Hey guys, it's been awhile since I've posted anything and I apologize heavily for that but I want to get back into the groove of things.
So, I'll start with a Send me a prompt challenge for me.
Here is the list of Fandoms I write for: List of Fandoms
All you have to do is send me up to 3 prompts and the person you want me to use those prompts with and I'll write something for you. Either it be Anonymous or not is up to you.
"You said that I'd get you all weekend. Why can't you tell them you can't go?" "Because it's my job, and it's important." "And I'm not."
"Please don't let me fall." "Never"
"I told you that I'd never leave you; I'm not going anywhere."
"Sssh. Stop fussing. I'm just trying to braid your hair."
"If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you."
"Don't get up - I'll do it"
"Okay, okay. Here's what we're going to do.... fuck"
"How many fingers am I holding up?... I don't have 6 fingers"
"You dumbass, don't eat that."
"I swear you could trip over your own shadow."
"Just because you are speaking in a different language, doesn't mean that I don't know when you are cursing me out."
"How in the hell do you do that?
"Come here, let me see you"
"Really?... I had no idea"
"Maybe we should go now?"
"I love you... and cake too. Maybe a little bit more than cake."
"Oh no, I'm allergic"
"Rude"
"Yell at me again, and I'll give you a real reason to scream"
"I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."
Hello! To help pay for some bills, I'll be opening up flash commissions! Options for sale are below. SFW and NSFW fics are welcome, as are OCs and Self Inserts. Please DM me if you are interested!
1 k - $10 (USD)
2k - $20 (USD)
3k - $30 (USD)
Below the cut are a list of fandoms I will write for. If you don't see your fandom on there, please message me and we can work something out! These are limited time only, please help an independent queer creator out!
A/n: hi I’m so so sorry it took a little to write this! I wasn’t sure how nsfw you wanted if you wanted it that way but I tried my hardest and hope you enjoy!! I kinda had major writers block near the end so if it’s not what you wanted please let me know and I will try my hardest to rewrite it! Thank you for the request again 🖤
“This has got to be some kind of joke?”
You stared with disbelief at the reservation tickets that Kit held in his hand proudly. It was for the most expensive restaurant in town. It was always booked out and there was no way you nor Kit would have been able to afford it.
“Nope they are legit I won them in a poker game from one of the guys at work,” kit explained laughing “man you should have seen the look on his face when I took them from him.”
You nodded still in disbelief and continued to look down at the slips in his hand. Your eyes scanned them some before they landed on the big bold letters for the reservation time and date which just so happened to be today and it was for 8:00 pm…only a hour away.
“Kit,” you said with a nervous laugh “this place is super fancy correct?”
Kit nodded this time and leaned against the fridge as he waited for what you were getting at
“We are not prepared to go to a place like this…I mean it’s not some local diner we’re use to going like I wouldn’t even know what to wear for starters.”
The panic had officially set and you began to pace back and fourth in the kitchen rambling on about places like these having certain spoons for different stuff and not knowing flavors of champagne, all the good fancy stuff you knew nothing about.
Kit was amused by this sudden panic and just shrugged his shoulders.
“You worry too much,love”
As you paced in front of him he reached out and grabbed your hands to stop you in your tracks.
“Put on that velvet dress of yours that I like with the slit on the side and a pair of heels. You’ll look perfect. Everything will be fine.”
You wanted to believe him about it being fine. The whole time you got ready and the drive to the restaurant you had almost convinced yourself that you would be fine. Hell,even being seated at your table you felt fine.
That was until it was time to order. The waitress began to sit things in front of you and all the terms were so different.
Butterflies swarmed in your stomach in the most unwanted way as the waitress waited for your answer on what you wanted to order.
“I can come back in a little while if you still need to figure things out ?” You simply nodded and was filled with instant relief as she walked away
“Kit,what am I even doing here?”
You asked defeated,resting your face in the palm of your hands.
The loud chatter of the people in the restaurant was the only sound you could focus on until Kit finally spoke up
“How’s about we play a game,sweetheart?”
Taken back from his question you finally moved your face from your hands to look at him in confusion
“A game?”
“Listen,I don’t quite understand what I’m doing either,” he explained “and I think it’ll both help us if we play a game. Whoever makes the less mistakes,etiquette wise, gets complete control of the bedroom tonight.”
Kit smirked when your eyes widened from the idea of it but he knew you weren’t one to turn down having control in the bedroom. So with a challenging smile,you stuck your hand out for him to shake
“You are so on,Kit.”
The night went on like you would expect it to. You were both competitive and set on winning but you both weren’t that much into etiquettes and it was neck to neck at the end of the night.
The two of you were tied for the win as you got up from the table. The hostess smiled at the both of you as you began to walk out. Kit being Kit was oblivious to the fact that the hostess had said have a good night. With a smirk you told her to do the same before nudging Kits arm
“Looks like I get to make the decision making.” You sang sarcastically and then laughing as Kit stopped dead in his tracks,not catching on to what had just happened until just now.

The car ride and the walk into your shared home was mostly quiet. The only thing on your mind was trying to figure out what exactly you wanted to do once you made it upstairs.
“You looked absolutely beautiful tonight.”
Kit broke the silence as he walked into your shared room and sat down on the bed,untying his shoes and smiling up at you.
You felt your cheeks get warm from blush. You had been with Kit for a while now,going on years,and he still knew how to make you weak by just a simple compliment.
You bit on your lip as you stared at him before the idea sprung to your mind out of nowhere.
“You know kit,” you finally spoke and walked over to your dresser “I think you would look really good tied to the bed.”
You grabbed two silk scarves from the drawer and turned to face him again. He went to open his mouth to say something but you raised your hand up ,stopping him mid sentence
“After all I did win. So I get to make the rules tonight.”
You walked towards him and pushed him back against the mattress,straddling his hips and looking down at him with a mischievous smile.
Kit would be lying if he said he wasn’t insanely turned on at the moment.
You grabbed his hand and tied the scarf around his wrist and to the metal headboard then doing the same to the other side.
“I have more scarves in the drawer,” you said with a smirk “but I think you’ll be a good boy like this,right?”
You smirked down at him,enjoying the sight. The way his hands toyed at the scarves and how he bucked his hips up almost like he was dying to touch you in some way.
You wanted to tease him and see how long you could keep him withering under you and begging for a touch. The thought sounded great but this was your first time seeing him this way and the eagerness to ride him until the bed broke was even more compelling.
So you began to run your hands along his chest,slowly going down to where your knees rested on each side of him. You moved your hands up them until you were pulling your tight dress off and tossing it in a random direction of the room
“You weren’t wearing anything under the whole time? Fuck baby.”
You giggled at Kit’s expression. His eyes were wide from the shock and he threw his head back against the pillows,upset with himself that he hadn’t noticed it the entire night.
“I like to surprise you.” You told him with a laugh “now let’s get these pants off you.”
You moved off him for a split second to undo his pants. As you slid them off along with his boxers his hard erection sprung free.
You grabbed his hard cock and ran your thumb along his leaking tip. Kit withered from the motion and moaned louder than you’ve ever heard from him before. His fingers toyed with the restraints on his wrist. He began to cuss himself out in his head. Not knowing why he would have thought it was a good idea to play that game earlier because now he couldn’t ravish you like he wanted.
“I won’t tease anymore baby.” You promised before getting back into the position you were in earlier.
You aligned yourself up with him. One hand gripped onto the metal headboard while the other was on his thick cock. You rubbed his tip against your slick folds before lowering yourself onto it.
You let out a cry of pleasure as he filled you up,stretching you out better than anyone could.
“I can’t get over how tight you always are.” Kit moaned as he watched you begin to bounce on him.
You rode him like you never have before. You were now positioned were your feet were on the mattress and both hands on kits chest as you used your knees to do all the work.
You tightened around him with each bounce. His body jerked upwards and he tugged at the scarves
“Please y/n” Kit begged “take these off of me. I just wanna feel your body so so bad.”
Your relentless fast bouncing mixed with Kits begging almost had you on the edge. It took everything in you to slow down so you could untie the silk fabric from the headboard. When you did,Kit had you flipped over in seconds.
Your back hit the mattress hard and he already had one of your legs on his shoulder. Without a second to process what had just happened,he was pounding into your walls. Making you scream out from the mixture of pain and pleasure.
His rough and vicious rhythm had you gripping onto the sheets. You tried your hardest to look up at him and enjoy the look of pleasure plastered on his face but your eyes were squeezed shut. The pleasure was overwhelming and before long you began to tighten around him
“Fuck sweetheart.” Kit moaned as he reached one hand down to rub your clit
“That cunt is so tight. Just for me.”
With a few more of his rhythmic deep thrust and some figure eights on your clit you felt your release hit like a bomb. You cried out from the pleasure and you could have sworn that if your eyes were open you would have witnessed yourself squirt from just how powerful it was.
The feeling of you releasing on his dick was enough to send kit to his as well. With his deepest thrust of the night in you,he shot his load. Filling you up to the brim
You felt his body shake from it and he kept in the same position for a while until he slumped down onto your chest.
You both laid there quiet. Both out of breath and panting,trying to come down from the high you just endured. 
You could fill Kits dick still twitching inside of you and you couldn’t help but tease him to break the silence
“What happened to I was in control?” You asked with a laugh.
Kit had buried his face in the crook of your neck and had no plans moving from the spot. But you could still hear him as he answered
“Technically you did as you let it happen.”
You giggled as his breath from talking tickled your neck and you had to admit that he was right. Of course what sane person would not allow kit to fuck their brains out anyways?
“I love you Kit.” You pressed a kiss ontop of his head and savored this perfect moment.
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVIII)
Summary: It's something unpredictable, but in the end, it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.
Word Count: 3.6k
A note from the author (it's a long one): "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" by Green Day has been on repeat while I wrote this final chapter for a couple of different reasons. While one will be revealed literally the moment you begin to read this final chapter, the other is for obvious reasons. We've reached the end of Mad Love.
I've spent more time than I should have thinking about the note that I would write to accompany this finale. This story started way back in 2019, born of one of my first one-shots that blew up. Though I had never planned to write anything beyond that original first chapter, people kept asking for a second part. Thus, Mad Love was born.
So much has happened in the five years since I began writing this, both within the story itself and within my life. I've graduated college, started a new job, moved cities and slowly learned how to become an adult. Through it all, there's always been this story to come back to. No matter what got in my way of releasing the next chapter, or how long the breaks between releases were, there were always readers just as excited to learn what was going on with Michael and Reader as I was to write it.
My thanks to anybody who's ever read this story, and my endless gratitude to those who have liked, commented, and reblogged throughout the years. I've fondly read everything left in the tags, from the quickest of keysmashes to the most thought-out notes. The support of my readers was, sometimes, the only reason I chose to write and update, especially in the last couple of years when my interest in this fandom waned. You've seen this story through the highs and lows, and you've seen me, the author, through the highs and lows.
With the end of this story comes the end of my time writing for Michael Langdon, and I'll miss him so much. He was the reason I started this blog in the first place, and getting to get inside his head has been such a benefit in my growth as a writer. Thank you for everything, Michael, you awkward, puppydog Antichrist.
For the last time, I sincerely hope that you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.
Mad Love Masterlist
Seven months later
“Smile!”
It’s a phrase you’ve heard innumerable times today, whether directed at you or overheard among the groups that comprise the hundreds, if not thousands, of people gathered. Though you’ve been directed to smile a number of times today, and that doesn’t show any signs of stopping, you doubt you’ll end up being annoyed. After all, how could you be annoyed on one of the best days of your life?
Your arm tightens around Kate and vice versa as you both do what’s asked and smile brightly for the camera. It’s a bit awkward, having to figure out how to hold your diplomas with one hand while simultaneously trying to keep your mortarboards from hitting, but you make it work. Once Kate’s step-mom flashes a thumbs up, Kate insists on one more, and you giggle as she kisses your cheek.
“Mallory, get in a picture with them!” Brennan, standing off to the side, urges.
“Even though I’m not a graduate?” she asks teasingly.
“Still a bestie,” Kate retorts, wiggling her fingers in Mallory’s direction. “C’mere!”
She fits herself between you and Kate, the missing puzzle piece to your trio, as the three of you pose once more. Mallory will get her own graduation day soon—she only needs another semester of credits to graduate, and plans on returning to school in the fall to finish her English degree. There have already been plans discussed of how you’ll celebrate her own accomplishment, but she’s insisted that talk of this can wait. Today, she said, is for you.
And today, you’re so, so happy.
