ago, though slightly distanced as to be hidden nearby; and simply repeated the process. Soldier knew this part of the city better than the back of his hand, so he knew where he was at all times, as well, making shortcutting silently even easier.

… However, what he didn't understand was where the hell this human was headed. A few times he tried clicking on his phone, scrolling through the list again, but they weren't headed in any direction towards any party. And even when they started heading in the direction of one… they would end up taking a "wrong" turn and dodging it completely.

…

… this was taking a really long time…

It's… almost been an hour by now. Soldier's starting to recognize this area a little less. He knew the map layout, but not all of the details about where they were or what was distinctly different about each street. They were outside of the rich part of town, but not quite in the poorer side that he was used to, either. If he was remembering correctly, this was in the direction of downtown. Unless this human's planning on breaking into some probably-already-crashed college dorm party for the night, they definitely weren't planning to party at all. Okay, well, that throws that plan out the window.

But now he had no idea what to expect. Were they banned from getting help, so they're actively seeking it out? Unlikely. Were they secretly addicted to drugs? Unless it was alcohol, getting away with drug smuggling in downtown was a horrific, nearly impossible idea. Did they have a significant other that their family wouldn't let them see? Well… he had no idea. Thoughts and questions and possibilities kept cycling in and out, but he never lost sight of where they were going.

And, sure enough, the bright downtown lights descended upon them as they started making their way across the long bridge leading to the most eventful point of the city. Due to the sheer length of the bridge, and the fact that Soldier was not as well-versed in the map of the downtown Ebott area… he resorted to traditional stalking, mimicking their every step as casually and nonchalantly as possible, as though to avoid being spotted.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. One new message.

weeeeell? was my work useful? >:3c

He merely huffed half a laugh before typing out his response.

i didnt use it at all

what?! Σ(･口･) soldier, i went through all that hard work, and you didn't even LOOK at it???

i looked at it

i didnt use it

...you're at least still paying me, right?

you are the WORST 凸(｀△´＋）

i'm never doing anything for you again >:(

you dont need the alcohol money anyway

But the cat never responded to that one. Well, Soldier's never been the best at landing most jokes, despite his tendency to make them. Clearly sarcasm wasn't his strong point either. Whatever. He'd pay him later.

He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his attention back to his job as the bridge finally began to end. If the human was suspicious of his following them, they showed no signs of it. Good. Frankly, being silent by stalking someone in this manner isn't his strong suit. He had assumed they would have stayed nearby… not gone to the other side of the city.

The sun had set, but even still, downtown was overwhelmed with artificial lighting, and frankly, it was already giving Soldier a headache and he hadn't even been here for more than 10 minutes. Curse his ridiculously weak and sensitive body.

The human kept walking along, though their pace was beginning to hasten as they flickered their gaze between stepping and a phone screen. Naturally, he also quickened his footing, although unsure as to why. Maybe they were running late for something?

They took a sharp left into a shady alleyway; Soldier shortcut to its entrance, spotting them sprinting down it as fast as they could before eventually climbing up a wooden fence at the end, reaching its peak and jumping over it with ease. Like they'd done this many times before. Soldier, confused, checked the name of the buildings on either side of the alleyway… but neither were significant. One was even an apartment building of sorts, but it looked abandoned at best. Well, might as well continue.

Reaching the end of the alley and pushing himself over the fence with magic to avoid making as much sound as possible, Soldier's feet landed on the concrete of the other side. It was surprisingly… clean. As if someone kept it nice regularly. He went to take a step forward when he heard chattering, and instead, tucked himself behind the smallest edge of the nearby wall, barely peering over its edge to see the rest of the area.

It was like a very small park. Perhaps a courtyard? But it was too barren for that. Well, all except the trees. There were four skinny trunks sprouted from the ground, all of different kinds, and probably no more than two and a half meters tall. Around them was a square-shaped sidewalk of the same concrete he was standing on.

But, at that center of the trees, were two humans, not one. He recognized the one he'd been following up until this point -- vaguely, and mostly just from the color of their clothing -- but the other was new.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I was held up worrying I was going to get caught…" the human he'd followed spoke. "My dad apparently hired someone to follow me for a few days. One of my sisters told me… she apparently ratted me out -- she was forced to -- and now my dad's on a manhunt to find out what I'm doing."

"Yikes," the other person responded. They had a higher pitched voice, but a lower tone of interest. "Sorry to hear about it. You didn't need to come racing here to tell me that, you know. You could have stayed home and texted me to move the lesson."

Lesson?

"No, it's fine. I came because I wanted to. It probably would have been better if I waited… but I was too excited about tonight," the human explained. "It's the first time we're practicing the whole dance routine straight through. I've been practicing on my own some other nights, too."

… dance routine?

The other human let go of a heavy laugh. "You've really been practicing for two weeks straight with no other dance party breaks?"

"I said on some other nights!"

The both of them laughed.

But Soldier was stuck on "dance routine."

A phrase he typically only heard from his brother anymore, and he barely talked to him as is.

A phrase he'd never said himself in… so long.

An act he hasn't tried since they were still trapped Underground…

An act that, even back then, he'd sworn off doing after so many years of it.

It's like he'd been punched directly in the Soul. Possibly even with a knife.

"Well, are you ready to start, then?"

Soldier's attention peered back to the two humans.

"Yup, whenever you are!"

There was a brief period of silence.

Then the music started. He didn't recognize it at first…

But the realization that it was his own piece hit him in the face like a truck. Some sort of shivering heat rushed through his body. … embarrassment? ...maybe? He… wasn't sure.

But even still…

He soon became entranced by their dancing.

Only the human he had been following was dancing the routine. Every step timed perfectly to every beat and measure… so meticulously performed with such dedication. But then, some old part of him started to creep back from where it had been shoved away, as he started judging the technique of their every move. Sure, they had a… beautiful dedication to every step they took… but much of it was wrong. Though, they were not missteps. Everything planned was executed with confident perfection. The moves themselves were wrong. Some of them didn't match the tone of the piece at all, and it was clear that they were self-taught, just based on how they were moving in between each one. He wasn't mad, no… no, rather… he was utterly fascinated.

Soldier stood and watched the whole routine, start to finish. Though, he couldn't help but have a yelp from his own Soul every time they did something his own memory was screeching to be incorrect. It was yelping because… he wanted to correct them. He wanted to walk up to them, tell them what was wrong with their choices, and point them in the right direction. He wanted to… take them by the hand, directing their movements through his, teaching them how to dance the way he was taught. He… couldn't stop staring…

A scream. Soldier shortcut in a panic. He was now on the opposite side of the wooden fence, back in they alleyway.

"What, what is it?" The voice of the second human.

"I… I thought I saw someone." A breathy, horrified tone from the dancer. "I thought someone was watching me but… th-then I blinked and… they were gone."

The second human huffed angrily. "You haven't been getting proper sleep lately, have you? Maybe you should go home and rest."

Still breathing heavily, the dancer hummed a sound of malcontent. "I… Can I finish the routine first?"

"Really, now…" But with a sigh, the second human allowed them to start again from the beginning.

Meanwhile, Soldier…

He was doing his best not to scream on his own. So many emotions overwhelmed him entirely. Most of which he could not identify. But one thing would not stop looping in his mind. One thing other than a raging beat echoing in his skull from the sound of his own Soul racing, that was. In fact, that only heightened.

The thought of taking their hand. Teaching them to dance.

The overwhelming feeling of hearing someone else not just listening to his work… but expanding upon it. Being able to express themself through it. Being able to see themself through him.

The raging passion burning deep inside of him, regretting his forgone dancing career. It ate at his Soul, bit by bit. Begging his laziness to cave for them and them alone.

The fact that all of these thoughts happened in the very same millisecond that he made eye contact with them… he felt unexplainably and weirdly hot.

That eye contact. Their eyes, their face. They were almost as beautiful as the dances they performed… no… perhaps even more so.

Another loud beat echoed in his skull. The song was reaching its end. He knew he needed to start going home before he was caught.

But part of him wanted to be caught.

Part of him wanted to catch them.

… And all of him wanted to see them dancing… just one more time. Once more, that's all he asks.

Just one more time.

Maybe… maybe that will suffice.

Maybe that will drive away the fortissimo thoughts clouding his sense of reality. Maybe he'll be able to go back to…

A thought. A separate one, remembered from earlier this same evening.

"Alone."

He was… alone.

…

Did he really want to go down the same paths as…?

No, not really.

But it seemed his Soul was not giving him much other option. The mere thought of never being able to label himself as lonely… and if it was because of someone as beautiful as them…

Well. He already was a hypocrite, chanting against a society he partook in regularly. What other damage could be done by reaffirming what he already knew?

Besides. His Soul was desperate.

He wanted that dancer for his own.

No… no, this was most certainly a need.

#undertale #undertale au #soldier!sans #dancetale sans #wickedtale #undertale fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #yandere tw//#zircon writes #zircon arts #i am too tired for this #but i could not sleep #so instead i am posting this #ive had it done for a while #but the drawings been sitting half finished for a while lol

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legends-live-in-memories · 5 years ago

Text

“How Did All This Happen?”- A Memoire by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng 1

Soooooo I decided to write this. much longer than the other things i posted, also very tonally different. I will definitely continue that other fic tho. I was just brainstorming and now this exists. Yeah.

without further ado

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

People Fucked Up and Now It’s All Marinette’s Mess to Clean Up I

This was not how Marinette planned for her night to go. Granted, she also could not envision it going literally any other way. The woes of making a deal with the hell-raiser himself, John Constantine, she supposes. She truly hoped Adrien was having a much better time than her with his cousin in London. After the circus that was the past three years, he deserved some reprieve, even if it was with his bratty doppelganger. Regardless, Marinette. Was. Not. Pleased. No matter how many times she thinks over her plan, recalculates every step and decision, she could not fathom this night ending well for her, or anyone really, but mostly her. And no amount of old Ladybug or Guardian luck could help her. Now, if one were to wonder what kind of tragedy had befallen Marinette on this disgraceful night, a brief history of the last three months could enlighten such a person. Or better yet, let’s start at the beginning. The Real Beginning.

So, things existed. Obviously. First there was nothing, and then, something. And as more things began to exist, as new schools of knowledge and concepts and ideas began to, well, exist, Kwamis formed as well. Each Kwami was the physical manifestation of these ideas or abstracts. Creation was the first, coupled with Destruction. And as more things began to exist, more things began needing to be protected. Thus, the Kwami of Protection. This went on. For a while. Soon thereafter there were Kwamis of all types. Jubilation, Time, Strength, etc, etc, and etc. Now these Kwamis did not linger in one spot. They roamed across the far stretches of existence and interacted with the life they found.

Some Kwamis decided to form a magical pact which intergalactic historians would later dub the Emotional Electromagnetic Spectrum. Sounds familiar? The Kwamis themselves were completely blissfully unaware of this title, lest they would have explained to these beings, Maltusians they were called, that they were not in fact, electromagnetic but more so a part of the Powers that Be. Kind of. But this side-story involves the formation of a few universally known Lantern Corps, and that is a barrel of monkeys our exasperated narrator does not want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Or ever.

Other Kwamis, who stuck close to what would become known as the Milky Way, were discovered by a mage who granted them the ability to interact with humans. This mage— and Marinette was silently cursing his descendants, herself included, for if it weren’t for this absolute mad lad, none of the subsequent events of this night would have transcribed—had bound the Kwamis to magical jewelry called Miraculouses. An interesting side effect of these Kwamis being bound to the miraculouses was that the wearer could call upon the powers of the Kwamis for their own usage. The mage feared what could become of the world if this kind of power became so easily accessible, so he created the Order of the Guardians. The Order was dedicated to training young mages to protect, wield and harvest the powers of the miraculouses. The Order swore to true neutrality; wishing not to impose their will on one side or the other, to maintain balance and to not upset the natural order of the world.

This went surprisingly well for a few millennia, that is, of course, if you ignore the sinking of Atlantis, the extinction of the dinosaurs, the Black Plague, the creation of the Lazarus Pits, Pompeii, to name a few completely egregious instances—not necessarily in order of course—and well, the point stands that it could have been astronomically worse. Until it was.

One young mage and Guardian in training had caused the downfall of almost the entire Order of the Guardians. All the centuries of history, teachings, artifacts and even the people at the head temple, were lost to the calamity. Dozens of Miraculous Boxes were lost, destroyed in the fray. The Kwamis themselves were relatively unaffected, being immortal and all, but the magical jewelry binding them to the earth were broken, thus those Kwamis were lost to mankind once again. Only one singular box, and the young mage himself, survived. The new Guardian of one miraculous box was left to scour the earth in solitude. Well, about as much solitude one could have with 17 pocket gods as company. The fact that the only box that survived was missing two more miraculouses caused the already stressed guardian to grey further. But that tidbit of information would be a problem for later. And for someone else entirely too. Oh joy.

But before that sequence of events, aptly named “Marinette’s Trial by Fire,” however, the young guardian had a couple more life mistakes to make before he reached his internal quota apparently. Rather than travel to another sector of the Order on the other side of the earth, this young mage stumbled upon another organization, one similar in architecture and hierarchy but a pendulum swing in the total moral opposite. Yes, that’s right, the guardian found himself upon the League of Shadows, led by Ra’s Al Ghul in his endeavor of global cleansing; by acts of ecoterrorism, but who sweats the small stuff, right? There, the young guardian, who adopted the name of Wang Fu, met his first love Ming Hong and they had a son. The son had a daughter he named Mei. Now Mei was only a few weeks younger than Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson, Damian. Now with an appropriate heir, and someone to procreate with said heir, Ra’s Al Ghul gained a special interest in the small Fu family that originally flew under the radar of the League.

Now this is where things continue to go downhill, but not until much, much later in this story. Ra’s Al Ghul, despite his radical ambitions, was particularly good at playing the long game and understood when he couldn’t accomplish a task directly. This being said, he recognized that, due to prolonged exposure to the Lazarus Pits, his soul could not bear the strain of being a wielder of a miraculous and so he waited. Waited until a suitable heir was sired and could copulate with an heir to the guardian of the miraculous box, desiring to create a bloodline of genetically suitable successors and wielders who were loyal to him and his cause.

Ra’s ordered for the Fu family to have a place on his court and ordered for Mei Fu to be trained in mastering the secrets of the miraculous. And master she did. By age 6 she was fluent in the coded language of the magical text, or as fluent a 6 year old can be in any language, and she had mastered 7 out the 17 miraculouses. By age 10 she was as skilled as the grandson of the Demon Head in combat and could handle simultaneous wear of 3 miraculouses. Her training, however, had to be put on hold as somebody thought usurping the Demon Head was of the utmost importance that glorious Tuesday and staged a coup. She wished Deathstroke had lost more than an eye that day, but a girl can dream she supposes. Mei and her grandfather were separated from the rest of the League and journeyed west. Somehow they ended up in Paris, France. After one too many run ins with the authorities, Mei was removed from her grandfather, who was deemed too unfit to support her. It was a miracle he wasn’t deported.

Mei was put into protective custody where she resided until she was 13. Recently adopted, and thoroughly done with the plebeians of her daily encounters, Mei Fu became Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of the best bakers in Paris. All was well and good for the new Dupain-Cheng until the start of the new school year.

She met her grandfather again. And apparently he had a job for her and her soon to be new partner.

Hawkmoth, that bitch, had somehow acquired the two last surviving miraculouses and the only surviving grimoire and thought domestic terrorism was on the agenda for the next few years. Why? Because investing in a family therapist was too much of an inconvenience for local recluse, Gabriel McFucking Agreste, Marinette would shortly learn.

After dealing with all of that and juggling between her reignited guardian training, and ‘normal’ girl life—because her parents don’t know that she’s a magical girl in the making—, Marinette was ready to sleep for a thousand years. Or commit murder. Whichever gave her enough serotonin to complete her current passion project. But, alas, no rest for the totally-over-it or however that saying goes. Because after declaring Paris safe once again, sending off her brother-in-arms, Adrien Agreste, to family in London (marginally decent but anything beats the abusive prick of a sperm donor), in waltz one drunken John Constantine.

Ah yes. Him. That absolute bastard who doesn’t deserve nice things in life. That guy.

This unpleasantry approached Master Fu and Marinette, who has been regulated to errand-girl in lieu of training, with a job that he proclaimed that only one blessed with magic, and specifically NOT connected to the Justice League could accomplish. Apparently, a group called the Cult of the Kobra resided on Santa Prisca and was in possession of a dangerous magical artifact that had been the backbone of their organization for years. Constantine came to them asking them for assistance in retrieving it as the Justice League could not interfere in the Caribbean due to new UN legislation. It was a mission of utmost urgency for he feared the cult leader, Kobra himself, was planning on enacting a ritual that could bring calamity to Earth. Which is just what the doctor ordered. Not. In exchange, he agreed to add to her magical training as while master Fu was good, he was still young when he ran away from his problems the first time and thus was limited in his magical knowledge.

That was three months ago. Three months of planning, training, and convincing her parents that letting her go on an extended retreat for an undetermined amount of time with her mostly absent biological grandfather was totally reasonable for the seventeen year old to do. Like, come on. She’s almost old enough to drink, almost ready for university and has been praised for her independence and self-sufficiency for years. She’ll be fine is what she told her parents and she was almost able to convince herself of that too. She would be perfectly fine. Right?

Wrong.

Marinette was anything but fine. She was stressed, she was tired and she was abso-fucking-lutely pissed at anything that even breathed in her direction. Why? Well that brings us back to the beginning of the story when everything on this mission did not go according to plan. So here she was along what was once upon a time the eastern coastline of Santa Prisca. Oh and look. The Junior Justice League has arrived.

Purrrrfect.

