Title: Misfortunate Children
Summary: What if Tate raped Violet instead of Vivian? Violet doesn't know the identity of the Rubber Man and soon finds a friend in Tate Langdon. But romantic feelings develop and she doesn't know how to cope with intimacy. Tate watches as the girl he loves realises she's pregnant, but, he must stop her from discovering the truth. (Bloody hell I suck at summarys.)
Well, this idea came into my head today and I just HAD to write it down. It took like 2 hours. I really hope you enjoy and want me to continue, my first proper AHS fanficcy, (I have done a HP/AHS crossover but this is the first time truly for Tate/Violet so I hope I do them and you justice) :)
Chapter One
He had promised her, promised to provide her with what she craved most. A baby to replace the one she had been robbed of.
No matter the cost.
No matter who gets hurt.
It didn't matter that the older female of the new family was currently away because a more youthful one had staid. He hadn't seen the girl yet, but he would, just moments before he defiles her with his seed.
Tate Langdon's hands shook as he snatched the rubber suit from the wall; at least whilst the outfit was on Tate could pretend it was a costume, that everything he has done and will do in this costume wasn't him, but another character who he had to play.
He clambered out of his regular clothes, his jeans fell to the floor and he kicked them aside, his boxers soon followed and he viciously tore his t-shirt off, breaking it in the process. He swore quietly.
He gazed at himself in the full length mirror, inhaling several deep breaths of unneeded oxygen as he contemplated what he was about to commit.
-I've done so much wrong in this world already.
-The world is a filthy place. It will always be full of shit and piss. Your actions won't make it worse because that isn't possible.
-I've taken innocent lives, but, I've never raped before. I'll be stealing a young girl's virginity unwillingly. I will truly become a monster.
-The monster is this house, its hell, but you can do this for the only mother figure you've ever had. You can't disappoint her. You promised her.
-Your right. I have no choice.
Tate stared at his body, terrified that this would be the last time he would look human, afterwards he could turn green, hair might grow into fur and his teeth could be replaced with sharp glistening fangs that would constantly be coated in a deep scarlet.
"Don't get all chicken shit about this," Tate muttered to himself and his reflection slowly gained confidence, a smile forming on its face before he put on the mask and, with steady hands, he zipped it up.
He became the rubber man; the character that consumed him each time he put on the 'costume'.
Tate grabbed the door knob and twisted it, moving down the hallway stealthily until he came to the girl's door. His hand rose, palm touching the surface but he halted when he heard the music of Kurt Cobain humming from inside.
He shook his head, ridding himself of guilty thoughts before he pushed the door open and walked inside.
(One week later)
The razor sliced her delicate skin, blood weld from the wound and slowly spilled down Violet Harmon's arm, it clattered softly on her bedroom floor and she smiled sleepily as she felt the pain.
She'd been having the nightmares for a week now; they were always the same, starting with her laying on her bed, dressed in her baggy white nightgown, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of Kurt Cobain, her feet moving occasionally with the rhythm whilst she tries to escape the world.
But then hands would clamp hers, rooting her to place. But she's weak. She can't escape. And then, everything goes black.
Violet hates weakness, she never used to display fear, but now she's terrified of sleeping, of leaving herself open to her subconscious.
She stands from the bed, already in her day-time clothing; she never wears her pyjamas anymore.
She steps gingerly outside to the hallway and can immediately hear noises from upstairs, her Dad's soft reassuring voice trailing down to her and she sighed, wishing that she didn't feel hatred whenever anything related to him was present.
He must be entertaining another nut job.
Footsteps echo from the stairs and Violet immediately rushes to the bathroom opposite her room.
She hates strangers.
People are shit.
The razor's still stuck to her bloody palm and she lifts it, cutting again, creating a new scar next to a multiple of previous ones.
She holds her breath in excitement and waits for the agony that's soon to follow.
"Self mutilation," A voice states behind her and she turns round instantly to face a boy whose facial expression is blank.
She shivers as she takes in his appearance, his blonde messy hair, his almost black eyes and she gets the notion that he's familiar. But she waves it aside because that would be impossible, insane.
Violet Harmon would not let insanity cling to her and claim her as its own.
She remained silent and slowly moved her hand to her back, obscuring the razor from the boy's view. But he didn't seem to notice, his eyes were fixed on her face.
Tate stared at her bloodshot eyes and parting mouth which couldn't form words. He refused to look at the blood which he knew was running down her arm, dripping off her hand and landing drop by drop on the marble white floor.
Guilt washed over him and he almost took a step back.
-I've broken her.
-Guilt is a useless emotion. What is done is done.
-I didn't realise she was this…this…..pure…this….perfect. I never even saw her face when it happened, when I did what I did.
-See? Guilt is useless. You may not even have raped her.
Tate breathed out a relieved sigh as he realised that his subconscious could be right. He had never seen the teenagers face, he couldn't bear himself to look at it, knowing it would be covered with fear and tears.
"Save me the lecture," She snarled, immediately snapping him away from his thoughts; she imitated the voice of a psychiatrist, sounding shockingly like her father, "Self mutilation is wrong and sinful and pathetic. And I shouldn't do it because I can be so much better in life."
His negative emotions were pushed to the back of his mind as he stared at the interesting beauty before him. The one filled with so much sadness and he made it his new mission to cure her.