Sometimes, you never thought that you would actually see graduation day. Between the routine breakdowns every semester that made you ponder why you actually wanted your degree and how weird and supernatural your life had become in the latter two years of your post-secondary education, graduation seemed so distant, like a barely achievable fantasy. But in the blink of an eye, you found yourself sitting among your peers and listening to the same type of cheesy “this is where your life begins” speech that you heard at your high school graduation a few years prior.
This graduation is so much sweeter though, because you had to work for this degree. Through the late nights and tears, the well-researched essays and the hastily finished group projects (the bane of your existence), the relationship drama and the threat of apocalypse—you persevered, despite it all. You earned this accomplishment. This time around, the speeches sounded so much more inspirational, the air filled with more excitement, and the celebrations more deserved.
The best part of the ceremony? Walking across the stage to receive your diploma and looking into the crowd to see Michael standing and cheering with your family, tears in his eyes and a grin on his face. When you waved at him, his smile had somehow grown, and he whistled loudly.
Now, you eagerly search the faces of those streaming around you outside, hoping to see someone familiar. While you found your family right away after the ceremony officially concluded, Michael split off from them for a bit, making you wait to find the one person you wanted to see most. When you finally see your favorite pair of blue eyes, you peel off of Kate and Mallory and run to him. Michael opens his arms and happily wraps you up in a hug, the both of you swaying from side to side.
“Well?” he finally says, pulling away from you to fix your mortarboard, knocked out of place when it hit his forehead. “How’s it feel, graduate?”
“Feels pretty damn good,” you declare, flipping open your diploma and gazing down at it proudly. Your name and your major are written ornately, declaring that you’ve fulfilled the requirements of your degree. Michael kisses your cheek as he looks it over, tracing the engraving of your school’s crest on the inside cover.
“I’m so proud of you.”
You become unexpectedly emotional at this, tears pricking your eyes for the first time today (honestly, you thought this would happen sooner) and your throat growing tight. While you know that he’s proud of you all the time, hearing it on the occasion of the biggest accomplishment of your life so far makes it extra special. “Thanks, love.”
He kisses you chastely, acutely aware of the fact that your family is watching. It’s sweet, how eager he is to impress them. You’ve told him multiple times that he doesn’t need to try—he succeeded at making them like him from the get-go, simply due to how he treats you. Michael, of course, didn’t grow up with any idea of what a semi-healthy family dynamic is, and still believes that he needs to continually earn their approval. It’s a stark difference from the Michael that he was veering towards becoming a few short months ago, and you’re so thankful for it.
He wasn’t lying that night in New Orleans when he said things would be different from that point on, and that included his attitude.
Even after your return from your fall trip, as Michael officially put a stop to the apocalypse plans and started charming and convincing investors and Cooperative members alike into believing that Satan’s will had changed, you could tell that there was something weighing heavily on him. It was in the way that he looked at and acted toward you, the way that he hugged you in the morning and held you at night—like he was so worried that he was going to lose you, or like you would disappear if he looked away for too long. After asking him time and time again what was wrong, only to receive the same answer, that he was fine, you finally sat him down and asked for the truth.
“Honesty, remember?” you said. “We promised that we were going to communicate now.”
Michael considered what he was going to say for a while. You sat in silence with him for almost twenty minutes, holding his hands in yours and waiting patiently for him to gather his courage. Finally, he spoke.
“I saw the future,” he said. “The future that would have happened if I actually ended the world. It was a complete wasteland, devoid of almost all life. Those who survived the initial fallout were riddled with tumors and sores from the toxic air. They did terrible things—stealing, murder, cannibalism—just to survive. Nothing, though, was as terrible as me. I became…a monster. Someone cruel, someone evil, who enjoyed playing with the lives of those left like they were nothing but puppets. The only thing that I cared about was my father’s approval, and with the world ended and depravity everywhere, he encouraged me to lean into that depravity.”
Michael stopped when he became choked up, and his hands began to shake. One of your hands went to his cheek in comfort, only for him to let out a sad, distressed sound at the act.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
“In that future, you—you died,” Michael blurted out.
“I did?”
He nodded as tears began to run down his face and make his eyes look impossibly bigger. “You died, and I couldn’t save you. I was too late, and left with nothing but your corpse. The image has haunted me ever since I saw it. When I look at you, all I can see is how lifeless you looked in my arms.”
It made sense, then, why Michael treated you the way he did. If you had a vivid image of the future, one where he was dead and you were forced to bear witness to it, you’d likely have acted the same way. To see him in this much pain over what he witnessed hurt you in turn. Sniffing back tears to try and remain the strong one (because Michael needed comfort in that moment much more than you did), you took his hand and placed it on the side of your neck.
“Do you feel my pulse, thrumming away under your fingers?” you asked, waiting for him to nod before moving his hand to your chest. “Feel my breathing? I’m not dead. I’m here, alive, and with you. And if I have it my way, I’m not going anywhere.”
Michael pulled you to him, and you straddled his lap in order to get as close to him as possible. If it took you plastering yourself to him in order for him to hear the truth in your words, then you were going to glue him.
“Yes, you saw a future where I died. But what matters is that this isn’t our future. Our future is this one, where you’re changing your path to ensure nothing like that happens. And it won’t, okay?”
It’s taken a lot of work and reassurance to get Michael to believe that the future you were on a crash course for is no longer even an option. With Satan’s recent acceptance of Michael’s alternate plan—“the long game,” Michael likes to call it—he’s finally starting to come around.
“There he is!” Kate says triumphantly when you pull Michael back to your group. “We thought you got lost.”
Michael smiles. “I was just taking my time.” He turns to Brennan and grins, abandoning holding your hand so that he can greet his friend (his friend! Michael has a friend!) with a hug. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, man!” The joy on his face at Michael, notoriously not the best at touching, initiating a hug is evident, and you and Kate share a fond look over your respective boyfriends’ shoulders. Never did you think that your sheltered, half-demon husband would become good friends with a self-described frat bro, but stranger things have happened.
“Are you guys coming to the bonfire tonight?” Brennan and a couple of his closest Lambda Chi brothers had planned a farewell beach bonfire for tonight. It’s supposed to be pretty lowkey, according to Kate, with maybe thirty people at most—rookie numbers for an event hosted by Brennan, but ones that make the event more appealing after a long weekend of graduation festivities.
You shrug. “Maybe. We’re going to dinner with my family after this, so I’m not sure how long it’ll take or how peopled-out we’ll be.”
“Oh, you have to come!” Kate pleads. “What if this is our last night all together?”
“It’s not going to be! We have plenty more adventures in store,” you assure her. After all, it’s not like she and Brennan are going anywhere yet, not with Brennan finding an engineering job in the area and Kate getting a job offer out of her internship.
“But you and Michael are going to Europe in a month, and by the time you get back summer’s basically over and you’ll be off to grad school.”
You smile at the reminder of what’s in store for you. Michael was finally making good on his promise to sweep you off your feet with the “date” of a lifetime. Greece, Italy, England, and France were on the docket for your European adventure, but one of the perks of having an Antichrist husband who controls the world’s most powerful people is that you can change your plans to whatever you want them to be.
And grad school! While you’re excited to be in a new area, and to continue your studies in a field you love so dearly, you’re most excited for Michael’s future. In addition to what he’s already been doing with the Cooperative, he’s also planning on taking a couple of classes at the same school that you’re attending to find a major he’s passionate about. His orientation day is the same as yours, and you’re a little too excited that you’ll get to take your student ID pictures together. For the first time in a long time, Michael seems happy and excited for what’s in store. As for you, you couldn’t be more thrilled that he’s discovering who he is outside of being Satan’s son, which is all you’ve ever wanted for him.
“You said it yourself though, Europe’s not for a whole month!” you say to try and cheer Kate up.
She pouts and drags Mallory to her after a moment of thought. “Okay, but Mallory goes home tomorrow night! What if that’s it for us?”
It won’t be, since you and Kate literally have the tickets already booked for a trip to see Mallory in New Orleans before school starts in August. But despite your best efforts, the nostalgia gets to you. This likely will be the last time all three of you get to hang out together here, at the school where you all met. The longer you go without speaking, the wider Kate’s smile grows. Oh, she knows you too well!
Luckily, you’re saved by a member of your family grabbing your arm. “We’re going to head back to our hotel to get ready for dinner. We’ll meet you in an hour, alright?”
You smile and nod. “Alright, love you!”
Hugs are given to both you and Michael (who still looks delightfully pleased that these people don’t all hate him simply by virtue of him being alive) before they split off. The conversation with Kate is forgotten for the moment as you make the rounds with some of your other friends, going through the routine of congratulating and smiling for pictures over and over again.
“We should probably get out of here if we want to be on time for dinner,” Michael eventually says into your ear.
You nod after checking your watch to see that he’s right and head over to Kate, wrapping your arms around her from behind in an attempt to scare her. Instead, she just laughs and turns around so that she’s facing you.
“Hey, we’re leaving,” you tell her.
“But we’ll see you tonight, right?” she asks hopefully.
“I don’t know.”
“Please?” Kate’s eyes grow wide, and she clasps her hands in front of her. “Please please please?”
You sigh. “We’ll see…”
Naturally, you end up sitting in the car next to Michael as you pull up to the location Kate sent you at that damn beach.
The sun’s just barely set, the horizon still a light yellow as the last rays of light try to cling on before giving way completely to the night. It silhouettes the scene below, where your friends are clustered in loose groups around the fire that’s already going strong. Their laughter, along with music playing from a speaker someone must have brought with them, can be heard even up here, at least a hundred feet away. It makes you eager to join them, and you reach into the back seat to grab the bag that you packed with a large blanket, some drinks (both with and without alcohol, for wherever the night leads you), and a couple of snacks.
“You made it!” Mallory cheers when you and Michael walk hand in hand to the group, Kate jumping up to hug you like it’s been years since she’s last seen you—one of your favorite traits about her.
“What can I say? Someone’s pretty convincing,” you tease.
Kate laughs triumphantly. “Damn right, I am. C’mon! Have a seat.”
Doing as she says, you spread out the blanket next to Kate, Brennan, and Mallory, lay your drinks and food out so that they can be shared, and get comfortable.
The night passes like most get-togethers with your friends do: with lots of laughter. And when there’s not laughing, there’s talking. The topics range from anything to everything—the simultaneous feelings of excitement and fear at what’s next, sharing memes, updates on job hunts, new music recommendations. Being able to fit fifty different conversations into one hours-long period is one of your (many) favorite things about your friends. You, Kate, and Mallory eventually end up on the topic of your Europe trip, both wanting to know all of the details now that you’ve gotten it mostly planned.
“How are you going about the Greece portion?” Kate asks.
You tilt your head in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Kate fumbles for a moment, unable to find the words. “Mal, help me out here.”
Mallory nods, apparently knowing exactly what Kate means. “You know, are you going to look at all the history and culture, explore some ruins and visit museums? Or are you going to live out your Mamma Mia fantasies, endless days spent on the beach, swimming in the crystal blue ocean, and,” she casts a look at Michael, currently chatting with Brennan and Jack, before waggling her eyebrows, “dot dot dot?”
You and Kate both laugh, with Mallory joining you after a moment of trying to keep up her straight face. “How long have you been holding on to that one?”
“Actually, only when Kate tossed the question to me.” She shrugs and sighs. “It’s hard being a comedic genius, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“But for real!” Before Kate can ask you the question again, another song starts up and she lets out a pleasantly surprised shout. When she looks at Brennan to get his attention, he’s already looking back at her. “Of course, you snuck this song onto the playlist.”
“I had to,” he says bashfully. “Beach bonfires get me feeling all sentimental.”
“We met at a beach bonfire,” Kate says to you and Mallory. “Labor Day weekend of our sophomore year! This song comes on, and suddenly I find myself talking to a guy who also thinks Perks of Being a Wallflower is one of the few movie adaptations that’s just as good as the book.”
“How did I not know that!” Mallory exclaims.
“Brennan, you’re such a sap,” you tease.
“Only for my lady love.” He crawls over and kisses her, so naturally it’s your and Mallory’s duty as her best friends to gag when he does so. “So? May I have this dance?”
Kate goes along happily, allowing Brennan to pull her up and spinning with him in the sand. Michael joins you now that his conversation’s been broken up, settling back down on your blanket and pulling you against him so that your back is to his chest. You both watch your friends dance for a bit, a few others on the opposite end of the fire getting up to join them.
“Do you ever think about it?” Michael asks you, bringing your attention away from the scene in front of you.
You look at him curiously. “Think about what?”
