"don't Mass Reblog/like :/" Coward. Fool. Somebody Just Went Through And Liked And Reblogged 64 Things

"don't mass reblog/like :/" coward. fool. somebody just went through and liked and reblogged 64 things from my blog in the span of half an hour at most. and i've never felt more alive in my life

Hell Hole. - Tate Langdon

Pairing: AHS Tate Langdon x GN!Reader

Summary: Secrets can’t possibly stay hidden in a home that was built on the betrayal of deceit and ruin. Tate had figured that out by now.

ALTERNATIVELY:

Violet tells you about what Tate did, and you can’t look at him the same again after.

Warnings: if you could handle watching AHS, you can handle this i thinks. Angst, no comfort, kind of a cliffhanger ending. A part 2 may be in order if requested lol. This is very not proof read pls forgive it i just wanted to write s o me th in g.

He should’ve known. Really, very truly should’ve known that he wouldn’t have been able to move on so easily. That he wouldn’t have been able to escape the wrongdoings of his past, the horrors of the sins he committed against the innocent. It was only right he was standing where he was right now, mind racing miles upon miles a second as he tried to grasp the reality painfully painted in front of him.

You, who was standing in front of him, tear stained cheeks that were burning red like rubies. Eyes puffy and undeniably sore, strained and stinging as you wiped away the salty manifestations of your grief. It broke him to see his angel so distressed, his saviour in such a state of loss and hurt. He thought he’d been damned the day Violet told him to leave for good, damned to pay for his evil ways; cooped up in the basement with the other poor souls crying for what they had lost.

But then you arrived.

Many families had come and gone before then- ones that were broken, strained and whole. Mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, infants and pets had walked the halls of the house, only to be shortly chased away not long after. Nothing ever was permanent, and nothing ever seemed permanent for Tate, not until you came along. Ben and Vivienne were done chasing homeowners out, they no longer wanted to dedicate their deaths to preventing others from a similar fate. They’d grown tired, like everybody else had. This had only wrongfully convinced Tate further that your arrival was meant to be.

Tate almost wanted to laugh at how stupid he’d been. This light, this saviour, this god, this cruel demonstration of fate, you, were just the world’s way of tragically repeating history all over again. Less in terms of casualties, but in terms of heartbreak? Tate was almost sure he was about to drop dead all over again, if it wasn’t for the sliver of desire he held deep in his heart. What if you did forgive him? Could you be able to look past what he’d done, accept it and love him for all of what he was? Unlikely.

“Violet told me,” you choked, hair a mess and clothes crumpled from the strength of your fists clutching onto them for dear life, “she told me everything, Tate, everything.”

He swallowed the fear building in his throat, eyes nervously darting around the room. He was desperate to approach you, to get closer and cocoon you in his arms and act like this wasn’t happening right now. He shouldn’t have ever come out of the basement, he thought bitterly.

“Come on,” he begged, panting even though he didn’t have functioning lungs to fill. His chest pounding even though he didn’t have a heart capable of beating. “Please, what I did wasn’t me. Believe me, you gotta.”

“Believe you? I saw your fucking picture on the articles, Tate. You fucking killed those students in cold blood,” you hissed, running a shaking hand through your hair. Your temper was rising, didn’t he have shame? Was he even sorry?

“But it wasn’t me!”

“How was it not you? You were the one with the gun! You were the one that pulled the trigger! You were the one who assaulted and killed Violet’s mother! The one responsible for two other people who are doomed here!”

“No, no not like that. I mean-“ he sobbed, “please, i know i did it. All of it. But it wasn’t me. I’m so sorry.”

You scoffed. Tate visibly winced, eyes building up with tears as he shook violently. You couldn’t help but feel disgusted, stomach turning and nose scrunching as you took in his state. How could he have the audacity to be in such despair when he’d ended and ruined lives?

Somehow, you could still see the Tate you knew in him. The Tate who wouldn’t hurt a fly, who would do anything to see you giddy and smiling, who was yours. But knowing the reality, also meant you knew you had to toss that bullshit behind you. You couldn’t feel this way towards him anymore. Your stomach turned just thinking of the monster he was under all the lies he meticulously fed you. He wasn’t innocent and he knew that this whole time.

“I’m going,” you said hastily, hands flying up in defeat as you stormed out of your bedroom. The bedroom you now realised previously belonged to the now dead school shooter and also your recent ex, Tate Langdon. “Don’t fucking show yourself when I come back.”

