Title: Mine Is Forever

Fandom: American Horror Story

Pairing: Tate/Violet

Characters: Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon, Moira O'Hara, Leah

Rating: FR13

Disclaimer: American Horror Story belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and company. The lyrics belong to their respective owners (see the second author's note at the end of the story for further info.)

Prompts: Written for the third round of the AHS exchange.

Notes 1:This fic is very AU. For starters, I ignored the whole Tate getting Vivian pregnant storyline. As well, the story is roughly set between 1993 and 1994 with the Harmons having moved into the Murder House sometime before the story.

Notes 2: The title of the story comes from Hole's "Violet."

Summary: Tate learns the hard way that promises made to ghosts and houses don't really amount to much in the end.

Warnings: Although this fic doesn't contain anything that's not shown on the first season of AHS, I should mention that it does contain the following: implied drug use, sex between teenagers, suicide, one or two curse words

Word Count: 4336

That's what the water gave me

And time goes quicker

Between the two of us

She's standing on what she considers to be their beach, watching as the evening sun paints the waves in shades of gold and silver. She shivers in the chill night air but even the cold doesn't seem to shake the emptiness that she's feeling as she takes a step forward. The water rushes up, greeting her like a familiar friend as it wraps around her ankles.

She's doing this not to be closer to him but because everything's gone sour and she doesn't think that she can ever be that girl that she used to be. Who she used to be seems like a million miles away from this moment. She doesn't care what people will think about her or of how this one simple act will taint who she was and how she's remembered. Let the sheep think what they will, she's given up trying to change the tide.

* * *

Moonlight walking

I smell your softness

Carnivorous and lusting

To track you down among the pines

It's no secret to anyone that Violet Harmon's been in love with him for as long as anyone can remember. She's never been shy about it or hidden that fact from anyone, even him. He was always polite but it was clear that he didn't see her in that way. She was nothing more than the girl who lived in the house next to his, a house that his own family had once lived in.

And then one day it all changed. Violet could tell you that it was a Wednesday afternoon, that it was a hot and sticky June day when everything changed. She could tell you that she was at her locker, barely listening to what Leah had to say when she looked up and found Tate Langdon looking at her. If her life had been a television show or a movie, she would tell you that he had looked her like everything had finally clicked into place, that he had finally realized that he was in love with her just like she was in love with him.

However Violet lives in the real world. When she caught his eye in the middle of a crowded hallway at Westfield, the look in his eyes made her tremble. It wasn't a sweet or gentle emotion hidden in those dark eyes of his. When he looked at her, it was as if he had wanted to devour her. The intensity of it all made her tremble and she couldn't help but feel as if everything that she had ever felt for him was juvenile and petty. There was no way she could ever feel a tenth of what he was displaying.

She can recall blinking her eyes and when she looked at him again, that raw hunger was gone, replaced by a mask. He had walked across the hall, pushing people out of his way, until he stood in front of her. Leah finally falling silent as Tate Langdon claimed Violet. He had grabbed her backpack and told Violet that he was walking her home. Leah had made some inarticulate noise that both Violet and Tate had ignored.

From that one moment, they were inseparable. Leah would tell Violet that it was inevitable. That, of course, Tate would finally reciprocate what Violet felt for him. She would wax on about how it was so romantic. Violet would never dissuade Leah from what she believed in but the truth was often hidden beneath baggy floral printed dresses and ugly cardigans that were two sizes too large for her.

You should learn when to go

You should learn how to say no

She's never been afraid of anything. Her psychiatrist father would probably label her with a disorder or three if he wasn't too busy screwing one or two of his pretty little students. Her mother is too drugged out on the pills her husband prescribes to care what goes on under her nose. Her family is destroyed by the fact that neither of their parents can let go, even after the death of the perfect baby that was supposed to bring them back together.

With Tate, Violet feels something akin to fear. It's hard to explain but she knows that she should say no, that she should pull away from him, that her love for him will never change him or heal him. By the time that she learns that Tate isn't quite complete, it's too late. She'd lost her heart to him far too long ago.

He never hurts her. He's gentle and sweet with her. But underneath the tenderness, Violet senses a level of violence that worries her. It doesn't scare her when he talks about purging the school. It doesn't scare her when he shows her the guns he's bought. Instead she lets him hide them in the attic of her house, even though she knows that if Tate tells her he plans on using them, he will.

Their relationship develops slowly over the summer of 1993. Every day, she unveils herself in front of him, shedding layer after layer of clothing until one day she's standing in front of him naked and Tate almost chokes on his breath. His kisses are gentle, but his fingers bite into her pale skin leaving bruises on her hips. She takes everything that he has to give all the while hoping that it's enough.

Violet's not afraid but she knows that what she gives him isn't enough. It'll never be enough for Tate.

* * *

Hold you down and tear you open

Live inside you

Oh, love I'd never hurt you

For the first time, Tate has something that he can call his own. Violet is his and only his. She's pure and sweet and innocent in all of the ways that he not. She thinks that he's only recently felt something for her. He lets her live with that lie. It's a such a simple thing to do .