“How we would have met if I wasn’t who I am. What our life would have been like.” He smiles, a slight movement tinged with self-deprecation, and takes a drink of his water before continuing. “I do. In my head, we met on the first day of class. It was probably some gen ed—English, I usually imagine. I would have sat next to you because it was the only empty seat left, and by the end of the second week, I would be asking you for help since I’m not the best at writing. We probably would have started out as friends before I got up the courage to ask you out on a date.”
“That does sound nice,” you admit.
Though you won’t say it aloud, sometimes you’ve thought the exact same thing. How, if he was just a regular guy, your love story would have been something simple, something normal. You never would have been kidnapped (twice), or poisoned by Satan, or forced to marry the Antichrist, falling in love with him despite your very best efforts. You wouldn’t have had to spend so much time and energy worrying about the world ending while trying to figure out how you, a mortal with no sort of powers, could stop it. There wouldn’t be some alternate future out there where the world did end and you died, according to Michael, a painful and traumatic death.
“You know what, though? If I had the chance, I don’t think I’d change our story.”
He looks at you in bewilderment. “Even after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve put you through?”
“Have the things that we’ve gone through been crazy and oftentimes fucked up? Yeah, absolutely. But for every bad, there’s been so much good.”
With Michael snapping for the first time and accidentally hitting you came going on your first “date” with him and learning that he really likes mint chocolate chip ice cream. When you were in the trenches after Dinah gave you the potion to reverse the effects of the poison apple, Michael never left your side and cared for you diligently until you woke up. The Cooperative meeting you attended, the one where you watched Michael incinerate a man with his mind, seemed a fair trade-off for getting to experience your senior homecoming with the man you love.
“I love all of you, Michael, demonic parts and all. If you weren’t the Antichrist, then you wouldn’t be the man that I love. So yeah, I’ll take everything we’ve been through. Because everything we’ve been through, we’ve done together.”
Michael’s laugh sounds surprised, as though he was waiting for you to reveal that you’ve been lying this whole time. “I love you too.”
While you and Michael had an impromptu heart-to-heart, more of your fellow beachgoers got up and started dancing as songs came and went. The song changes once more and this time Mallory jumps up with a whoop, grabbing Kate’s outstretched hand and spinning herself under it. As the two start to move with the beat of the song, they catch your eye and begin beckoning you over. Laughing, you shake your head and settle yourself more firmly against Michael.
“Aren’t you going to go dance?” he asks.
“No.” You smile and kiss him, happy to feel him smiling too. “I’d rather just stay here with you.”
It’s the truth, both for your current situation and for life in general. You don’t have the gift of divination like your husband and best friend—nor any powers at all—but you don’t need them. With Michael by your side, you already know that your future’s looking very bright.
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVII)
Summary: What it says on the tin: Michael's version.
Word Count: 5.6k
A note from the author: Certain phrases and sections may sound familiar, and that's because they are! We're back in the past, baby! This is it—our penultimate chapter. I have so many emotions about coming to the end of this journey, but I'll save them for the final chapter. Until then, enjoy, and as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.
Mad Love Masterlist
When Michael Langdon opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by white, he believes that he’s died.
In his mind, it’s a logical conclusion to come to. He and Mallory had tried a very risky, obscure spell, after all, one with no real precedent for safety. If it ended up failing, it certainly wouldn’t be a shock. And don’t people see a white light when they die? It’s then that Michael remembers that when he dies, he is most certainly going to Hell, and actually takes a proper look at his surroundings.
While he is looking at the color white, it’s because he’s lying on the floor and staring up at a white ceiling. Around him are bookshelves packed to the brim with a variety of both old and new books—books whose pages are imbued with magic that Michael can sense. There’s a large, mahogany desk covered with more books and spare pages sitting under a picture window to his left, the chair pulled back and waiting for its occupant. Waiting for him, because he knows now beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in the library at Miss Robichaux’s, which can only mean one thing: the spell worked.
Michael scrambles to his feet, his hand going to rest on the desk so that he can feel the wood beneath his palm and confirm that this isn’t some mere dream or hallucination. His nails scrape along the grain, the wood firm and sturdy and real. An opulent, gilded mirror on the opposite wall garners his attention, and he hesitantly makes his way over to peek in the glass.
Gone is the red, velvet dinner jacket and the dramatic eyeshadow. No longer does his hair tumble past his shoulders, and his eyes are devoid of the cold, disinterested glint that he had trained himself to carry at all times. Now, Michael stares at himself as he was, all those months ago. He’s fresh-faced, though a little exhausted, and he can see only worry and excitement in his eyes. His hair is curly and falls to just past his chin, the ends barely brushing his shoulders if he shrugs. The black bomber jacket slung over the back of the chair is obviously meant to complete his ensemble of a black t-shirt, black jeans, and Docs.
For the first time in a long time, he recognizes the person in the mirror.
Now that it’s obvious that he’s back to a time before the apocalypse, his mind is already three floors down to where you surely sit. Logically, Michael knows that he should take a moment to assess the situation, perhaps test the parameters of the spell, and see if there are any limits on time or what he can and cannot do. He couldn’t care less about that though, not when he’s back in a world where you’re alive and well.
He throws open the door, so eager to reach you that he rushes out into the hallway without looking and runs right into somebody else. Both parties begin to fall backward, but Michael wraps his hands around his accidental victim’s upper arms and pulls them both upright.
“Whoa!” Zoe Benson exclaims, on the way to the library to return the book in her hands.
“Sorry.” The apology comes easily to him; surprising, considering how long it’s been since he’s had to apologize for anything.
“You’re good!” Zoe assures him, without any of the hate or malice that a witch who just faced off against him in a battle to reverse the apocalypse would be expected to have. “Are you looking for Y/n and Mallory?”
Michael knows exactly where you are, but he nods anyway, if only because you’re being referred to in the present tense.
“They’re hammocking in the backyard, which is a relief. Mallory needs someone to tell her to relax, and none of us can convince her.”
“I’ll make sure to convey the coven’s thanks, then.”
Zoe smiles. “You do that. I’ll see you around.”
Michael nods, waiting until Zoe actually makes it into the library to nearly run (more cautiously, now) down the stairs and towards the backyard. He pauses at the large French doors, taking in the scene before him. You and Mallory share a hammock under a canopy of wisteria trees that are trying their hardest to hold onto their blooms. Where before, Michael had been the one to rouse you from your nap, you’re now sitting up and embracing Mallory. The Supreme catches his eyes over your shoulder, and she smiles in tearful relief.
His feet carry him to the hammock almost unconsciously. Were it not for that, he would still be standing in one spot, stuck in the wonder of this moment and basking in you being alive once more. Now, Michael puts a shaking, hesitant hand on your shoulder, unable to wait a moment longer before touching you, yet wary of ruining this moment. Your skin is warm under his grip, and he can feel your muscles flex as you turn to look at him. When you smile at him, easy and free and nothing at all like the small, pained ones he had had to force out of you for eighteen months, he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“Hi, my love.” He almost can’t get the words out, so choked up with emotion that they nearly become lodged in his throat.
“Hey,” you greet happily, completely and blissfully unaware of the nearly two years of literal hell he’d put you through. “How’d it go?”
Michael doesn’t respond at first, instead sitting on your other side on the hammock so that he can bring you into his arms and enjoy the feeling of you alive once more.
“Everybody’s in such a hugging mood today!” You wink at both him and Mallory and grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
Michael hums, but otherwise remains silent. After a moment, you speak again.
“Geez, was it really that bad?”
Yes, he wants to say. I had the worst nightmare, one in which I was a terrible friend and husband, in which I betrayed everyone I’ve ever known and ruined your trust, trust that I had worked so hard to gain. I dreamed that I destroyed our lives, everybody’s lives, and became a monster. I thought that I lost you, only now I know that I didn’t, because you’re here and happy and alive. I’ve woken up, back into the dream that I didn’t know I was living in until I lost it.
Instead, he says, “No, it was only mildly frustrating. Just…feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Co-dependency isn’t healthy, sweetheart.” Tears spring at the pet name, and he has to shut his eyes to keep them from falling.
“Indulge me for just a bit. We are on vacation, after all.”
You laugh. “I’m on vacation. You’re on a research trip.”
“Since my research hasn’t really yielded anything, how about we make the next few hours before we have to meet Dinah a vacation for both of us?”
“Are you asking me out on a date, Michael?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
You radiate joy, and Michael is so happy to be basking in it once more. “Then I happily accept.”
“I have a couple of things to give you for your protection, Michael, in case Dinah tries to cross you,” Mallory says. “Will you come with me while I grab them?”
He’d much prefer to never leave your side again, but he knows that there are matters that need to be discussed in private, so he begrudgingly nods and disentangles himself from you.
“We’ll be right back,” Mallory assures you.
“Don’t worry, I’m just fine out here!” To demonstrate this, you kick your feet up and lay back down on the hammock, smiling at the heat of the sun on your face once more.
It’s one of the most beautiful sights that Michael’s ever seen in his life, and it makes it all the more difficult for him to leave. Mallory ends up having to tug him to her, transmuting them both so they’re in her bedroom.
“This was a really good time for you to pick,” Mallory admits as she pulls a key from her pocket and walks into her closet.
“I can’t believe it actually worked!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair as he tries to take a moment to process everything that’s just happened.
“I wish I could say that I had faith in us, but it was really 50/50 on what I thought was going to happen.”
“What now? Do we have a limited amount of time here? Are there things that I can or can’t say and do?”
“When I first started practicing this spell, it was difficult for me to stay in the past for very long. It got better the more I attempted it, but the longest I managed to stay was two hours.” Mallory reappears, holding three familiar items. “Even then, the entire time it felt like there was a rope tied around me, constantly trying to tug me back to my time. I don’t feel that at all now.”
“I don’t, either.”
“I think it’s because we cast the spell together. After all, who on Earth is more powerful than the Supreme and the Antichrist?”
The answer? Nobody, unless one of the divine forces decided to step foot on the mortal coil.
“So you don’t think there’s any danger of us being pulled back to our present before I’m able to meet with Papa Legba tonight?” Michael asks.
“I don’t. As for your second question, there are no ‘rules’ as to how you need to act. At least, I don’t think there are. Just…remember that we’re in a very crucial time right now, and that everything you do tonight that differentiates from the original timeline will have an effect on the outcome we’re trying to achieve.”
Michael nods. “Try not to fuck up too badly, got it.”
“Hey, things can’t go as terribly as they did the last time we were here,” Mallory points out cheekily, laughing at Michael’s scowl. “C’mon, you kind of deserve it.”
“I do,” Michael concedes with a sigh.
Mallory hands Michael a box of Cuban cigars and a pouch of mandrake with her right hand, her left holding the lethal-to-Michael charm away from Michael to prevent any accidents. Before he can take them, she grabs his wrist and waits until he looks at her again. “You’ve got this, alright? I have faith in you.”
“Thank you. None of this would be happening without you—you’re the reason I have a second chance.”
“You can thank me after tonight.”
This time, it’s Michael who uses his powers to transmute them back to the backyard. You’re still in the hammock and idly scrolling your phone, only looking up when you hear the air near you shift.
“Back so soon?” you ask.
“Try to sound a bit less excited, yeah?” Mallory teases, holding the charm out for you to take. “Here, this is for you to hold on to tonight. Papa Legba shouldn’t try anything; he’s an honorable being who typically doesn’t take what has not been explicitly given to him. Still, it never hurts to have a little extra protection.”
“It’s pretty,” you note, holding it out to show Michael.
Mallory puts her hand out to stop you. “It’s a charm to protect you against beings that are not of this plane, as well as those descended from said beings. I think you’d prefer not to zap Michael to Hell.”
You pretend to think for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. He’s too cute to get rid of.”
Michael can’t help himself from blushing at the compliment. He’s always been easily flattered, especially when you’re the one doing the flattering. Before anything else can be said, a younger girl appears at the back door. “Miss Mallory? Miss Zoe’s looking for you, somethin’ ‘bout a book you have.”
“Thank you, Abby, I’ll be in shortly.” When the girl runs back through the house, Mallory sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Duty calls, I guess. Try not to have too much fun tonight.”
“No promises,” you say cheerfully.
Before she goes, Mallory pulls you into a hug. “I love you. Be safe, alright?”
“I will. I love you too, Mal.”
Mallory looks at Michael just before she ducks inside, her expression reiterating everything she previously said—that tonight is crucial, that every move he makes now matters, and that she has faith in him. Then she’s gone, and Michael’s turning back to you.
“I was thinking hotel first so that we could freshen up. Does that sound good to you?” Michael asks.
“Sounds perfect. I wouldn’t mind a shower right now.” Your nose wrinkles. “I smell like airplane.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing you can smell like,” Michael says, holding his hand out for you to take so that he can transmute to the hotel.