Some one asked for a taglist. Ask and ye shall receive

@deathwishy @neakco @ virtualreading @f-rget-lt @your-resident-chicken-nugget

#maribat #marinette x damian #daminette #i was bored and left unattended #no salt in case you were wondering #yes i am looking at you antis who feel like stalking this tag #im not tagging characters cuz reasons #badass!marinette dupain cheng #idk what plot this is going to have or how heavy the romance is but this just exists so #i wrote this at 1 am #hdath #thats the fic tag im gonna use if i post more

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delicatelyherdreams · 5 years ago

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Pragma(tic) Epilogue: The Gods Live On

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 3724

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 25: She Almost Murders Someone (Again)

The Winter Solstice Gala, held to celebrate the gods’ reign and usher in a new year, was upon you. It was only months after Bucky had moved in with you—the happiest months of your life.

Bucky was almost immediately integrated into the Underworld as fall set in just days after his promise after he ate those seeds and bound himself to the Underworld for half a year. This almost made it better. Having him with you always made it easier to get him acquainted with everything there was in the Underworld and train him in his new role.

You hardly had to do anything; he was a natural god of death.

“It’s because life and death are so alike,” he said one day as you lay in bed together, your head nestled in the crook of his arm as you both read books. “I just know how it feels. It’s easy for me.”

He was good at leading souls down, providing them with a comforting figure as they made the voyage from the Mortal World to the Underworld. He was good at putting them at ease and getting them down in one piece. And what he wasn’t good at, Clint was there to lend his aide.

That also allowed Bucky to grow accustomed to the Underworld.

He moved like he owned the place. He learned it inch by inch, grew as close to it as you did. He loved the place. He loved his home. It was amazing. You’d expected the dark and the death to have some effect on him, but there was nothing. He moved like he’d always lived there. It was beautiful.

His clothes joined yours in your closet. His toiletries took up residence in the bathroom. He claimed the left side of the bed and brought his own pillow to join yours. He made your home his own, living alongside you in perfect harmony.

It was blissful. You couldn’t believe your eyes every morning when you woke up every morning to see his face sleeping just inches from yours. You found it amazing that you could just swoop in and peck him on the lips whenever you wanted. You found it surreal that he would eat every meal with you and go on strolls around the perimeter of your kingdom whenever you wished. You found it beautiful that you could go to bed every night, holding him in your arms and fall asleep to the sound of his steady heart.

For four months you operated like this, growing accustomed to living together. For four months you saw few others. For four months you knew nothing but peace.

But, of course, peace must be broken.

Carol personally delivered the invitation.

The Winter Solstice Gala was to be held near the end of December on the shortest day and longest night of the year.

You had half a mind to decline the invitation as you had so many years before, but Bucky had accepted before you could put a word in.

“I think it’d be fun,” he later said when you caught him with an accusatory glare. “Besides…” His arms snaked around your waist and he buried his nose in your neck. “I want to see you in a regal dress.”

You couldn’t deny him so you ended up stuck in a scarlet gown, impatiently waiting at the bottom of your stairs for Bucky to finish getting ready.

You fiddled with the fabric of your dress. You had to admit that it was gorgeous. In the traditional ballgown style, it had a wide skirt that swept over the ground when you walked. Fabricated flowers covered the skirt and they crawled up the fabric. The corset top cinched at the waist, giving way for a slit to fall through your cleavage, accenting it just right without revealing anything. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, leaving your skin and collar bones exposed to the cool air. You wore no jewelry or accessory save for your golden crown that rested atop your head.

Your feet ached already. You didn’t like your heels. You didn’t really care much for this dress either, but it was required for such a gala. All the other goddesses would be wearing something similar and you refused to be the odd one out.

You huffed and shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Bucky!” you called up the stairs. “Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!” Unlikely, but you were desperate to get him out.

“I’m coming!” he yelled back. “I’m sorry, Doll.” His voice was growing louder. “This tie was giving me difficulty.” His footsteps echoed in the halls as he came to the top of the staircase.

You turned to face him and your heart stopped.

You’ve said it before and you’ll say it again: Bucky Barnes looks damn good in black. His suit was a midnight color, as dark as the night sky. His hair was combed back and gelled away from his face. His blue eyes pierced your soul and stole your breath away. You vowed to yourself then to burn every article of clothing he had that was not black.

He gave you a sheepish smile as he descended down the stairs. “You look gorgeous though.” He stopped a foot away from you and took both your hands in his. “Red really is your color.”

You had to peel your eyes off of his figure and snap yourself back to reality. Giving a flustered cough, you nodded. “Yes and… Er, black is your color also. You look good, Buck. Really good.” You could feel heat pooling beneath the skin of your cheeks as you averted your eyes.

He laughed at you and squeezed your hands. “Thank you. Now, shall we head out? I know we only have to teleport, but I don’t really want to wait in a long ass line to get in.”

“Sure! Just…” You mustered up your power and blinked. Opening your eyes again, you found yourself on the steps of the palace, surrounded by two dozen other gods and nymphs. Your ears were greeted with a muted murmur of excitement.

Everyone was dressed to the tens. Fancy gowns made your head swim with colors and elegant suits gave the night a sharpness you found enthralling.

Bucky nudged your side, gesturing up to the front doors where Queen Carol and Queen Maria stood basking in the light of the ballroom.

Carol looked splendid in her white gown, radiating power as she beamed down at the gathering of gods below. “The Winter Solstice is the time of year in which we gods toast to the new light ahead. On our darkest day, we are able to look forward to a time that will be brighter. The light will only grow on our great empire, shining bright for all to see. Now come! Let us be merry and dance!”

Short, sweet, and simple; just how you liked it.

Your sister and her wife made way for the other gods, allowing them to file into the ballroom.

You and Bucky fell towards the back of the line, slowly climbing your way to the palace. As you passed through the doors, Carol reached out and took your hand. Giving it a gentle tug, she smiled and nodded you in. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered as you passed.

You nodded to her, silently thanking her for the invite, before turning into the ballroom and joining the party.

It was already in full swing. The muses perched on a raised dais on the far wall and played their instruments with expertise. Their jaunty melody filled the air, spurring the gods around to join in dancing on the dance floor. The room was painted gold and midnight blue streamers fell through the air. Balls of magic cast the golden glow over the room. Hovering in the air, they cast dancing shadows whenever they moved. A long table filled with sweets, snacks, and drinks lined the side wall.

Of course that was your first destination.

You and Bucky seemed to be on the same wavelength as you both made a beeline for the food. Your mouth was already watering at the thought of the sweet ambrosia on your tongue.

Bucky laughed as he fell to a stop, picking up an ambrosia square. “We’re pathetic!” he cried, taking a bite out of it. “We could be dancing and instead we came for the food.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. “You know why? Because we’re smart. We can’t dance on empty stomachs. Besides, the food is best here on Olympus. I like the food in the Underworld but there’s just something about this that makes my heart happy.”

“True.”

“Just stay away from the pomegranates,” you warned. “I’m not having any more of that nonsense.”

“You got it, Doll.” He smirked as he popped the rest of the square into his mouth and turned for more.

You could’ve stayed there all night, but it wasn’t long at all before you were interrupted.

“I thought I might find you here,” chimed an amused voice from behind you. You could hear the smile in her words.

Both you and Bucky froze. Turning around slowly, you locked your eyes on Winnifred as she stood apart from you, her arms folded over her chest and her lips quirked up in a smirk. The green of her gown gave her an earthly glow, making the brown of her hair glow with life.

Bucky swallowed heavily. “M-Mother!”

“Hello, James. Hello, (y/n).” She bowed her head to you respectfully.

You nodded back. “It’s good to see you again, Winnifred.”

“And you.” She looked up at Bucky, her eyebrow cocked. “I haven’t seen you in months, James. I was beginning to worry.” Her words were prodding and filled with an unspoken question.

“Yeah… I’ve been spending a lot of my time down in the Underworld.”

“Ah, yes. I did hear about that. I can feel the death on you.” Her face screwed up in mild disgust. “You’re the new god of death.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was an accusation. She didn’t like it one bit.

You nodded. “He volunteered to take on the responsibility. I told him what it meant, and he still wanted it. Who was I to deny him?”

“I am not objecting,” Winnifred said, her voice calm and cold. “I acknowledge that my son is a grown man fully capable of making his own decisions.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Bucky said wrapping his arm around your waist. “I am very happy with my new role. Being the god of death is easy for me and I can do something for the mortals that matters.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t visit every once in a while,” she said with a teasing smirk.

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. He hadn’t told his mom about his situation.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“Actually… Funny story.” Bucky laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My new job requires that I… Uh… I have to stay in the Underworld for half the year. It’s mandatory, non-negotiable. So… During fall and winter I really can’t come to visit you.”

Her lips curled down in a frown. “And why not? I’d assume that even then you’d still be able to spare a day to come up and see me.”

“I can’t, Mother. I’m sorry.” He lowered his gaze. “I ate food of the Underworld. Six pomegranate seeds. I knew what it meant, and I still did it.”

You studied the goddess’ gaze warily, gripping Bucky’s arm and preparing to pull him away should she lash out.

Her face, however, was unreadable. She was silent for a few moments before she took a deep breath. “You swear that you weren’t tricked into eating it? You really wanted to be down there so badly that you decided to revoke your right to choose where you are?”

“I did. I do,” he confirmed, pulling you close to him. “I am happy there. And I can always come during the spring and summer. But for the cold months, I want to be down in the Underworld with (y/n). I made my own choice, and that is what I wanted.”

“Then I am happy for you.”

Her words made your heart stop and you searched her face for any ounce of sarcasm or anger.

You found none. A soft smile had overtaken her features as she looked between you and her son. “I am happy for the both of you, and I only wish you the best.” She nodded her head once more. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid that there are more people I have promised my attention to. I will see you in the spring, my son.” She curtsied to you before backing away and joining the ball.

You stood dumbstruck beside Bucky, your mouth agape. “What the fuck just happened?” you asked, your voice dripping with confusion.

“I think,” he said slowly, his voice tainted by a hint of uncertainty, “my mother just gave us her blessing.” He shook his head. “Whatever! I’m not going to question it!”

“Me neither!” You turned away from where she had gone and looked at Bucky, a wild laugh escaping your mouth.

“I think that’s all the crazy I need from the night. I’ll be checking in with her later to make sure she’s feeling well.”

“Probably a smart idea,” you laughed.

“Oh man…”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were cut off by the sound of a new song filling the air. The tune was slower than the last and gentle in the room. At once partners flooded the floor. Pairs of lovers held each other as they began to dance in time.

Bucky coughed into his hand as he looked out at them. “Seems like fun…” he mused softly, his eyes sliding to glance at you.

“It does,” you agreed softly, looking back at him.

He paused for a moment before turning to you and bowing. His hand extended for yours, giving you the chance to take it. “May I have this dance, my love?” he asked, his voice tender and kind.

You nodded as you placed your hand in his. “It would be my honor.”

His fingers curled around yours and he stood straight. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he walked you to the dance floor.

Gathering your skirts in one hand and grabbing his, you placed your other on his shoulder.

His warm hand grasped yours and his other found a home on your waist. Pulling you flush against him, he smiled down at you. “Just let me lead,” he mumbled as he began to pull you into a waltz.

A soft piano melody filled the air, the notes filling your heart with a slow tranquility. The world around you slowly melted away, leaving you with only him. The scent of him filled your nose—the freshest flowers and the richest earth. His body was warm in such a close proximity. His hand was strong. Nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

You stared up into his blue eyes. They never once left yours.

You traced every one of his features. You knew you’d never get enough of it.

You’d never get enough of him. Truly, he was the love of your life.

How had you gotten so lucky, you wondered as you waltzed around the floor. How had you managed to entrap this man—this god—and make him fall so deeply in love with you? How had you found him?

He really was the only one for you. You couldn’t believe you’d wasted so much time on those who were unworthy of your love. You couldn’t believe that a love like this actually existed.

You loved him. You really did. Where you had been strong before, you were stronger now because of him. You felt it every day when you woke up: the strength and power he gave you through his support.

A year ago, you wanted nothing to do with him.

But now you never wanted him to leave.

You squeezed his hand softly, pulling him closer to your body.

He squeezed yours and smiled in response, twirling you in place.

For hours you danced, letting him lead you in dizzying circles until he waltzed you out of the ballroom to a balcony that overlooked the city.

The music inside quieted to a dull hum and you and Bucky were left alone as the doors closed behind you of their own accord. You slowed to a stop before the marble of the railing.

He didn’t let you go. You didn’t want him to let you go. You basked in the other’s presence, simply enjoying the silence.

You decided to be the first to break it, mumbling three little words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed, his hand letting go of yours and cupping your cheek softly.

You leaned into him, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” you whispered in the night.

“For what?”

“For being with me. For never letting me go or giving up. I can’t imagine it was easy, knowing everything I put you through. So just thank you for everything.” You knew you’d never find the words to tell him exactly how much you appreciated him, but this would just have to do.

He pulled you close and rested his forehead against yours. “We’ve been through too much for me to let you go now, Doll.”

“I know we have. But I want you to know that I never want you to let me go. I love you too much.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” He fell silent for a bit, his brow furrowing in hesitation. “Actually… There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… It’s kind of a big question. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time, but I never knew when I’d catch you in the moment. I guess that now is as good a time as any, right?” He was nervous. You could tell it in the way his eyes wouldn’t stay in one spot for long and how he shuffled his feet. His hand dipped into his suit pocket and slowly pulled out a small, rectangular, velvet box.

Your breath hitched as your eyes glued themselves to the box. “Bucky…” Your voice was small and trembling, the lump in your throat keeping it from being anything more. Your heart pounded in your chest.

He shuffled his feet and passed the box in between his hands, the black of his palm swallowing the black of the box. His blue eyes found yours and held your gaze. “Look, I know that this probably isn't how you’d envisioned your life going—I mean, who could’ve predicted the Queen of the Underworld getting mixed up with some minor god of spring—but I couldn’t imagine my life any other way. I love you so, so much (y/n), and I want you in my life, to have and to hold, for forever. You will have me as long as the stars still burn in the sky. You will have me as long as man roams the Mortal World. You will have me as long as Olympus stands. You will have me as long as we both shall live. So…” He cleared his throat and slowly sank to the ground onto one knee. His hands held out the box as he stared up at you, his eyes begging. “Will you, (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, Queen of the Underworld, and the love of my life, do me the honor of becoming my wife—my beloved queen—and spend eternity with me?” He only then cracked open the box and your heart crawled up into your throat.

Staring up at you, encased in a band of black vibranium, was a perfect and raw ruby, red as blood and the size of a large pebble.

The stone was shockingly familiar and you were surprised you even recognized it. “Is that…?”

“It is.” His smile was bright. “It’s the ruby you threw at me all that time ago. Believe me, I can’t believe I kept it either. But I figured that there was nothing better to propose with than the first gift you gave me put into a band of my own creation.” At your bewildered expression, he smiled sheepishly. “I asked Tony to teach me how to make a ring so I could give you this. But that’s beside the point. I need to know what you say. Will you marry me?”

Staring down at him, you could picture the future. You could see your ring on his finger and his ring on yours. You could see the his-and-hers crowns. You could see two of everything as he only solidified his place in your life. You could see yourself waking up with him, eating with him, loving with him, doing everything with him. You could see him as a permanent part of your life, there forever more.

You could see him standing by your side as your husband and your king, ruling the Underworld together, bound by nothing but love and adoration. You could see him as yours, and you as his.

And it made you smile.

You wiped at the tears that were flooding your eyes and nodded. “Yes,” you said softly.

His eyes lit up as he looked at you hopefully. “Yes?”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”

He didn’t hesitate to slide the ring on your finger and stand to pull you in a hug. With his arms wrapped tightly around your torso, he kissed you and laughed into your mouth.

You held him as close as physically possible, just basking in him. “I love you,” you said again when you broke apart for air.

“And I love you. Always.”

Your heart was happy. You were happy. Knowing that Bucky was yours and yours alone filled you with something indescribable.

He loved you. You loved him. He was yours. You were his. And that was enough to make you happy.

Because now you had him for as long as you both shall live.

For all eternity in your very own happily ever after.

#pragma(tic)#hades and persephone #hades & persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the end

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spiced-ciderr · 5 years ago

Text

Dearly Departed Chapter 2;

May 17th, 1991

Walking into the backroom, eighteen year old Dawson wondered around the dark area. It had to be here. They had to be here. Judging from the tapes Scott had left her, she was in the right room. He'd specifically asked her to look in the spare suits.

Scott Cawthon had been her babysitter growing up. On the nights her father was too drunk or her mother was out at every strip club in town, he was there. He'd been a security guard for her Uncle Will's establishment. He'd always known, though, that something was up. She hadn't noticed it at first, but the suspicious glances he'd shoot at her Uncle, the way he'd never let her or her sister alone in a room with him, the way he'd instructed Dawson to never let Keyla out of her sight when they were at Freddy's. She knew something was...ill. Wrong. Not right. Something was wrong with William Afton. Regardless, she knew she could trust Scott. He was always there for her and Keyla.

Right. Her sister was still back home. She prayed that she'd be okay. A part of Dawson knew that she wouldn't be returning home from the pizzeria tonight.

Lifting the head of the original Fredbear suit, she inhaled sharply, dropping both the costume head and the flashlight she'd taken in with her. The smell. Long-rotten meat. She gagged. The-The kids- He was the one who killed Charlie! A-And Gabriel, and Jer-Jer! All of her and Keyla's childhood friends-

She gasped, her thoughts interrupted. Eyes widening as she felt the large, cold metal blade penetrate her stomach. Choking, she shakily looked up at her Uncle. He grinned sadistically, yanking the knife from her torso before plunging it in again, and again, and again. She screamed, her voice ringing out through the pizzeria. His eyes widened, quickly glancing to the door of the Parts and Service room. He growled, lifting her by her long hair and dragging her away. He snarled at her, before her world finally faded to black.

