Tate Langdon was the stuff of edgy-teenage daydreams - a ghost, so he couldn’t exactly leave you, quite cute, a dark side, and completely and totally psychotic. No wonder why you fell in deep.
You were that stereotype - dark painted nails, dark dyed hair, music that made no sense at all to your parents, t-shirts with band names that just looked like scribbles and a guitar of your own which you used to play your own moody stuff. That’s what usually brought Tate out - your music, for it was something that you had in common. On this day, you were feeling particularly ticked off because your parents grounded you for fighting in school, so the mood today, the musical theme, was aggression.
“Whoa, what happened to your face?” Tate appeared beside you, his fingertips lightly grazing where your opponent had gotten a couple of good jabs in. He was so gentle with you, sitting beside you on your bed. “You should get some ice on that.”
“Can’t,” You groaned. “Mom used it all to keep her heart so fucking cold. Seriously, one fight. We’ve been here two months and I’ve only been in one fight, she should actually be proud of me. I find reasons for one every day but I gotta be the better person. She doesn’t appreciate shit.”
A large grin took over Tate’s face at your attitude. Your anger towards your parents always amused him. The suburbia goody-two-shoes couple who projected out into the world that everything was perfect while you made sure to burn that reputation down to the ground.
“So what are you going to do about it?” He asked. Which made you think. It wasn’t a question that was often posed. Your parents asked how you were going to make it up to them, but that was an entirely different question. You shrugged. “Could always poison them,” He suggested, his legs swinging back and forth.
“Hmmm - poison is hard to buy these days,” You reasoned. “Also I don’t want to go into the foster system, I’d probably end up with something worse, and I’d end up being taken away from you.”
“Fair, fair, don’t do that,” Tate shook his head quickly. “You could just - enjoy your grounding and stay here with me?”
You thought that over for a moment too. You supposed he had a point. He was here. You weren’t entirely cut off. “But what are we going to do?” You asked in return.
Now it was his turn to think. Then he’d flick your guitar. “Put on a concert loud enough that they’ll regret grounding you.”
Imagine being a Christian girl, and having Tate try to change your faith.
“Tate, you need to stop doing this - please,” You pleaded as you turned the crucifix on your bedroom wall from the upside down position, down to what it was supposed to be.
The teenage ghost rolled his eyes. “It’s either upside down, or you’re taking it down. He creeps me out.”
“He creeps you out?” You asked, more than a little surprise. This was the school shooting Tate Langdon after all, the one who constantly fiddled with the religious iconology of your family, teasing you about it relentlessly. But this was something new.
“I feel like he’s always watching me. Watching us. It’s hard enough getting alone time with you, with all the other fuckers around here. Now I gotta deal with those beady little eyes-”
“Tate...” You said, softer than you meant to. Having lived in this house for six months now, you’ve gotten used to a lot of Tate’s behaviors. The same ones that made you appalled and aghast in the first place. You tried to see past all of the gloating and showboating to the message that was underneath and try to find the sweetness. If you didn’t, you’d go mad. Reluctantly, you took the crucifix, the strung up Jesus, off of the wall and held it in your hand. “Maybe just for a little while...”
“Thank fuck for that,” He said, putting his arms around you and lifting you up from the ground into a spin. The wooden cross went flying from your hands, landing on the floor and sliding across from it. It went further than it normally would be able to, going right out the door. Probably for someone else to play with but it went forgotten for the moment as you were swept up inside of Tate. The boy you believed you could convert one day. The boy who was thinking the same about you.
Requested by: Anonymous
Wordcount: 2991
Summary: You didn’t anticipate that the new house would come with a new roommate.
The first thing that you thought of when you saw the house was that it was definitely not normal. You’d taken the tour around LA a couple of times, due to your morbid fascination with crime, and had seen it from the street. But now that you were approaching it, taking step by step, the feeling grew stronger. This was not an ordinary house. Your parents, both busy and insane, didn’t even seem to notice. Or if they did, they said nothing to you about it. Instead, they talked about how they wanted to freshen it up with a new coat of paint. Because that was going to cover the stains of the sins that had occurred inside. Your eyes darted to the window of the room that was certain to be yours, and thought you saw a movement, a sway of the curtains. You stopped, and raised your hand to your forehead to shield your eyes from the bright California sun. Must have just been a bending of light. No one was in your house - right?