The truth is that he's been aware of her, even before her family moved her to the house that he used to call home. And before that fateful day when he finally acted on what he felt for her, he'd sometimes creep into the house, silent as death itself, until he would stand over her bed. He's not sure how he felt about her being in his old bedroom. But he felt that it was important that he watch over her, that he kept the house and the ghosts at bay. She's far too fragile to fall victim to the house.

He wonders what she thought about the one word message that he left on the chalkboard in her room. Taint written on it the morning of the day he decided to make her his own for once and for all. She never said anything about it but he knows that she saw it. Even if she never questioned it.

When she finally stands in front of him naked and shy in the glow of the afternoon sun that streamed in through the window, he felt like he had won something. In his haste to take what she was offering him, his fingers bit into her pale skin. She whimpered but never once said no, even as he dug his fingers in harder and crueler, certain that he would draw blood if he pressed any harder.

The marks on her pale skin aren't intentional but he loves how she's marked. It makes it all the more real that she's his and his alone. He only wishes that she could hold him a little tighter, that she could stop the inevitable from happening. Even as he wishes for the impossible, he makes a deal with the house, with the ghosts, he'll sacrifice himself to save her.

* * *

I want a little bit

I want a piece of it

I think he's losing it.

The school year starts: everything is predictable and boring. Everyone is the same and Violet can't help but think how she's supposed to learn anything. She spends a lot of time, cutting classes, smoking in the girls' bathroom, thinking of Tate as she draws a line on her upper thigh with a razor blade she stole from her father's shaving kit.

She's not suicidal but the pain distracts her. It makes it easier for her to think. Tate's changing, he's not the same boy he was back in June. He's not even the same boy he was when they first had sex. He's pulling away even as he holds her tighter than ever before.

The days march by, leaving her worried and nauseated. Something is going to happen but she's not sure what.

(That is a lie. Violet knows what is coming, she knows what is going to happen. She just doesn't want to admit it to herself. But the clues are there in front of her, Tate's actions clumsily hidden from her sight. She could easily unravel all of his lies, she could easily confront him, she knows what he's plotting. However she knows that if she were to confront him, it'd only push him away. So she hides her head in the sand and hopes that someone will stop him before this all goes too far.)

* * *

I'm a killer

Cold and wrathful

Tate drops out of track. He stops caring about being the picture perfect son outside of the family home the day when his whore of a mother brings home her newest boyfriend to stay. Larry is a disgusting piece of filth. Tate fantasizes about killing him when he's hiding out in the basement of Violet's home when Larry and his mother have sex.

He thinks about purging the world of Larry and his whore Constance. He thinks about purging the world of his classmates. The world is a filthy and horrible place, he wants to set it ablaze and watch it burn down until nothing's left but him and Violet.

He decides that sooner than later, he will do what he wants to do. He'll start with Larry and end with his mother.

Problems do have solutions you know

A lifetime of fucking things up fixed

At first he thinks that he'll just end it. He can feel Violet pulling away. He sees the way that Leah looks at him, nervously biting her lower lip and he wonders what Violet's told her. But he knows that Violet's not like that. She's not some high school gossipy bitch who'd tell tales about him to her friends and parents. Yet he's seen the marks on her thighs, perfect angry red lines, drawn against her skin with a sharp razor blade.

He wants to tell her to stop doing that but that would mean they'd have to admit the problems between them. And he's far too much in love with her to admit that there's anything wrong. She's the only thing that gets him through every day.

The moments when they're wrapped up in an old purple quilt on her bed, the afternoon sun muted through the dusty windows of her bedroom (it used to be his) are the only moments when he feels any sort of peace. Her mother's spaced out on whatever prescription the good Dr. Harmon has written for her and Moira's quietly cleaning the house. Tate can almost pretend that things are normal, that he's not planning a massacre, that he doesn't hear the sickly sweet voice of the house whispering to him.

Everything comes to a head when Moira catches him sneaking out of the house late one night. Constance doesn't care where he is and Violet's parents are too wrapped up in their own petty problems to care what their only child does.

"What are you doing to that child?" Moira asks, her voice quiet but harsh.

Tate shrugs his shoulders in response. He could be trying to save himself as much as he's trying to pull Violet down. He's not really sure anymore.

"Why do you care?" Tate asks. "You're nothing more than a dried up corpse."

He knows the truth about her, he always has. The Harmons have no idea that their faithful maid is a ghost that's haunting them. Still it hurts him when she flinches at the truth of his words. Moira's always been kind to him, even after his mother killed her. (He didn't know that for the longest time but the house has told him of the multitude of sins his mother has committed.)

"You should leave her alone," Moira hisses. "She's alive."

"So am I," Tate points out.

"You have one foot in the grave."

"Fuck off Moira, go try to seduce Violet's father instead of telling me what I can and can't do."

He doesn't tell her to go away because he doesn't want her to. He doesn't want Moira to leave him and he knows that if he says those words, she'll never give him the time of day again.