And with that, Dawson Lynn was dead.

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Falling. She was falling. It was hot. The stink- What was this smell?

She hit the ground with a thud. Ouch. She groaned, opening her eyes. She was- whAA-

Quickly rolling onto the sidewalk, she gasped as her heart raced. She nearly missed being hit by a speeding car. On her back as she gazed up at the bright sky, she realized something was off. Oh, yeah, it was red. Why was the sky red? And why wasn't she dead? She literally just bled out on the floor-

The sun was replaced with a large, bright pentagram. Oh. Oh.

'I'm in hell. Not surprising, honestly.'

She got onto her knees, looking into a nearby puddle. Her large, wolf ears twitched-

Wait.

"large, wolf ears" ?

She froze as she took in her new appearance. Sitting atop her head, were two large wolf ears, both a dark brown and fading into a golden ombre near the tips. She felt behind her, only to find a large and fluffy tail, the same color scheme as her ears. Her eyes had also changed-

Instead of the milky brown they once were, they were now heterochromic. Her left eye, was a beautiful golden color, while her right was pitch black, a small white pinprick at the center. She also had a set of fangs, along with sharpened nails that almost resembled claws.

Shakily standing up, she searched for any scraps of money. She needed to find shelter.

After a few hours, and a lot of gambling, she'd successfully gained a small house somewhere near the 3rd circle. She'd rather not think about just how she'd obtained it.

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A few months into hell, she'd already risen up and proven to be powerful. Taking down any demons that stood in her way, she started pondering in sorcery and magic.

She soon started to call herself "The Witch"

She was surprised when she was officially elected as one of the most powerful Overlords. Though, she was excited to meet the rumored "Radio Demon".

But she hadn't know how soon she'd find him.

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It'd been about two years since she'd arrived into hell when she was summoned out of nowhere to an overlord meeting.

Everyone, including the king of hell himself, had been gathered around a large, rectangular table. She'd been sat across from the infamous Radio Demon, and she couldn't help but shudder at the white noise that filled her senses, making it harder to focus. The static dancing across her skin, she could hardly even concentrate. And from the looks of the other overlords, she could tell that he had been targeting her. It wasn't effecting the other demons.

As the meeting adjourned, she quickly made her way to the exit. But of course, not before being trapped in the elevator with the radio demon.

Damn.

She tried her best to ignore his stare, even though she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull. Finally, she turned around.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, exasperated, finally facing him.

His large grin, from ear to ear, somehow stretched even wider. "Why, whatever do you mean, dear?" he asks, feigning innocence. She growled. "You know damn well what I'm talking about." Instead of responding, the elevator suddenly went dark. Lights flickering on and off, he cornered her quickly. Grabbing her face roughly, it was his turn to growl. "Now, dear, that was quite rude, wasn't it? Since you are fairly new, I'll let you off with a warning this time. Do not. Speak like that. To me." he finished with a whisper, before the elevator dinged. Composing himself in record time, he gave her his most stunning smile before walking out the door. "I look forward to working with you, witch!" he calls back.

She glared. She was angry. But why was she flustered, as well?

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She later found out she'd being seeing a lot more of him. Every time they seemed to cross paths accidentally, the more it happened She started to learn things about him. She learned he loved to cook. He absolutely adored music, song and dance. Even in death, he'd still do his weekly radio shows, broadcasted to all of hell.

They eventually became business partners. She supposed that was the closest she'd get to him. Although, 'business' mostly involved going on bloody rampages with Alastor and gathering territory for him, while he'd return the favor. She also learned, that under any circumstances, never touch him. He had to initiate it first, or else there would be a second death in her future.

She eventually decided not to mess with him, not wanting to lose a limb for 'accidentally' shoving past him.

As she strolled down the streets in one of her cities, she suddenly became very aware of the loud screaming and shouting not too far from where she was. Using her shadows to travel quickly towards the scene, she was met with an odd sight.

Said Radio Demon was currently genociding half of her city.

Furrowing her brows in confusion, her orbs scanned the area, bodies littering the streets. It was here when Alastor took notice of her presence. "Ah! Dearest! How nice of you to join me on a lovely evening such as this!" He cheerfully exclaimed. She rolled her eyes. "Alastor, come on, this is-" "-Your territory, yes I'm aware! I thought it'd be courteous to pay you a visit!" his smile grew in size. She raised an eyebrow. But before she could protest, he took hold of her wrist, swiftly pulling her against him, before adjusting his grip. "Isn't it a lovely night for dancing?" he asked, tone just a bit softer. She pulled back slightly, before giggling. "Fine, fine. But just one dance, alright? As much fun it is to dance through blood-soaked streets with you, I've got places to be, Al." she chastised. He scoffed.

They danced until dawn.

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

She wasn't expecting to see a dog standing atop a large building.

How the heck did a dog get into hell?? Dogs were so precious!

Using the her shadows to transport herself behind the pupper. Though, right as she appeared behind him, she almost fell off the roof when he turned into a human, in front of her.

Holy shit-

She noticed him approaching the edge.

Oh. Oh.

There's two things she could do here- She could walk away, or she could try and stop him. She decided in the long run she wasn't that shitty of a person, speaking up.

"Hey. What are you doing?" she asked, gently making her way closer.

Glancing behind himself, the man looked back out to the city, lights reflecting on his face. "Escaping this hell." he replies, coldly. But she can hear a small hint of something broken in his voice. This poor soul.

Coming to stand next to him, she sighed. Running a hand through her hair, she responded. "It ain't that easy. Believe me, I've tried." She says tiredly. "What's got you wanting to end it?"

She was surprised by his next words.

"Everything. I was hoping to see my parents for the first time when I originally died, but instead I came here. They were murdered in front of me by Slenderman." She was taken aback. What the hELL? Slenderman was real? But she knew this man couldn't be lying. He continued.

"He just came to my house and killed them both in front of me, leaving me alive on purpose." He sniffles, and then continues his story. "I had to live for the next 12 and a half years without them because of him. Scrounging around for food, stealing, even having to kill just to survive myself."

"..Wow." is all she can reply with. She feels something bubbling up in her chest- is this guilt? Sorrow? Emotions she hasn't felt since she was alive. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry that happened to you. I know what it's like having a lot of fear, and pain, and hurt stemming from your childhood. But trust me, it isn't worth your life. You're here for a reason, and you have to overcome this to be stronger." she pats his shoulder.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He hesitates before saying, "My name's Ski. What's yours?"

She smiles, for once, someone who doesn't know who she is.

"Most call me The Witch. You can call me Dawson."

And thus the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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When Alastor told her he'd be gone for a while, helping the princess with her "passion project" for his own mere entertainment, she was surprised. Dawson was even more surprised when he asked her to come with him.

Of course, she had nothing better to do, and it did sound like some quality entertainment.

When she agreed to go with him, she wasn't expecting to be held at spear-point by the princess's love interest, Vaggie, as soon as she walked through the door.

"Why are you here? We KNOW what your game is! You AND that-that Radio demon!" Vaggie growled, pushing Dawson up against the wall. She merely laughed.

"Of course, I'm here to help!"

Ski, in dog form, huffed out what suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

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That night, when Alastor made Jambalaya for the hotel, she wasn't expecting for them to receive a new guest, in the same night.

She most definitely wasn't expecting it to be her own sister.

#alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin #hotel #alastor x reader #charlie #charlie magne #radio demon #vaggie

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undertalethingies · 5 years ago

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Self Indulgent Self Insert Fanfic, Part One

I am sitting in my room, not doing much of anything, (as per usual) when I look up and notice that my mirror has apparently transformed into a solid wall of inky darkness as I’ve been spacing out.

And well- it’s not like I can not poke it, right? There’s a high chance I’ll seriously regret it, if my life has become the isekai it appears to be, but there’s a 100% chance I’ll regret it forever if I don’t touch it, you know?

Everyone always assumes I’m risk averse, that I like to play it safe, but the truth of the matter is I’ve just never found something I really want to take a risk with.

So, I push myself out of bed with a hand and go grab my shoes, because there’s no way in hell I’m touching something that might be a portal with no shoes on. Thankfully, I’m actually dressed for once, rather than being in my bathrobe like usual.

Once I’ve got my shoes on, I grab my coat from where it hangs by my dresser and walk straight into what used to be my mirror. I hope my parents aren’t too worried by my disappearance. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this will be the kind of isekai that retroactively erases me from existence? That would be kind of nice, to exist without tethers.

The portal (because that’s what it is, I’m pretty sure) feels cool, but not unpleasantly so. Like when you first put on a fleece sweater and it takes a moment to warm up.

If this were a stereotypical isekai story, things would quickly become very unpleasant in this dark void, and some godlike being would reach out to grant me power beyond my wildest imaginings.

I’ve never been one to cave to expectations, though. Not even my own.

The darkness remains cool and comforting, and I continue walking forward because there’s no chance I’m going to turn back now, with so much possibility awaiting me if I only continue long enough.

Eventually, I feel as if I’ve passed some threshold, and something definably changes within me. Can’t say what, though. I’ve always kinda sucked at interpreting what my body is trying to tell me, so I’ll probably have to figure it out on my own.

At some point the darkness and walking grows boring, and so I do what I often do when bored, and curl up to go to sleep. This place isn’t cold enough for me to need a blanket, and I’ve got my coat with me anyway, so I’m fine. Sleeping on hard surfaces isn’t unpleasant, in my opinion, merely a bit annoying, since if you pick the wrong position you’ll inevitably wake up sore.

As always, consciousness takes a while to fade, so I occupy myself with grand imaginings about all the wonderful (and terrible, I’ve got anxiety okay, I can’t help it) things that might await me.

When I wake, it’s immediately obvious that something is different. There’s light now, for one, and for two I can feel something soft and organic beneath me. Judging by smell alone… Flowers? Waking up on a bed of flowers in a lit room… Well, I’ve always wished I could live in Undertale, if only so I could chew out the characters for bottling up their feelings so damn much. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, that one headcanon I have about Sans secretly being a teenager will be right and I’ll be able to flirt with him without it being creepy.

Oh come on, like everyone attracted to dudes and not overly hung up about species concerns doesn’t want to kiss that guy, are you kidding me? Plus, I love puns and I’m depressed, surely we’ll get along.

Oh boy, I’m definitely going to die, huh? Thank fuck for my high pain tolerance and ridiculous resistance to trauma, am I right?

Finally, I open my eyes, because I like to wake up slow and I see no reason to alter my existing routine simply because I’ve apparently been yeeted into my favorite video game. Hey, speaking of favorite video games, will I get to visit Hollow Knight next? No, wait, that would probably suck, wouldn’t it. Ah, well.

The cave is just as beautiful as I always imagined it would be. Though it looked lovely in the game art, there’s truly nothing that can compare to seeing the sight in person, those marble pillars in a half circle around me, that single spot of sunlight in the ceiling far (far, far) above. Not to mention the lovely flowers I’m laying on at this very moment and- there’s a dead body under me, isn’t there. Is Chara going to show up, or am I left to be alone in my head?

Though their narration doesn’t actually start until you meet Flowey, in the game, so I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Which human soul am I taking the place of right now? Because I read a fic once where the protagonist wasn’t the seventh, even if it was a fakeout, and I very much do not want to be saddled with the fate of those poor bastards.

Though, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out? There’s no one who’d call me diplomatic, for sure, but I’m pretty great at knowing exactly where to aim an insult to utterly break someone’s spirit. (Unusual skill, I’m aware, but in my defense I was bullied growing up)(I say “growing up” like I’m not still doing it, like I’m not fourteen and trapped in a world where it’s an accepted fact that the protagonist will die, and several times over, too)

My first order of business is Flowey, before I can take the time to freak out, to hold myself tight and weather the sheer panic that Toto, I am not in Kansas anymore.

I get up. I give a last fond look to the beautiful cave I’ve “fallen” into, and I walk to the next room, hoping all the while that I’m not signing my own death sentence.

Once I’m a few feet in, there he is, in all his fucking glory.

Flowey the flower, the soulless remnant of prince Asriel Dreemurr, former hope of the underground, possibly still holder of the ability to control time itself.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to mess with him. Self preservation is for losers.

“You’re a flower with a face,” I say before he can start with his usual greeting. I have it memorized anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

He makes his T-T face, so I know this isn’t how he thought this would go.

“Wow, human! What gave you that impression?” Ooh, sassy. Literally his only positive trait.

“Well I have eyes, see,” I was planning to ask him probing questions, but honestly this is just as good. His expression doesn’t change as he says his next sentence, nor does his ever cheery tone, (and holy fuck his voice is just as vaguely creepy as I’d imagined, all that childlike innocence paired with the fact that he’s a mass murderer)

“Well howdy, human with eyes! I’m Flowey, flowey the flower!” He says. I don’t interject.

“You’re clearly new to the underground, and it looks like I’m the only one around to show you how things work around here! Are you ready?”

…

“I’m really not, to be honest. I’ve got no idea what’s going on,” So my plan here, basically, is to stall until Toriel gets here. Mostly because I’m hoping that if he doesn’t get the chance to do his betrayal, he’ll keep pretending to be nice, which will be hilarious since I’ll know he’s faking the whole time.

Admittedly, this significantly increases the likelihood that Toriel won’t come to save me when he inevitably finds a secluded place to murder me, but if I think too hard about the long term right now I’m going to scream, so.

“Well you see, human, you’ve fallen into the underground, a land inhabited by monsters! Don’t worry though, we’re quite nice,” Oh right, conversation. I wonder how much info I can get out of him…

“What’s a monster? Like, I know what it means on the surface, but that definition is pretty vague, and I don’t want to be accidentally racist,”

His face pops back to the usual smile. (Side note: his face looks like it was drawn on with sharpie and it’s totally messing me up)

“A monster is a being made of magic!” Ok, that’s… a bit vague, but not really inaccurate. I guess he doesn’t want to get into the science, which is a damn shame, since he probably knows it backwards and forwards due to all his reset shenanigans.

“Woah, cool. Magic is real? How does it work without breaking thermodynamics?” Finally, the question I’ve always wanted to ask. If energy can’t be created, how the fuck does Toriel shoot fireballs from her hands? What is she drawing on, what is the fire burning, how hot is it, how does it keep being on fire, etc. etc. repeat for every magical display in the game.

“Well, a lot of it isn’t super understood. Scientists have mostly been pinning it on ‘dark energy’ like they do with every other phenomenon they don’t totally understand,” I wonder why he’s so willingly entertaining my time wasting antics. I know, in game, he didn’t realize he’d lost control over the timeline until after his first talk with Frisk, so maybe he’s just waiting it out to see where it goes? And then of course he must be planning other things to do with me before he takes my soul and goes to the surface…

“God, I hate dark energy in science. I know they just call it that because not much is known about it, but I’m thirsty for knowledge, you know?” Actually ‘thirsty for knowledge’ describes my mood like 90% of the time. Huh, actually, I have that in common with Flowey, right? Even if his knowledge thirst is just due to boredom.

“Hey, human, me too! Learning new things is great!” There’s a loaded sentence if i’ve ever heard one. When was the last time he learned something new? He’s supposedly read every book in the underground, but how much information from that did he actually retain?

“Isn’t it? It’s why I love Youtube so much. Free information for anyone who cares to make a few clicks!” Wait, he probably doesn’t know what Youtube is, actually.

“What’s Youtube?” He asks, cocking his head.

“It’s a service where you can upload videos or watch videos other people have uploaded,” Not the most nuanced explanation, but it’ll do for now. Before Flowey has a chance to respond, a fireball manifests next to him.

I don’t smile because I’m pretending to be shocked, but I’m laughing my ass off on the inside. The face he makes is even more ridiculous in person.

Enter Toriel, queen of the monsters, mother of no living children.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #self insert #i'm not tagging it reader insert because the insert is very specifically me #flowey #this is purely self indulgent so i'm making no effort for it to sound polished

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michael-langdon-appreciation · 6 years ago

Text

Apocalypse After - Part 8

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader

Summary: There was never any hope of saving Michael Langdon, never a chance to stop the apocalypse. The Antichrist was already too intertwined with his destiny when the reader met him all those years ago. But Mallory can go back and make things right and when the reader travels with her, an opportunity sparks to try and make things right after all.

Words: 3.6K

Warning: Violence!

A/N: I managed to write something whooo! This chapter doesn’t have too much Michael in it, but I am laying the foundations for much bigger things! We’ll be dipping a toe into the wider AHS universe alongside another visit to Murder House and Hawthorne AND some juicy backstory. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much to those who have followed this story since the beginning. ❤️

Without Michael, I struggled to find purpose for weeks.

My entire life had revolved around him for the better part of a year and now all of a sudden he’d been plucked from my strings. I thought I could give him everything he needed, but seeing how his eyes glowed upon seeing that spiral structure sent me staggering back into the past. My own inadequacies haunted me from that building, the place where I’d first met Michael Langdon.

I’d been so confident. I’d felt untouchable standing side by side with Cordelia.

Cordelia never forgave me for replacing her place in my life with Michael. For so long I had idolised the teenager who learned alongside me, listening to Myrtle’s lectures and Fiona’s speeches of dominion and power. Fiona had chipped away at whatever friendship we had till Cordelia’s outlook on me became resentful. The ’school trips’ to famous places of power, where Witches had thrived. Endless hours pouring round Salem should have inherently been Cordelia’s to enjoy.

I never wanted it, nor the target Fiona had planted on my back.

Shaking the phantoms away, Violet sits beside me with a bowl of Cinnamon Crunch and a map of LA. Before she leaves for college, before Violet too leaves me behind, she’s been doing her best to appease me. ‘Look I’m gonna be real.’ She’s said it a million times, but still Violet takes in my jog pants and hoodies. ‘You’re acting like he’s dead. Michael is only a phone call away.’

