𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰
✃ pt. 5 • no ghosts!Tate Langdon x Violet Harmon • angst, slow burn, dark fic, dead dove • approx. 2k words • warnings: rape/noncon themes, grooming, age gap, violence • read on ao3 • for @toxicanonymity 🖤🩷 masterlist
• note: sorry this chapter is probably so shite, I lacked inspo & want to get to the fun stuff, mb 😔 hope you enjoy regardless!
Violet had to fight the urge to bust a gut laughing when Tate showed up that night, shifting foot to foot on the front porch while he tugged uncomfortably at his outfit; a nice black sweater without any pilling, and a pair of clean khakis. He looked handsome, in an odd sort of way— dressed up and all clean, so different than the mildly filthy man he’d seemed during their other interactions.
Vivien opened the door for him, beaming with an exhausted air as he handed her a small gift box, complete with a tiny white bow atop the lid. Violet watched from the shadows, wrinkling her nose and simply observing the exchange. Clocking his nervousness and her mother’s ease with him immediately. Ben, of course, was still trying to cover up the stench of alcohol on him now that he’d sobered up slightly for the day, patting on aftershave as he descended the steps.
The couple greeted Tate and welcomed him inside, Vivien still clutching the gift while she backed up and nodded toward the kitchen.
Violet decided this was a fine time to enter the scene that had been set and attempt to throw her parents’ little show into turmoil.
Tate caught her eye immediately as he walked inside, taking his muddy work boots off at the door, a smile grazing his lips as he spotted her. Violet smiled back, careful and small as she crossed her arms and waited to see what he’d do.
“Oh, Tate, that’s not necessary,” Vivien assured him as he slipped his boots off. His socks were clean, Violet noticed.
The neighbor shook his head. “Nah, Mrs. Harmon, I know how it is to have a mother cleaning up after you every day— wouldn’t want to make your job harder than it already is.”
“Oh,” Vivien said again, her tone softening before a smile broke out over her features again, more genuine. Violet rolled her eyes. Ah, yes, her poor fucking mother. Everyone felt sorry for her when they saw those big, sad eyes and heard the sob story about Ben. Violet was so sick of it.
Vivien just chuckled gently. “Well— thank you. I don’t have it too bad, here.”
“That’s good,” Tate smiled back.
“And call me Vivien,” Violet’s mother insisted as Tate nodded.
“My bad,” Tate said sheepishly while Ben watched him carefully, attempting to read him. Violet snickered under her breath: her father wasn't any more a psychiatrist than Violet herself. Tate continued, rubbing the back of his neck cartoonishly and confessing, “To be honest, I— I’m looking forward to meeting some people my own age, it gets lonely in that house all by myself.”
Violet rolled her eyes again. What a cheese.
But of course her parents ate it up.
They continued oohing and ahhing as Violet spun on her heel and marched to the kitchen, plopping into a chair and glowering at the plates set out. She should have known better than to get her hopes up for a cool older guy to be her friend, to understand her. He was just like everybody else; achingly and terrifyingly normal.
He entered the room quietly, ducking his head a lot and smiling awkwardly. It was no longer endearing like it was in the seclusion of his backyard, surrounded by tall houses and the looming danger of getting caught by her parents. It was odd; the sensation of smoking in secret was beginning to provide less of a thrill than simply seeing Tate when her parents weren’t aware. Violet smiled at the thought and Tate sat down across from her, dark eyes glittery with unreadable emotion.
“Violet, help me bring dinner out,” Vivien said gently, tensing again as Violet rolled her eyes.
“I’m not even supposed to be living here, why should I-”
“I can help, Vivien,” Tate said immediately, standing back up while Ben looked quickly between them.
“Oh, uh— I got it, thanks,” Ben said slowly, sidestepping to join his wife.
“Just want to be helpful,” Tate assured them with a shrug, sitting down once again. Violet felt a cold wash over her as Tate glanced at her and smirked, “Kids are such ingrates these days, aren’t they?”
Vivien snorted hard but didn’t say anything, while Ben grinned unabashedly. “Ah, Violet can be stubborn but we love her.”
He patted the top of her head and Violet pulled away, muttering under her breath, “Do you?” Her cheeks were ablaze after Tate’s comment, and she was beginning to wish he’d never come at all.
She glared hard at him over the table as her parents left the room and she hissed, “Thanks a lot, jackass. They already have enough to resent me for without some Wormtongue in their ear saying shit about me.”