“Come on honey,” Your mother said, in her sugary sweet voice. She smiled nervously at the old woman who was standing across the street, smoking dramatically. You could have guessed that she was being kind to protect her reputation rather than care about you.
“What, you don’t want a dramatic entrance?” You asked, brushing her off and walked inside after your father. You didn’t care about the flooring, the wall color, the stairs, the paneling, and all the other things that your parents would want to rework. Your mother quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind her, tutting at your behavior.
“You can start on your room then,” She sniffled.
“Great! I was just waiting for your permission,” You said with a sarcastic grin. Your father didn’t even bother with responding to you, staying out of it like he always had. He probably said about ten words to you so far this year, and you were well into September.
You picked up a box of your clothing which was sitting near the stairs, and started your way up the stairs. As you took each step, you thought you could hear music. It was very faint. So very much so that you weren’t sure if it was coming from your imagination or if you were really hearing it. Either way, you followed where you thought it was coming from, right to the room that was going to be yours.
Nirvana.
Heart Shaped Box? Or was it Smells Like Teen Spirit?
It wasn’t often that you listened to them, though you knew a couple of the more popular songs from rock-themed radio stations. You hummed along and set the box on top of your bed. At least the movers had done their job right, and set up your bed against one of the walls. You looked around and approved of where the dresser was, and your desk. It was perfect - but you just had to make the rest of the room to your taste. Time to bring a bit of Halloween fun to the blue-grey colored walls. Some orange and black paint. Some of your dolls and plushies, that were your weakness. Hey, it was hard to resist things that were so damn cute.
You started to hang your clothes in the closet and put others into your dresser, when you came across a very odd feeling that someone was watching you. You quickly put your underwear into the drawer, keeping your eyes on the mirror that was on your vanity, waiting to see if something was going to move in it. The curtains shifted behind your back. You knew it.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” You said, going to your door and closing it. The last thing you needed was your mother thinking you were talking to yourself, and trying to put you on some designer drugs. “Come on, it’s called the Murder House. There has to be something in here. A ghost, a phantom, a banshee? Bueller?”
“Not quite,” A voice said from behind you. You saw something out of the corner of your eye again. But this time, you were able to follow it until you came across a boy standing in front of your window. Shaggy blonde hair, dark eyes, striped sweater. Not exactly what you were thinking of when you thought about contacting spirits.
“Well, hello,” You said, folding your arms in front of yourself. You had always had an interest in the Supernatural, and thought that you had a few experiences. But nothing like full blown seeing someone in front of you. It had been things like lights flickering, raps on tables, cups moving on their own. This was something else, and you had to admit, you were pleased. “You’re not what I had expected,” You told him.
He walked around your room, taking in the sight of your furnishings. “What were you expecting? Someone in a stupid sheet?”
“That’s not an unjust expectation,” You said with a shrug, feeling a little attacked by this boy. But he couldn’t have been much older than you, if he was at all. Good face for a welcoming committee. “I can’t remember you from the murder tour, though there were a lot of names thrown around. Which one are you?”
“Tate Langdon,” He walked right up to you, not afraid of you in the slightest. You didn’t shrug away or back down from his approach, but rather eyed him cautiously. He put his hand out to you, looking at you with a studying look.
“Would I even be able to touch you? Or would my hand go straight through yours?” You asked, cautiously.
“There’s only one way you’re going to find out,” He challenged you. And you being you, you went for it. His hand was cool to the touch, but it felt human enough. You didn’t go through him like you thought that you would. If he hadn’t appeared out of nowhere, you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was a spirit. You let go of his hand and let your own drop to the side. But then out of nowhere - “BOO.”
You blinked in surprise at his yelling, but you didn’t flinch beyond that. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now you’re going into ghost-under-the-sheet territory.”
“You’re not scared?” He asked, intrigued.
“Of ghosts? No. I think they’re the most natural thing in the world. A bit strange and unusual to some people, I guess. But they consider me that too.”
“Strange and unusual,” Tate said with a laugh. He shook his head, and then right in front of your eyes, he seemed to disappear. It was a very odd thing to witness, and it did put a chill up your spine at how easy it seemed to be for them.