“Says you.” You grab Michael’s hand, and he squeezes just for the small joy of feeling you squeeze back.
The curious thing about going back in time, specifically to an event that he’s already lived through, is that it feels a lot like being an actor in a play. The motions and words are familiar, and Michael has to put in a bit of effort if he wants to say or do something different than what he already said or did. The deja vu here is strong and recurring, and it takes him a second to get over the feeling time and time again—deja vu about the deja vu; who else can say they’ve experienced such phenomena?
Still, there are more positives in repeating this time than just the obvious one of, y’know, being able to change his major mistake. He’s also able to remember to take everything in, to simply watch and not miss what he once believed to be mundane.
He’s able to fully enjoy the delight that you display upon finding out what his surprise is, as well as feel proud that he knows you so well. He’s happy to follow you around while you indulge your curiosities, watching you as you stop at each stand and peruse the offerings. He admires how much thought you put into what gift you’ll be buying for Kate as thanks for watching your cat.
(He’s pleased on your and Mallory’s behalf that you’ll have the third member of your trio back, even though you’ll never know that you were missing her.)
It’s thrilling to be walking hand in hand with you once more, to enjoy your closeness and being in love. Michael’s perfectly content to be pulled along by you, to answer your questions about what he thinks about this or that item, to allow you to feed him a beignet. This time, he doesn’t waste a moment of opportunity and kisses the powdered sugar off of your lips while feeling your smile.
This trip truly was perfect before that fateful meeting, and to get to relive it is a gift. He falls easily into his “role,” parroting those familiar lines about the beauty of New Orleans and your potential grad school options while basking in long-forgotten normalcy. When you stand up, Michael has to hide a smile, knowing what’s coming next. You turn back to him with your hands cupped around something.
“Here, hold out your hands,” you instruct.
Michael does as asked, dutifully waiting for you to deposit your prize into his waiting hands. A fat firefly lazily buzzes around, and he smiles at the sight as it bumps into his hands over and over again. He glances up to see you looking down, not at the firefly, but at him, with a grin on your face. After a few moments, the firefly finds its way out of his hands and back to the others in the grass.
“You should try and catch one!” you suggest.
Where before, Michael allowed the buzzing of his phone alarm to stop the fun, now, he simply silences it and gets up to join you. He’s not very good at it, and he misses more times than he’d care to admit, but it’s worth it for your laughter and encouragement. Plus, it is pretty satisfying to finally catch one and hold it up for you to see.
You and Michael leave the open-air market ten minutes later than he was originally planning on, but it was more than worth it. The walk to Dinah’s studio is short, made even more pleasant by the sky lighting up as the sun sets and the warm, slightly muggy air.
“Did you have fun?” you ask.
“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that, since I’m the one who planned the date. But yes, I did.”
“Good. I did too.”
“Then I call this date a success.”
You’re happy with that answer, satisfied to walk in companionable silence. Michael, on the other hand, is wracked with guilt now that there’s a moment of quiet amidst all the chaos that he’s found himself thrown into since the moment he opened his eyes in the past.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.
“For what?” In this time, you believe that there’s nothing for him to apologize for. For Michael to be able to live with himself though, he needs to apologize.
“I know I’ve been…off since we saw Cordelia. And I know that you were really shaken up by the Cooperative meeting that I took you to.” You look at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “What? I notice things.”
“I was shaken up,” you admit. “It was scary hearing that you want to end the world so soon, and that there are concrete plans for you to do so. Scarier still knowing that your father’s watching your progress.”
“I know, which is why I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry that I hurt you in so many different ways, he thinks, mentally apologizing for the things he truly wants to say sorry for. I’m sorry that I killed everybody you ever loved, and that I became someone you would have hated were you not forced to love me. I’m sorry that I got you killed, and that I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“Things are going to be different from now on.”
There’s a hope in your eyes that Michael doesn’t feel like he deserves to have directed towards him. “Really?”
He nods, wanting so badly to reveal his hand, but being unable to do so. Instead, he hopes that you know how sincere he is when he says, “I promise.”
You’ve reached Dinah’s studio, the Voodoo Queen throwing open the door impatiently before Michael can get his hand on the handle.
“You’re late.” Dinah levels Michael with a glare. She’s not that upset, he knows, not when she’s got an extra hundred thousand currently sitting in her bank account.
“Sorry, we got lost,” he lies. You turn your face into his shoulder, coughing to hide your laugh.
“Mhm. Let’s go, I got places to be after this.” She walks towards the back. “And lock the door behind you!”
Through Dinah’s dressing room is another, smaller room—where she conducts her real business. There are candles on various surfaces throughout the room, and the main table, ringed with four chairs, is covered with a red cloth.
Michael pulls out a chair for you to sit in and makes sure that you’re comfortable before pushing you toward the table and taking his seat next to you. You watch Dinah move around the room in a whirl of colors, gathering the last items needed for tonight’s ritual. Your head tilts curiously when she pulls out a match and strikes it into a flame, and he braces himself against yet another bout of deja vu.
“It’s a part of the ritual,” he whispers in your ear, feeling you nod.
Once all of the candles are lit by Dinah’s own hand, the voodoo queen sits down in the chair on his other side. She studies you harshly for a moment, making you squirm under her scrutiny, before looking at Michael. “You sure that you want your honey in here to meet Papa? After all, she’s nothing but a pretty little mortal.”
He smirks. If there’s one lesson he can take away from those eighteen long months, it’s that you’re so much more than that. You’re determined, unflinching in your morals, and willing to face down any of your fears to do what’s right.
“I assure you, she can more than handle herself.”
You smile nervously at Michael, and he winks at you in what he hopes is a comforting way. His eyes are drawn down to your lap, where your hands are shaking. While Dinah grabs one of his hands to start the ritual, he uses his free one to hold one of yours. Your smile softens, and you mouth, “Thank you.”
She turns his hand so it’s facing palm-up, and takes a deep breath in before beginning to knock on his wrist. After she does so, she places her wrist against his briefly before swiping up a bottle of liquor from the table. The amber liquid is poured into a copper mug, and Dinah brings it up above her head in order to pray to it.
“Papa Legba,” she begins. “Ouvrier barrier pour moi agoe.”
This chant is repeated twice more, but it only takes her invoking him the second time for the shadow of a tall figure wearing what looks to be a top hat to rise against the blank canvas of the wall. As Dinah chants for the third and final time, a cold wind sweeps through the room and brings with it an echoing, deep laugh and the sound of bones clinking together.
Michael hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Papa Legba before this night. He heard plenty of stories, of course, but Papa Legba was notoriously hard to get an audience with, even when one was the Antichrist.
Like many demons, Papa Legba looks like a normal man at first glance. He appears carrying a cane and wearing a fine suit, a top hat decorated with tiny skulls and feathers atop his head. A necklace made of beads and claws rests around his neck, and his long cloak sweeps along the floor. That’s where the human similarities end. White paint covers the top half of his face, and his blood-red eyes look upon the trio assembled before him with delight as he grabs the cup from Dinah and drains it.
“Dinah Stevens! Calling upon me so soon after our last…chat, eh?” He looks down at a couple of cigars sitting on top of a decorative silver plate and hums. “Mm, lucky for you that I cannot resist Cuban cigars, Mambo.”
The empty cup is discarded for one of the cigars, which he holds to his nose in order to properly enjoy it before scratching one of his nails against the end and lighting it. The cherry glows red as he takes a couple of deep puffs, the air growing hot around you as the shadows surrounding him morph in that distinct, sentient way—the shadows of souls now belonging to Papa.
Papa Legba takes a seat in the chair next to you, stretching out languidly. You scooch your chair closer to Michael, and he fights the urge to wrap his arm around you.
“The Antichrist – and his little wife!” Papa Legba greets, his voice echoing and layering on top of itself.
Michael nods in a show of deference, and you do the same. “Papa Legba,” he says. You jump slightly, his “otherworldly” voice surprising you.
“I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding festivities, mes chers.” He grins at both of you, his gold tooth glinting in the candlelight. “A little drama with your papa, you see. But the entire Underworld was very much abuzz at news of the nuptials, I assure you.”
“We appreciate your well wishes.” You remain silent, choosing instead to smile and nod in agreement. “I assume you know why I asked Dinah to facilitate this meeting?”
Papa Legba shakes his head, but the smirk on his face gives off the feeling that he knows exactly why he’s here. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“You’ve abandoned your post,” Michael reminds him before deciding to go off-script. “And I’m guessing you have ulterior motives beyond becoming bored with your function.”
Papa laughs. “Ah, you’re a smart little Antichrist! Correct, this is the outcome I was hoping to achieve as a result of my actions.”
“Well, you certainly got my attention. Why go to all this trouble?” Michael already knows the answer, of course. But everybody in this room has a part to play in his plan, even though they don’t know it.
“The lords of Hell are not too pleased with the current plans. Ending the world?” He tuts and shakes his head. “Now, that just takes all of the fun out of everything. Who will barter with me when the only souls left on Earth are devoted followers of Satan or half-dead?”
“So you’re the messenger.”
“I’ll confess, I have been sent by my fellow demons to attempt to sway you. For some reason, they think that I am the best public speaker.” He puts a hand to his chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment.
“And how are you attempting to sway me?”
“My dear boy, I am here to convince you not to start an apocalypse.”
This is the moment where it all went wrong. Michael let his anger get the best of him, his need to please his father ruling his emotions and actions. Briefly, he thinks of the butterfly effect, which you taught him while learning it in a class last semester. The belief is that every choice, and every action, no matter how big or small, can set a person on a hundred different courses. He’s seen the course that was taken when he lashed out. Now, he’s choosing rationality, and he’s excited to see what course that leads everybody down.
“You’ll be happy to learn that it will take far less convincing than you originally thought,” Michael says. Next to him, you gasp.
Papa Legba looks simultaneously surprised and pleased. “Really?”
“Recently, I’ve been made aware of some new developments regarding my father and the nuclear annihilation course that we’ve been working on. Now, I’m interested in exploring other avenues.”
Papa Legba’s red eyes are so focused on Michael that it’s even beginning to make him feel a little uncomfortable. “So I may tell my friends that they will get to play with their food for the foreseeable future?”
“Yes, I would say that’s a pretty accurate statement,” Michael says with a nod.
“You have just made many of the legions of Hell very pleased, young master.” His gold tooth glints in the candlelight as he grins, pulling a card out of thin air and presenting it to Michael between his long fingers. “You may call upon me whenever you need so that my friends and I may help you achieve your goal; we are at your disposal.”
Michael takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” Papa Legba stands and takes the last cigar off of the table with him, sliding it up the sleeve of his coat until it disappears. “Until next time.”
With a gust of wind that blows out all of the candles and the clinking of bones, he turns and melts into his shadows. Shortly after, the lights overhead flicker on, bathing the room in reality once more. Dinah rolls her neck with a groan, taking a moment to collect herself after the strain of the summoning.
“Well, I guess you do have some sort of a spine,” she declares, standing and smudging the symbols she had made at the doorway.
“A backhanded compliment, but one that I’ll take.”
“Are we done here? I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got places to be.”
Michael rolls his eyes. She truly is just a terrible person, apocalypse or not. “Yes, we’re done.”
You’ve been silent since Michael revealed that he wasn’t keen on ending the world, and you remain that way now. Michael gently pulls you from your chair, and you follow him dazedly, letting him handle the goodbyes as you digest everything that’s just happened. Michael can’t blame you in the slightest; he knows that it seems like a jarring and sudden change, especially when the plans to bomb the world are so concrete and detailed.
About halfway down the block from Dinah’s studio—Michael thought that a walk in the cooler night air might do you more good than transmuting—you finally find something to say. “What the hell was that?”
“I told you that things were going to be different.”
“I assumed you meant, like, that you were going to try and push off zero hour a little bit more!” You finally look at him, cautiously and hopefully. “What about your plan? You’ve wanted to end the world for a while now. This is what you and the Cooperative have been working towards since before we even got married.”
“No, that’s not what I want. What I want is a life with you. I want us to actually travel the world together. I want us to experience new things. I want to watch you chase your dreams. I want to develop dreams of my own.”
It’s the first time Michael’s admitted that last sentence to anybody beyond his thoughts in the middle of the night. Even before the end of the world, he watched with envy as you and your friends and fellow students went about your lives, excited for futures and possibilities that seemed endless. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he wanted that for himself, that he wanted to be more than just the Antichrist. While the original meeting with Papa Legba forced him to put that want to the side in favor of accomplishing what he believed to be his destiny, this do-over has afforded him another chance to discover his own dreams.
