It started the same as any other moment to tell, like any other story written in the stars….

It was a beautiful day, the sun was high and shining and flowers filled the yard, the gazebo painted white and twirled with vines and flowers, a beautiful arch behind the boy with a cigarette smoldering between his plump lips. Pale and sharp, a black tuxedo covered him from his shoulders down, a shiny pair of shoes, his button down shirt unbuttoned and showing just a bit of his chest, hair combed back and parted like a fine young gentleman, but the blood that hid under clean hands suggested he was nothing more but a deviant delinquent and a monster.

True to all of those names, he flicks the cigarette to the grass, squishing and stomping it out with one drag of the shiny shoes, pushing the single curl that had fallen into his black eyes back turning his attention to his best man—He looked just like him, with darker hair and lighter eyes, pale complexion and a matching black suit, with a matching blue flower in his pocket that rested flat on Tate’s chest and suit. A brother, or something as close as the ghost had had to the name.

Laughter bursts between them as does a steady flow of conversation, there is no bad mood in the setting nothing but love light, and happiness, grateful and eternal the sun shined so bright. Handfuls of guests arrived—Moira, Nora and Charles the Harmons, a few neighbors a small group of friends that meant nothing but everything to the curly blonde standing upon stage.

This was it, this was the forever that they had so often fantasized about, hands crossed in front of him, knees shaking breath hitched and his dead heart threatened to give out—But oh, oh dear boy its worth it, to see that smile on her face even if it smears a red flush to your cheeks and brings a tear to your eye the smile that dimples your face.. Is unable to lie about how you feel, your body give it away, your expression and tone, the way you move the way you speak the way you atone. Drop everything for her to make her smile, to love her and be with her…

                                                                  Nothing could be so perfect.

Vivien starts her cello, a small band of musical artists playing the song, you know the one—The one that the bride walks down to, but first is a happy blonde angel, beautiful and delightful, giving his best man a soft wink and Langdon can’t help but turn to look at his brother over his shoulder with a happy wide smile and turn his attention back to the isle between seats, flowers and ribbons mark her way and he’s never seen something so beautiful.

True she has looked speechless and beautiful before but this moment, this definitive moment put the others to shame, his heart trickles and tingles, swelling with love and admiration as he sees one little foot strapped to a high heel probably forced and debated upon—It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. Tate straightens in his anticipation and looks for her, watches waiting to see his lovers face, to see the girl he was tying his heart to, the hell with the rules and the regulations.

'Till death do you part had no meaning here among ghosts, among those that were already dead inside and out that had seen the light, the burning fire, those that had licked the flame and sang in the golden paradise. No, not here, not in this secluded group of people, in this small crowd of familiar faces—Death till do us part, had no meaning here.

                                                                    And Langdon wouldn’t want it any other way.

One foot, and she’s out the door—One more step and he has his black eyes glued to her, the beautiful dress that flowed off her so perfectly, a ball gown, a gorgeous bride. A princess taking one step closer to him, brown eyes hidden behind her veil and he can’t help but smile, taking in a short gasping breath. 

                                                    ‘Don’t cry you fucking sap—Don’t you dare fucking cry

Strapless lace covering her down to her ankles, Tate just wants to run over to her, throw the blue, purple and pink flower bouquet from her hands and pick her up into his arms and place his mouth on hers repeatedly over and over for the next hundred years. 

But he wont—He can’t, the groom stays on his marker, his spot, his X, stand here smile and don’t cry. How hard could it be? Black eyes remain glued to his lover, until suddenly he can extend his hand and help her onto the floor of the gazebo, flowers brushing on the hem of her skirt and he stares at her with all the love and awe the universe can consume in his body.

             Tate pushes the veil behind and onto her done up hair ringlettes falling around her face and he cups the side of her face brushing her cheek as their attention is turned to the man with the book, the man who had no idea he was among the undead, a man who was here to bless the unholy children into matrimony, Langdon blinks away his tears smiling at her, squeezing her hand because if he doesn’t he’s afraid he’ll fade away and wake up back in Hell. 

"Do you Tatum Chauncy Langdon, take this woman to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, ‘till death do you part?

                                                "I do"

Crimson smooth, Tate smiles at her, into those golden eyes and his lip quivers into a smile, sniffling as the preacher directs his attention to his beloved.

"And, do you, Violet Willow Harmon, take this man to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, ‘till death do you part?"

                                                                                                      "I do—"

                 Tate leans in for a kiss barely pressing his lips to her own—Her voice is cut off in her throat and his beloved lover falls against him, crying in pain and in a sudden wash of scenery, Langdon and Violet are all alone, he in his black suit and she in her white dress, clutching onto him as blood splatters on her dress and his palms are covered as he holds her tightly.