"She's not as perfect as you think she is," Tate tells Moira. "She's tainted and impure."

"Don't make it worse," Moira tells him. "Let her be."

Tate shrugs before he leaves. It's not that easy. He's the only thing protecting her from the house. (The only thing protecting her from himself.) He knows that it's all spiraling out of control, faster than he can stop it.

* * *

I watched a change in you

It's like you never had wings

Now you feel so alive

I've watched you change

She's startled to wakefulness, she'd had been dreaming of Tate. Of him sitting in her room listening to old records together. Her eyes widen when she realizes that it's Tate standing over her. He's vibrating so much as he stands there dressed all in black and she knows, she knows, but she can't stop him. It's far too late.

She wants to ask him what he's done, what he's about to do, what he's high on but her tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. She's mute and dumb, powerless to do anything but lie there in her bed. She knows that this is the end.

"Don't go to school today," Tate orders. "Call up Leah and go anywhere but to Westfield."

"Tate," Violet manages to croak out.

The room is barely lit, it's early, she's not sure how early but the light in her room is grey and she feels as if she's suffocating, as if the house is pressing down on her and she knows suddenly that they're not the only ones in the room. There are others, others that are listening quietly to Tate's solemn words.

"No!" Tate shouts.

They both still, worried that his anger has awaken the rest of the house but when Tate breathes a sigh of relief, she knows that no one's heard his words. No one that has the power or the will to stop him.

"Stay away from school today," Tate orders again. "If you go, I won't be held responsible for what happens to you or that bitch you call friend."

He kneels down on the floor and presses his forehead against the mattress. Her hand moves until her fingers are tangled in his curls. She could stop this if she wanted to. But she doesn't. Even though she knows that he's higher than high, that he's not going to make it through whatever he plans on doing.

"Please," Tate begs her, his voice muffled.

"Alright," Violet promises.

He moves until he's lying on top of her but it's her hands that move their clothes. She pulls up her nightgown just enough before unbuttoning his pants. It's fast, painful and she gets no pleasure out of it but it seems to calm him down. For a moment, she thinks that she's won until he pulls away from her with guilt written on his face.

The time to stop has come and gone. She let it slip by and now all she can do is try to keep herself and Leah safe.

* * *

You are a dream amongst the sharks

Beautiful and terrifying

Living restless

He makes it back home and he prepares himself for the war. He leaves no note, no indication of what went wrong. Hours later, the police will paw through his possession and they won't find any clues as to why this had to happen. They won't think to look next door, they won't think to look at Violet or the house and to see how both have tormented him.

When it's time, he stands up and he makes his way to the bank where Larry works. His mother will live when he's finished but Larry doesn't deserve to live. The minute he walks into the bank, Tate ceases to think. He lets the house reach out it's long tentacles and he goes through the motions.

* * *

Come, doused in mud, soaked in bleach, as I want you to be

As a trend, as friend, as an old

The water is about mid-thigh when he's there pulling her out of the ocean, pulling her away from her escape.

"How?"

He doesn't answer her. He just stands there, hanging his head in shame. She screams at him, her words are inarticulate as she screams until her throat is raw. She punches and kicks him until they fall to the sand and still he doesn't fight her or speak. When all of her energy is spent, he wraps his arms around her, holding her close as she cries. She hates him for what he's done, she hates herself for letting it get this far.

"I hate you," Violet says.

"I love you,' Tate tells her.

He tells her that he loves her as his lips press against her collarbone. He tells her that he loves her when she slaps him. He tells her that he loves her over and over again until the dawn finds them on the beach.

He helps her to stand and he leads her back to the house. She hates the fact that he died in her room. That he had lead the police to the sanctity of her bedroom and that he was shot to death on her bed. Even Moira can't get the blood off of her floor.

She doesn't fight him as he guides her through the door and up the stairs. She lets him take her to her old bedroom. She doesn't see the dust or the stains, all she sees is her bedroom like it was one June morning before everything turned sour.

* * *

You're a ghost, love

Nightgown flowing

Your body blue and walking

"She doesn't know," Tate tells Moira.

"She'll find out sooner than later, they always do."

"Nora doesn't know," Tate says.

"On some level she does, she knows the truth about herself, about this house."

"How will she know when her fucking parents interact with her like nothing ever happened?"

Moira shrugs before turning away to her cleaning supplies of vinegar and beeswax. It makes him angry, she never has the answers that he desperately needs.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, I made a deal with the house. Me for her."

Moira laughs, it's a quiet and bitter laugh. "This house doesn't make deals with anyone, you should know that by now."

"It was supposed to be me for her," Tate repeats.

Moira raises her hand as if she's going to touch him. Instead they stand there frozen before her hand falls to her side. He knows the house far better than he used to, he knows the truth in Moira's words. The house never intended on letting Violet go. Not now, not ever. She's as stuck as the rest of them are.