“Did you know that my father isn’t even the one who picked out the current apocalypse plan?” he asks.
“He’s not?”
Michael shakes his head. “I recently found out that it was the two idiots at Kineros who built the new Ms. Mead. They hacked into Ms. Mead and planted the idea, convincing a vulnerable, naive Antichrist that fire and blood were the only ways to end the world and make Satan proud. All because they were pissed at minor inconveniences and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean’.”
As Michael says this, he makes a mental note to kill those two. What? He’s still the Antichrist, after all.
“All Satan wants is to win this millennia-long, metaphysical chess game that he’s playing with God. He doesn’t care what I do, so long as I get him some ‘wins’. And Papa Legba was right. If I were to end the world, Satan would win…for a time. But then the rules would be changed, the board reset, and where would that leave me? I’d have done all this, ruined our, and everybody’s, lives for nothing.”
“So this is real? You’re not ending the world anymore?” you check.
“Not ending the world anymore,” Michael confirms. “We’ll find some other way to sow chaos, I’m sure. In due time. For now, I’m happy to wait and—”
He’s cut off when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his lips to yours. In the eighteen months he’s just lived through, he can’t remember the last time you initiated a kiss. Now, he eagerly reciprocates, kissing back and hoping that you can feel all of his apologies and promises through his actions. He hopes that, from now on, he’ll never have to go more than a day without kissing you again.
When you pull away from Michael, there are tears running down your face. His heart twists at the sight. How had he not known that you were in so much fear about what was going to happen, that you and Mallory were working behind the scenes to try and find a way to change his mind?
“Thank you,” you say, lifting your hands up to wipe your face clean; a futile task, since you keep crying from relief. “Thank you so much.”
“I love you.” Michael’s earnest in his declaration, never wanting you to forget this fact…or to give you a reason to. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to scare you in this way, to cause you this anguish.”
“I know. You were just doing what you thought you were supposed to do. But you’ve changed, and I’m so proud of you for that.” You always know just the right thing to say, the right way to encourage him. He’s so thankful to have that back.
“I love you,” Michael says again. He’ll say it every hour for the rest of his life, if it means you’ll smile at him the way that you currently are.
“I love you, too.” He kisses you again, there under the streetlights on a beautiful, fall night in New Orleans, and is reminded that there are so many things to love and appreciate about humanity.
Michael may not make it to Heaven when he dies. But right now, in your arms, he’s found the closest thing to it. And nothing will ever make him give it up again.
Summary: You've found yourself in the fabled Sanctuary. Now that you are in the wolf's den, what more will you discover?
Part Six of Dead Weight: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
A/N: Phew, it's been a while! I don't know if or when I'll update again, but this is a story I've been circling back to over the past couple years when I've gotten the inspiration and it means a lot to me that anyone's read it. If you've read in the past two years, thank you :)
There was a moment of silence as you took in Michael’s words. He had not only thwarted the witches again, but also isolated you from joining forces with them. Both of you were now beyond their reach. From the smirk on his face, this was the plan all along.
“You son of a bitch!” you roared, letting your control slip. In the skylight, lightning streaked across the night sky, and a bellow of thunder shook the room. Michael quickly steadied himself, relishing in your fury. “They were right there! Why did you-”
“Oh Miss Y/L/N,” he tutted. “Did you really think I would leave you behind? You’re the most valuable export from that hellhole.” Mead, overcoming her shock at her new surroundings, returned to Michael’s side.
“Michael,” she murmured. “What’s so special about Miss Y/L/N that we couldn’t kill her with the others?” Michael regarded her respectfully as he answered.
“I have my reasons, Mead. Right now, we have to prepare our newest addition to the Sanctuary for her introduction tomorrow morning.” You stumbled to your knees, aghast.
“But,” you sputtered. “What about the witches? They’re still looking for you at the Outpost-”
“You’ll forgive me if I'm in no rush to participate in their little last stand,” Michael dismissed your concerns.
“But, you wanted them dead! After everything that’s happened-”
“They will get what’s coming to them, believe me. But right now, there’s more pressing developments to attend to, now will you please stand up?” Slowly, you rose to your feet, staring him down. Looking at him, you noticed how different he looked now that you had abandoned the harsh lighting of the Outpost. Here, the moonlight made him look ethereal, a ghost who looked through you in the last living garden in the world. You tore your gaze away, chilled.
“What do you plan to do with me?” you asked, voice low. “Because I assure you, you won’t be able to stop me from leaving here.”
“Oh please,” he scoffed. “Drop the theatrics. I left your friends in Outpost Three to waste, the world outside remains ash and dust and God on high still doesn’t want you. There’s nothing for you outside of this Sanctuary.”
“Then why the fuck did you bring me here?!” you spat at him.
“All in due time, but I can assure you it’s not nearly as nefarious as what you’re thinking.”
“This is cheating!” you exclaimed, causing another strike of lightning. “The Outpost…that was supposed to be where everything was settled, you knew that damn well when Cordelia was at the doorstep!” Michael laughed.
“Cheating, Miss Y/L/N, really?” Then, with the controlled force of a conductor, he swung his hand up toward the skylight, and metal paneling came out to cover it up, closing out the view of the storm you had brought on. Now the light was much dimmer, Michael all but a specter against the darkness. “Do you really expect me to play by your rules? You don’t even know what they are. As it happens, the little showdown you and Cordelia had planned for me was merely an inconvenience that I didn’t have time for. I was anxious to return home.” The last word fell out of his mouth awkwardly, tripping you up. Of all the words he could have used for this place, why go for that?
You shook your head, your frustrations finally taking their toll. What were you even doing anymore?
Your path has become more and more oblique, with no hope of an end to your mission on earth. Time and time you’ve sought to prove your worth, and you’ve failed. You began to cry.
Michael froze as Mead stepped back, repulsed. You hid your face in your hands, quietly sobbing. Then, with a short roar, you sounded a thunderclap that vibrated through the room. This is what you’re reduced to, wailing in the stronghold of your enemy, your hopes of joining forces with your only allies shattered. You heard Michael shuffle toward Mead before speaking.
“The door out is that way, if you see anyone, ask for Josephine and tell her I’m here.”
“Michael,” Mead prodded. “Are you alright with this one?”
A pause before his answer. “Of course I am, just get Josephine and this will all be taken care of.” Mead stayed a moment, before finally obeying her orders and quitting the room. You wiped your eyes, useless creature you were.
“Oh,” Michael’s voice taunted you. “Come now, angel. How is this going to solve your problems?”
“Damn you,” you seethed. “I was supposed to be with them! I was there to help them beat you and you ruined it.”
“If it’s any comfort,” Michael lilted. “You could never have won. Cordelia was never any match for me, why do you think she never tried to take me head on herself?” Hearing him say this made you halt your crying, having remembered all the cards in your hand.
“Not just Cordelia,” you sniffled, your voice clear and low.
“I’m sure she had all the other remains of her coven along for the ride as well,” Michael said dismissively. “But it still doesn’t matter. They’re all easy pickings to me. I would have destroyed them just as I did the rest.” You lifted your head, your eyes staring vacantly up at him.
“Of course,” you said. “I remember.” Then, adding before Michael could ask. “I was there, you know. When you attacked Miss Robichaux’s academy. I escaped with Cordelia. I felt you there.” Another pause. You couldn’t see Michael’s face in the dark, but you could guess he was keeping his guard up as he took this in.
“You really are her friend, then,” you could picture the smirk playing on his lips. “And you kept it to yourself so well. I guess it makes sense now, I suppose I felt you too that day. I felt something...unpleasant. Of course, I didn’t realize it was you then. It’s a shame you took off, it would have been a delight to meet you in the waking world then.” You scoffed. “Alright then, who else managed to leave with you? I can’t quite remember who all I did away with that day.” This comment made your lip curl in disgust.
“Oh you know,” you said. “There was Myrtle, and Madison, who I know you’ve met. And these other two witches who were fairly newer. Coco and Mallory were their names.” You smiled at him. “One of them was going to be the next Supreme, you know. How convenient that you took off, giving her all the more time to build her powers.”
Dead silence. You couldn’t help but chuckle at what you’ve dropped on him. Serves him right for walking out on his own reckoning. He has to miss out on all the revelations that come with it. Finally, he spoke again.
“I suppose I’ve come to accept that you’re going to keep surprising me,” he said slowly. “But to think that Cordelia managed to fool me…and Coco Vanderbilt of all people-!” Was he actually…embarrassed? You were fully grinning now.
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think the ruse was intentional on her part. I think Cordelia wiped their memories before the apocalypse…but yes, you had a very powerful Supreme under your nose, and now you’ve left her behind to continue to plan your downfall. Scary, isn’t it?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “And to think, you could’ve eliminated that threat this whole time, but I guess I was just too interesting, wasn’t I?”
“Angel,” Michael seethed at you. “As troubling as you want this news to be, I’m not changing course. If your witch friends still want me, let them try and find me again. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”
“Fuck you,” you hissed. “If you really think that I’m going to just sit here-” The door to the garden reopened, letting the outside light break inside of it. In stepped Ms.Mead, trailing behind a tall and slender woman. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, and she wore a light blue nightgown. She looked between the two of you, the sleep falling away from her eyes, confusion taking its place.
“Michael,” she whispered, a slight accent on her voice. “Is this-?”
“Josephine!” Michael greeted, immediately painting a smile on his face. “How good to see you again. This is Y/N Y/L/N of Outpost Three.” He took you by your shoulders- you flinched at his touch, but the fabric of your dress protected you from any real sting- and walked you over to them. “Our newest neighbor. Would you be so kind as to show her to one of the empty rooms? Preferably one of the ones in the west side of the facilities.”
“O-of course!” she responded, looking at you with wide eyes. Michael stopped just at her side to give his last order.
“Oh, and when you’re done: fetch de Flores and tell him we need to speak. It’s most urgent.” Josephine nodded, and he walked off. You watched him as he disappeared down the hall.
With that, Josephine hurried you through the halls of the Sanctuary. You were equal parts impressed and disgusted by the marble walls and pillars. The bright white, in contrast to the dim yellow of the outpost, was both refreshing and blinding.
Eventually, you were ushered into a bedroom, one of the most beautiful you'd ever seen. If not for the lack of windows, it would have been indistinguishable from a bedroom in a palace. In lieu of windows, however, were detailed paintings that looked to be of Renaissance persuasion.
"I believe these are one of the more special rooms," Josephine remarked as she scurried out. "Congratulations. Make yourself at home." Hearing that word made the hairs of your neck stand. With that, she was gone.
You took in the room. The fully furnished sitting area, the four-poster king bed, and the biblical painting of Adam and Eve in the wall all made you want to vomit. What a hell you've placed yourself in, and worse yet, you know you've only scratched the surface of it. You were in completely uncharted waters, and on Michael's terms.
You could not stay here. You resolved to go at that moment. Whatever was outside the Sanctuary was outside Michael’s reach also. You would rather wander the scourged earth haplessly than live under Michael’s watchful eye, waiting for the board to move again. You sat on your plush bed, and used your powers to lose an hour. You blinked once it was done, then changed out of the Purple dress. As unideal as the white nightgown laid out on your bed was, the purple dress was ten times worse for moving around. You stripped off the dress, put on the nightgown, and then put the purple jacket over it to feel less exposed. Then, you set out into the Sanctuary to find an escape.
The place seemed even more like a maze without Josephine to guide you through it. You mused that if Gabriel was here, he could use the angelic omniscience that you still lacked to chart a course out. Alas, you were still of that different, lesser make. You would have to search on foot.
A fruitless endeavor. The grand halls seemed to swallow you immediately, the bright lights teasing you around every corner. You passed the supposed ballroom what seemed to be a dozen times. You saw the ceiling in it and thought it must stretch for miles. Painting after painting seemed to repeat so much that soon enough they started to blend together. Every time you thought you were trying a new path, you found yourself in the same godforsaken hallway outside the ballroom. Eventually, you couldn’t take the circles anymore, and walked inside, looking for any other paths to take. At the far end, you saw a set of double doors and scampered over to them. You pushed them open, and found an empty kitchen.
Empty, except for a teenage girl and small boy sat up on the counters with food in their hands. Their heads snapped toward you, the girl assuming a defensive demeanor at the sight of you. She looked you up and down, evaluating you.
“Are you the newcomer?” You steeled yourself against the door.
“Yes, I am,” you looked around, searching for an excuse for being here. “I stepped out of my room and couldn’t find my way back.” The boy looked at you impassively, neither believing nor disbelieving, he just looked right through you.
“What part are you in?” the girl asked you, still watching you closely.