"Come on baby! Come on! Please! Don’t, you’re okay! VIOLET! BABY!

She’s bleeding again, tar and blood pouring out of the corner of her mouth, dress is ruined and everything is puddled with the blood that prints on her dress as he pulls her into his arms, upstairs, to the bathroom, faster and faster, until he trips on the top stair and drops her with a loud thump and an ear bleeding screech of howling pain bursts from her lungs and he cries, spit flying between his red lips that he’s sorry. Tate picks her up again and drags them both into the bathroom, ripping up the hem of her dress, skirt ruined and torn, bloody hand prints and stains destroy the innocent beauty, and she squeezes onto his hand, a flurry of screaming and clinging, clutching onto the edge of the tub with one final holler of pain, his hand is numb and purple from the amount of pressure his wife has put on her, voice broken and weary as he repeats her name screaming and begging;


                                                   For a minuet or two there’s no movement, he just holds her in his lap, wrapped in his bloody suit jacket, keeping her close, keeping her warm. Clutched and curled against the wall staring at the blood soaked heap in the tub, tears streaming down his face—Husband, lover, broken man. clutching onto the light of his life, the only good thing that resides in his after life, in his hold. 

It felt surreal, like he was watching from the ceiling and that that wasn’t him the girl in his arms to his chest, and he wasn’t the one whimpering and crying kissing her forehead. That it wasn’t him with the silver band on his ring finger, that he wasn’t the one getting up to his feet and handing his bundled jacket to Old Moira, letting her take care of it, while he goes down to the dead house, falling and collapsing on the chair, hiding his face in his hands, hair falling over his long thin blood stained fingers, painting his face with it.

A movie, this is all this was, a horror flick, and this blood wasn’t real and these bodies weren’t real and the tears on his face weren’t real and his dead wife in the tub of her own blood soaking her beautiful dress her soft skin cold, and the lost look in her eyes…None of it was real…It couldn’t be.

                                                                     But it was and is and now he’s alone crying but Langdon’s still out of his body watching down at himself, the blood printed white button down, the smudge of his neck and jaw the tears streaming down his cheeks, he’s watching himself sink into a ball of emotion, empty and hallow, heart broken and shattered burned at the stake behind closed ribs.

Like a crack of lightening in the grayed sky—The floor boards part and the fire place’s mouth opens with a great fire that explodes the tiles, flying Langdon across the room, cutting open his eyebrow and ashing his clothing. 

No dear god, no!

"Why are you here!?" Broken if only he could sound as strong as he wished.

                                                               ”You have broken my word once again young boy, and now you will pay the price! Even worse than before, this can never be undone by your will or any noble man’s will!”

Lucifer’s words ring and shake in his mind, against the walls as he reigns high and mighty in the growing fire that descends against the wall, a giant black hole and portal to hell singing in a symphony of cries echo to Langdon’s ears. The arch angel snaps his fingers and in an instant, Violet’s body was held securely into the Devils hands, and with a loud booming snickering laugh, he vanishes with Violets soul into Hell.

Tate doesn’t even think or bat an eye before he runs and jumps over the coffee table, diving down into that black portal, through flame and earth, small creatures biting and tearing as his skin as his flesh burns off his cheek, groaning and grimacing the pain is unreal, his clothes peel in sparks behind him. 

Farther and farther into the pit of Hell, until he comes to a full thud on the ash caked floor, loud and rippling, he pushes himself off his stomach, to his knees and slowly climbs to his feet. Tate pushes his black kissed and singed hair back, the curls crisp and burning, smoke rises from his flamed clothes as he stands in practically nothing. Shoes torn and burnt apart, he kicks the fancy things off, ripping the sleeve off his arm that was nothing but a thread and a cuff left. Rolling up the other, he looks down at his suit pants and leave the holes in them. Silver band warm and remaining on his finger, he cracks his knuckles into a fist, looking around at the beast ridden hole.

A few steps in and he was gone, lost to the underworld, it was a blur one giant big blur as he picked up whatever he could find and smash in the first attackers face, ripping out its horns and teeth stuffing a fang in his pocket, grabbing the swords at its side and carried on, taking and diminishing every single attacker that came his way, sliding the black blade up the giants jaw, through its brain as the matter splattered on Langdon’s face. This time, he wouldn’t give up so easily this time he would fight and he would win, he had everything to fight for now and there was no way he was going to let it fade into nothing this time.

A stab, a slice, a thrash a thrice, thrust and slash, cut open and twist, gut them, cut them, bathe in their blood; wicked boy it’s what you were made to do. Fight and break them, tear off their heads and rip out their hearts, giant beasts—Oh how he laughs in his mind, dropping more and more to their knees rivers of blood trickle behind him in a mass extinction. Tired but unable to give way, he carries on, gripping the hell made sword, the prickled insignia to pay in blood marked on his hand as it cut open his palm sticking to him whether he wanted it to or not—Using it against them, cutting any and all who stood in his path until he made his way to the black kingdom!