* * *

Burning in your throat

Making you choke

Making you sigh

Sigh in tiny deaths

Tate finds her in the attic. The room is full of dust and the light from the sun is dim. She plays ball with the ghost of his dead brother. Beauregard was the first ghost she got to know in the house. He's the only one who doesn't give her the creeps. Tate's brother takes delight in the simplest of things. Beauregard is unlike Addie or Tate and it makes Violet wonder how someone so simple and happy could have sprung from Constance's loins.

Tate sighs when he sinks down beside Violet. His brother claps his hand and rolls his bright red ball towards Tate. Violet has nothing to say to Tate. For some reason she's angry at him even though she can't remember why. She knows that if she doesn't hang onto that anger, that eventually he'll take her by the hand and lead her down the stairs to her (his) bedroom and once they're there, she'll let him make love to her. Violet scrunches her noise at her thoughts: what she does with Tate isn't about love. Not when he never admits to her how he feels about her.

They stay there like that all day long: Tate and Violet at one side of the room and Beauregard at the other side. The only noise is the passage of the red ball as the three of them play the game of rolling it back and forth. Soon Violet makes up rules for the game in her head that have nothing to do with reality.

If she catches it before Tate then she's right and he's a liar. If he catches it before her, then she's wrong and he tells her truth all of the time. If she catches it before he does, then he loves her more than she loves him. If he catches, then it's the reverse. And so on, the rules become so complex that she doesn't even understand it anymore. When Tate eventually shakes her shoulder, she feels like she's been cooped up in the attic, breathing in decades of dust and death for a week.

* * *

It hurts to set you free

But you'll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft tears

The end of nights we tried to die

"I don't know how I could've been so ignorant about myself, so ... so stupid. And you know what I am talking about, don't you?"

Her words are soft and he almost doesn't hear them. He doesn't say anything as he stands in the doorway of the bedroom that they have each called their own.

"You knew before I did, didn't you?"

Her words are like accusations even though her death is not his fault. Tate sighs as he enters the room. She is sitting on the bed, forever frozen at the age of sixteen, dressed in a faded floral dress with a mustard yellow cardigan that might have been his once upon a time. He looks away from her when his eyes fill with tears.

"Why are you crying?"

He can't answer her because he has no way of telling her the truth. He has no desire to tell her the truth. It's as if his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, he couldn't tell her even if he tried. She looks at him and then looks away before pulling her knees up to her chest. She wraps her arms around her knees, looking so lost and alone. He can't help but wonder if she is afraid now that she knows the truth. She's dead. She's been dead for years. For nearly two decades. And he never once told her the truth.

"Why are you crying?" Violet asks. Her voice is angry and sad at the same time. "Don't you know?"

"Yes I know exactly," Tate finally says, his voice quiet.

He doesn't ask her if she knows why nor does he elaborate. He cries for their lost innocence, for the house that has become their tomb. He cries mainly for her.

* * *

There's catastrophe

In everything I'm touching

As I sweat and crush you

He had been too far gone that morning when he had made his way up to her room. He hadn't noticed that her bed was empty when he crossed over the threshold, that her form only materialized when he stepped closer to the bed.

A long time ago, Tate had made a promise to the house. He had made a promise to be Nora's perfect little boy, he would never grow up, he would never age. In return she would be his mother. Yet he grew up, he aged and Nora never once forgave him for it. In return, the house never forgave him for it. It conspired against him, it grew tired of Constance and her attempts to manipulate it. It wanted a new family, one that would bleed for it.

When Tate entered the house that morning in the pearly grey light of the hour just before dawn, he was entering a charnel house. Mother and daughter had been killed by a group of obsessed intruders who wanted to relive a murder in the house. When he walked into Violet's room, it was her ghost who pulled him down onto her. It was her ghost who he told to stay away from the school.

He was so far gone that he never tasted death on her lips when he kissed her. The house stood ready, waiting for him to come back to it's cruel embrace. He had broken his innocent promise as a child but the house still wanted him even if Nora didn't. When he died on the floor of his old room, what was now her room, he realized that she was dead when he saw her ghost in the corner of the room, head cradled in her hands as she soundlessly screamed.

Everything had been for naught.

Final Notes: First of all, I'd like to say thank you to jandjsalmon for running the exchange. Secondly, I'd like to thank the person who gave me this prompt. The quote that you gave me made me go in a very different direction with this pairing than I ever have before. I didn't intend to write a Violet set in 1994 fic but once I thought of Violet saying those words, I just couldn't get the whole idea out of my head. I really hope that you enjoy reading this fic as much as I did writing it.

The songs that were used for the headers of each section are as follows:

"What the Water Gave Me" - Florence + the Machine

"The Horror of Our Love" - Ludo (this is used for sections 2, 4, 6, 9, 11, and 14)

"Violet" - Hole

"March of the Pigs" - Nine Inch Nails Title: Mine Is Forever

Author: Aaronlisa

Fandom: American Horror Story

Pairing/Characters: Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon, Moira O'Hara, Leah; Tate/Violet

Rating: FR13

Disclaimer: American Horror Story belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and company. The lyrics belong to their respective owners (see the second author's note at the end of the story for further info.)