You didn’t entirely understand everything, I mean, how could you? You’d gone from believing you had a perfect goofy, adorably-odd boyfriend, to finding out he was dead with a criminal record and multiple bodies under his belt. At first you didn’t fully accept Violet’s babbling as she rambled off about all the suffering he’d caused, until she snatched your phone and pulled up what had confirmed your fears. The truth was right in front of your eyes, and there was no option for you to avoid it for it was blinding- and, what was more devastating, a measly google search away this whole time.

You were a fool.

“No! Please, you can’t!” he cried, hands coming up to yank at his blonde strands, his demeanour visibly closing in on himself. His body language screamed frightened, but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care.

You ignored his protests, although your tears continued to stream as you listened halfheartedly to his pleas. It wasn’t your place to forgive, and you’d certainly never be able to forget.

And with those last thoughts, you stepped out of your bedroom door and flew down the stairs. Your parents were both at work, so nobody was home to question why you were so frantic to leave the house. You’d have no choice but to be home later, but everything in the moment seemed to be screaming at you to leave.

“You’re all I have! Stay! Please!” he bounded down the stairs after you, pitiful screams narrowly escaping his aching throat. “You promised me! You fucking promised me! You can’t leave!”

Your breath hitched in your throat, door swinging shut as you practically ran out of the suffocating walls of your house. Could it even be considered your home now? Did technicalities even matter when nothing that you’d just experienced was even remotely logical?

You chuckled miserably, kicking the stone littered pavement as you tracked further from the hell hole you’d just stepped out of and closer to some peace and quiet. You’d worry about the rest when you got back.

Thinking about how Gaston Leroux at every given opportunity in the The Phantom of the Opera novel was like, “And Raoul de Chagny, who was a blond twink who definitely would’ve let Christine peg him, sobbed—”

anybody out there at all interested in phantom x reader content? i can find like. none. so i want to make some but if there isn’t anybody who wants to read what i write i don’t see the point because there is such little x-reader stuff for poto. i can write musical!erik, 2004!erik, 1990!erik and book!erik.

if youre interested lemme know or send in a request or like this or something, i’m so desperate but it just doesnt feel worth the effort otherwise

Imagine for a second that you're Palestinian.

Imagine waking up to the news that a nearby city has been bombed by Israel. The reasoning being they're searching for Hamas. You go outside and you look around. You don't see any members of Hamas anywhere. You only see family, friends, and neighbors.

Pretty soon a bomb is going to hit your city, and you're not going to be given the ample time needed to make preparations for you and your family. You're going to see the ground be leveled by bombs that are being dropped, buildings are going to crumble, cities are going to collapse. There will be so many who will die, people you don't even know, but that your heart aches for.

You're going to be outside when one of the nearby bombs hits. You're going to feel the dust and smoke in the air. You're going to hear the screams of people as they search for their loved ones, or even worse find them already dead. You're going to have to listen as parents scream for their children. Perhaps you are even one of them.

You're going to see men dig through the crumbled rocks and stones in an effort to get out to the people who were in the building when it collapsed. Their efforts will be futile because if they do manage to get through all that rubble the person underneath it is most likely already dead.

You're going to see children playing a game called carry the martyr, a game that is so morbid there hasn't been one like it since ring around the rosie, which was a game about the plague. You're going to see people write numbers and names on their arms as a way to be identified when and if they die when the next bomb hits, because it's going to hit and it's going to be soon. You don't know when it will happen but you know that it will.

Women will start going to bed with their hijabs on because they know there's a possibility they will get bombed in their sleep, and in Muslim culture it's unfit for a Muslim woman to be seen without a head covering by someone unless it is another woman or member of their family.

You're going to see mothers and fathers carry bits of their children in grocery bags or wrapped in cloth. You are going to see children and babies in hospitals covered with dust from the bombs, shaking and crying, if even that. They will most likely be silent because of the shock. They will start having panic attacks because they are scared and worried for when the next bomb will hit. The oldest hasn't even hit double digits yet.

Maybe you're not even there when it happens. Maybe you're in a western country, and you're findng out everything that's happening to your people online. Maybe you have family over there who you've lost contact with. Family you may never get to see again, who you may never even know their fates, you can only assume.

You will be told that you are the problem. That you, as a Palestinian, are the problem. That because of Hamas, you are being bombed. That it is your fault. That Israel is just doing what it needs to do with the occupation and the ethnic cleansing. The entire world will look at you as the aggressors.

There will be people who will decide to remain neutral, to not take sides because it's "too complicated". They "don't understand" the politics of the war. But there's not much to understand, is there, when one side has all of the weapons and the bombs, and the other side has no food, no water, no electricity, nothing to defend themselves with.

Imagine that you're Palestinian for just one second, and now imagine what that must be like to have to endure all of that, as well as the aftermath, every second, every hour, every day for years.

Imagine.