                 Howling and raging, he knew this place and he knew how to get inside. He doesn’t use beasts or tricks to invade its walls, Langdon pushes open the front doors and struts in, silencing any low life that decides to shout or inform the king of the halls of his arrival.

"LUCIFER!" A loud shout and he kicks the door open, ignoring the pain that shoots up from his naked foot, snarling as its splintered and bloody, chest heaving and panting, covered in green, black, red and purple blood from his monsters and beasts, all those creatures who used to taunt and torture him, raping and beating him bloody, oh how those whip scars on his back burned.

                                                             ”Ah yes, of course, Langdon—That didn’t take long, I wasn’t anticipating you for another day or so”

"Shut your fucking mouth, you snake"

                                                          Lucifer nods, and stares at the angry fuming blood, caked in blood, the pungent smell burns his nostrils. Langdon looks around, to the small porcelain pale girl chained to the side of he desk, long brown curls and scared green eyes. A shake of his head and Tate turns to look at the devil.

"Give me, my wife. Now." A long drawl of his sword and he pushes the tip of the blade against  Satans neck, pushing him back against the wall, snarling, growling. What a beast, what a magnificent beast of a man.

                                     ”I would if I could but I can’t so I shan’t”
"I’m going to cut you open, and feed your insides to your fucking hell hounds— NOW GIVE ME VIOLET!
                                                                           "SHE’S NOT HERE" 

                                               ”I’d really—Love to deliver you your beloved Violet, what with all your shouting and the sword you’re really digging into my throat and all the blood you’re covered in—Wait—how many of my men did you kill?”

"THAT’S UNIMPORTANT" Langdon continues to shout and growl under his breath, locked jaw and narrow eyes, he huffs and puffs, chest heaving and panting but his hand never falters and he nips the Devils neck, letting it bleed as he slides a nice cut along the frail skin of his enemy. "Give me, my Violet"

                     ”Well you see the thing is—I don’t have her”


                      “I don’t! Violet Langdon was taken from my list and put up onto God’s list and now shes up in fucking heaven doing whatever heaven people do”

                       Lucifer groans, leaning back away from the blade but Tate lowers it anyway, eyes pushed together.
                              “She sacrificed her life, you know that—Thats automatic heaven admission. You dipshit”

Langdon stares at the blood on his toes and snarls once more, shoving the swords blade into Satan, sliding it through, pinning him to the wall and stares into those emerald eyes as they begin to turn black and red, a twist of the blade nice and slow, Lucifer lets out a slow howl at the pain in his shoulder, even more so as Tate drags the sword down, inching closer to that black fuzzy heart inside the Devils chest.

         Pinned and unable to move, Langdon punches and punches the arch angel repeatedly, until he felt his hands drip in blood, his nose was cracked and he was slumped, hanging by nothing but the blade in his body. Langdon purrs, laughing out loud, walking over and around the office he’d been in only so many times, petting the curtains and goes over to the chest of drawers, opening the cabinets and pulling out the drawers, peeling out of his burnt and blood soaked clothing, shaking his head as he pulled a new pair of trousers around his nudity, sighing and steps into a pair of new combat boots, wiggling his toes inside them happily.

The bare chest man walks over to the small girl, cupping her face and stares into her eyes, checking her out, gripping her hair and looks at the chains around her wrist. Langdon grabs the keys off Lucifer and frees her one hand, putting the keys on the middle of the desk—She needed to earn her freedom.

                               ”You look like yourself, Langdon love”
"Shut up, I’m not above murdering you"
                                                               ”Oh—No of course not”
"I want to see the list"

                                                               ”What one? There’s thousands of lists in this office”

A loud sigh and Langdon turns the blade, squishing the open flesh and wound in Lucifer, giving out a shrieking yelp of pain.

"The hell to heaven list, there shouldn’t be a ton of papers, its not like a lot of souls come here and get viewed over again and are recharged and placed up into Heaven. Now where is it!?"

                                                              “Why does it matter” A soft whine.

"Because you’re a dirty fucking liar, you fucking piece of shit and I want to know if you’re lying or not. If she is here, Im not leaving with out her, and I will happily cut your lovely little girl over there at the desk that you must really like to keep her so close and make you watch her neck fountain over in blood and onto your fucking shoes. Now tell me where you put the list"

                                                                But he never found those files, the papers, with her name scribbled on them, because before Langdon could get his answer, a light descended down through the black sky and in its warmth his body tingled and bubbled and a soft pain swept over his skin, black eyes search for anyone else but he’s being lifted high and untouched by the creatures flying in the sky, angels wings wrap around him, as he gurgles and cries lightly, heart giving away.