‘I know.’

‘But you won’t call.’

‘Neither will he.’

Violet struggles to find a solution, ‘He’s probably busy. It’s a school for magic, he’s probably living it up in the Slytherin Common Room like Draco Malfoy. He’ll call soon.’ She waits to see if she’s coaxed a smile from me, ‘He’s never going to forget about you.’

‘I came here to help him.’ I say, picking at my french toast. ‘What can I do if I can’t be at Hawthorne? I can’t teach and there’s no way I’m going back to Robichaux.’

‘Well-’

‘If you mention finding my heritage of whatever again I swear I’ll tip that cereal on you.’

‘Okay Jesus!’ Violet sags back into her chair. ‘You’re so fucking cranky lately.’ She lets the silence linger between us while I scroll on my phone for a distraction. ‘I did…come up with another idea.’ She proposes, moving my plate and sliding the map in front of me. It’s covered in red marker, question marks litter the map while some have circles or X’s.

‘Looking for buried treasure?’

‘You need to get a life.’ Violet says, her enthusiasm building. ‘I keep thinking about how crazy Murder House was. That kinda energy that sucked people in and what you did for me. I can’t help but think, what if there are other places like it?’

‘Other…hellmouths?’

‘Yeah, that’s the word I couldn’t remember.’ Violet points to the map of LA, ‘I was googling around last night for places where there’s been lots of murder, death or weird stuff. It’s all online, some chick even turned some of them into warped attractions in the 80’s.’

‘What’s with the question marks?’

‘Those are places I’m not sure of.’ Violet grabs a notepad from the kitchen counter and opens it, as she reads out the list she points on the map. ‘The Silent Movie Theatre, Briarcliff Manor, Roosevelt Hotel, Franklin Garden Apartments, The San Gabriel Mountains, Hotel Cortez, The Cobb Estate, Mira Loma, Griffith Park and Camp Redwood,’ Violet circles on last location, right on the edge of the map. ‘These are just some of the ones I’ve found too, there’s like an entire trail of places where the Nightstalker murdered people.’

‘Should I call your parents?’ I frown, looking up from the map. ‘What the hell do you think you’re gonna do in these places?’

‘Well these places are probably like Murder House.’ Violet says, ‘Murder House is on all the lists. We’re on a creepy death tour, there’s gotta be similar stuff happening in places where loads of people were murdered. Hotel Cortez is rumoured to have thousands of dead bodies inside. Camp Redwood had three murder sprees throughout three decades.’ Violet is looking at me like I should be springing into action and grabbing my detective hat and monocle.’

’So…’

‘So you can bring people back from the dead!’ Violet is about to throw hands, ‘You could visit these places and help the trapped souls. Just like you did for me. You could stop these hellmouths from killing people, Hotel Cortez is still taking bookings. It’s popular! What if people are still dying?’

For a moment I just stare at her.

‘You want me to risk my life by waltzing into these haunted places full of vengeful spirits, hope they don’t murder me out of spite, find their remains if they even still exist and purge them.’

‘Or bring them back to life.’ Violet adds, but she falls silent under my glare. She sucks in a breath. ‘If anyone could do it, it’s you.’ Her hands shake as Violet clasps them together, ‘Look, I know it’s crazy but I know how confusing and terrifying it is to be dead and not be able to move on. To just be stuck where you are. It makes you do evil evil things. Even if we can’t ‘purge them’ maybe we can offer them some comfort. Me being someone who died and has come back and you being a goddamn witch.’

For the first time, I take in the map. ‘All this evil in one state,’ I whisper. ‘And for what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Violet is twiddling the marker pen, ‘Why does anyone commit horrible deeds? Because they know no better, or to get revenge or-’

‘Or because they’re being manipulated by a higher force.’ I finish, ‘Like Travis. Like Tate.’

‘I should go and see him again.’ Violet nods, ‘Maybe there’s even a way to help people move on without remains. If you practise enough and you’ve got an open house of spirits willing to give you a chance. That’s a start.’

It sounds absurd. It sounds like I’d be signing my death warrant. ‘You know there are more remains in Murder House…don’t you?’

Violet nods, ‘Moira went on and on and on about her bones being buried under the gazebo my Dad built. Turns out that’s where he dumped Hayden too. We could always start there.’

‘You think you can reason with Hayden?’ I scowl, ‘That bitch wants me dead and Michael in her claws.’

Violet thinks, ‘Well not all spirits are good. If we can alleviate the bad ones that’ll do something.’ Violet grins, ‘And if you manage to get rid of Hayden, you’ll be Mom’s favourite person.’

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It was….somewhat easier than I thought it would be.

Moira was more than happy to be of assistance, the maid could provide exact coordinates for her remains. The gazebo, already half-dug out by previous tenants made it easy for Ben, Violet and I to find the bodies. Hayden was as malevolent as we expected. It took the combined efforts of Vivian, Tate, Chad and Travis to keep her restrained in the basement as we collect the bones of both Moira and Hayden and stash them in a backpack.

Moria didn’t want a second chance, ‘What would I do?’ She asks, ‘Where would I go? Constance may be a bitch, but she got something right. I am a shitty maid.’ Moira casts a forlorn look about the house. ‘There is no longer a place for me in this world. I’d be no better off than I am now.’

‘You’re sure you don’t want to like…do all the things you missed out on?’ Violet has to be sure, ‘You could live your dreams.’

‘I only ever wanted to have a family one day.’ Moria replies, her eyes still transfixed on her bones. ‘Now all I want is to return to them.’

We take her bones to the cemetery that evening when no one will be around. It’s messy, dirty work as we lay Moira to her final rest. Both Violet and I sag in the car, dirt clogged under our nails. We watch quietly, waiting for something to happen.

‘Something must happen, right?’ I ask.

Violet just shrugs, too exhausted to do much else. ‘Digging up bodies is hard.’

‘You wanted this.’

She shoots me a look.

We continue to wait for Moira to appear and finally she does. Her arms are outstretched and then her hands form around another’s. A woman, white and wizened who caresses her face. ‘It’s her Mom.’ I whisper, watching the two interact.

‘What?’ Violet glances at me, ‘I can’t see anything.’

I look back at her, ‘They’re…right in front of us.’

I can see from Violet’s expression that she truly can’t see them. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I’m quick to stifle it, should it ruin the moment. Moira and her mother walk together, hand in hand down the boardwalk and become one with the mist that hangs over the cemetery tonight. When I turn back, Violet is watching me. ‘What are you?’

I can’t answer her.

We drive back to Murder House, praying the others have managed to keep Hayden subdued. Her bones sit in the backpack and neither Violet nor I know what to do with them.

‘What about Hayden?’ I ask. ‘Where would she want to be buried?’

‘Fuck if I know.’ Violet says, ‘Problem is that Hayden doesn’t want to be buried. But if we let her live…who knows what she’ll do.’

‘She could…go after Michael,’ The thought has me prickling.

‘Yeah.’ Violet lights up a cigarette, ‘Or worse.’

We re-enter Murder House and the atmosphere is one of complete silence. There’s one other person playing on my mind, a person with fresh bones hidden somewhere in this house.

Someone who does not want to move on either.

‘Well hello again.’ Constance closes the door behind us, ‘You truly have got nerve.’

‘I don’t have any business with you.’ I say immediately, ‘You got what you deserved and you know it.’

‘Well at least I don’t have that blind bat stinking up the place with her tragedy.’ Constance swirls her whisky round in a glass tumbler. ‘God damn woman could have written a Telanovela with all her misery.’

‘Well congrats, you’ve got a chance to move on.’ Violet says, ‘You can leave the house and go to…wherever is next for you-’

‘Oh I don’t plan on leavin this place.’ Constance smirks, pointing a finger at us. ‘You two however are another story.’

‘I can bring you back.’ Violet and Constance both freeze at my words, ‘If that squares things between Michael, myself and you.’ I continue, ‘I can bring you back right now and you can go back about your life so long as you never return here.’

‘My kids are here.’ Constance snarls, ‘This is my home.’

‘Be reasonable.’ I can’t believe I’m here pleading with her, ‘I can’t bring Tate back, I….can’t.’

‘Addie’s already gone too.’ Violet presses, ‘You have to move on from your kids, Constance.’

‘I was born to be a mother to monsters.’ Constance insists, ‘And the only way you’ll get this house to be peaceful ever again, is to get rid of everyone and leave me and my sweet children here.’ Her grin is sadistic, ‘Just us Langdon’s as we should be. All of the Langdon’s.’ I head to the basement, Constance’s cackling in my ears, ‘You can try sugarplum, but evil is sowed into the very walls of this house. Perhaps you should join it, instead of playin Miss Martyr.’

‘I hate her.’ Violet hisses, ‘There’s no way we can set everyone in here free.’

I tighten the straps of the rucksack as we approach Hayden. She’s bound to a chair, Tate and Vivian stand like guards on either side. ‘You have a choice.’ My voice comes out harsh as I kick Hayden’s chair. ‘You’re moving on to the afterlife. Where can we bury you so you can fuck off?’

Tate bursts out laughing, ‘Fucking badass!’

Hayden spits at me, ‘All I WANT is to move on. You think I wanna be here, surrounded by this fucking family 24/7? My life was ruined by the Harmons. But I’m not going to let you shove me to the afterlife.’ Her ferocity cracks, ‘I…don’t even know what’s after this.’

‘Didn’t ya hear her?’ Tate taunts, getting up in Hayden’s face. ‘You don’t get a choice, bitch.’

Hayden wheels round, Vivian is trying to catch my gaze but I avoid her. ‘Look, you brought her back right?’ Hayden tries, ‘Please. If you let me go I will just go about my life again. I won’t go near the Harmons or this house or you.’

‘And why would I believe you?’

‘Because I don’t care about any of this.’ Hayden insists, ‘I don’t want to be here.’ A couple tears slip down her cheeks, ‘I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, I’ve been awful. But I will go back to college and get my degree. I’ll move to Marina del Ray and just…live again.’

‘And Michael?’

Hayden hangs her head, ‘Have him. If you let me be free, I don’t need him. He was just there, and I wanted to mess with you.’

I weigh up my options, on one hand I’d love nothing more than to make sure Hayden can’t hurt anyone ever again. But is it wrong to make her move on, is that even possible?

‘You aren’t considering it are you?’ Vivian breaks the silence, ‘She killed my husband who has done nothing but help you. She ruined our family, Y/N-‘

‘I know.’ I look from Vivian to Tate, ‘I know she doesn’t deserve it. But…I’d be just as bad as her if I didn’t give her a chance. It’s not like she can hurt you again.’

‘But she can hurt me.’ Violet pipes up, ‘She can kill us even now, the second we release her.’

‘I won’t.’ Hayden insists, ‘If you promise to get me out of this house then I won’t.’ More tears spill down her cheeks, ‘I never wanted to be a killer. I just wanted my baby.’ I place the backpack on the floor before her and unzip it. Hayden’s bones sit in there, grimey and yellowing. I kneel over the backpack, suddenly very self-conscious. I think about Hayden, watching before me, ‘What are you doing?’ She asks, her panic rising. It makes it so hard to concentrate, ‘Please I won’t hurt anyone! Please, Y/N!’

‘Vitalum Vitalis.’

I imagine her blossoming, back to her full vigor. A kind and attractive young girl going about her studies, happily dating again. I try to envision Hayden in her prime as my eyes fall closed. The house presses in on me, warning me to give up my antics. There’s a scream of ‘TATE’ and I’m knocked onto my back. Vivian has grabbed hold of Tate who is advancing towards me, but Hayden suddenly free backhands him across the face. Tate staggers as Violet tries to drag me to my feet, Hayden screams as her back muscles all clench together sending her to the floor right before me. She sucks in air, trying to manage through the pain. I place my hand on her shoulder and then Hayden meets my gaze. ‘Is it?’

‘It should be.’

I look around for her bones, scattered in the chaos but they aren’t there. The backpack sits open near Violet and Hayden makes a grab for it at once, ‘Where…where are they?’

‘I think they’re inside you again.’ I murmur, looking Hayden up and down.

‘There’s only one way to know for sure.’ Violet says, ‘You’ve gotta leave now, before the house tries to kill us again.’

Vivian has shoved Tate up against the wall, one arm behind his back, ‘Go.’ She calls, ‘He’s calming down.’

Hayden seizes my hand and I grab onto Violet and together we run up the stairs and out of the front doors. The pictures on the walls swing violently, as if the house is roaring its fury. A light fitting comes loose from the ceiling just avoiding Violet as we run for our lives beyond the perimeter of the Murder House. Violet drops to the grass, ‘We’re alive!’ She cries, ‘We did it again! FUCK YOU HOUSE!’

Hayden is bent double, her hands braced on her knees. Slowly she rises up again, coming to terms with what just happened. ‘I’m….I’m out.’

‘Don’t look back.’ I advise, trying to keep myself upright too. It’s getting slightly easier to combat the fatigue the more I do this.

My phone buzzes again as we get into the car and this time I pick up, letting Violet drive us back. Hayden sits in the back, running her hands all over her body, ‘I don’t have those ugly bruises!’ She cries.

‘This could become a thing.’ Violet says, ‘Screw Ghostbusters, we are the literal Ghostsavers.’

I plug a finger into my ear. ‘Michael!’ I can hear him on the other end of the line, ‘Michael, slow down baby. What’s happened.’

He’s been crying, Michael’s voice wavers in and out as he hyperventilates. ’WHO IS SHE!’ He demands, ‘WHY DOES SHE KNOW ME!’

‘Who!’ I shout back down the phone, ‘Who is there?’ Beside me Violet has passed Hayden the map of hellmouths she’d drawn up. I can barely hear Michael over their excitement, ‘Guys please!’

There’s a click and then a much calmer voice speaks, ‘Y/N, you should come to the school.’ It’s John-Henry Moore, we’ve only met once before to his knowledge. ‘There’s been an…incident involving Michael.’

‘What happened?’

‘He won’t tell us.’ John-Henry says, ‘He just keeps demanding to see you so we let him call, but we think he was attacked. There’s marks on his arms but we can’t tell if they were self-inflicted.’

‘I’ll be right there.’ I promise, ‘Put him back on the phone.’

But the line goes dead.

‘Hey how bout we hit up Camp Redwood next?’ Violet announces, ‘See who we can save there.’

Fear coils in my gut like a viper. There’s only one person who knows who Michael is. There’s only one other who knows Hawthorne the way I do. I ignore Hayden and Violet’s scheming as I press harder on the accelerator. I drop them at home and tell Violet to give Hayden whatever she needs, ‘Where are you going?’ She demands, ‘We’re a team now.’

‘Something happened at Hawthorne.’ I say, ready to pull off again. ‘I’ll tell you when I know more.’

I leave them behind, the car screeching as I take off again. I try calling again but no one picks up.

It seems like she was unsuccessful this time, but Mallory is making her moves against Michael. The threads I’ve tied into neat little knots are unravelling all thanks to that time-travelling witch. My hands clench on the steering wheel.

I’ve been so stupid. To let myself get swept up in saving others, I should have insisted. I should have been there to protect him and help him.

I pull up outside Hawthorne academy at the same moment a black SUV does. Cordelia emerges from the car accompanied by Zoe and - I fall against the car staring up at the vibrant mane of red hair that bounces as she walks. Tears falls down my cheeks as the witches turn round and I step out. We look each other in the eye and Myrtle Snow’s hands cover her mouth. ‘Y/N dear,’ She breathes, ‘You’re….alive.’

‘Where is Mallory?’ I ask Cordelia, who stiffens at once.

‘Mallory is in New Orleans, where she should be.’ Cordelia answers, ‘If you think for one second she was involved in…whatever this is.’

‘Then why are you here?’ I demand, ‘Why are you always here when something bad happens?’

The witches glower at me, Zoe looks stupefied I would dare talk to the Supreme as I am, ‘We were summoned to speak about a boy’s progress.’ Cordelia indulges, ‘Of course I know fully well whom I am to be reviewing.’

It’ll be my word against Mallory’s. Michael being as emotional as he sounded on the phone will be an unreliable witness. She’s gotten away with it. I stalk towards the school, ignoring Myrtle’s cries behind me.

I can’t do it. I can’t face her. I can’t look her in the eye knowing what I did.

I take the elevator before they can reach it and furiously wipe away my tears as I let my head fall upwards. It had been the only way to ensure I travelled along with Mallory. Myrtle was in the way. She’d been the only thing between me and saving Michael. My hands shake and I clench them before me as the doors open and I walk briskly down the hall. John-Henry meets me, talking at me as we head to Michael’s room. I can’t process him and seeing Myrtle again.

It’s too much. All my mind can see is the look of sheer heartbreak written across Myrtle’s face as I remove that kitchen knife from her throat, plunge myself into the bathtub and latch onto the strand of Michael’s hair.

It had been the only way.

Michael runs to me at once, hugging me so hard he nearly knocks me off my feet. He buries his face into my neck, his words coming fast, heavy with emotion. ‘Michael, baby.’ I coo, pushing his hair out of his eyes. ‘What happened?’

He points to the floor-length mirror in his room. At first I see nothing, but there’s clearly someone in the reflection. A nun stares back at us, her habit in places as she holds her hands clasped in front of her. The red lipstick stretches as she smiles wide in delight as our eyes lock, fires burning within those large eyes. She’s so pretty, but every inch of her screams of pure unadulterated chaos.

I know who she is. Or who is using her image.

She puts a finger to her lips and then Satan is gone.