You went about the rest of your unpacking, but when you found some more of your underwear at the bottom of the box, you looked around suspiciously.
“No peeking in my drawers, ghosties. I’ll know,” You said aloud to yourself, tucking them into the drawer. You closed it up sturdily, thinking that perhaps you heard some laughter. You couldn’t be certain.
-
“It can’t be Halloween every day dear,” Your mother said, looking at your outfit as you got home from your first day of school. No motherly chit-chat about what it’s like to start at a new school, no ‘how did it go’. Just an instant critique on your mainly black outfit.
“It is for me,” You said, blowing past her to head up the stairs to your room. You slammed the door closed behind you, because as anyone could clearly see, you did not have a very good day. You threw yourself upon the bed, landing face down right on your most comfortable pillow.
“Why?” A disembodied voice came from your room. You were getting adjusted to it. Tate came and went every so often, though you could feel him watching you when he wasn’t there. It was unsettling, especially when you were getting ready for the day, or dressing down before bed.
“High school,” You grumbled into the pillow, not lifting your head. There came a chuckle from the corner of your room, but you didn’t look over.
“Come to the dead side. We don’t need school,” Tate said, popping up beside you, all messy blonde curls and a wide grin. You turned your head over to the other side, death being an uncomfortable topic for you. “I think we went to the same school,” He said, a little quieter this time.
“Oh yeah? Maybe I should ask to see the old yearbooks,” You teased.
“They wouldn’t have put me in there.” He said, stiffly. That got your attention. You pushed yourself up, then sat cross legged on the bed, staring at the seemingly shy boy.
“Why not?” You asked. “I’ve asked not to be put in mine, but they’re forcing me into it. So whatever you did must be-”
“Evil.” He finished the sentence. “I’m sure you can find it all on your laptop. They have everything on there.”
“So that was you that’s been using it while I’ve been busy,” You said, having found it open on more than one occasion. “I thought perhaps it was one of the other ghosties that you claim are around here.”
“There are twenty-four of us,” Tate said, sounding quite bitter about it. “And I’m the only one that you’re ever going to want to talk to.”
“Is there a girl? Because sometimes I feel like I smell perfume. If that’s you, I’m not judging but-”
“It’s me,” A female said, appearing behind Tate.
“Violet,” Tate said, turning around, a look of pure malice on his face. You hadn’t been expecting that. It was more than a little terrifying to see the change in his usually innocent-looking face. “Get out of here.”
“Or what, you’re going to kill me?” The girl said, sarcastically. She looked you over, and her face turned to one of concern. “You’re going to want to be careful in this house, if you’re staying.”
“I’m careful in every house,” You said, looking back at Tate, who still looked furious.
“Really?” Violet said, appearing behind you now, leaning over so her long curtain of hair was on your shoulder. “Then you should know something about your roommate.”
“Shut up!” Tate screamed so hard that you could feel his breath on your face. Your heartbeat was quickening. Something was happening, and it wasn’t going to be good.
“He’s a murderer,” Violet whispered in your ear. “A school shooter. A liar.”
“SHUT UP!” Tate screamed loud enough that it felt like the whole room was quaking. There was a sound of pounding at the door, and then it opened up to reveal your parents, both standing there with red faces, looking about.
“What’s going on?” Your father looked worried, and your mother looked just pissed off. Tate and Violet have entirely disappeared, leaving you here on your own, sitting on your bed, probably looking suspicious as hell.
“What do you mean?” You asked, not facing either of them, but rather right in front of you.
“The yelling? The whole house shaking?” Your father asked. “Did you blow your speakers out or something?”
You were still dealing with the mess of information that you had just gotten from Violet. A murderer. School shooter - that would be a reason why they wouldn’t put him in the yearbook.
“Y/N, Answer your father!” Your mother screeched. You winced at the sound of her voice. God, she was annoying as hell. You’d do anything to make her leave you alone. Even -
Even try to ask a ghost for assistance in scaring them away from you? Scaring the away from the house? You probably should leave, considering that the ghost who seemed the nicest happened to be a school shooter. And who nows what else he had done?