A soft song playing around him that held all of his answers but none of them, it was in this moment that felt like it lasted for hundreds of years as he was pulled out from the under world and up high into the world that he was left to shrivel and fade away in. Tate knew—he knew, she was up there, watching over him in that moment and in Hell looking for her, his beautiful baby, his flower, his girl his wife, his friend.

                                                                                                  His everything.

Up high, and floating in light and happiness, happy without him, happy for him, dead and gone and she was never coming back.

                          It was a soft cry echoing in his bed room, the master suite of the house, that made him sit up in his bed, only to the realize he had been tossing and turning, curled up and bundled in the bed sheets and blankets, his ring burned and felt heavy on his hand as he woke up, running a hand over his chest and under his arm at the empty place where his tattoos and scars used to be, panting and licking his lips, he takes a sip of water, ignoring the light simmer from the necklace around his neck.

Langdon gets to his feet with a soft grimace.

                                                He holds onto a  m e m o r y,
                                                                       all it is, is a  m e m o r y

"Hey…Hey…" A soft coo as Tate passed the fire place in his bed room, past the pictures of a smiling girl with honey eyes and long blonde hair shaping her face, a pair of kissing kids cuddled in at the lake, happy lovers simple faces, happy times, happy memories. He bends over the crib by the chairs next to the window, white with small flowers on the paint, he picks her up and cradles the young baby into his arms.

Like it so often did, it replayed in his mind, pulling Violet into the tub.

                         And in his arms, 
                                            is the bleeding.
                                                          Love of his life.

Not even able to turn on the tap like he so often did to wake her out of her stupor of vomiting, bleeding and sickness, her hand squeezed his own, their rings clashing until his fingers went purple and his eyes swam with tears as she pushed out their baby in her final moment of breath before her dead heart gave out and a series of new cries filled the room, how Langdon picked her up into his jacket, wrapping her in tightly, cutting the cord and cuddling her to his chest, his baby girl, his fierce little girl. 

Kissing her forehead, keeping her close, until he had to go, looking at his dead newly wedded wife in the tub, her eyes shut tightly, red lips parted. Her hands are so cold, and he kisses her face.
                                                     And he says “Everything, will be a l r i g h t”

Langdon cradles his daughter, smiling down at her with a sadness that she could never understand, cuddling her as she reaches up, soft blonde curls light and barely there growing on top of her head, with her mothers mouth and her mothers golden eyes.

                         The young father makes his way to the bed, sitting down at the unheard of impossible miracle in his arms, wrapped in her blanket, hidden in her pink onesie clutching onto him with a kind of need that broke his heart, laying back against the head board, rocking her as she laid along the length of his forearm—Her entire body, burying her face into his chest, whining lightly, but all he does is pet her and kiss he top of her head.

For a minuet he pretends or maybe its a dream escaping his mind, but for a minuet he sees Violet, and he blinks away the tears, licking his lips and turns to the picture on the side of the bed beside his glass of water and the soother for his daughter, and the chain beside it all, with her rings in the middle, waiting to be placed around his neck in the morning. He turns back to the girl in a light pink gown beside his feet, reaching out to pet her fingers on her daughters newborn head.

"Do you want to hold her?”

Whispering soft soft hush hush, don’t startle the baby.
Violet shakes her head no, smiling down at her.

Tears fall down his cheeks and he rubs them off with his shoulder, sniffling because it does no good. Violet ghosts her finger tips over his chin—Langdon shivers gasping, trying not to cry on the sleeping baby in his arms, but its so hard.

"I love you."

She doesn’t say anything back, Langdon looks down at his daughter, his little Opal.
"I love you."

The baby stirs in his sleep and he looks back up, smiling against a shaking frown, staring at the love of his life.

                      He cries, “Stay with me until I fall asleep…
                                                                                  S t a y   w i t h  m e

Tate leans back, sniffling, holding the baby securely, sleeping baby, his eyelids drift shut, livid and scarce he wont harm her—his baby, it’s impossible to hurt her.

K I S S  IT  ALL  B E T  T E R;

                                                            I’M NOT READY TO GO.
                                                            YOU DIDN’T KNOW.

Y    O    U                                                     D  I   D   N  T                                                   K   N    O   W

posted 1 year ago with 10 notes      reblog
  1. peace-disney-hakuna-matata said: Well there goes my heart being ripped out my chest
  2. drylightning-cracks reblogged this from sadisticlangdon
  3. thiscity-inthesea said: This was fucking amazing. I am crying. So good.
  4. drylightning-cracks said: hdskfjdshf no no no non no dont why did you do this to me why
  5. sadisticlangdon posted this