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Tag List: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz @misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii @lostin-fern @lvngdvns @ccodyfernn @asstichrist @yourkingcodyfern @langdonsdemon @satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs@luxuryglitterhoe @langdonsoceaneyes @sodanova @petersfern-fics @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sassylangdon@confettucini @sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist@Langdonalien @alexcornerblog @sevenwondr@queencocoakimmie @sojournmichael @langdonsdemon @satcnas@kinlovecody @kylosbabe@americanhorrorstudies @xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore@dadddysprincessss @gremlinkween @readsalot73 @astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason @ms-mead @mega-combusken @hanhanxx@kahhlo @thelangdoncooperative @langdonsrapture @ritualmichael@cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @infernal-langdon @jim-mason2 @duncandimension @dark-jim@jimmlangdon @xtheinevitableprophecyx @moontheweirdpan @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown@bbyduncan @divinelangdon @theladynymph @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx@dark-duncan @divinelangdon @tigers-pat @codyswhore-blog@jimmlangdon @blakewaterxx @cocosfern @gold-dragon-slayer @and-shes-not-even-pretty @mega-combusken @langdvn @langdvnshepherd

#apocalypse after #ahs apocalypse #ahs #american horror story #series #part 8 #ahs michael #ahs violet #ahs hayden #murder house #apocalypse #Michael Langdon x y/n #Michael Langdon x reader #Michael Langdon imagine #ahs mallory #drama #vitalum vitalis #ghostsavers #camp redwood

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thevengeanceuniverse · 5 years ago

Text

Music is Worthless (WinterIron)