Tate just smiled, leaning over the table and whispering back, “Trust me, if I had told them what I wanted to say, that it’s their dinner and they can bring out the fucking food, I don’t think they would want to have me back.” Violet’s glower dropped and dissolved into a shocked balking as Tate leaned back and winked. “It’s called strategy, kid.”
Violet leaned back, too, shocked into silence. She hadn’t expected that kind of language to leave his lips, let alone in the quiet of the dining room while her parents were gone. A smile tugged at the corner of her lip in response to Tate’s slow smirk, a playful glint in his eye as he asked, “Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?”
Violet smirked back. “Yeah, so?”
“You like escapism?” Tate asked immediately, his dark eyes warm for a moment as he shifted in his chair.
Violet swallowed. “Yeah,” she repeated.
Tate nodded, slow. His eyes softened even further and he said quietly, “Me too.”
Violet wanted to ask him what he meant by that— if he liked old fantasy novels, too, or playing cards, or listening to music to drown out the bad thoughts like Violet did. Something in his eyes, those warm, dark eyes, told her his form of escape was something far different than what Violet imagined. But she wanted to know. She wanted desperately to know.
“Grub’s up!” Ben’s voice rang out, breaking into Violet’s thoughts, and she looked over at the same time Tate did, snapping the spell that held their gazes together over the white tablecloth. The man set down a few pans onto wooden potholders, and Violet groaned.
“Do you have to call it grub?” she complained.
Vivien rolled her eyes lightly. “Be respectful, Violet, we have a guest.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” she teased, looking back at Tate, who had his brows raised expectantly. She sneered, “Sorry for my family and our disgusting rituals. We’ll introduce you to the inbred monsters we have in the basement that we’ll serve next time you come over.”
“Violet!” Ben’s playfulness was gone in an instant at her words, and Violet turned away, trying to hide her smirk. She hoped Tate would find it funny— or admit he was a poser and reveal his utter disgust before showing himself the door and not coming back.
But his eyes just flickered with a deep sort of pain at her words, amusement gracing his lips before he ducked his own head to hide his expression.
“God, Violet, do you have to be so crude?” Vivien sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.
“Ah, cut her some slack, Mrs Harmon,” Tate spoke up unexpectedly, but Violet kept her head turned away, fear of consequences pressing in as she realized they wouldn’t spare her a lecture just because they had a stranger staying for dinner. “Trust me when I say I used to make some pretty awful speeches around the dinner table when I was her age.”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve heard from some of my clients,” Ben laughed gently, heating Violet’s blood further.
“Kids will be kids, huh?” Tate chuckled as Ben clapped him on the back and sat down in his seat.
“Well,” Vivien interjected. “Speaking of… speeches. Would someone like to say grace?”
Violet felt her heart jump a little and held her hands out for her parents to take on either end of the table. “I will,” she offered. “Sorry for being disrespectful to our guest.” She spat the word, narrowing her eyes across the table only to catch Tate grinning as he bowed his head in reverence.
“Thank you, Vi,” Vivien said gently, taking her hand.
Violet put her head down, shut her eyes and cleared her throat. “Dear God who has most likely forsaken us, or me anyway— thank you for the inedible slop we have on our table tonight that my mother spent hours preparing just to impress some old man with no social life from the dilapidated building next door. I am so very grateful to have him intruding in the very last place I have all to myself before my parents ship me across town for college classes every day starting next week.”
The silence was worth every screamed scolding Violet was sure to receive that night, her mother’s hand tightening dangerously around hers as she muttered, “Amen.”
Ben sighed harsh, brow furrowed as he opened his eyes and gave his daughter a firm glower. “Really, Vi?”
She gaped. “What? I’m grateful. Can’t I be grateful?”
She glanced upward and bit back a desperate laugh as she saw Tate’s head still bowed, shoulders bobbing with his suppressed giggles. “Amen,” he snickered, looking up at her with a sharp glance. Then, catching Vivien’s somewhat concerned stare, he assured her, “Still not as bad as some of the stuff I said when my mother asked me to pray.”
Violet smirked. Maybe he wasn’t as normal as she thought. Damn, this man was hard to read. And yet, at the same time, when he looked at her with those eyes, she thought she could tell exactly what he was thinking. But that would be crazy. Violet was no mind reader. Just as her father was no brilliant doctor, her mother was no saint, and Tate was no monster under the bed.
…
“Please, take as much as you want,” Vivien said again, pushing the half eaten bowl of potatoes Tate’s way.
The man held up a muscular hand, chuckling low in his throat. “I never thought I’d say this but I literally could not eat another bite,” he insisted.
“What about dessert?” Ben offered.