“The west part?”
“Back out the large arches, take a right, you’ll find it among all the doors.” She stared at you, silently commanding you to leave. You bowed your head, desperate to get away from her cold gaze.
“Thank you,” you stumbled out of the kitchen, beelining in the direction she told you to go. Who was that?! You're stomach turned, a sensation you'd only experienced in the past because of Michael. There was something in the coldness of her gaze... Good or bad, it wasn’t natural. As you crossed the ballroom again, you saw Michael's shadow dance against the hallway walls. As you entered, you saw him walking toward you.
"Michael-" you began.
"To bed, angel," he dismissed you. "Nothing for you to do now. You should get your rest."
“Are you doing this?” You asked. “With the hallways? I’ve never been lost like this.”
“Could be the sleep deprivation,” but as he smirked, you knew your true answer. “Goodnight, now.” And with that, he turned and walked away from you. Without thinking, you spat at his back as he walked by you. He only chuckled. "Yes, better get some sleep." You watched him disappear around a corner and huffed. You knew how to go nowhere but back in the direction of your room. A bird in its gilded cage. Very well. To bed, then.
You enchanted your door behind you and fell asleep in your comically large bed. You dreamt of the garden and the stars you hadn’t seen in so long.
---
The next morning, you awoke to a gentle knock on your door. You knew immediately that whoever it was, it wasn’t Michael. Nausea induced by his presence aside, he would have had a much grander way of making himself known. Adjusting your nightgown, you opened the door to Josephine.
“Miss Y/L/N,” she greeted curtly.
“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Josephine, how can I help you-”
“Mr. Langdon wanted to ensure that you didn’t miss breakfast,” she interrupted. “He was very adamant that you meet some of the others.”
“Others,” you repeated. “How many other people are living here?”
“On this level or in the whole Sanctuary?” She took your stunned look as answer enough. “Throughout the complex are two-thousand people. Mr. Langdon has appointed leaders to multiple units of the Sanctuary to oversee their goings-ons. Beyond the facilities we have multiple radiation-controlled cities in-progress that we are using to rehabilitate those out there who survived the nuclear blast. Those are currently at six-thousand, with more arriving every day. In our unit, the Eden unit, we have two-hundred. Mr. Langdon oversees this unit.”
“That’s…quite an operation.”
“Mr. Langdon is a dedicated man,” she shrugged. “Will you join us?” You thought for a moment. So far, everyone you’ve met seems oblivious to who Michael is, or at the very least accepting of it. You had to wonder what Michael’s aim is to pack this place full of seemingly harmless people. What did he want with them?
“I will,” you answered. “Just give me a moment to get ready.” You closed the door. After freshening yourself, you searched the wardrobe of the room.
You would only be a little embarrassed to admit to the sigh of relief you breathed when you saw a selection of clothes beyond the Victorian era and the purple monochrome. The clothes here were normal. The range was casual to formal and modern day to items that couldn’t be associated with fashions earlier than the 1960s. Whatever Michael was up to here, it at least wasn’t playing period dress up with human dolls. You wondered if it was so he could stand out more, with his bold makeup and clothing. A wolf among the sheep.
You settled on a flowing white top and a pair of flared- would you believe it- jeans. You reopened the door to Josephine, finally taking to note her own beige maxi skirt and brown sweater. Almost like being in the real world again. “Ready.”
Some of the hallways Josephine took you down were all too familiar from your accursed walk the night before. You felt yourself tense as you remembered how Michael’s magics had disoriented you. Today, you could make out the twists of the halls perfectly, assuring you he had let his little hexes fade. The halls also didn’t hold the same foreboding energies as before. Along the ceilings so you could see little skylights letting sunlight in. None of them were so grand as the one in the garden, but you relished in seeing the blue of the morning sky again.
Finally, Josephine brought you to a large set of doors. “I hope you’re awake by now,” she muttered, as she lifted the giant knockers and slammed them three times before opening them. “Look sharp.” Your eyes widened at the site.
A sea of two-hundred faces, all sat at long feast tables, all turned to look at you. Stupefied, you looked around. You saw a litany of groups and families and couples sat together, looking at you as the strange new outsider. What kind of place was this? At the back of the room, you could make out the outline of Michael’s form, sitting at a head table, with Mead’s dark figure sat at his side. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and you could see he was wearing a plain, white shirt with billowing sleeves. A far cry from the Outpost regalia. You could tell he was looking at you, and you just knew he was smiling. After a moment, he rose.
“My friends in Eden,” he boomed. “As you all know I have been on an expedition to our smaller outposts to rescue the survivors housed there. It was to my dismay that I found them all overrun and destroyed.” Hearing this, you remember the smile on his face when he had told your fellow survivors at Outpost Three the same news. “But I found hope in my last stop, one person who could live with us in our Sanctuary and join us in rebuilding the earth. An exceptional and compassionate young woman whose heart, like all of ours, longs for the world before the nuclear winter, a most excellent addition to our mission. Let us all welcome our newcomer, the lone survivor of Outpost Three, and all other outposts, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!” With this, you were enveloped in thunderous applause.
“Lone survivor?” you asked Josephine.
“What else would you call it?” she asked you. “Come, he wants you at the front table.” With that, she led you across the sea of well-wishers, all smiling kindly at you. Michael stared at you the whole way. It felt like an eternity before you were finally standing before him, feeling like an animal being sold to the slaughterhouse.
“Miss Y/L/N,” Michael greeted you. “I’m so glad you could join us.” Your eyes grazed over the rest of the table. From the right of him, you could see Josephine going to take a seat, as well as a little girl next to them, beaming at you. To his left, you saw two empty seats, next to them a woman dressed in bright greens and yellows, and a large man dressed in a simple plaid shirt. Meanwhile, Mead stood behind Michael’s chair, not even bothering to pretend to eat.
“I didn’t know that I could refuse,” you said. At this, the unnamed man chuckled, and the brightly dressed woman smiled at you.
“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint us with your wit,” Michael continued, unfazed. “Do come and sit, your food is coming soon.” A moment passed, and you realized that he meant for you to sit next to him.
“I don’t know that I’m hungry,” you told him.
“But of course,” he said with complete ease.. “How could you ever find your appetite after those cubes in the outpost? But this food is real, I must insist you indulge yourself.” Seeing there was no tactical way to make him relent, you climbed the platform step and sat yourself next to him. Your companions to your right were quick to introduce themselves to you.
“Glad to have you,” grunted the man in plaid. “The name is Roger Richards. I’m the unit planner for the Sanctuary. I design the infrastructure.” You inclined your head.
“So you designed these skylights?” you asked. He nodded. “They’re wonderful.” His eyes glittered with pride.
“They’re actually pretty basic in design,” he said. “I just thought that these people would need some sunlight.”
“Roger loves to be modest,” tittered the woman next to him. “I’m Phoebe, I’m the overseer of agriculture. I heard from Langdon you tried one of our apples already?” Your stomach crawled at the memory of the poison coursing through you. You forced on a weak smile.
“Oh yes,” you said. “It was such a relief to have a taste of the world before.”
“Well,” she smiled. “Then you will like the Sanctuary.” At this, you couldn’t force yourself to agree. So you smiled again, and pretended to turn your focus to the food you had no stomach for. Your gaze kept flicking to Michael next to you, happily digging into his breakfast. You wanted to smack the cutlery out of his hands.
“Josephine is Head of Operations,” he said without looking at you. “She sees all of the in-between and nitty gritty of the Sanctuary. She also oversees the nursery.”
“Who’s the little one?” You asked him, stomach churning while looking at the painfully oblivious little girl.
“Rebecca, she’s a rescue. Are you going to eat?”
“I told you,” you said. “I’m not hungry. What do you mean ‘rescue’?”
“She’s a survivor from the nuclear wastelands,” he told you. “An orphan from the fallout. Now she sits as a symbol of hope for us all. Isn’t that inspiring?”
“Hope,” you repeated, too tired to laugh at the suggestion. “Just what kind of a sick game are you playing with these people?”
“All in due time, Miss Y/L/N,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to spoil it too early.” Then his gaze flitted to a man approaching the table, dressed in black robes. Your heart leapt a moment, mistaking it for Satanic attire. Once your panic subsided, you looked closer and realized with dread that rather than the anarchic black and red of the Satanists, this man donned a familiar vestment of black and white… he couldn’t be…
“Ah,” Michael smiled. “Father de Flores, good morning.” You looked at Michael in shock. “This is Y/N Y/L/N.”
“Of course,” said de Flores. “It is my pleasure to meet you at last.” You opened your mouth to speak, to scream, anything to warn this man of the demon in his midst. Michael clamped his hand on your shoulder, purposefully grazing a finger over some exposed skin on the nape of your neck. The sting of his touch was enough to shut you up. You could only nod as the man took his seat next to you.
Michael removed his hand, and you watched as he flexed his fingers in pain. A moment invisible to all but you. He lifted his eyes to meet your accusing gaze.
“Oh angel,” he whispered the nickname for only you to hear, before speaking again at full volume. “You really must see the chapel that Richards designed. It is truly something to behold.”
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVI)
Summary: It's all led to this, and now, you have to face off against Michael to get your world back.
Word Count: 6.3k
A note from the author: This chapter is so, so dark. Sorry? Also, this chapter relies a lot on the she/her pronouns this story was first started with btw. (more notes at the end)
I noticed when posting this that it looks like the previous chapter didn't load a lot of tags. If you got tagged in this and are like "wait how did we get to the fight already?" you missed the last chapter! Click on the Mad Love Masterlist to read Chapter 35. :)
Content warnings for this chapter include graphic depictions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised.
Mad Love Masterlist
Mallory warned you prior to leaving your room that the residents of Outpost 3 were all dead, murdered at the hands of Ms. Venable and her poisoned apples (you try not to dwell on your own poisoned apple experience). All the preparation in the world doesn’t prepare you for the shock of seeing two dead bodies, those of Coco and Dinah, in the large foyer of the Outpost. Shock turns to revulsion as one of Mallory’s friends and other witches yanks a knife out of Coco’s skull with little more than a wince. When she stands, she points the knife at you.
“She gonna help us?” she asks warily.
“She is.” Mallory turns to you, pointing first to the woman with the knife and next to another woman standing near the stairs. “This is Queenie and Zoe.”
You wave sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet you two.”
Zoe smiles kindly, but Queenie just appraises you with a look that says she doesn’t trust you. You can’t say that you blame her, though you wish she didn’t have a reason for this reaction. Mallory leaves your side to kneel in between the two dead women, and you watch as she takes a deep breath and breathes out onto Coco’s face before repeating her movements with Dinah.
It takes mere seconds for the two to shoot up, gasping for air and trying to get used to once again inhabiting a body.
“Welcome back,” Mallory says.
“What just happened?” Coco asks, her elaborate hairdo impressively staying put after all of that.
“You died. And now, you’re no longer dead.”
“Oh.” She frowns, rubbing at the spot where a knife sat moments ago. “Fuck, that sucked.”
“Are you going to explain why you tore us from our afterlives?” Dinah snaps, standing up.
“It’s time to fix this entire mess. To defeat Michael, we need all the help we can get.” Mallory eyes Dinah specifically. “From both of you.”
“You’re on your own with that shit,” Dinah declares. “I’m not here to defeat anyone.”
Maybe it’s not your place, but you feel like you can help to convince Dinah. You take a step toward here. “Please, I really think that—”
“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” A voice, so familiar to you that it could be your own, comes from the stairs.
You almost don’t want to look at him. If you don’t, maybe you can remain in this stasis where you’re simply preparing to undo the apocalypse, instead of being faced with the reality that you’re about to fight your own husband, the man who, despite all of the horrors he’s committed, remains your love. When you do tear your eyes away from Dinah, you see that he’s not even taking notice of your presence. No, he only has hate-filled eyes for the Supreme.
Michael’s changed into a blood-red jacket, which makes it obvious that he was expecting this showdown to happen. Ms. Mead stands off to his left side, ever the small, imposing bodyguard. Mallory steps forward, along with most of the group. You can’t bring your feet to move, so you remain back with Dinah.
“You haven’t won,” Mallory says.
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world.”
Queenie scoffs. “At least the world can be saved. Unlike your bitch ass.”
Michael smirks proudly. “The seventh seal has been broken. Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers to blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity. The world has been remade in my father’s image.”
When he speaks like this, of biblical imagery and prophecy, he turns into a person you don’t care to know. He turns into the Antichrist.
“Almost.” Mallory smiles. “Pretty sure he didn’t imagine a world where there were still witches, so you failed there.”