Read the whole thing here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563422

~~~

Barnes took a hell of a long time to find, leading Steve in a merry chase around the world as he thoroughly waged war on any Hydra bases he had ever been housed in or heard whispers of.

Steve was gone more often than not, coming back for a few days every few months when he lost the trail, back to Tony so he could aim him in the right direction.

Tony didn’t blink at Steve’s increasing favours. He provided all the funds, created new algorithms for the search, researched the background of Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier program, kept the team together and safe during battle. He did not think about the fact that Steve had dropped everything at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes.

Sifting through 70 years of torture and brainwashing protocol brought back his own nightmares. They blended together, making him remember the waterboarding, the yelling in his ears, the shock that lit him with painful intensity as car battery met with water and became electrocution.

Electrocution would turn into Barnes’ electroshock therapy and the hands holding down his arms would be bound to a chair. He would scream and scream, but there would be no sound. Gagged with the mouth guard, there would only be heartacheing, back-breaking, soul-shattering pain and that black hole of silence.

Once again, sleeping wasn’t the most successful experiment so far, but at least when he pushed himself far enough his body took over and knocked him out. He would catch a precious few hours before the nightmares came to say hi and then he would wake up with the trapped screams in his throat and get back to work.

It was like an alarm clock.

Even as he adjusted to his new normal, life decided to be the everlasting gift that it was and exposed a buried video from December 16th, 1991.

He threw up the first time he saw it, the image of Bucky Barnes killing Howard playing in his head over and over against the soundtrack of his mother having the life choked out of her.

Then he watched it obsessively, disturbed by finally seeing his parents after so many years with none of the accompanying music that made it feel like them. If he didn’t recognize their faces and voices, he could almost fool himself that it was strangers, people he didn’t know that wouldn’t make him feel grief and anger and sadness and every other negative emotion under the sun.

The one bare comfort he got out of it was that the main thing that Howard thought of as he was dying was helping Maria. Maybe he wasn’t such a heartless bastard after all.

He was still dead though.

He decided he wasn’t going to tell Steve, continuing to update him on the Winter Soldier’s movements and seeing him off to places unknown as scheduled.

He was so wrapped in the process of finding the man that he forgot what actually was supposed to happen when they found him. Until Steve landed the Quinjet on the Tower’s pad and out walked him and James Buchanan Barnes following like a dark, solemn shadow.

Tony locked down the lab immediately, bending over his knees as he struggled to breathe and remember what he’d been trying to convince himself of: Barnes was separate from the person responsible for the murder of his parents, that that sin lay at the Winter Soldier’s feet and the man had been tortured and had his memory and his very self wiped away like condensation on glass.

He didn’t come out of the lab for three days.

Tony was being an absolute creep and watching James Barnes through the safety of JARVIS’ many, many eyes in the sky. Barnes was subdued most of the time, always scanning the room as if he expected to be attacked at any moment and stiffening any time anyone touched him, even Steve.

But even as Steve’s face fell every time Barnes pulled away, Barnes’ face was impassive, set in a blank mask that said nothing of how he was feeling. It was as if he had no emotion at all. He watched everyone, and from where he was sequestered away, Tony watched him.

He decided to attempt his escape in the middle of the night when no one would see him. His stomach had started to cannibalize itself and all he had left was a moldy piece of bread. Tony wasn’t desperate enough to sink to that yet.

Peeking down from the elevator and seeing the lights off in the kitchen, he crept forward as carefully as he could while listening for any sounds of music or movement. When he heard nothing, he gave up on his Mission Impossible moment and strode into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.

The magic mix successfully brewing, he opened the fridge and started rummaging through the leftovers. Clint would be pissed that he’s taking the last of the Thai food, but Tony wasn’t worried. Thor was the only one you looked out for when stealing food, Tony didn’t even dare look in the direction of his PopTarts.

Popping the food in the microwave to reheat, he took the time when he was waiting to scrub some of the grease caked on his hands. He didn’t even remember how those got there.

“So you’re Tony Stark.”

Yelping, Tony whipped around to be confronted with one James Buchanan Barnes, shock and disbelief radiating through his core.

Holy shit, this motherfucker is Silent too.

Tony and Barnes stared at each other a long moment. Tony because he was trying to wrap his mind around two impossibly Silent people and Barnes because he just didn’t care to end it.

Packaging up his shock to deal with later, Tony plastered a welcoming grin on his face. “Sergeant Barnes, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Barnes forehead creased at Tony’s flirtatious tone, not responding even as he watched him. Tony was unnerved by the intensity of his attention, but he covered that with babble.

“I hope you’ve been having a wonderful stay here at Chez Stark, has Steve given you the grand tour yet?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me here, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me.” Barnes folded his arms across his chest, gaze still pinned on Tony.

“No, you misunderstand,” Tony waved off the accusations. “I’ve just been busy with a few very important projects—of which I would tell you about but then I’d have to kill you.”

Barnes gave him a once over sceptically. “I am absolutely sure I can take you.”

“Is that a diss?” Tony responded, astonished. “Do you actually have a sense of humour buried under all those scowly eyebrows, Robocop?”

Barnes shrugged succinctly.

“Ah, I see, a man of few words. Okay, Snowflake I’ll have you know that if I had the suit on, your ass would be kicked three ways to Sunday.”

“Maybe I’m too old for generation, but when people said that when I came from, you actually needed the ability to back up those words, Shortstuff.”

Tony let out an insulted squawk. “I am not short.”

Barnes raised a brow and Tony could almost hear the “Really?” Reaching behind him for Tony’s coffee cup, he offered it for Tony to take, only to pull it back and hoist it above his head the moment Tony reached out. Lunging for it, Tony came up short and ended up banging his knee on the bottom counter door on the way down.

“What are you, five?” Tony retorted scathingly, glaring when he caught the sound of Barnes’ snort. In response, the man just handed Tony his coffee without fuss, before pushing him into a chair at the table. Grabbing the food from the microwave, he put it on a plate in front of Tony with a quiet order, “Eat.”

Suddenly remembering that he was ravenous, Tony arrowed in on his (stolen) food, groaning happily when spices exploded on his tongue. Yea, free food really was the best.

“You know, you aren’t half bad Barnes,” Tony complimented as he finished up, wiping his face and putting his dishes in the sink.

“Is that something you decided right now?” Barnes paused and Tony felt the air on the back of his neck prickle. “Or is that what you decided after watching me on your cameras for three days?”

Tony debated whether to deny it or not, raising an innocently curious eyebrow when he decided that a silent response was the best response.

“I could hear the whir of the cameras adjusting on me when I came into the room.”

“How the hell did you hear something as soft as that?”

Barnes just tapped his ear casually, as if being able to hear near soundless noises even in a room full of people was an everyday occurrence.

“I wondered why you would want to keep an eye on me even when going to such lengths to avoid me. The only reason I can come up with is that you know I killed Howard and Maria Stark.” At this confession, emotion flashed across Barnes’ face too fast for Tony to read, like the bare glimpse of silvery fish in water.

Tony flinched at the confirmation, at the reminder of what he had spent the last three days struggling to reconcile with. Taking a breath, he reminded himself of the other videos he had seen in his search for Barnes, the ones that revealed the extent that James Buchanan Barnes’ personality had been wiped away to become the Winter Soldier. He had felt connected to this man, and Tony pulled on those memories of connection, trying to let those emotions guide him.

“It wasn’t you, it was the Winter Soldier. You had no choice.” It sounded rehearsed, like Tony was just trying to convince himself of his own words and it wasn’t working, not on him and not on Barnes.

“Mr. Stark—”

“—was my father. And your friend.” Tony let out a sigh, giving up on trying to say the right thing and just going for the truth. “He was your friend, someone you knew and someone who knew you. I watched the video, listened to the way he greeted you a million times. He was happy to see you Sergeant Barnes, recognizing you even after all those years and relieved to see you alive and well. And that more than anything says that the man you were that day was not the man that my father had known, was not a man you chose to be. You were robbed of your choice that day, and many more days before and after that and I can’t blame you for things that were beyond your ability to control.”

Tony extended his hand. “But we both are in control of this situation right now, Sergeant Barnes and I choose to forgive you. But you also have to make the choice to forgive yourself.”

Barnes shook his head in a negative immediately and made no move to take Tony’s hand.

“It won’t be easy—trust me, you’re talking to the Merchant of Death here and I committed my sins fully in control of my decisions, but you have to at least be willing.”

Barnes scrutinized him for a long minute before slowly, hesitantly grasping Tony’s hand with his own and shaking firmly.

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s good to finally meet you. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Tony. Call me Bucky.”

With the dreaded confrontation out of the way, Bucky became a regular visitor to the lab, sometimes with Steve and sometimes not but when they did come together, they didn’t interact that much, all of their focus on being with Tony.

If Tony had been spoiled before with Steve’s attention, now he was downright rotten. He got used to Steve reclaiming his spot on the couch to draw or call out questions as Bucky and Tony ran around conducting fun (explosive and dangerous) experiments with the arm.

Sometimes Bucky came alone when Steve was out or when things turned bad. He never begrudged Tony for not always noticing him at first, playing with the robots until Tony was ready. Then they would sit next to each other and they would drink the expensive Turkish coffee Bucky would bring in a thermos and he would talk about all the things he didn’t feel ready to share with Steve.

Bucky would bring out the broken parts of him he only felt safe enough to entrust to Tony and Tony was listen and sometimes entrust his nightmares to Bucky.

Sitting with the shattered pieces of their selves around them, Tony realized that he had fallen in love with Bucky Barnes.

#winteriron #buckytony #bucky x tony #bucky barnes #tony stark #fanfic #soulmates #soulmate fic #stuckony #winterironshield #vengeanceworks #music is worthless

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bitchwhoreofastorm · 6 years ago

Note

can you write some Almalexia and Nerevar being pals?

Almalexia was expertly concealed in a bush of Golden Kanet when she happened to, intriguingly, see her husband wander by. What was intriguing about it wasn’t that he wandered by– though Nerevar didn’t have much of an interest in the Mournhold gardens, he was sometimes inclined to stroll through them. No, what was intriguing about this was that he was looking about himself anxiously, as if waiting for someone else to appear, someone he wasn’t meant to be seeing. So surreptitious about this mysterious rendezvous did he seem that Almalexia, merciful as always, refrained from making herself known to him, and simply focused on her task of weeding her garden.

‘Mercifully’. Truth is, she was more than curious to see who it was her husband was meeting in such nervous secrecy, and she had never been above some old-fashioned spying.

But the turns of fate were cruel that day, and as the minutes rolled past, nobody appeared to set Nerevar’s apparent fears at ease. Almalexia glanced up from her gardening now and then to see him still pacing beneath a Dorlom-tree in the shade of the towering palace walls, his hands buried in the cloak he’d wrapped around himself, his head swivelling this way and that. Time went on and whoever he had planned to meet evidently failed to appear. Their marriage had trapped them in a woeful intimacy, and so Almalexia knew him well enough to read the emotion in his posture even from a distance: anxiousness soon turned to irritation, his pacing footfalls growing heavy and the flowers near his feet falling to his wrath. But then, when his fury failed to conjure his would-be suitor, his posture turned to slouching despondency. Almalexia, halfway through wrenching a handful of Nirthfly stalks out of her Timsa-Come-By beds, looked up briefly from her work just in time to watch him fall dramatically against the side of the tree. She could just imagine the melodramatic sigh that accompanied that gesture.

It was too much for her sympathetic heart to bear. Dropping her trowel in the dirt, she stood, raised an arm into the air, and shouted: “Husband!”

Nerevar truly must not have seen her, for at the call he actually jumped into the air in alarm. “Almalexia?” he shouted back at her. “Were you spying on me?”

He was already walking over to her, crossing the broad grassy flat that separated the palace from the wide bands of flowers and trees that lined the outer wall. He said something else, or his mouth was moving as such, but the words were plucked away by the same crisp spring breeze that currently threatened to topple the bone-white mohawk standing tall on his head. Almalexia placed both hands on her hips, saying nothing, until he had come up to her and stood on the other side of the Kanet bush that had concealed her just before.

“What were you doing?” Almalexia asked.

“Nothing,” replied Nerevar. “Nothing at all. Were you here this whole time? Wait, were you hiding in the bushes?”

“I was weeding, not hiding.”

“But you were crouching– just down there? Really, Almalexia? That’s so childish.”

“Where, husband, do you think weeds grow from? The sky? Of course I was on the ground! My actions were innocent and explainable,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “Unlike some individuals who have been prowling my gardens of late.”

“So you were spying!”

“What were you doing, Nerevar?”

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Really.”

“Really! I was enjoying the spring breeze and new sunlight, that’s all.” But he wouldn’t look her in the face as he said this, and she caught his eyes once again scan the approach.

Almalexia frowned. “Were you waiting for someone?”

“No!” Nerevar answered too quickly. “No, of course I wasn’t.” To her surprise, then, his voice took on a hint of bitterness. “And even if I was waiting for someone, what would it matter? It would be half an hour since our agreed meeting-time, by now, so clearly they don’t want anything to do with me. There can be nothing duplicitous going on here, because my co-conspirator obviously does not care about me one whit, and has seen it fit to reject me, without even the bravery to say it to my face! So don’t fetching worry about any plots, Almalexia, because clearly it is impossible that anyone could ever desire to be– plot– with me, and I’m a fool for thinking otherwise!”

He had been waiting for a lover, Almalexia realised. And not only had he been waiting for a lover, but he’d been stood up.

Frustrated, Nerevar tugged at a dislodged lock of his own hair. “Forget it,” he grunted, “Vivec is right, I’m a high-minded idiot. Forget it. I–”

“Nerevar,” Almalexia interrupted him, speaking gently. “This is all hypothetical, yes?”

He glanced at her. “Yes, of course.”

“And you were truly doing nothing out here? Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all, and nothing planned.”

“Wonderful!” She knelt, collected the trowel from beside her feet, and then offered it out to him. “Help me in my garden.”

He stared at the trowel, incredulously.

“I mean,” Almalexia said after a moment, “I would appreciate the help, Nerevar, if you have the time to spare.”

“I’m not much of a gardener, I’ll probably kill everything.”

“No you wont. It’s easy.” She shook the trowel at him. “Please?”

With a heavy sigh, Nerevar accepted the trowel. and stepped… through the Kanet bush. So he hadn’t been lying about his propensity for plant murder. “You are my Queen, and your bidding is my act.”

Biting back a cutting remark about the trampled bush– Nerevar was a very large man, and the Kanet didn’t stand a chance– Almalexia sunk to her knees by the patch of Timsa-Come-By she’d been weeding. It was a cool day, the dark soil spongy and damp beneath her knees, and though it was nearing noon everything remained jewelled with little drops of moisture that made the flowers glisten and the Nirthfly stalks hang their heavy heads. Soon Nerevar stooped down to the ground next to her, his cloak having been cast to the side, revealing some very nice attire beneath. Attire he seemed to have no issue getting dirt on, now that whoever they were meant to impress had scorned him.

“These are Nirthfly stalks,” Almalexia explained, pointing to the spindly yellow plants that shot up between the Timsa-Come-By. “Grab them by the base and pull. Some of them have deep roots, so use the trowel to dig them out if they stick.”

Nerevar obeyed her without question– a delightful rarity for the stubborn man– and started plucking out the weeds as instructed. He was actually quite deft, Almalexia noticed, and after observing the first few to make sure he didn’t mishandle her flowers she felt that she could return to her own work in relative safety. Beside weeding the Timsa-Come-By beds, the Kanet needed to be trimmed back so that those beds would actually be visible (although Nerevar’s 'shortcut’ had certainly knocked it down a peg). Leaving her husband to tackle the Nirthfly, Almalexia set herself to the task of snipping errant Kanet twigs with a pair of shears.

“So,” Nerevar said after a while, “Where did a Queen learn to garden?”

“Ald Sotha, in fact.” With a soft snip of shears a bunch of golden flowers fell to the ground. “Sotha Sil’s mother taught me.”

“As… part of your lessons? You studied magic there, didn’t you?”

“I did study magic there, but gardening wasn’t among my lessons. She…” Almalexia paused, leaning forwards into the bush to try and find the base of a branch, “… She claimed it was calming, that it would help soothe me. I was prone to fits of soul-sickness even as a child. She found me miserable over something silly and–”

There was a sharp rip of roots violently leaving soil, and a soft hiss, “Ah, crap.” Almalexia jerked out of the bush and saw Nerevar holding a whole Timsa-Come-By plant in the air.

“Forgive me,” Nerevar said, “There was a Nirthfly stalk in it, but their roots must have–”

“It’s fine,” Almalexia interrupted him quickly, moving to his side. “It’s okay, Nerevar, don’t worry.”

“I killed it! How is that okay?”

“It’s not dead, look, the roots are intact.” She wrapped an arm around his, leaning her head against his shoulder, and with her other hand gently eased the dislodged plant from his. “We’ll just put it back in the ground.”

“I told you I’d kill it,” Nerevar murmured, sullen.

“Hush. It’s one plant, Nerevar, and it’s not dead.”

“I should have foreseen this. I destroy everything that’s good!”

“It’s not destroyed, and you’re acting like a child! Be calm.”

Nerevar didn’t reply to that, but nor did he push her away, so Almalexia pressed close to him and rested the Timsa-Come-By on her lap. There was, indeed, a Nirthfly stalk tangled into its root-mass; she pinched off the stem and tossed it aside.

“At least I killed the ones I was meant to,” Nerevar said after a moment, trying to sound light-hearted.

“Yes, you’ve done well! Will you dig a hole for this one?”

Almalexia could practically feel his doubt, but nonetheless he leaned forwards and scooped out a hole in the ruined patch of dirt where the Timsa plant had been. Once he did Almalexia leaned in and returned it to the earth, carefully packing in soil around it so that it would stand.

“There,” said Almalexia, “All better.”

“It’s still going to die,” Nerevar said skeptically.

“No, it won’t. It will live, because all plants want to live.”

Almalexia sat back, then, and gestured at the garden around them. “Why do you think we have to weed gardens, husband? Why don’t the weeds know better than to grow amongst flowers?”

Nerevar stared at her. “Because they have no brains, I suppose.”

“That’s– well, no, they don’t, no.” She laughed. “That’s not my point, however. The weeds are like all plants. They want to live, they desire growth, and no matter where they land they will strive towards the light. A weed can’t simply choose not to grow. Even the most broken and torn plant will still struggle to live on.”

Nerevar was still staring at her; suddenly she felt embarrassed. “At least,” she continued, returning quickly to her pruning. “That’s what Alma Sotha told me. It’s just what I think about when gardening. Even the most broken plant in the darkest place will reach for the light. It’s… comforting, I suppose, to think about that.”

A long period of silence, and then she heard Nerevar laughing.

Her face flushed red. “What, husband! Don’t laugh at me, I’m being sincere.”

“I’m not laughing at you, it’s just–” Nerevar’s voice was clear and rich with amusement, “Sotha Sil said you try to give a moral lesson to every story you tell. And you’re giving a moral lesson to gardening. You’re a creature of habit, Almalexia!”

“He said that?”

“He also said you hate to be laughed at.”

“Well, he’s right! I have shears, husband. I will use them.”

“I don’t doubt that,” She heard a soft rip as Nerevar returned to his weeding. “Alma Sotha must have been very wise.”

“Yes, and kind. I said I was upset about something silly when she taught me to garden? Someone I loved was spending time with someone else, that’s what I was upset about. I was miserable because I felt rejected.” She paused. “Nerevar, I’m sorry that your friend didn’t come to meet you.”

“I told you I wasn’t–” he sighed. “… It’s fine. I wasn’t that interested in him regardless. The only injury here is to my pride.”

“So you were going to have an affair!”

“What? No! I mean– damn it, I thought we were having a moment here!”

This made Almalexia laugh again. “I’m kidding. I don’t care, Nerevar, you can have your affairs.”

“Well, it’s not exactly comfortable for me, that you know. You love morals in your stories, and what is the moral to the story of your husband taking lovers behind your back?”

A little snip of shears, and one of the trampled Kanet branches tumbled to the ground. “I don’t know,” Almalexia confessed. “Maybe there’s no moral to that story. Maybe it doesn’t have to be a story at all, and it’s best left unspoken.”

“Then let’s not speak of it.”

So they continued their gardening, enjoying the spring day, and didn’t mention the topic again.

#almalexia #nerevar #fic

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aaravos-breaks-the-internet · 6 years ago

Text

【Aaravos liveblogs The Dragon Prince】Season 1, Episode 1

(Note from the mun: Probably best experienced by reading it while watching the episode yourself? Unless you have great memory of the episode’s details, I assume. I didn’t flesh out the descriptions of the individual scenes because the following text alone took me more than three hours and is 12 pages in Word already. Sadly, I forgot to add time stamps. I might edit them in later if I have the time but I hope that it’ll be possible to follow the script without them for now.

With that said, have fun!)

*The Intro plays. Magical birds are flying over the waves of an ocean.*

Oh, oh my stars… I’m getting a lump in my throat right off the bat…I can watch Xadia everyday thanks to my arcanum’s ability to see into the beyond. Yet, this feels…different. How long has it been since I’ve walked freely in its wonderful landscape, felt the soothing breeze of the Xadian s-

WHAT THE! HOLY SHOOTING STAR! THAT IS MY VOICE. I – what

*His brain enters a state of frantic confusion.*

????!!!???!! This…this is so surreal. Forgive me but I’m – as you people say – absolutely losing it.

….

……………

That is- I just can’t believe it.

That Is Me! I’m in the Netflix. My voice is actually, really, in the Netflix!!

*He burries his hands in his hair with excitement. His initial fear is forgotten.*

[“…rich in magic and wonder.”]

No offense, but I sound GOOD. I mean, technically I know that. But hearing myself like this is so different from hearing my voice from my own perspective.

*He squeals in anticipation.* This is so awesome.

…

Oh, the music is so sweet…

…

That dragon is…well, I guess I can try to ignore him…

…

…Why is he in every shot? Do we really need him to explain the arcanums? He’s not that great. Believe me.

…

Ok, the flight effect is really spectacular. I have to admit that.

Still, stupid dragon.

…

[“…a human mage…”]

OHHHHH I remember that one *he growls*

…

[“…discovered new magic…”]

Yeah, I bet you “discovered” it. I wonder how you “discovered” it. I’d really like to know. You gotta enlighten me about that “discovery” of yours.

…

In loving memory of those poor birds.

…

OH! OH! OH MY STARS! There I am!! It’s me!!! Hey, I actually look decent for a change. Sigh, I miss my old wardrobe. That scarf was my favourite. So silky and soft.

Also, not to brag, but my hair? Nice.

…

Sigh, poor humans. It breaks my heart everytime I think of the split…

…

Still forever impressed that they managed to draw an actual lava line through all of Xadia.

That’s some true dedication to the cause of hating each other. But I guess if it fuels your ambitions…who am I to judge…you idiots…

…

Oh, Thunder…my cherished…friend…

…

[“But in the eve of last Winter’s Turn…”]

*He inhales sharply*

Oh…this is where the future begins…I have yet to experience what is about to be shown…

…