Prompts: Written for the third round of the AHS exchange.
Notes 1:This fic is very AU. For starters, I ignored the whole Tate getting Vivian pregnant storyline. As well, the story is roughly set between 1993 and 1994 with the Harmons having moved into the Murder House sometime before the story.

Notes 2: The title of the story comes from Hole's "Violet."

Summary: Tate learns the hard way that promises made to ghosts and houses don't really amount to much in the end.

Warnings: Although this fic doesn't contain anything that's not shown on the first season of AHS, I should mention that it does contain the following: implied drug use, sex between teenagers, suicide, one or two curse words

Word Count: 4336

That's what the water gave me

And time goes quicker

Between the two of us

She's standing on what she considers to be their beach, watching as the evening sun paints the waves in shades of gold and silver. She shivers in the chill night air but even the cold doesn't seem to shake the emptiness that she's feeling as she takes a step forward. The water rushes up, greeting her like a familiar friend as it wraps around her ankles.

She's doing this not to be closer to him but because everything's gone sour and she doesn't think that she can ever be that girl that she used to be. Who she used to be seems like a million miles away from this moment. She doesn't care what people will think about her or of how this one simple act will taint who she was and how she's remembered. Let the sheep think what they will, she's given up trying to change the tide.

* * *

Moonlight walking

I smell your softness

Carnivorous and lusting

To track you down among the pines

It's no secret to anyone that Violet Harmon's been in love with him for as long as anyone can remember. She's never been shy about it or hidden that fact from anyone, even him. He was always polite but it was clear that he didn't see her in that way. She was nothing more than the girl who lived in the house next to his, a house that his own family had once lived in.

And then one day it all changed. Violet could tell you that it was a Wednesday afternoon, that it was a hot and sticky June day when everything changed. She could tell you that she was at her locker, barely listening to what Leah had to say when she looked up and found Tate Langdon looking at her. If her life had been a television show or a movie, she would tell you that he had looked her like everything had finally clicked into place, that he had finally realized that he was in love with her just like she was in love with you.

However Violet lives in the real world. When she caught his eye in the middle of a crowded hallway at Westfield, the look in his eyes made her tremble. It wasn't a sweet or gentle emotion hidden in those dark eyes of his. When he looked at her, it was as if he had wanted to devour her. The intensity of it all made her tremble and she couldn't help but feel as if everything that she had ever felt for him was juvenile and petty. There was no way she could ever feel a tenth of what he was displaying.

She can recall blinking her eyes and when she looked at him again, that raw hunger was gone, replaced by a mask. He had walked across the hall, pushing people out of his way, until he stood in front of her. Leah finally falling silent as Tate Langdon claimed Violet. He had grabbed her backpack and told Violet that he was walking her home. Leah had made some inarticulate noise that both Violet and Tate had ignored.

From that one moment, they were inseparable. Leah would tell Violet that it was inevitable. That, of course, Tate would finally reciprocate what Violet felt for him. She would wax on about how it was so romantic. Violet would never dissuade Leah from what she believed in but the truth was often hidden beneath baggy floral printed dresses and ugly cardigans that were two sizes too large for her.

You should learn when to go

You should learn how to say no

She's never been afraid of anything. Her psychiatrist father would probably label her with a disorder or three if he wasn't too busy screwing one or two of his pretty little students. Her mother is too drugged out on the pills her husband prescribes to care what goes on under her nose. Her family is destroyed by the fact that neither of their parents can let go, even after the death of the perfect baby that was supposed to bring them back together.

With Tate, Violet feels something akin to fear. It's hard to explain but she knows that she should say no, that she should pull away from him, that her love for him will never change him or heal him. By the time that she learns that Tate isn't quite complete, it's too late. She'd lost her heart to him far too long ago.

He never hurts her. He's gentle and sweet with her. But underneath the tenderness, Violet senses a level of violence that worries her. It doesn't scare her when he talks about purging the school. It doesn't scare her when he shows her the guns he's bought. Instead she lets him hide them in the attic of her house, even though she knows that if Tate tells her he plans on using them, he will.

Their relationship develops slowly over the summer of 1993. Every day, she unveils herself in front of him, shedding layer after layer of clothing until one day she's standing in front of him naked and Tate almost chokes on his breath. His kisses are gentle, but his fingers bite into her pale skin leaving bruises on her hips. She takes everything that he has to give all the while hoping that it's enough.

Violet's not afraid but she knows that what she gives him isn't enough. It'll never be enough for Tate.

* * *

Hold you down and tear you open

Live inside you

Oh, love I'd never hurt you

For the first time, Tate has something that he can call his own. Violet is his and only his. She's pure and sweet and innocent in all of the ways that he not. She thinks that he's only recently felt something for her. He lets her live with that lie. It's a such a simple thing to do .