Michael finally takes in the full group, and his haughty demeanor falters when he sees you. Softly, he utters your name. “What are you doing?”
You swallow thickly, willing your voice not to shake. “I think you know.”
“I do. You’re going to betray me?
Mallory tries to grab your arm as you move in front of her, but you can’t be stopped now. “This is not betrayal. I’m doing this because I love you, and I can’t bear to be faced with the monster that you’ve become any longer. Now, we have a chance to save the world, Michael. Help me undo this mess.”
“Michael,” Mallory gets his attention once more. “Your father never commanded you to end the world in this way. Jeff and Mutt, the two that ran Kineros, were the ones who thought a nuclear apocalypse was the solution. They controlled Ms. Mead and gave her the commands to tell you that this was Satan’s plan. Satan was just happy to take credit when he realized that you were going to cause anarchy.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Michael says.
“Is it? They told me so themselves, when I went to Kineros to ensure that Coco would be in this Outpost.”
He rolls his eyes. “This is such an obvious lie, I’m a little offended that you would think I’d fall for it. Right, Ms. Mead?”
Michael looks to his left, expecting to be backed up, only to see Ms. Mead with a look of bewildered shame on her face.
“Ms. Mead?”
“They—I do as I’m programmed,” she stutters.
You gasp at the revelation. Satan didn’t come up with the plan to end the world like this? All of this could have been avoided?
Instead of being faced with the same reckoning, a look of absolute murder appears on his face. “I’m going to do what I should have done that day in the Murder House and kill you all personally.”
“Mallory,” Dinah calls, walking towards the Supreme. “You raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side. But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”
She comes to a stop just before the stairs, bowing her head respectfully. Michael raises a hand out to her, ready to welcome another acolyte. You throw Mallory a panicked look, but she’s barely holding back glee.
“You’re half-right, Dinah,” she admits.
“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen,” a deep Southern voice says. You turn and watch as a tall woman with long braids struts up to Dinah. “But that ain’t you, sis .”
“The former Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau,” Mallory whispers into your ear.
“To release me from hell, Mallory promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”
“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah spits. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”
“No!” Marie says, before disappearing in a puff.
Not even a second later, she reappears behind Dinah wielding a machete. When Dinah turns to face her, Marie brings the machete down in one swing on her throat. Dinah gasps and screams as blood begins to gush out of her neck, falling to the floor and bleeding out in a matter of seconds. Nobody else seems to be affected by this, but you feel a little faint, and you hold onto Mallory’s arm to keep from collapsing.
“Out with the trash!” Marie declares. “Give Papa my regards.”
Michael, apparently having enough of this, nods to Ms. Mead. The android removes her hand to reveal a machine gun hidden underneath it. Though you want to say something along the lines of, “What the actual fuck?” Zoe says a word in what you assume to be Latin before you can.
Instead of shooting, Ms. Mead begins to shake and whir mechanically. Mallory uses Michael’s confusion to usher everybody back towards the open fire, where you watch as Ms. Mead explodes and sends Michael flying over the railing. He lands harshly on the floor below, staring in horror at Ms. Mead’s head next to him.
It’s only a matter of time until his horror turns to rage, and Queenie scrambles forward to grab Ms. Mead’s machine gun hand. When Michael rises, she rises with him, gun trained on his chest.
“Sorry about your little toy,” Queenie says before placing her finger on the trigger.
Michael turns to be met with a firestorm of bullets, more than enough to kill even the Antichrist. You scream in horror at the sight, his blood spattering against the wall as he falls and comes to rest against it, very obviously dead.
“Michael!” You try to stand, wanting to save him even though he probably (definitely) deserves what’s just happened to him. Before you can, Mallory pulls you to her.
“This won’t keep him down,” she assures you. “He’s too powerful to be truly killed. But this will buy us time.”
Though you don’t know if you believe her, you need to in order to keep from emotionally collapsing, so you nod.
Queenie walks to Michael’s body, kicking his foot as she checks to make sure he’s dead…for now, at least. “Do we need his hair or something for this? Because I’m more than happy to rip off a chunk of it.”
“No. The spell only requires that we have something personal of his.” Mallory smiles at you. “And we have the most important person in his life here with us. As long as you’re still in?”
You force yourself to look away from Michael, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths to recenter yourself. Finally, you look at her again. “Of course, I’m still in.”
“Good. Have you picked a time that will work to stop him?”
“I think so,” you confirm. After some internal deliberation, you think that the best way to get through to him is going to be when you had the big fight about the poisoned apple, before you stormed out and got yourself kidnapped by the witches. He wasn’t too powerful or too far gone with his father’s plan yet, but you were both in love with each other—albeit, you hadn’t actually realized it at that point.
“Alright. I’ll need you to focus on that, okay? Then I’ll say the spell, and we’ll be able to go back in time. We just need somewhere safe to cast the spell, somewhere with a large tub we can fill with water.”
You definitely found a room like that when you were exploring the Outpost your first couple of days here. “Okay. Follow me.”
Everybody stands, but hesitates when they remember the issue of Michael. If he’s going to come back to life like Mallory says, shouldn’t there be some safety measure in place to buy you more time?
Queenie sighs and rolls her eyes, realizing that she should probably be that safety measure. “Go,” she urges, readjusting her grip on the gun to ensure she’ll be quick to the trigger when Michael rises again.
Mallory darts forward to hug her quickly. “Thank you.”
“Enough with the sappy shit.” Even as she says that, you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks at Mallory. “Go!”
You do as she says and hurry up the stairs. Before you turn the corner, you allow yourself a moment to meet Michael’s open, lifeless gaze.
The hallways are much less of a maze than they were when you first arrived here, but the layout is still unfamiliar to you. After leading your group down what you thought was going to lead to the door you were sure contained the room with the tub, you’re met with a dead end.
Sheepishly, you look over your shoulder at Coco. “I think I’m a little lost. Isn’t there a room with a really large washtub for laundry around here?”
Her eyes light up, and she lightly pushes you to keep you moving. “Yes! We’re super close.” It’s going to take a bit to get used to her actually being helpful, you think as you follow her directions. “We’re going to go down this hallway here. Now, the weird little junction up ahead? Take a left and then it’s the third door on the right.”
Now you know where you are. “Thank you! I found it my first time going through the Outpost, but I haven’t lived here for eighteen months like you.”
You’re just about to turn left at the junction when a man appears from the other side of the hallway, jabbing a knife into your abdomen before you can even be surprised at the sight. You cry out, the pain sharp and sudden as he pulls the knife out of you with nothing but malice on his face. When he looks up at you, his scowl is replaced by a horrified shock.
“Oh my god, I thought you were—” He sees Coco, standing just behind you. “She was supposed to be you !”
Your shaking hands try to press down on the wound, but blood rushes out through your fingers, and your knees go weak as you crash into the wall. Down the hall, you can hear Mallory scream your name. She runs for you with Zoe hot on her heels.
“What the fuck did you do?” Mallory yells to the man, landing next to you on the floor and gently pulling your hands away so that she can assess the damage. By the way her lips start to tremble, you assume it’s not good.
The man that stabbed you ignores her, instead focusing on Coco. “You ruin everything!” he yells at her, lifting the knife once more.
Coco pushes him over the railing before he can do any more damage. He screams the whole way down, and Coco peers after him. “Sorry?” she calls with a grimace, no love apparently lost.
“This is…a lot of blood,” you note, watching your black dress becoming even darker from the rapidly expanding bloodstain. You’re also in a lot of pain. Fuck, you didn’t think being stabbed would hurt so much.
“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Mallory soothes; you can’t tell who she’s reassuring, herself or you. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to—I’ll heal you, and then you’ll be fine.”
Your heart is pounding from a mixture of fear and adrenaline. For the first time since your arrival to this Outpost, you’re truly scared. This is a different fear from when you were worried about Emily and Timothy being executed, or when you realized that Michael wanted to have a child with you. It’s even different from the fear of knowing that you and Michael would be on opposing sides now. This is primal—this is terror.
Mallory’s hands hover over your abdomen as she begins to chant in Latin, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Nothing happens, and as the seconds tick by, your entire body starts to go cold. It’s like somebody’s taken a syringe of ice water and injected it right into your veins. You become more faint than before, and decide that laying flat will probably be the best way to rid yourself of this feeling.
“Why isn’t this working?” Mallory cries in frustration, catching your head and placing it in her lap. Tears begin to build in her eyes as she tries the same breathing technique on you as she did Coco and Dinah to bring them back to life, to no avail. You cough wetly, and when you wipe your mouth, your hand comes away red.
The realization hits you then: you’re dying. The overpowering cold, being unable to sit up anymore, the faintness—your body is beginning to shut down against your will.
“Mallory, I’m scared,” you admit.
“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’m trying.”
“I know.” You smile at the repetition even as you begin to feel so, so tired. Maybe if you close your eyes and rest for a moment, you’ll be able to get enough strength back to help you fight to stay alive.
Your eyes barely close before Mallory starts shaking you. “No, no, please don’t close your eyes!”
Marie Laveau appears at the far end of the hallway you first ran down and yells something to Mallory, but you can’t quite make out what she says over the rushing in your ears. Mallory takes one of your arms and Zoe takes the other, both working together to pull you down the hallway. You watch dizzily as Coco runs to Marie, your vision warping as the two disappear around the corner.
Mallory continues trying to heal you once they have you in the room where you’re meant to go back in time. Her hand, soaked in your blood, runs over your forehead comfortingly as she becomes more frantic in her chanting. Even Zoe tries to help, pressing down on your abdomen in the hopes of slowing the bleeding as she joins Mallory in spellwork. It’s becoming more difficult to hold on as you become weaker, the two taking turns making you open your eyes again.
“Please, please, please,” Mallory begs any and all forces beyond her power that might be listening.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, the effort to produce sounds near herculean.
“Don’t apologize,” she says sternly through tears, earning the smallest of laughs from you.
“Yes, ma’am.” Your hands shake as you feel around for Mallory’s, and you weakly squeeze when you find them. “I love you, Mal. I’m so happy I got to see you again.”
“Stop saying goodbye. I’m going to bring you back, this isn’t goodbye.”
For now, though, it is, and you both know it. When your eyes close this time, they don’t open again, and you feel yourself being dragged down, down, down, away from consciousness and life itself.
With your last remaining strength, you become introspective. You have so many regrets, so many words that you’re going to leave unsaid. You wish you had gotten the chance to actually complete the spell and go back in time, sure that you would have been able to change Michael’s mind. You want to thank Queenie and Zoe and Coco and Marie for their help, for believing that you can help fix the mess the world has become. You wish you could—
•••
Michael has had enough of witches on this Earth, he thinks as he blows Queenie’s head clean off her shoulders after coming back to life. She had been distracted by a body falling from two floors up—whose body it was remained a mystery that Michael didn’t care to solve—providing Michael the element of surprise. Even if she were still prepared, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s too powerful for anything to stop him now.
Maybe he was naive to believe that a simple nuclear bomb or two could kill them. No, he was definitely naive. After all, Mallory knew that the world would be ending, and soon. That was more than enough time for her to gather her chosen forces and figure out a way to survive. He knows now that his path, the one that Satan had created before he had even created Michael, was always meant to lead to this. In order to truly inherit this new world and rule Hell on Earth, he must eradicate the remaining witches with his own hands.
But what to do with you? You’ve chosen your side for this battle, and it’s not his. He nervously hopes that you’re simply mad at him after how your last conversation devolved into a fight, that Mallory reached you at a vulnerable time and used that to her advantage to recruit you. Once he defeats the witches, you’ll come back to him and he’ll concede that he was perhaps wrong to bring up the idea of having a child at such an intimate moment. Still, seeing you standing in solidarity with the witches hurt, which is likely what the Supreme was planning.
When Michael makes it up the stairs, the reanimated voodoo queen blocks the hallway that he knows you and the witches have gone down. Grabbing a pouch off of her belt, she pours a powder into her hand and spreads it in a line in front of her with a chant.
“You shall not pass,” Marie declares with a smirk, wiping her hands of the powder. Michael juts his hand forward, prepared to rip her heart out of her chest, but an invisible barrier stops him. “You’re dealing with the HBIC now.”
He smiles ruefully. “Clever,” he admits. “Normally, that would work.”
He’s about to show that voodoo magic is no match for him anymore when his blood runs cold and his heart drops. At that same moment, he becomes aware of sobbing coming from far behind Marie. Though Michael’s never felt anything like this before, he can feel the certainty of what it means down to his very core: something’s happened. Specifically, something’s happened to you.
“Let me through,” he demands. Marie falters, taken aback at the fear in his eyes. “Marie Laveau, if you value your second chance at life you’ll let me through.”