She crossed her arms over her chest defensively whilst Tate raised his arms, her eyebrows rose as he moved his sleeves back to reveal faint scars caused by the misery that had once inflicted him.
Her arms fell to her sides and she took a cautious step towards him, observing the millions of cuts that covered his arms.
He stood rigid to the spot, not even breathing, but she didn't notice. Her attention was enraptured by finding someone similar, someone that could understand her.
"What's your name?" Violet enquired, resisting the urge to trace the boy's cuts with her fingers.
"Tate."
"I'm Violet."
She glanced up at Tate, and he smiled down at her, his eyes locking with hers and, for just a moment, they were normal teenagers.
"I don't do it anymore," Tate muttered, looking almost regretful as Violet took a step away from him, retreating away from the disguised monster.
"How come?" She whispered, wishing that she had the same strength as the boy before her, the one that had entered the darkness and recovered.
"No point. It wasn't helping me. The scars just remind me of how weak I was now."
She considered it and nodded along, finally agreeing with his perspective, but he couldn't understand that she needed and craved the scarlet droplets and the hurt they provided her with.
She wanted to invite him into her room, play him music from her stereo and see if he has similar taste to hers, she would like the company.
But, something was stopping her, every time her mouth opened to ask him it closed again as flashes of her nightmare presented themselves before her.
A rubber suit.
Hand's restricting hers.
Her ripped nightgown in the corner of her room.
The blood pooling around her thighs.
The voice of Kurt Cobain singing in the background.
She just managed to stop her fists from hitting her head to force the images out, to keep away the horror that was seeping in to her mind.
She would be like Tate. She would be strong, so she invited him to her room and he seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment until he asked her to lead the way.
20 minutes later Tate was sitting on the floor, flicking through Violet's CD albums, amazed that he recognised at least three quarter's of the artists. He was impressed with her already; her music taste was extraordinary; she was extraordinary.
-I'm just an evil entity doomed to stalk her for eternity.
Violet sat a safe distance away from the boy, and her bed, occupying a chair opposite him. She tried not to beam as he complimented her and shifted her chair forward slightly.
"Do you go to the school near here?" She asked, begging mentally that the answer was yes. She already felt safe around him. He would protect her from the materialistic girls that would haunt and torment her.
He took a moment to form an appropriate answer, one that would impress her, "No, got kicked out. Those idiots that roam the halls can't tell their homework from their anus. Apparently, if you cause a little bit of conflict you aren't good enough to be one of them."
"Why? What did you?"
Violet leaned forward in her chair and now their faces were only inches apart. He smirked at her, prolonging the moment, finding an excuse to stare at her some more.
"My sister has 'special needs'," Tate air quoted nastily and rolled his eyes, "Those shit faces believed that just because they were 'normal' they were allowed to treat her as you would a common dog."
Violet wanted to make a sympathetic remark but knew already that Tate wouldn't appreciate it so she simply said, "That sucks. Give a person a negative label and everyone else believes they can treat them like piss. It ain't right."
He smiled at her sweetly and took her hands, and Violet relaxed at his touch. It seeped warmth into her body, penetrating her, almost making her forget about the nightmares.
"Why are you shivering?" Tate asked softly, staring down at their entwined fingers, his steady ones, and her constant shaking ones.
Violet's eyes widened in shock and she hastily withdrew herself from his and leant as far back in her chair as she could. She refused to answer his question despite that he waited patiently, as blame pressed itself on him, just as he had once pressed himself on to her.
His attention went back to her piles of CD's and he picked one up randomly, the back of it was smashed, as if she had violently thrown it across the room and he laughed softly, imagining it to contain noise from a boy band - who shouldn't be labelled as music artists - that she had been given as a present from her weak minded father, the one upstairs who truly believed him to be 'psychologically damaged.'
He flicked it over and almost dropped it when he saw Kurt Cobain's face.
He quickly glanced up at the young girl and was relieved when she didn't find his action at all strange.
"I know," She sighed, "Kurt Cobain is a legend and I shouldn't treat his album like that, but his voice brings back so many…..nightmares."
Tate nodded quickly, wanting to distract from her subject, wanting to forget about that night one week ago when he had changed her from a divine being to a death carrier.
-I'm truly disgusting.
-She's classified the experience as a nightmare. You must be awful in bed.
-She can't ever find out it was real.
-What do you think is going to happen dip shit when she finds out she's pregnant?
-She can't ever find out it was me.
-An hour with her and your already regretting what you did for Nora? Your right, you are disgusting.
-Violet radiates light.
-You've dimmed that light; it will turn into darkness soon. It will soon become worse then you.
Violet waved her hand in front of Tate, he had zoned out again just as he had done in the bathroom.
"Am I really that boring that you have to day dream when around me?"
His head snapped up straight away and he grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him. She stifled a scream. This was not her nightmare. This was a teenage boy trying to reassure her.
"You could never bore me."
His hand remained on hers again, but, this time the atmosphere had changed, his desperation to reassure her frightened her and something about his touch was familiar.
He grasped her hand harder, wanting her to speak to him, hoping that she would tell him that he's being an idiot and hadn't offended her, but, her eyes swept over all of his body, it was almost as if she was observing him.
Trying to identify him.
"Tate," She whispered, "I recognise you," She took in a deep breath, "You feel familiar."