The truth is that he's been aware of her, even before her family moved her to the house that he used to call home. And before that fateful day when he finally acted on what he felt for her, he'd sometimes creep into the house, silent as death itself, until he would stand over her bed. He's not sure how he felt about her being in his old bedroom. But he felt that it was important that he watch over her, that he kept the house and the ghosts at bay. She's far too fragile to fall victim to the house.

He wonders what she thought about the one word message that she left on the chalkboard in her room. Taint written on it the morning of the day he decided to make her his own for once and for all. She never said anything about it but he knows that she saw it. Even if she never questioned it.

When she finally stands in front of him naked and shy in the glow of the afternoon sun that streamed in through the window, he felt like he had won something. In his haste to take what she was offering him, his fingers bit into her pale skin. She whimpered but never once said no, even as he dug his fingers in harder and crueler, certain that he would draw blood if he pressed any harder.

The marks on her pale skin aren't intentional but he loves how she's marked. It makes it all the more real that she's his and his alone. He only wishes that she could hold him a little tighter, that she could stop the inevitable from happening. Even as he wishes for the impossible, he makes a deal with the house, with the ghosts, he'll sacrifice himself to save her.

* * *

I want a little bit

I want a piece of it

I think he's losing it.

The school year starts: everything is predictable and boring. Everyone is the same and Violet can't help but think how she's supposed to learn anything. She spends a lot of time, cutting classes, smoking in the girls' bathroom, thinking of Tate as she draws a line on her upper thigh with a razor blade she stole from her father's shaving kit.

She's not suicidal but the pain distracts her. It makes it easier for her to think. Tate's changing, he's not the same boy he was back in June. He's not even the same boy he was when they first had sex. He's pulling away even as he holds her tighter than ever before.

The days march by, leaving her worried and nauseated. Something is going to happen but she's not sure what.

(That is a lie. Violet knows what is coming, she knows what is going to happen. She just doesn't want to admit it to herself. But the clues are there in front of her, Tate's actions clumsily hidden from her sight. She could easily unravel all of his lies, she could easily confront him, she knows what he's plotting. However she knows that if she were to confront him, it'd only push him away. So she hides her head in the sand and hopes that someone will stop him before this all goes too far.)

* * *

I'm a killer

Cold and wrathful

Tate drops out of track. He stops caring about being the picture perfect son outside of the family home the day when his whore of a mother brings home her newest boyfriend to stay. Larry is a disgusting piece of filth. Tate fantasizes about killing him when he's hiding out in the basement of Violet's home when Larry and his mother have sex.

He thinks about purging the world of Larry and his whore Constance. He thinks about purging the world of his classmates. The world is a filthy and horrible place, he wants to set it ablaze and watch it burn down until nothing's left but him and Violet.

He decides that sooner than later, he will do what he wants to do. He'll start with Larry and end with his mother.

Problems do have solutions you know

A lifetime of fucking things up fixed

At first he thinks that he'll just end it. He can feel Violet pulling away. He sees the way that Leah looks at him, nervously biting her lower lip and he wonders what Violet's told her. But he knows that Violet's not like that. She's not some high school gossipy bitch who'd tell tales about him to her friends and parents. Yet he's seen the marks on her thighs, perfect angry red lines, drawn against her skin with a sharp razor blade.

He wants to tell her to stop doing that but that would mean they'd have to admit the problems between them. And he's far too much in love with her to admit that there's anything wrong. She's the only thing that gets him through every day.

The moments when they're wrapped up in an old purple quilt on her bed, the afternoon sun muted through the dusty windows of her bedroom (it used to be his) are the only moments when he feels any sort of peace. Her mother's spaced out on whatever prescription the good Dr. Harmon has written for her and Moira's quietly cleaning the house. Tate can almost pretend that things are normal, that he's not planning a massacre, that he doesn't hear the sickly sweet voice of the house whispering to him.

Everything comes to a head when Moira catches him sneaking out of the house late one night. Constance doesn't care where he is and Violet's parents are too wrapped up in their own petty problems to care what their only child does.

"What are you doing to that child?" Moira asks, her voice quiet but harsh.

Tate shrugs his shoulders in response. He could be trying to save himself as much as he's trying to pull Violet down. He's not really sure anymore.

"Why do you care?" Tate asks. "You're nothing more than a dried up corpse."

He knows the truth about her, he always has. The Harmons have no idea that their faithful maid is a ghost that's haunting them. Still it hurts him when she flinches at the truth of his words. Moira's always been kind to him, even after his mother killed her. (He didn't know that for the longest time but the house has told him of the multitude of sins his mother has committed.)

"You should leave her alone," Moira hisses. "She's alive."

"So am I," Tate points out.

"You have one foot in the grave."

"Fuck off Moira, go try to seduce Violet's father instead of telling me what I can and can't do."

He doesn't tell her to go away because he doesn't want her to. He doesn't want Moira to leave him and he knows that if he says those words, she'll never give him the time of day again.

"She's not as perfect as you think she is," Tate tells Moira. "She's tainted and impure."

"Don't make it worse," Moira tells him. "Let her be."