Unspeakable dark magic? *He rubs his temples, visibly annoyed.* Yeah, I already have an idea what that might have been.

You idiots. All of you. Dragons, elves, humans, all idiots!

…

I’m really carrying myself with a lot of grace in this narration. Good job, future me! I can assure you, that is probably not what I have felt on the inside.

…

Welps, guess there goes your family tree, Thunder. My condolences.

…

[“Now the world stands on the edge of all-out war.”]

I’m pretty sure I smashed my head on the table after that line. Again?! AGAIN?! HAVE YOU NOT LEARNED ANYTHING? You incredible fools?!! You like this, don’t you? This is fun for you, there’s no other explanation. Why else would you imbeciles continue to fight each other like little, immature, bratty kindergarden children.

It’s –ARGHASFADADSF

The worst part is – I knew all of this from the very beginning. Why did I – why do I even bother with helping you…

*He takes a deep breath.*

Calm down, calm doooown… *he hums*

Anger is not good for your soul. You’ll just get bitter and start to come up with horrible revenge fantasies. It’s not worth it. Remember that. Caaaaalm…..

……..

Ok. I’m feeling better.

Let’s continue.

…

Is-is that boy drooling on his glow toad? Poor thing…but that begs the question, why does he let it sleep in his bed in the first place. I would not recommend that…at all. *He shudders.*

…

Oh, that’s a very impressive drawing of a drag-………..marshmallow monster? Really?...well, I guess, that’s…human imagination…very…cute.

…

Yeah no, I don’t think the glow toad was scared…

…

Oh my, that poor guard is dead. So many moonshadow elves? Not a chance.

…

Aaaaand, of course he trips.

…

I’m about to eat my cloak. She let him go.

You might as well turn yourself in as voluntary dragon breakfast now.

…

HHHHeeey!! What’s that greasy dude doing in front of my mirror?

Don’t touch it! I hate it when there are grease spots on the glass.

Well, I guess those humans successfully raided Thunder’s lair. At least I’ll have more sunshine now.

Heyheyhey, I said don’t touch it!

It’s not like you could understand any of those runes anyways.

…

What? He is the High Mage? I have foreseen that the High Mage of Katolis will be important to me. But I expected something…else.

Can I never be lucky? Is that what I get for being so kind, so gracious, so willing to sacrifice myself to help you all? Couldn’t fate be nice to me for a change?

Sigh, guess that’s what I have to work with now.

This better not be too tiring…

I mean, he slew Thunder. That’s something. I guess…

…

Noooo, don’t cover the mirror. My sunshine, remember? At least let me have that. I’ve only seen cave walls for the last couple of centuries. I’d love to have a little change of scene.

Damn.

…

*Harrow rising*

“I woke up like this.”

With perfect hair and perfectly dressed. Ah yes, very realistic. Just like me, every morning. (I’ll never tell you if that’s sarcasm or not.)

…

Oh yes, execute him!

Ok, sorry, I guess that came out a little too excited…*cough*

…

That bird’s nice.

…

That bird’s name is…well, I guess it’s a name.

…

He’s surprisingly calm considering he and his whole crew are about to be violently murdered by moonshadow assassins.

That’s some startouch-level coolness.

Impressive.

…

[“…we must find them today…”]

Yeaaaah, good luck with that…

…

Moonshadow elves are always so dramatic when it comes to their acrobatics.

Yeees, you’re very cool. A real ninja. Here, have a pat on the back. Now go back and play with the others.

…

Please don’t tell me you think veteran moonshadow assassins can’t tell the difference between blood and moonberry juice…

…

Aaaand, you think they can’t. *He slaps his forehead.*

I’m foresing that a great assassin career lies ahead of you. Yes, really.

…

*Cough* Wh-who is this very good looking fella, holy shooting star…

I mean.

Who is this?

He looks important. Like an important elf. Probably their leader.

Yes, that must be it. I just deduced that. I’m very smart.

*The coughing intensifies.*

…

*He sees the necklace.*

Nooooooooo, he is betrothed.

Whyyyyyyy fate. Won’t you let me have anything?

…

Did…did he just fall for the moonberry trick?

You’re very beautiful but forgive me, that was very dumb.

…

This face…my stars…

……………………..

………………….

………..What on earth is going on with me? Focus you dumb, old startouch elf.

It’s not like you to be so easily impressed with others. There’s absolutely no reason for that.

He’s just a boring, average moonshadow elf.

Whatever those weird, inexplicable, mushy feelings in your stomach are, we are done with those.

No more silly touchy-feely emotions.

Ok, let’s get back on track.

Ha, see, you have no power over me, you ridiculously pretty moonshadow elf!

Glad we sorted that out.

…

Yeah, he can see that.

…

That human village looks pretty sweet actually.

I wonder if they sell bread.

I’d love to have some bread now.

Wait, what?

…

Ah, jelly tarts. I remember those. Never liked them. Not enough chocolate. How can they make pastry. Without chocolate. I will never understand.

…

Those are…some impressive lashes.

Apparently modern day humans in Katolis like to put make-up on their pets?

Isn’t that animal cruelty? Is nobody concerned?

…

That toad is definitely smarter when it comes to this whole jelly tart stealing business…

It’s a bit sad to watch.

Well, at least it helped the human kid out.

Enjoy your tarts. Your sad, little, chocolate-less tarts…

…

Ah, that knight looks like a very smart person.

Not.

…

He seems as enthusiastic about teaching the artist boy as I am about working together with the greasy wizard.

I relate to you, not very smart but at least good-at-your-trade knight.

…

Geez, this sword fighting lesson is a tragedy.

I’ve read startouch law books that were more uplifting.

…

Love amongst the dragons? Sigh, really? Such an overrated book. Too many dragons.

Ok ok, the love story part is kind of cute.

I guess.

Not that I would know.

As I have never read it.

…

I want to take a moment to thank the universe for not having siblings.

…

I mean, 300 years is nothing. So she’s kinda right? It’s pretty new?

…

*Slaps his face*

No you can’t do it now. That was a bad idea.

You’re noticing that yourself, aren’t you?

…

Is this how you humans court each other?.............

That explains….a lot….

…

Oh? What? He didn’t really stab you? You don’t say. I thought you were dead for real. What a shocking twist of events.

…

Hehe, pushing around those little figures was always the best part of any political meeting.

…

This conversation is off to a rocky start. Don’t do your children dirty like that.

You are evidently muddying the mood of your kids.

…

We have visitors from Xadia…unwanted visitors…look at mee…I’m the human mage…I’m so important…with my condescending voice…I’m so powerfuuuuul…for I am the human mage…

I feel the sudden urge to throw myself from the highest bookshelf in my library.

…

Yes. Yes, I think you’re an idiot, Soren.

…

[“…You’re saying they’ll kill the king?”]

Yeah right. As if Callum could have heard that down there in the courtyard.

He has human ears, not elf ears. *wiggles them in annoyance without noticing*

…

[“…’unstoppable: is just another kind of ‘stoppable’.”]

That’s…not…what?

My head hurts.

Is this the future of dark magic in Katolis?

I’m very concerned now.

…

14 and three quarters?

……………………………

This kingdom doesn’t need any enemies. It’ll take itself down all on its own.

…

[“Think fast.”]

As fast as you, three-quarter-boy?

…

Ah yes, the moonshadow elves. Their leader is talking. He sounds very distressed.

I mean. They murdered the dragon. I understand. I would be very distressed, too.

…

Uh-oh, no, please don’t bind your lives to-

Sigh……………moonshadow elves are so, so very dramatic. It’s painful.

Really annoying a thousand years ago, still really annoying today.

…

Yes, life is precious. Very good, very well observed. So why do you idiots throw it away with stupid binding curses like that? Your assassin career would be just fine without your silly, theatrical honour codes, that you cling to in order to give your life a deeper meaning but that are ultimately very useless and very dumb.

…

You really had to flex your arm like that just to illustrate the binding of the ribbon, didn’t you, moonshadow leader? That was totally necessary. Sure.

…

Ah….Runaan…that is…a nice name.

Which I just assessed factually, neutrally, in a very matter-of-fact manner.

I just noticed. Nothing more.

…

[“What if they know we’re coming?”]

That’s the face of somebody who messed up big time.

…

[“No, I don’t want a stupid jelly tart!”]

Ah, yes. Finally somebody who gets it!

…

Ok, I have to admit…I feel for them though… Poor children.

…

[“…closet full of moon sweaters.”]

*Bursts into laughter*

Closet full of moon sweaters!! That’s-OHHHH Curses! *he growls*

You got me there. Shame on me. Won’t happen a second time. I promise you that!

…

Flopflopflopflopflop

You know…the sound of the moon moth’s wings…right?

…

Yesssss, dramatic horse chase. Follow the moon sweater moth!

…

Well, guess he just…broke off that engagement.

…

Ohhhh, pretty sparkles!!

See? We’re perfect for each other.

He likes sparkles. I sparkle.

A match made in heaven!

…

Soren, they-they’re right in front of you!!

Is this the amount of effort you put into protecting your kingdom? When it is at the brink of freaking war?! Forget the moonshadow elves, you’re the biggest threat to Katolis’ safety…

God, I’m getting a headache.

I hope your father is a bit...brighter or I might have to let the elves and dragons win this thing.

…

[“You lied to me!”]

Ohhhhh, he’s so fierce when he’s angry…

I would never lie to you! *hums*

Well, because I can’t lie. Which is very annoying sometimes…

…

[“Runaan, I’m sorry!”]

Something tells me that this won’t convince him.

…

[“You let him live but you’ve killed us all!”]

Whoa, Runaan, calm down. She’s a kid. I’m sure that’s not very good for her mental well-being. Cut her some slack.

If this was so important then maybe you should have taken out that soldier yourself. Didn’t occur to you back then? Nope, I don’t think so. Don’t blame her now because you were so bad at planning ahead.

*Shakes his head*

Moonshadow assassin leaders…

…

Oh, that was it? Already?

That was…surprisingly fun. Not the soul-crushing existential crisis I was anticipating.

What does it say here? Next episode in five seconds? Well, I won’t say no to that…

Maybe I should get myself something to eat…

*He gets up, humming cheerfully.*

#Aaravos #Aarablog #Aaravos roleplay #Aaravos rp #The Dragon Prince #The Dragon Prince roleplay #TDP #Runaavos #Runaaravos #Chaotic Good (AU) Aaravos

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years ago

Text

The Witches of Los Angeles, Chapter 1: I am apparently not wasting any time starting in on the next installment of this saga!

[ao3] [Seelie of Kurain masterlist]

“But what if, even after all of this, I make it to the end, and nobody will hire me? That nobody’s willing to work with a teenage attorney and I just – can’t do anything because I don’t have anywhere to go?”

“That’s a lot of ‘ifs’ there, kiddo. But if – if – you get your badge, do your searching, can’t find a single office in the LA area willing to take on a prodigy – then there’s always my office. It’s sure as hell not a law office right now, but it’d give you a space to work out of.”

It’s a bad time for the phone to ring. Even if Edgeworth was still in Europe, he’s always been good at working around the time difference (and he knew that at the odd hours of the night, even if Phoenix was awake, he’d be in the basement of the club with no reception) and never just called at a time that would make Phoenix panic. And it can’t be Maya or Pearls, with no sense of time, because he worked with Iris (the only one of them who understood human needs for sleep) to put an enchantment on his phone that stopped them from calling him about things that weren’t life-threatening at 2 am.

In the time it takes him to fumble for his phone, he has gone through the options: Trucy snuck out and got arrested for underage drinking or trespassing or arson or whatever teen girls do to have fun in the small hours of the morning. Edgeworth got murdered staying too late at his office. Apollo got into some sort of trouble, though Phoenix’s imagination has never been able to figure out what Apollo would be doing out and in trouble at this hour (though if he really considers possibilities, Klavier is probably also involved). Or Thalassa had something happen to her, or she found out what lost, forbidden knowledge he and Maya have been chasing for the sake of her soul and with no regard for time wants to yell at him.

Bleary-eyed, he doesn’t check the caller ID and simply answers. “Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Mr Wright! Mr Wright! I passed! I passed!”

Or, the option he hadn’t considered. “Time zones, please,” he groans, resting his face back against his pillow. “It’s two am and – wait.” He sits back up, blinking at the dark room like written somewhere in it will be something to help him replay the words she just said. “You passed?”

“The Bar results came today! I passed! Athena Cykes, barred and badged attorney at the ready! I’ve got a flight booked tomorrow and stuff packing now! Vámonos!”

Oh, god. Athena never lets him forget that she lives her entire life in a frantic rush. “Slow down, kiddo,” he says, knowing that she absolutely will not but feeling obligated to try to make her do so anyway. “Do you have somewhere you’re working? A place to live?”

“No to the second, yes to the first.”

“Well, that’s probably something you should do before you come back. I can give you a hand, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a place.” There are always cheap available apartments in a city built this close to faery hills – or mountains, as it is. The unpredictable, not-typical-SoCal weather would probably be enough to send people running, but Phoenix also has a theory that the city itself has enough of a life force that it decides what people it doesn’t want and gives them little mental nudges to make them leave. (To the people it does want, it gives cheap rent and depression.)

“So where are you working?” he adds. He doesn’t know every defense attorney in the city, but he knows of most of them. (Athena’s a sharp, emotionally intelligent kid. He doesn’t need to vet her entire career for her. She’d figure out quick enough if she was working for someone nasty.)

“Uh, have you forgotten, and isn’t it obvious – Boss?”

Phoenix manages not to swear out loud, which he thinks is rather impressive of him, all things considered. His mind racing, he tries to remember if he ever directly offered Athena a job or simply positioned himself as the backup-backup plan, the last resort, because he isn’t a boss or a mentor and all he knows how to be is the shelter that collects stray kids fucked up and fucked over by fae magic where he can’t do much worse to them than has already been done. And Athena isn’t one of them.

(Isn’t she?)

No, Athena shouldn’t be here.

And then what he says is, “Ah. Right,” as his mouth once again keeps going ahead of his brain. “You know,” he adds, knowing that it’s probably too late but needing to try, “you don’t have to just charge in like this. You can look for other places instead of just coming with me because I was the first option. You’ve got time. It’s not like there’s some kind of door that’s about to slam in your face.”

Midlife crisis before she’s out of her teens, that’s the impression that she gives him. Like she thinks her entire life will be useless if she doesn’t have a badge and a certain number of cases under her belt before she turns nineteen. Like there’s an end line she’s afraid of tripping over that no one else can see, but because she’s a damn kid Phoenix is terrified she’s going to get chewed up like Franziska and Klavier and Sebastian all were, ripped apart and rearranged by the heartless, manipulative people who stood behind them.

(And Athena doesn’t have one of those, not now, not yet, but Phoenix doesn’t have any reservations about what he is, what even more he could be.)

“I can do stuff now, so I’m gonna do it! Also the plane ticket can only be canceled 24 hours in advance, and the flight is closer than that, so I really can’t stop now.”

Knowing that she can’t see him, Phoenix still shakes his head. “And where are you planning on staying until you find housing?” he asks.

He might be able to guess the answer to this one, too. And that is its own can of worms for him to lie in, but if she’s working at the Agency, then – well, he can keep an eye on her but still distance himself, and she’ll have Apollo to show her the ropes. She could learn a lot from him, and he from her. It might – scratch that, it would definitely – be good for Apollo to have another lawyer to work with. And he knows that Apollo, unlike most others, shouldn’t be too freaked out by Athena’s powers. No one’s normal at the WAA. Maybe it is the best place for Athena, in spite of himself.

(No, he’s going to need to repeat that to himself a few hundred more times before he believes it.)

“So Trucy kinda said that maybe I could crash on your couch? Or her bedroom floor. Or the fire escape! I mean, all I really need is a shower and a flat surface, and I guess I’m gonna get a gym membership and they’ll have showers, so I could sleep at the office too!”

“I am not going to make you sleep at the office,” Phoenix says. Mia wouldn’t allow him to do that. “I’m not sure where you would hang your clothes, anyway.”

“Is that – is that you being cool with Trucy’s floor?”

Is it? He’s lost on everything else so far he’s tried to bargain with Athena on. “Living room couch. She’s got school, and you’ve got a law career, and I know you’ll be talking to the middle of the night like it’s a sleepover if you stay in the same room.”

“Thank you! Thanks so much!”

“And you’re gonna be looking for apartments from the start, but I think that goes without saying.”

“Definitely. I wasn’t planning on couchsurfing forever. I mean, mostly because you’re the only option I have.”

“What, you haven’t asked Edgeworth?” He at least would have a spare bedroom, though Athena would probably eat him out of the house in a day.

“Wait, I could? Unless there’s like – there’s not any rules against a defense attorney bunking with a prosecutor, right?”

If there are rules like that, then Phoenix and Edgeworth have already broken most of them. There are very few actual rules, and Phoenix has broken most of those too. “No, though you’d be bunking with the Chief Prosecutor now, you know.”

“Oh man, really? I keep thinking about how I’ve come so far since I met you two, but I guess you’ve both come a long ways too!”

“The two of you have.” And Phoenix stuck as always, as ever. He’s what he’s made of himself and nothing more.

“Don’t say that, Mr Wright! I’ve been reading about what you’ve been doing. And you could take the Bar again, I’m sure! You definitely should. I passed! You would too! You did before!”

Phoenix snorts. “Thanks, but I’m not so sure. I’m a little less lucky than I was when I first passed.” Does he owe Iris and her blessing for passing the Bar on the first try? Probably, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that much.

“Still. I think you should. Then we’d have three lawyers, me and what did Trucy say his name was, Apollo! And you. We’d be an unbeatable team!”

It would be nice to have her optimism. He has no way of responding that she won’t hear his doubt, so he goes for the redirect. “You should let Edgeworth know you got your badge, even if you don’t ask him if you can crash at his place. He’d like to know how you’ve been doing, and I’m not sure if you’d see him in person any time soon. Chief Prosecutor stuff is keeping him really busy.” Worryingly busy, in fact. There’s a lot of corruption to clean up, Phoenix knows, but more and more he wonders if there’s something else, something on top of the base level of corruption that’s eating up all of Edgeworth’s time.

“I’ll email him. And then I’ll see you soon! This week! Two days! One plane ride away, Boss! And then it’s gonna be awesome, I just know it!”

After she hangs up, he stares at the dark floor, at the thin lines of the city lights seeping in around the window shades, for a long time. It would be nice, unfathomably so, if she was right. If the the constant expectation gnawing at the back of Phoenix’s skull was wrong. Let her be right, and for once, let everything – or even just something – turn out all right.

Edgeworth calls in the morning, causing Phoenix to realize something: he both worries when he doesn’t hear from Edgeworth, and when he does. He didn’t sleep well after Athena’s call, worrying about that too, and her, and this realization that he feels responsible for her like a father and that’s the last goddamn thing he wanted. “What’s up?” he asks through a yawn, and there is silence on the other end of the line, Edgeworth clearly reassessing whether Phoenix is the best person for whatever the problem is. Or maybe he still thinks Phoenix is the right person, but Saturday morning not the right time to have a serious conversation.

Then he sighs and says, “Wright, I have a… a favor to ask. A special request.”

“Ominous. So how can I help?” It’s not the way he would respond to anyone else; it’s a rule he’s had since he met Mia and started tangling with the fae, to never agree to any request without knowing the terms. But it’s Edgeworth. Phoenix sets different rules for him.

“I want you to clear one of my subordinates of suspicion.”

“Edgeworth, that’s like, the one thing I can’t do for you. I’m not a lawyer, remember? Haven’t been for longer than I ever was.”

“And you aren’t at all eager to return?”

“Eh.” Is he? What does he want to do? He doesn’t know anymore, hasn’t had time to ever figure it out. Who is he when he’s not trying to keep Kristoph from doing more harm, when not flailing to keep himself and Trucy afloat and alive?

(He’s the person that Edgeworth asks for help on investigations, an invitation extended again and again even when Phoenix thought for sure he would give up in the face of “not now”s and “someday”s, that he wouldn’t wait like he did for the now and the someday. And he’d liked those investigations, more than getting to show Trucy more of the world, more than spending time with Edgeworth. And for everything else there was, he had enjoyed jumping behind the defense’s bench with Apollo, for more reason than finally getting to tear Kristoph down.)

(Maybe he does know, and maybe what he knows is that he misses being an attorney.)

“With everything cleared up, you would be able to, and I can’t imagine you just continuing to delegate everything to others.”

Does Edgeworth know him too well? Maybe, but as long as he doesn’t point out that the reason he can’t imagine Phoenix leaving things to other people is because Phoenix is paranoid, suspicious, and laden with trust issues, Phoenix can live with it. “Athena called last night and was saying I should retake the Bar, too.”

“I received an email from her, as well. I’m inclined to agree with her in regards to you.”

“I’ll think about it. But who exactly is it that you’d be asking me to – defend?” There hasn’t been any news this week of prosecutors arrested for crimes. If something happened recently, it’s been on tight lockdown. And if it wasn’t recently, then what?

“You’ll recall the Blackquill case?”

“Oh,” Phoenix says.

That was a case on tight lockdown, details unknown to Phoenix, but whatever happened was damning for Prosecutor Blackquill, who pled guilty and was convicted in barely a few hours. And even if more information had been released, Phoenix probably wouldn’t have looked that far into it; even a year and a half after his disbarment, he was still struggling to keep from drowning, too preoccupied with himself and Trucy and Kristoph and no room to consider yet another murdering prosecutor. (How many of those have there been?)

“Yes. He will…” Edgeworth sighs. “He will be standing in court again, very soon. I want you to keep an eye on him.”

If it was anyone but Edgeworth speaking, Phoenix would assume that he was asking Phoenix whether Blackquill was human or fae, to look with the Sight and get answers. But it’s Edgeworth, and he probably doesn’t mean that. “So if he’s standing in court, do you mean his conviction was overturned – but if you’re asking me to clear him, then that means he hasn’t been…?”

“He will be standing in court, prosecuting, as a convict.”

Phoenix closes his eyes and considers flinging himself face-first into the couch. He heads for the kitchen instead. “Well,” he says. “That’s still not the worst or weirdest thing a chief prosecutor has done.”

Silence. He probably shouldn’t have said that. He definitely shouldn’t have said that. “I thought I was getting good at the piano thing,” Phoenix adds, and Edgeworth snorts, “but I mean, I guess this is a job I could do. Is there anything more you can tell me about Blackquill? Like if Apollo and Athena were to end up facing him in court.”

“Or if you were, should you get your badge back.” The silence stands for a few more seconds, Phoenix not wanting to agree to that, not wanting to get Edgeworth’s hopes up until he himself is sure, and Edgeworth adds, “He isn’t… pleasant, exactly.”

“That could mean a lot of things. Some people might say that about you, y’know.”

“Hmph. I’m sure some people might also say that about you. But I might compare him to Franziska: tolerates very little nonsense, does not suffer fools lightly, and has a very broad definition of what counts for foolishness. He’s studied psychology as a tactic for the courtroom and when he isn’t threatening, he’s manipulative. And if you were to defend him, he still insists quite stringently that he is in fact a murderer, though I know you have had clients of that sort before.”

And you were one of them, Phoenix thinks. “So, tough client, and tough prosecutor.” Sounds like someone else Phoenix knows. “Apollo could use some experience going up against a hostile prosecutor.” The most hostility he’s had to deal with has been witnesses – not to discount the ordeals that Crescend and Gavin made of those trials – but Klavier is far too fond of him. (Which Phoenix can’t complain about because that’s worked out for his purposes and also for the Jurist System trial case.) “And psychology, huh. You’ve got him, and I’ll have Athena.”

Edgeworth hums a noncommittal acknowledgement.

“You don’t paint a flattering picture of the guy you want defended, though.”

“You deserve to know as much as I can tell you. I didn’t know him well when he first joined the office, but it’s my understanding that six and a half years in jail has sharpened anything that was ever tempered about him.”

That sounds achingly familiar, but not because of any of the prosecutors that Phoenix knows. Seven years is a long time to ferment and grow painfully bitter. “I suppose that makes sense,” he says. “I’ll keep that all under advisement. Anything else?”

“There is…” Edgeworth sighs and clicks his tongue. “There are a number of absurd rumors I’ve collected about him from other inmates and guards. It’s nothing I would pay heed to, but…” He sighs again.