“Stereo system broke,” You lied quickly. “I got it under control, obviously. Do you hear anything anymore? Because I don’t. So bugger off.”
Almost as if by will itself, the door slammed closed in their faces of their own volition. You felt like Matilda for a moment, but then realized that Tate was standing behind the door, looking more sheepish and shy than he had before. “Don’t really want to talk to you right now, either.” You told him, making him look more downcast.
“You have to tell me to go away, those are the rules,” He said, pouting.
“Go away, Tate.”
-
And he had.
It had been three weeks, and your parents were back up to their old shit. Bugging you endlessly. It seemed like everytime you were actually trying to be productive with school work, they were being noisy right outside of your door.
You’ve finally had it. You snapped your laptop shut and glared at the door, feeling your mood grow blacker and blacker by the second. Your so called family was driving you insane. They were hammering new paneling or something in the wall of the hallway, the banging doing your head in.
You fell onto your back in the bed, eyes rolling up into your head. Madness needed madness. You didn’t want to do this but - “Tate?”
There wasn’t any noise, but the sun that was coming through your windows was suddenly blocked. You opened one eye to see that you were in the shadow of the teenage ghost. “I think I need your help,” You whispered. “Not a shooting obviously but... something to scare them?”
“Why?” He asked, head slightly tilted. “Why would I do you a favor when you just want me to go away?”
“Because you might have fun?” You suggested. “And - and I’m sorry. You can’t really blame me for being a bit surprised and afraid that I’m sharing a room with a murderer. And his former girlfriend.”
“Don’t even mention her, it’s bad enough that we’re stuck here together,” Tate said, folding his arms behind his head.
“Sorry,” You said. You turned your head to look at the closed door again. Your dad was being so loud, it sounded as if he was actually inside of your head rather than outside the door. “How do you guys put up with that? People coming in, changing things around, making a bunch of noise. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“Yes,” Tate said, with a laugh.
“So maybe you’ll help me, then? Just something to scare them off of doing work for a bit. I don’t think-” You bit down on your lip as you prepared to say something that only a crazy person would say. “-I don’t want it to be bad enough that we leave here, you know? I kind of like the spookiness around here. It’s ... charming.”
“No one here is charming,” Tate said, his smile dropping. “Do you want to watch the show?”
“I - no, I think I’ll stay in here. I trust you.”
That was something that evidently wasn’t said to Tate often. He smiled at you, waved his fingers and then disappeared. You stayed in your bedroom, eyes closed to try to avoid the late afternoon sunlight, and waited for chaos to happen.
Sudden screaming came from your mother, shrill and loud, filling the entire house with it’s echoes. And then there was your father’s yell, something that you had never heard before, since he usually let your mother do the yelling. It sounded like pure fear. It made even your blood run cold when you thought about what they were seeing. And just when you thought about going down the stairs, Tate appeared in your room once more, sitting beside you on the bed.
“What did you do?” You breathed, still too afraid to open your eyes. You felt his weight on the bed, especially as he lied back with you. “I asked you not to scare them too much.”
“The vacuum cleaner wanted to suck your moms face off, I couldn’t help it,” He said laughing. You pictured that and giggled a little as well. You finally opened your eyes and moved so that you were facing the laying down Tate, eye to eye. He had a glimmer in those dark eyes of his, and his grin was infectious.
“What are you grinning about?” You asked, reaching up to poke his nose. It wasn’t something that you planned to do, it just kind of happened. A dark look went across his eyes for a second, then went right back to being happy-go-lucky.
“It’s nice not to be alone here anymore,” Tate said. You opened your mouth to point out that he wasn’t alone, there were plenty of ghosts around here, but he stopped you. “I don’t usually talk to anyone else. They’re mostly assholes.”
“Maybe I’m an asshole,” You suggested.
“You’re strange. And unusual. But not an asshole.” With one hand, he moved a piece of hair out of your face, smoothing it back, then lightly grazed your cheek.
“Am I really flirting with a ghost right now?” You asked yourself aloud.
“I can still feel like flesh and blood,” He smirked, making you slap his chest. He was right - he did feel sturdy.
“We’ll see how it goes, day by day, how about that?” You asked, closing your eyes as he caressed your cheek once more.