Tate shrugs before he leaves. It's not that easy. He's the only thing protecting her from the house. (The only thing protecting her from himself.) He knows that it's all spiraling out of control, faster than he can stop it.

* * *

I watched a change in you

It's like you never had wings

Now you feel so alive

I've watched you change

She's startled to wakefulness, she'd had been dreaming of Tate. Of him sitting in her room listening to old records together. Her eyes widen when she realizes that it's Tate standing over her. He's vibrating so much as he stands there dressed all in black and she knows, she knows, but she can't stop him. It's far too late.

She wants to ask him what he's done, what he's about to do, what he's high on but her tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. She's mute and dumb, powerless to do anything but lie there in her bed. She knows that this is the end.

"Don't go to school today," Tate orders. "Call up Leah and go anywhere but to Westfield."

"Tate," Violet manages to croak out.

The room is barely lit, it's early, she's not sure how early but the light in her room is grey and she feels as if she's suffocating, as if the house is pressing down on her and she knows suddenly that they're not the only ones in the room. There are others, others that are listening quietly to Tate's solemn words.

"No!" Tate shouts.

They both still, worried that his anger has awaken the rest of the house but when Tate breathes a sigh of relief, she knows that no one's heard his words. No one that has the power or the will to stop him.

"Stay away from school today," Tate orders again. "If you go, I won't be held responsible for what happens to you or that bitch you call friend."

He kneels down on the floor and presses his forehead against the mattress. Her hand moves until her fingers are tangled in his curls. She could stop this if she wanted to. But she doesn't. Even though she knows that he's higher than high, that he's not going to make it through whatever he plans on doing.

"Please," Tate begs her, his voice muffled.

"Alright," Violet promises.

He moves until he's lying on top of her but it's her hands that move their clothes. She pulls up her nightgown just enough before unbuttoning his pants. It's fast, painful and she gets no pleasure out of it but it seems to calm him down. For a moment, she thinks that she's won until he pulls away from her with guilt written on his face.

The time to stop has come and gone. She let it slip by and now all she can do is try to keep herself and Leah safe.

* * *

You are a dream amongst the sharks

Beautiful and terrifying

Living restless

He makes it back home and he prepares himself for the war. He leaves no note, no indication of what went wrong. Hours later, the police will paw through his possession and they won't find any clues as to why this had to happen. They won't think to look next door, they won't think to look at Violet or the house and to see how both have tormented him.

When it's time, he stands up and he makes his way to the bank where Larry works. His mother will live when he's finished but Larry doesn't deserve to live. The minute he walks into the bank, Tate ceases to think. He lets the house reach out it's long tentacles and he goes through the motions.

* * *

Come, doused in mud, soaked in bleach, as I want you to be

As a trend, as friend, as an old

The water is about mid-thigh when he's there pulling her out of the ocean, pulling her away from her escape.

"How?"

He doesn't answer her. He just stands there, hanging his head in shame. She screams at him, her words are inarticulate as she screams until her throat is raw. She punches and kicks him until they fall to the sand and still he doesn't fight her or speak. When all of her energy is spent, he wraps his arms around her, holding her close as she cries. She hates him for what he's done, she hates herself for letting it get this far.

"I hate you," Violet says.

"I love you,' Tate tells her.

He tells her that he loves her as his lips press against her collarbone. He tells her that he loves her when she slaps him. He tells her that he loves her over and over again until the dawn finds them on the beach.

He helps her to stand and he leads her back to the house. She hates the fact that he died in her room. That he had lead the police to the sanctity of her bedroom and that he was shot to death on her bed. Even Moira can't get the blood off of her floor.

She doesn't fight him as he guides her through the door and up the stairs. She lets him take her to her old bedroom. She doesn't see the dust or the stains, all she sees is her bedroom like it was one June morning before everything turned sour.

* * *

You're a ghost, love

Nightgown flowing

Your body blue and walking

"She doesn't know," Tate tells Moira.

"She'll find out sooner than later, they always do."

"Nora doesn't know," Tate says.

"On some level she does, she knows the truth about herself, about this house."

"How will she know when her fucking parents interact with her like nothing ever happened?"

Moira shrugs before turning away to her cleaning supplies of vinegar and beeswax. It makes him angry, she never has the answers that he desperately needs.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, I made a deal with the house. Me for her."

Moira laughs, it's a quiet and bitter laugh. "This house doesn't make deals with anyone, you should know that by now."

"It was supposed to be me for her," Tate repeats.

Moira raises her hand as if she's going to touch him. Instead they stand there frozen before her hand falls to her side. He knows the house far better than he used to, he knows the truth in Moira's words. The house never intended on letting Violet go. Not now, not ever. She's as stuck as the rest of them are.

* * *

Burning in your throat

Making you choke

Making you sigh

Sigh in tiny deaths

Tate finds her in the attic. The room is full of dust and the light from the sun is dim. She plays ball with the ghost of his dead brother. Beauregard was the first ghost she got to know in the house. He's the only one who doesn't give her the creeps. Tate's brother takes delight in the simplest of things. Beauregard is unlike Addie or Tate and it makes Violet wonder how someone so simple and happy could have sprung from Constance's loins.