She recovers from her hesitation with a haughty laugh. “Nice try.”
Michael makes quick work of her with a simple snap of his fingers, snapping her neck and sending her right back to the Underworld. He’s just about to clear the barrier and figure out just what is going on when he feels a presence behind him. Rolling his eyes, he turns around to face this distraction as well and comes face to face with Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, who was with you when he was shot. Surely she must know something about what’s going on.
“What’s happened?” Michael asks. The knife that Coco was prepared to stab him with goes limp in her wrist, and she gapes at him. “Where’s Y/n?”
“She was…Brock…” She weakly mimes a stabbing motion.
“No.” He feels sick at the mere implication. “No!”
Coco now the least of his worries, he runs down the hallway, the whole time hoping that it’s a mistake, that Coco misinterpreted what she saw, that the cold emptiness now residing in his chest is simply a fluke. The sobs that become more clear as he nears the entryway, however, don’t do much to reassure him.
“Mallory!” Michael gasps.
The Supreme is on the floor with you in her lap, and for a moment, Michael can delude himself into thinking that you’re okay. The excessive amount of blood on the floor—your blood—and the unnaturally limp way that your hand is lying force him to face the obvious. Michael’s knees give out, and he falls to the floor harshly.
Mallory looks up at him, forgetting that they’re meant to be enemies right now. “She got stabbed, and—” a sob rips from her chest, “my healing spells aren’t working. And neither is Vitalum Vitalis. It should be working, Michael, I’m the fucking Supreme.”
“Okay. Um, let me…” Michael’s brain is fighting a war between shutting down from the agony of this situation and kicking into overdrive to figure out how to get you back. After a moment, he thinks he might have an idea. He tries to pull you out of Mallory’s arms and into his own, but she refuses to loosen her hold on you. “Mallory, I need to hold her.”
While he does need to be able to touch you for the spell, he’s not really asking for that purpose. He feels that he might soon lose his grasp on sanity if he can’t hold your body. No, he needs you as close to him as possible, to try and capture the warmth of your body so that he might remind himself that you’ve only just left, that he can still get you back. Begrudgingly, Mallory allows him to hold you, but she still keeps one of your hands in hers.
He’d like to say that it looks like you’re sleeping, comforting himself with the platitude most mourners claim upon seeing a body. He’d be lying, though, because he knows what you look like when you’re sleeping. The way that your face scrunches at the smallest sensation, how your eyes move under their lids and your mouth forms silent words when you’re dreaming particularly deeply, the intermittent light snoring that you swear you don’t do. If you were simply sleeping, he’d play the prince to your Sleeping Beauty and wake you with a kiss, revealing your amused smile and your fond gaze.
Now, there’s none of that. You’ve been dead for mere minutes, but already the signs of death are here. Your face is as slack as all of your muscles now are, making your cheekbones more prominent and your mouth hinge slightly open. A sallowness has started to take over your skin, and he finds himself tracing the apples of your cheeks in a futile attempt to coax blood back to the surface. He even swears that he can feel your body growing colder, just like he feared.
It takes Michael some time to remember what he’s meant to be doing. All of this grief and pain will hopefully be for nothing, so long as he can hold himself together for a little bit longer. He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before dropping his forehead against yours. Tears are threatening to fall, and when he closes his eyes to try and hold them back, it only hastens their arrival. They roll, hot and thick, off of his face and onto yours, and he wipes them off with a silent apology.
Finally, Michael slips into a dissociation as he begins to walk between the realms of living and dead. He’s done this more than a few times now for varying reasons, becoming pretty adept at finding a soul and bringing it back to the living plane. The hardest part by far is always calming his mind enough to be able to attempt this in the first place; the fact that he’s been able to achieve it in this circumstance is a small miracle.
Now that he’s in the so-called in-between, he begins his search. Every single soul has a signature to it, so as long as he knows who he’s looking for, he usually finds the rest of this process to be pretty straightforward. Since your soul is so near and dear to him, he’s expecting this to take a couple of minutes at most.
A minute passes, then another, as he tries to track your soul down. Michael begins to grow concerned; considering you just died, he shouldn’t be having to search this hard. There’s a complete lack of you anywhere, and he begins to shake as he’s faced with the increasingly likely potential that your soul is gone. But how? Why? With a chilling clarity, he knows exactly what’s happened.
His father has become displeased. Whether he’s had enough of your and Michael’s collective disobedience over the years—Satan holds a grudge like no other, after all—or your declaration that you would never bear Michael’s child or be the perfect wife that Satan had planned for you to be. He’s had enough, and now, he’s taken this opportunity to make good on the threats he first warned Michael about during the poison apple saga. He’s made sure that you’re out of the picture for good. If Michael knows Satan, he’s probably already picked out some girl back at the Sanctuary to be wife number two, and this time, she would be the most devout, demure Satanist who would never even think of going against Satan’s will.
But Michael doesn’t want another wife. No, what he wants is to lay here on the floor and die right along with you, following you into whatever afterlife you’ve found yourself in in the hopes that he can continue to love you there. How can he ever be expected to love another person that’s not you? What kind of a life is there for him to live if you’re not here to share in it?
“Is everything okay?” Mallory asks, reminding him that there’s another person in this room, one who’s going to feel her own devastation at this news.
“I can’t find her. My father…” He chokes on his own words, unable to actually say the fate that’s befallen you. Instead, he can only cry.
Mallory picks up on the context clues, and her face drops. “So that’s it? She’s gone?”
The nod Michael gives her is the most painful movement of his life. When Mallory collapses, he also forgets the pretense of enemies and allows her to fall against him. It’s mainly for his own benefit—were he not using Mallory for support, he would be in a heap on top of you.
They remain without words for a while. Distantly, he’s aware of Zoe talking to Coco down that damned hall, the two wondering what to do now. He hopes that they come up with an answer, because he has no clue. In his opinion, there’s nowhere else to go from here. Though he may not have physically died, his life has ended along with yours in this room.
“Were you telling the truth?” Michael asks finally, making Mallory look up. “About Jeff and Mutt?”
He almost doesn’t want to know, but before he can change his mind, she nods. “All they cared about were themselves. They were fed up with minor inconveniences—having to wait for coffee, traffic woes—and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean.’ They thought that they could reshape the world to how they wanted, and they used a vulnerable Antichrist to do so. Ms. Mead changed her tune from magic to fire and blood because Jeff and Mutt were feeding her the commands.”
He so badly wants her to be lying, but even if he couldn’t sense her truthfulness, he has his own memories to rely on. How suddenly Ms. Mead suggested that world destruction was preferred to world domination (and that the two cokehead idiots would be the guys to talk to about that) had always seemed a little odd to him, but he simply went along with it, believing Ms. Mead to still be his trusted advisor. This revelation simply makes Michael cry harder until he’s almost matching Mallory’s earlier sobs. She puts her free hand on his shoulder in comfort. Though he appreciates the gesture, nothing can bring him comfort.
All of this pain and death and destruction has been for naught. Michael spent years chasing his father’s approval and doing terrible things, things that made him so sick to think about that he forced himself to compartmentalize them in order to not drown in his shame. He’s shirked friends, love, and basic morals, only to find out that his father didn’t even care if the world ended this way. No, all Satan wanted was power and sin, which he got in spades these past eighteen months.
“How were you going to stop me?” he asks.
Mallory hesitates. “We…we were going to go back in time. There’s a spell that I found when searching through the coven’s grimoires to help with your Cordelia issue. I practiced it a few times before the bombs dropped, trying to figure out the right way to do it. Y/n was going to be both your personal tie and the one convincing you to stop the apocalypse. She had a time in place where she thought that you would be most willing to listen, to change your mind.”
It’s a smart plan, and it probably would have worked. After all, you likely know (knew, he’s reminded harshly) him better than he knows himself. As he thinks about the what-ifs, Michael realizes that this doesn’t have to be something that never happens.
“So, if you and I were to go back in time together, then we could change all of this?” Michael asks.
Mallory gapes at him. “You’re willing to give all this up?”
“What, this empty, decimated kingdom that I don’t even want?”
In the eighteen months since the apocalypse, Michael had found that he was not suited for being a ruler—he didn’t like the pomp and circumstance, nor did he like people fawning over him. Still, he pretended to be the cold, uncaring king of this “New World,” because he thought that was what Satan wanted, that he was fulfilling the destiny that he was born to.
Now, there’s nothing left to fight for. The world didn’t even need to be ended, let alone in this way. He’s been nothing but a pawn to people his whole life—the Satanists, the warlocks, the stupid fucks that ran Kineros, even Satan himself. He’s done. Done with this stupid, useless path he’s taken, done with hurting everything and everyone, and done with bowing to the whims of anybody.
After all, what has he got to show for any of this? He’s been a good little soldier, doing unspeakably horrific acts and acting like he wasn’t affected, like he wasn’t the Michael that he was before the apocalypse. How did Satan reward him? By ensuring that he would never get back the one person in his life that he has ever truly loved, and who had ever truly loved him.
“I can’t—I can’t live a life without Y/n. There is nothing without her. What do I need to do to help you?”
“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me that you will not use this second chance to end the world once again.”
“I just found out I ended the world for no reason, Mallory. A world that I was slowly coming to love, before Cordelia informed me that I needed to speed up the apocalypse plans I had been led to believe were created by my father. Before I was upset by people trying to convince me that blowing everything up was a bad idea.” Because of course, Satan would take credit for those plans if it meant that he would be closer to getting the complete chaos it would create. “Why would I try to end it again?”
Mallory searches his face for a moment before nodding. “I believe you.”
She’s known him for long enough now to know his tells, and she sees none of them. Right now, he’s too much of a wreck to even consider trying to lie, not that he was planning on it.
Mallory slowly stands, but not before kissing the back of your hand and laying it gently on your chest. “Come on.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers to you, kissing your forehead. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to make this right.”
It takes strength he didn’t know he possessed to lay you down and let go of your body. Even as he walks away, going against every instinct and leaving you on the floor, he can’t take his eyes off of you.
Mallory climbs into the large washtub in the corner of the room, flicking her wrist and filling it with water. Michael follows her in, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of sitting in wet clothes.
“Think of a time that you believe it will be easiest to completely stop the apocalypse before it goes too far,” she instructs.
There are many times in the past two years that Michael can see as a good time to stop the apocalypse. First, he’s tempted to go back to the beginning of this mess, when the witches killed Ms. Mead. Plans for the end of the world hadn’t even been drawn up yet, and he would have the added benefit of having Ms. Mead back. Plus, you wouldn’t have gone through the trauma of being kidnapped and forced to be the Antichrist’s bride.
It’s incredibly selfish, but the more Michael thinks about that avenue, the less he wants to take it. While it’s unfortunate how you came to know each other, he wouldn’t trade the way that you and he fell in love with each other for anything. But on the practical side, he wouldn’t have the influence that he has over important people and organizations were he to go back that far, and he needs that if he’s going to have enough power to keep the world from ending altogether. That’s off the table, then.
He wishes that you had told Mallory of your idea before being fatally wounded, because he probably would have agreed with your assessment. If it was any time after you moved in with him, he was already so in love with you that he could easily be swayed. What makes the most sense?
Finally, Michael has it. The time where he can be most effective at changing the fate of the world and ensuring there will not be an apocalypse by his hand, can remain powerful enough to not be usurped as Antichrist (for he’s sure that Satan will be very displeased by the change of plans if he finds out about Michael changing fate), and can still have you.
He opens his eyes and nods. “I have it.”
“Okay,” Mallory says with a hopeful smile. “Focus on that as hard as you can, place us both there.”
It’s all he can think about now, but he does as she says and recreates that time in his head. The sights, the sounds, the smells. How your hand felt in his, and the brightness of your smile. The possibilities that, at that time, seemed endless. Mallory holds her hands out and Michael takes them, feeling their magic bouncing off of each other like sparks from two exposed wires.
“Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus.” Mallory repeats the chant two more times, the water bubbling around them furiously and turning darker with each word.
Michael knows even without Mallory’s instruction that he’s needed to say the last part of the spell, and what that last part is. Just before they submerge themselves under the water, their voices join together to cast the most important spell of their lives.
“Tempus Infinituum.”
•••
Endnotes: Wow. I thought this would be a particularly tough chapter to write, but as I got going, the story flowed easily. I think because I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long! My FBI agent is definitely concerned by how thoroughly I read those "what happens to a body after a person dies" articles.
ALSO the Jeff and Mutt thing is canon!
Anyways, I'm gonna go watch some cute animal videos to feel better. Take care of yourselves, alright?