Tate’s eyes flashed with something too quick for Violet to process, ignoring Ben to look at Vivien and quip, “That just depends on what’s on the menu…”
Vivien blinked back at Tate, her face taking on a flushed tint that made Violet frown in confusion before her father butted in again.
“A drink, then?”
Tate lifted his brows and finally turned back to Ben, smiling and nodding. “Sounds great!”
“Oh— what about our gift?” Vivien said suddenly, breathing hard in her dress. Violet would never admit it but she was dying to know what the odd duck Tate had brought into their house.
Ben stopped before standing all the way. “Oh that’s right,” he said slowly. “Um. Yeah, let’s open it.”
“Thank you again, Tate, you didn’t have to do that,” Vivien said gently, smiling wide and excited as she picked the box back up and held it preciously between her hands.
Tate shifted to sit expectantly in his seat, his eyes wide and glittery like he couldn’t wait for Violet’s mother to open it up and pore over whatever shit he had thrown together.
The woman removed the lid with a soft sound, her eyes lighting up on instinct before they darkened with confusion. She set down the lid and reached inside, her fingers wrapping deftly around the odd thing, and pulling it up for the table to see.
“What…” she started, quiet and polite. “…is it?”
Tate grinned, his pale face going a bit pink at her words. “It’s a dream catcher,” he explained. “A spiderweb charm. My mother used to know a witch, it’s legit— for catching bad spirits before they can taint your dreams.” His eyes flicked to Violet for a second, a ghost of a smile reaching his lips again.
Ben was unamused. “Superstitious nonsense,” he said, clearly irritated but trying to remain as friendly as possible. The man hated logical fallacies more than anything and yet he fooled himself every day into believing everything was fine between him and his wife. It made Violet want to scream. Or run away. “Thoughtful, but we don’t believe in any of that stuff in this house,” he explained, forcing a quiet laugh.
Speak for yourself, Violet wanted to snap, but she’d used up her amount of bitchy quips that night, and settled for something directed at Tate; “Why would we need one of those in this house?”
Tate stared at her, grinning wide again, his pearly canines catching the edge of his lip. The sight made Violet smile, too. “Duh,” he said with that stupid expression. “The ghosts.”
Vivien snorted again, breaking off into a giggle. “Ghosts,” she repeated.
“I’m not scared of ghosts,” Violet sighed. How boring could Tate think she was that something as trivial as trapped spirits could spook her?
“These ones are real,” he insisted seriously, pursing his lips.
“Right,” Vivien laughed again while Ben rolled his eyes hard, his fingers twitching to wrap around a bottle. “And, who would these ghosts be?”
Tate blinked at Vivien, then, confusion starting to cloud his eyes. “I’m— I’m serious,” he says, slowly looking around the table at the awaiting family, all looks incredulous. “I mean— maybe not real live ghosts, but— wait, you guys know what happened here, right?”
Ben cleared his throat nervously. “Old ghost stories, yeah,” he interrupted, standing up. “How about that drink?”
Vivien frowned. “No, we don’t know what happened here,” she snapped.
Violet felt her blood chill at Tate’s expression growing deadly at their words.
He glanced only momentarily at Ben’s warning look before explaining, “I mean— the murders.”
Murder? Violet sat up straighter in her chair. Now murder— real life darkness in physical form, staining floors and echoing in history books— more than just spirits. More than just stories. Violence made the darkness real. Something she could touch.
“Tate, don’t, those are—” Ben sighed harshly, annoyance furrowing his brow as he tried to keep his cool. His eyes, worried, continually flicked back to his wife as her own scowl deepened.
“I grew up hearing those stories, Mr. Harmon— Ben,” Tate said, his voice small and boyish as he tried to convince them. “Of the doctor who killed women in the basement…”
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” Vivien decided, setting her hands down on the table, still clutching the dream catcher.
Violet scoffed. “I do!”
“We’ll discuss this later,” Vivien said firmly to Ben, her eyes raging as she ignored Violet.
Ben glared right back before leaving for the alcohol, muttering something about needing a drink even more now. Tate mumbled an apology to Vivien for going into detail.
“No, thank you,” Vivien said instead. “I appreciate your honesty. Nothing I hate more than…” Her breath caught and she looked down at her plate, blinking tears away. “Than being lied to.”
She looked up and Tate offered a hesitant smile, blinking in surprise when the woman reached out and grabbed his hand for a second to squeeze it. “The gift was very thoughtful, thank you, Tate,” she added sincerely.
She let go before Ben returned, leaving Violet feeling something odd and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. And as she watched Tate and her mother laugh until he had to go for the night, she prayed to the God Who had forsaken her that the sensation was not jealousy.