Tate sighs when he sinks down beside Violet. His brother claps his hand and rolls his bright red ball towards Tate. Violet has nothing to say to Tate. For some reason she's angry at him even though she can't remember why. She knows that if she doesn't hang onto that anger, that eventually he'll take her by the hand and lead her down the stairs to her (his) bedroom and once they're there, she'll let him make love to her. Violet scrunches her noise at her thoughts: what she does with Tate isn't about love. Not when he never admits to her how he feels about her.

They stay there like that all day long: Tate and Violet at one side of the room and Beauregard at the other side. The only noise is the passage of the red ball as the three of them play the game of rolling it back and forth. Soon Violet makes up rules for the game in her head that have nothing to do with reality.

If she catches it before Tate then she's right and he's a liar. If he catches it before her, then she's wrong and he tells her truth all of the time. If she catches it before he does, then he loves her more than she loves him. If he catches, then it's the reverse. And so on, the rules become so complex that she doesn't even understand it anymore. When Tate eventually shakes her shoulder, she feels like she's been cooped up in the attic, breathing in decades of dust and death for a week.

* * *

It hurts to set you free

But you'll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft tears

The end of nights we tried to die

"I don't know how I could've been so ignorant about myself, so ... so stupid. And you know what I am talking about, don't you?"

Her words are soft and he almost doesn't hear them. He doesn't say anything as he stands in the doorway of the bedroom that they have each called their own.

"You knew before I did, didn't you?"

Her words are like accusations even though her death is not his fault. Tate sighs as he enters the room. She is sitting on the bed, forever frozen at the age of sixteen, dressed in a faded floral dress with a mustard yellow cardigan that might have been his once upon a time. He looks away from her when his eyes fill with tears.

"Why are you crying?"

He can't answer her because he has no way of telling her the truth. He has no desire to tell her the truth. It's as if his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, he couldn't tell her even if he tried. She looks at him and then looks away before pulling her knees up to her chest. She wraps her arms around her knees, looking so lost and alone. He can't help but wonder if she is afraid now that she knows the truth. She's dead. She's been dead for years. For nearly two decades. And he never once told her the truth.

"Why are you crying?" Violet asks. Her voice is angry and sad at the same time. "Don't you know?"

"Yes I know exactly," Tate finally says, his voice quiet.

He doesn't ask her if she knows why nor does he elaborate. He cries for their lost innocence, for the house that has become their tomb. He cries mainly for her.

* * *

There's catastrophe

In everything I'm touching

As I sweat and crush you

He had been too far gone that morning when he had made his way up to her room. He hadn't noticed that her bed was empty when he crossed over the threshold, that her form only materialized when he stepped closer to the bed.

A long time ago, Tate had made a promise to the house. He had made a promise to be Nora's perfect little boy, he would never grow up, he would never age. In return she would be his mother. Yet he grew up, he aged and Nora never once forgave him for it. In return, the house never forgave him for it. It conspired against him, it grew tired of Constance and her attempts to manipulate it. It wanted a new family, one that would bleed for it.

When Tate entered the house that morning in the pearly grey light of the hour just before dawn, he was entering a charnel house. Mother and daughter had been killed by a group of obsessed intruders who wanted to relive a murder in the house. When he walked into Violet's room, it was her ghost who pulled him down onto her. It was her ghost who he told to stay away from the school.

He was so far gone that he never tasted death on her lips when he kissed her. The house stood ready, waiting for him to come back to it's cruel embrace. He had broken his innocent promise as a child but the house still wanted him even if Nora didn't. When he died on the floor of his old room, what was now her room, he realized that she was dead when he saw her ghost in the corner of the room, head cradled in her hands as she soundlessly screamed.

Everything had been for naught.

((END))

Final Notes: First of all, I'd like to say thank you to jandjsalmon for running the exchange. Secondly, I'd like to thank the person who gave me this prompt. The quote that you gave me made me go in a very different direction with this pairing than I ever have before. I didn't intend to write a Violet set in 1994 fic but once I thought of Violet saying those words, I just couldn't get the whole idea out of my head. I really hope that you enjoy reading this fic as much as I did writing it.

The songs that were used for the headers of each section are as follows:

"What the Water Gave Me" - Florence + the Machine

"The Horror of Our Love" - Ludo (this is used for sections 2, 4, 6, 9, 11, and 14)

"Violet" - Hole

"March of the Pigs" - Nine Inch Nails

"The Downward Spiral (The Bottom) - Nine Inch Nails

"Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

"Come as You Are" - Nirvana

"Melt!" - Siouxsie & The Banshees

"The End" - The Doors

"The Downward Spiral (The Bottom) - Nine Inch Nails

"Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

"Come as You Are" - Nirvana

"Melt!" - Siouxsie & The Banshees

"The End" - The Doors

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