“But?”

“They call him a witch.”

“Edgeworth, one of these days you’re going to have to accept the truth staring you in the face that these things are way more likely than you think.”

“Actually, I believe they are much less likely than you think, and your life is not accurate to the demographics of this city.”

“You met Kay, Lang, that shapeshifter lady, Sebastian, his bastard of a father, Judge Courtney, and whatever else was happening there, all within one month.”

The silence stretches for so long that Phoenix has to check to make sure Edgeworth hasn’t hung up on him. He goes to the pantry and finds that Trucy ate the last of the cereal. “Fine,” Edgeworth says at last. “People with magic have a tendency to move in packs. I will give you that. But Blackquill is… very much a loner, and I’ve spoken with him a number of times and seen nothing to suggest that he isn’t normal.”

“I guess I’ll have to meet him and see for myself.” It’s funny, really; Edgeworth’s disdain for cries of magic at anyone or anything that breaks a narrow mold nearly stopped him from mentioning the thing that has the best guarantee at bringing Phoenix in on this venture.

“I’m hoping to find a case for him in the next few days. I’ll let you know once I do. And the next exams are being administered in May, so you should get to studying for that.”

“Did I say that I was retaking it?”

“You’re already signed up and paid for, so I would really prefer you don’t let that go to waste.”

Phoenix nearly drops the phone. “Edgeworth. Edgeworth, tell me you’re joking—”

“I would never.”

“Didn’t you need my signature? Are we really starting my new career with more falsified—”

“Speaking of, I’ve meant to let you know that your daughter is worryingly good at forging your signature, and you should probably have a talk with her about that sort of thing.”

“You used my daughter for crimes—!”

“I also considered buying Miss Maya dinner for it, though I didn’t know which of those options you would have preferred less.”

Oh. Oh, Edgeworth is serious about it, about Phoenix getting his badge back, if he had considered making a deal with Maya over it. “You could’ve at least warned me and given me more than I don’t know, two weeks, to study!”

“And would you have used that extra time effectively?”

Phoenix drops his head against the refrigerator. He doesn’t know why he thought he would win against Edgeworth. He’s not even sure why he bothered to fight. “Okay, first of all, fuck you, and secondly – fuck you!”

Edgeworth chuckles. “Prosecutor Blackquill and I will see you in court, Wright.”

#fic: the witches of los angeles #roddy fanfics #do i also put this under the original 'seelie of kurain' fic tag just so everything is organized or do i just say fuck it #ANYWAY BOIS WE'RE LIVE AND HEADING DOWN INTO HELL #fic: the seelie of kurain

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yodawgiherd · 6 years ago

Text

Reminiscence

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

There should be more fun ways of waiting for someone than to just sit on your ass and drum a series of tiny holes into your cup. As Levi watched the crowds rolling around him, he couldn’t help but wonder why Petra picked a place like this. It was not his preference to be out in the open, yet when the lady suggested it, he just kind of rolled along with her decision. Not like he had any ties to a coffee shop he had to visit anyway. And there she was, moving through the people like a fish in a water, clearly used to this kind of life. Petra spotted him right away, making a bee line to his chair and sitting down, smiling radiantly after.

“Sorry I’m late, had a call from work I had to solve.”

“It’s all right.”, Levi shrugged, indifferent, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Okay….”, Petra put her hands on the table, eyes fixing into Levi’s. “So, I’m finally here.”

He snorted.

“Obviously.”

“Something you want to tell me? Maybe?”, she urged him on.

And Levi knew what she was talking about, of course he did, but he was never big on past and especially talking about himself and didn’t feel like opening up to Petra. Despite the promise he gave her, just a few days ago, the asshole he was. He cleared his throat.

“The weather’s nice.”

Petra blinked in confusion, having no idea how cowardly he felt right now.

“I guess?”, she stammered.

“It’s cold, although not as cold as the weather report said it will be. We should count ourselves lucky.”

“Okay, weather is nice,”, she slowly nodded, “but maybe there’s something else you want to talk about?”

“My gym is doing pretty good lately.”

“That’s… good to hear.”

“Indeed. All the fame Mikasa got from winning the tourney, the sponsors, now the money from the photoshoot.”, he flashed his completely out of the loop companion a victorious smile, “I’m thinking of remodeling, maybe expanding even and…”

Petra’s hand hit the table, interrupting his monologue.

“Okay that’s enough.”, the confusion on her face was replaced by a mild anger and irritation, contorting her features, “I won’t sit here and listen to your stalling for a minute more. I came here to get some answers, Levi, and if you are not willing to give them to me, then I don’t see a point of being here at all. You promised to explain why you went missing, without a word, and after all those years you still try bullshitting me? I deserve better.”

Seems like he couldn’t mislead her forever. Well, Petra always was a sharp one.

“I’m sorry.”, he said, directing his gaze at his hands, “it’s my defense mechanism. I usually try not to talk about myself too much, it’s too… personal I guess.”

A warm touch enveloped his right palm, as Petra reached over the desk, squeezing supportively.

“Please Levi,”, she whispered, “help me understand.”

Ah fuck it.

“My parents got murdered,”, he blurted out, wanting to be done with this little window into his soul as quickly as possible, “and my sister was going into adoption. I couldn’t allow that. Got her on a trial period, as her guardian, but to keep her I had to have bigger financial income. In order to do that, I left college, started working full time, and inherited the gym when the old owner died. That’s it, no more secrets.”

Puzzled by the lack of answer, Levi looked up, seeing that Petra had a hand over her mouth, blinking rapidly while her eyes seemed strangely wet.

“Oh my god,”, she breathed out, “I’m so sorry.”

“Been a long time. Got over it.”

“But why did you cut all contact with us?”, Petra’s voice was still shaky, yet he had no trouble of understanding her, “We could have helped you, we were your friends, no?”

“I guess I wanted to start a new chapter in my life.”, Levi grimaced a bit, “I wasn’t really in a good condition back then, mentally, and it just seemed like the only way forward without burdening anybody.”

It was just the way he was. Even with life dumping everything onto him, he was determined to shoulder all the weight himself and silently carry it to the best of his ability, never asking for help. Petra let go of his hand, reluctantly, in an attempt to regain some composure. After dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, getting rid of the moisture, she took a deep breath.

“Thank you for telling me all this.”

A shrug.

“You deserve it.”

“Well, since we got that out of the way.”, she offered him a smile, “What do you want to talk about now?”

And they talked, for long time, about their pasts and presents. Levi learned that Petra was an independent contractor, moving all over the state, although lately she’s been doing a lot of work for Kiyomi and her company. In return, Levi told her all about the gym, the tournament Mikasa won, even begrudgingly talking about Eren, and the influence he had on his little sister. For some reason, Petra seemed really interested in hearing more about that brat.

“So that was the guy at the party? The one with the long hair?”

“Yea, that’s him.”

Yeager and his stupid overlong hair, name a more iconic duo. I’ll wait.

“You know, your sister seemed really happy around him.”

“That’s her. Totally on cloud nine whenever he opens his big mouth.”, Levi frowned, watching Petra’s slight grin over the rim of his glass. “Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to find the reason why you dislike the guy so much.”

“I don’t dislike him.”

“Sure you don’t.”, she teased, “Only anytime you say his name your face sours as if you had to bite into a lemon.”

Levi sighed, a tiny bit embarrassed about the way he felt about his sister’s fiancé who seemed to bring her nothing but happiness. The protective instinct was hard to push down.

“I’m just worried you know. Don’t want to see Mikasa heartbroken.”

“From the way they acted at the party I don’t really see them breaking up any time soon.”, she giggled, “Judging from how often they kissed, they breathe each other instead of oxygen.”

Oh yes, Levi totally needed that mental image.

“Mikasa is…. complicated, all right?”, he pressed on, determined to make Petra see his point, “She had shit for childhood, and I’m very far from being an ideal role model.” Seeing that she still wasn’t understanding him very well, he went on, without going into too much detail. It wouldn’t be very nice to dump all Mikasa’s secret to someone she didn’t even know, but Petra deserved to know at least the rough outlines.

Honestly, ever since she left for college Levi was silently dreading the phone call telling him that his sister assaulted someone. Again. The memory of the boy whose hand she broke just for touching her was fresh in his mind, and it was easy to guess that older guys will be easily more handsy than the high schoolers were. Not to mention all the parties and alcohol that would flow through the dorms. But instead of anything like that, Mikasa called him after about a week, telling him that she met someone special. Levi would never admit that, but his heart still fluttered at the memory. And yet it didn’t put his worries to rest, not completely. Relationship meant intimacy beyond anything Mikasa experienced so far, and Levi had no idea if she was prepared for that. Uncountable times he held her hand until she fell asleep, only for her to still wake up screaming from a nightmare. He raised her, and still she jolted sometimes, when he touched her shoulder unannounced, the hostile expression flashing in her face until she realized who he was. Sure, she was beautiful, anyone could see that, but also troubled, deep inside, and he had no idea if anyone would ever manage to solve that puzzle that Mikasa was.

And girl like this was supposed to hold hand with someone, kiss someone, share a bed, maybe even go further than that? Back then, Levi steeled his heart, waiting for the tearful call from her, her first break up, and was ready to assist her in any way necessary. But the call never came. Instead, he watched this guy, this Eren, put a hand around his sister’s waist without her flinching, press a kiss to her cheek, even a full one on the mouth without anything but happy reciprocation from her. He watched as he made her laugh with his stupid jokes, the weird fixation he had with her hair, endlessly playing with the strands, how naturally they talked, bantering each other, and all the other little things that made him wonder what kind of magic he used to break though Mikasa’s shell. Thought even with this miraculous progress, there were other reasons why he initially didn’t like the guy that much.

“Levi, can we talk?”, she dropped this on him during one of their trainings, still in college. “It’s about Eren.”

Her relationship was just a few days old, back then, so upon hearing this Levi immediately started preparing his best supportive monologue for going through rough breakup. Yet before he could get a word out, she continued.

“I recently found out something and it’s been bothering me.”, she idly played with her fingers, sign of being nervous, “He’s rich.”

“Oh, I see.”, Petra interrupted his story, rather rudely in his opinion, “He didn’t offer you money for your gym when you were doing bad? That’s why?”

“No, that’s not it at all. I don’t even think I could ask him for cash, ever.”

“Why’s that?”

“Wanting money from a guy who’s dating your sister?”, Levi shook his head, “It would feel like pimping her out, I could never do it. Never.”

Plus, Eren was taking a great care of Mikasa anyway. He gave her the bike, then the flat they lived in together at first, and after finishing school the house they moved in.

“Okay then, sorry for stopping you. Go on, please.”

“Only if you promise to keep quiet.”

She made a show of locking her mouth shut and throwing away the key.

“Right, where was I…”

“Rich?”, he said, stroking his chin, “You didn’t know that before?”

Mikasa shot him a reprimanding look.

“This might come as a surprise for you, but we didn’t go around at that party exchanging the balances of our accounts. There really was no reason to wonder about my or his financial situation, but last night we started talking about how we used to live and the conversation just kind of got there.”

“All right, but why is it a bad thing?”

“I mean, the truth is that I’m not exactly drowning in money, right? And with him being like this….”, she grimaced, “I don’t want people to think I’m a gold digger or anything, you know?”

“Does he think that?”

She looked up form her fidgeting fingers, wondering what he meant.

“Think what?”

“That you are only after his money.”

“No, of course not. He knows I had no idea.”

“Then fuck the others.”, Levi leaned in, putting a hand on Mikasa’s shoulder, “You know the truth, and he knows the truth. That’s what matters, right?”

She grinned, nodding.

“Fuck them.”

“The supportive brother.”, Petra patted his hand again, “It’s good to see that side of you that isn’t a total dick to everyone.”

“Yea, I try to keep it hidden.”

“You are doing an amazing job of that.”

“Good to hear.”

“Listen, I really enjoyed our talk, but I really have to go.”, with an apologetic shrug, Petra stood up, offering her hand. Levi took it, shaking it lightly, and for some reason he found himself not wanting this moment to end.

“Maybe we could meet again?”, the words left his lips before he could stop himself, but Petra didn’t seem offender by his proposition. On the contrary, she smiled.

“I’d love that.”

As she was leaving, a seemingly last thought struck her, and Petra turned on the spot, getting Levi’s attention.

“Now that I think about it, I never asked what’s your second half, right?”

He just started at her.

“You know, you are half Japanese, so what’s the other one? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nah, its fine.”, interesting question that’s for sure,” Dad was Russian.”

“Really? Well, maybe you could help me with translating a phrase I’ve been hearing. Now how did it go…”

Levi could see it, from the way her lips pressed together, trying to keep the giggling in, from the sparkle of her eyes, and all the other different signs of her body. He sighed.

“Don’t say it...”

Petra just ignored him, as usual.

“Oh, i remember! Cyka blyat.”

Levi's head hit the table.

In retrospective, staying behind alone with Mikasa at the bar was a really stupid idea on Jean’s part. Sasha was god knows where, Connie left early, saying he must take care of something, and suddenly it was just the two of them, putting finishing touches at the interior. Most of the time they worked silently, exchanging just the necessary words, but it was more than enough. Despite all his talk with Hitch, despite his brave words about being over it, Jean still found himself captivated by her, the way she moved, the sure grip of her fingers, the strength she displayed with easily picking up stuff he would never guess she can lift. And then there were those little things. Redness of her cheeks from the physical activity, movement of her hand as she brushed some strands of hair from her face, the smile she shot him when they finished a particularly difficult talk together. In the end, it all boiled down to the hammer. Mikasa asked him to hand it to her, and he did, but when she was taking it from him their fingers brushed, and Jean’s eyes shot up, traveling over her body. And that’s when he saw them. The bruises. Littered all over neck, at the top, even disappearing beneath the fabric of her shirt, although there was a strip in the middle without any, as if whoever put those love bites on her avoided that area, for reasons unknown. Feeling like all the air was pushed out of his lungs, Jean made a pathetic excuse and dashed out of the door, leaving the confused Mikasa alone, unable to face her anymore.

Cursing himself, cursing her, cursing whatever came into his mind, he dug through his pockets for a cigarette, only to realize that he quit smoking, years ago, pulling out his phone instead, staring at the display. Robbed of nicotine, he thought of a different way to make himself feel better, the one he used multiple times recently, and dialed Hitch’s number, waiting for her to answer. Luck didn’t seem to completely desert him, yet at least, because after two rings, she picked up, greeting him with the voice he came to like and admire so much.

“Hey Hitch, you free for lunch? Want to meet?”

#eremika #fanfic #snk #rivetra #a bit?

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princessmans · 7 years ago

Text

About that “Return to Murder House” twist... (SPOILERS)

My first reaction to the revelation that Tate had been used by the Murder House as a vessel to create Michael was a mixture of disappointment and relief. On one hand, I loved being able to enjoy Tate running down the stairs to Violet like a little kid at Christmas, but I also felt like one of the greatest villains ever portrayed on screen had been cheapened by what felt a tad like fan fiction.

To be honest, I always felt like Tate being manipulated by the house was a possibility based on some of the direction, dialogue and acting choices. It was what I WANTED to be true, but not knowing if this was the case, or if he really was just a psychopath, was what made him so scary to me and I felt like that fear had been taken away by a definitive explanation.

However, the more I have thought about it and reflected on the events of Murder House and early episodes of Apocalypse, the more I think it works and is actually kinda brilliant. It makes Michael an absolutely terrifying villain and makes Murder House disturbing in a whole new way. I have compiled just a few examples here. Obviously, since this is Tate and AHS we are talking about, some topics may be triggering.

Tate’s First Therapy Session

Most of what Tate says in his first session with Ben appears to be symptoms of some sort of mental illness - cutting and violent fantasies specifically. But analyzing his dialogue with “Return to Murder House” in mind makes what he says even more chilling.

“I prepare for the noble war. I'm calm, I know the secret. I know whats coming and I know no one can stop me not even myself.”

His mention of a noble war echoes Michael’s dialogue in Apocalypse whenever he talks about fulfilling his purpose and even the way he believes he is purifying/re-building the world through nuclear war. Additionally, Tate saying that even he cannot stop himself could be interpreted as pointing toward some form of possession where he truly is not in control of his actions.

“The Indians believed that blood hold all the bad spirits, they would cut themselves once a month in ceremonies, let the spirits go free. There’s something smart about that. I like that.”

Again, this line - and the way that Tate does admit to self harm- can be interpreted as another symptom of the emotional pain he is obviously in. But now I can’t help but be freaked out by the idea that he subconsciously knew he was being possessed or at least manipulated by some sort of evil spirit. Tate even sees a vision of himself covered in blood - which he ignores and is never explained but introduces the idea of dual personas.

The Rubber Man Reveal Scene

I have always found the Rubber Man reveal scene to be particularly strange in the way it seems to cut between two separate takes with two completely different choices on Evan Peters’ part - especially since we see him lower the mask twice. At first he looks horrified at what he just did, then it cuts to a more determined, villainous expression before cutting back to horror.

In retrospect, the editing choice could be interpreted as revealing not just Tate’s inner conflict, but dual spirits in one body or at least a visualization of how Tate is being manipulated. If he was fully possessed in the way Mary Eunice was in Asylum then there is a whole other horrifying option to consider. If he was completely controlled by a demonic force, than Vivien is not the only victim of rape in the scenario - Tate is as well. However, I tend to lean towards more of a demonic influence and manipulation over full-on possession for reasons I will explain later.

Inability to Kill Gabriel Ramos

Everything Tate does - apart from murdering his peers, but more on that later - is for a specific purpose. He either wants to appease or avenge ghosts in the house (Nora or Larry’s family who immolated themselves), help create and protect the Anti-Christ, or protect Violet from physical and emotional harm. His desire to kill Gabriel in order to give Violet a new boyfriend appears strong but he is ultimately unable to kill him.

This final violent act occurs after Michael has left the house and is in the care of Constance - supporting Madison’s theory that the evil inside Tate did leave with Michael. Without it, Tate is unable to go through with the murder, despite how much he may want to in order to “help” Violet.

Not Remembering the Westfield Massacre

Tate’s claims to not remember killing 15 of his peers can easily be interpreted as denial or straight up lying in order to not lose Violet - though Evan Peters’ raw emotional vulnerability in some scenes has always made it difficult for me to not believe him. Re-watching these scenes now puts a whole different spin on his claims.

Could he not remember what he did because he was not fully in control? I have always found the skull makeup in his visions to be an interesting choice, seeing as he did not wear it during the actual shooting. Another Tumblr user suggested that the skull makeup was his subconscious’ way of representing the devil that was influencing him and I agree that it comes across that way.

Even if he does remember the murders on some level, he is unable to say why he did it- apart from his first claim that he did it to save his victims from the pain of the world. The scene where Violet finally confronts him about this shows him at his most vulnerable as he repeats “Why would I do that?” Again, this could be further denial or lying, but maybe he really doesn’t know.

In what I always believed to be the most harrowing and disturbing scene of the season, Tate is shot to death by a SWAT team in his bedroom before one of the officers asks him why he did it. His death before he can answer has always been profoundly moving to me, not just because the audience is not given an answer as to why Tate did it, but because it reflects how the motivation behind school shootings is often left unknown.

Now I just find this scene really depressing. In order for Michael to be born, Tate needed to die in the house in order to become a ghost. It is possible that the house/the darkness/the devil manipulated him to commit a mass shooting and return to the house and pull out a gun so he would be killed.

Warning: The rest of this section enters the realm of even wilder speculation and theorizing less supported by facts. Skip if you want.

Of course, Tate could have just killed himself in the house, but it is my personal theory that in order for the Anti-Christ to be born, the spirit who fathered him would have to have committed horrible acts. In my mind it is sort of like Voldemort having to kill people in order to split his soul in order to make Horcruxes. I actually theorized this before “Return to Murder House” aired but I really don’t have anything to support this. Moving on.

Michael Langdon is Hella Scary

I started to wonder if Tate’s actions were going to be explored while watching the first episodes of Apocalypse, especially after Michael delivered the following (amazing) line:

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty. Learned that from my father. Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed...That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus, are evil motherfuckers.”

Michael, according to Cody Fern, is the human form of Satan - which makes sense as a further perversion of the Holy Trinity. This means Satan, Michael and the Darkness that influenced Tate are one and the same. Even in the bunker we see Michael’s power over people to do awful things - Venable wipes out the Outpost with the apples and snakes Michael sent, and Mr. Gallant is tricked into brutally murdering his grandmother.

This is what makes Michael the new most terrifying villain in AHS for me. Yes, he can make people’s heads explode, killed a great many small animals, and can literally wipe souls from existence. But what really scares me is his ability to “see into the dark places” of people’s souls and use that knowledge to manipulate people’s actions.

This is why I personally find the explanation of Tate being full on possessed less interesting than him being manipulated. It seems to me that Satan/the darkness/the house/Michael whatever you want to call it, knew exactly what would drive Tate to murder and rape. So maybe Tate’s life would have been different if he had lived in a different house. Instead he was used by the Devil to create the Anti-Christ - completely ruining the lives of Tate, the Harmons, Chad, Patrick, 15 innocent students, and Constance in the process. There is even the possibility that the human side of Michael - the side that wanted to be good and grieved his grandmother - is also being destroyed by the demon inside him. That is pretty evil if you ask me.

This leaves Tate’s character and morality in a weird place. He is certainly not a hero as he succumbed to the influence of the Darkness - even if he was possessed, he is merely a victim. But he isn’t a villain either. Redemption may be too strong a word, but I personally believe he deserves a little happiness with Violet. He even seems to have forgiven his abusive mother (why is no one talking about if she deserved to be with her children?) and has worked out a lot of his issues with Ben. I hope we see more of him.

So while I may be a little disappointed that Tate is no longer the greatest villain on AHS, his story builds up a villain who is shaping up to be really something special.

Of course, there are still 4 episodes left. We may find out that Madison was lying, the magic dust was cocaine, Tate is actually evil and everything I just said is completely pointless.

#tate langdon #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #evan peters #cody fern #murder house #violate #madison montgomery #ahs coven

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