wiltfllower

[wiltfllower]

"God knows. Almost thirty, as far as I've been able to count. There's about eight deaths I know of, just while I was alive, and there have been more since, so it's hard to keep track."

Violet knocks on a perfectly waxed wooden beam. Moira still takes good care of the place, even if she doesn't clean up after any of the ghosts here. Mom takes care of the garden. Chad and Patrick sometimes do some decorating here and there. They have to keep themselves occupied between explosive breakups and world-ending revelations of continued infidelity.

"There's the family that built this place, the couple that lived here before us... Those nurses from the sixties - there are shows about them, and... A lot of kids. Small ones. All from before. It's depressing."

He laughs.          “God, that fucking sucks.”

It’s deeply sad—if she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying, anyway—but what else is there to do but laugh? Maybe his baby was the lucky one, going somewhere he actually belongs, getting to grow up. Being stuck in the liminal, never reaching full sentience, sounds miserable. But, then again, never reaching full sentience does mean never having to contextualize the tragedy of being, so maybe… 

Zero shouldn’t be comparing the two. It’s beside the point. 

          “How many corpses are crowding up this place anyway?”          It feels like a lot, more than even really makes sense. Maybe she’s right and there’s more truth to all the hearsay than he thought.

[wiltfllower]

the seas.

dialogue prompts from the seas: a novel by samantha hunt.

the roads only go south from here.

there's no privacy in this town.

we live here because we hate the rest of you.

we're getting out of here. let's go.

fuck the dry land. i'm a mermaid.

how come i don't know you?

love is a broken down old car by the side of the road. sometimes you have to rig a fan belt or an alternator with what you've got.

i wanted them to know you were mine, even if it wasn't true.

the older i get, the vaguer things become.

you make me feel like a pony.

sadness can be like a political cause, almost, or a religion. or a drug habit.

don't forget: the ocean is full of everything, except mercy.

nudity is more painful to me than loneliness.

you're young. you should travel. meet people. see the world.

i don't really like people, i think.

drinking helps us continue living in remote places. there's no one to tell us how swallowed we are.

have you ever thought your life was an experiment?

i'm afraid you'll disappear if i blink.

please don't be afraid of me.

what's making you so sad?

what you've done is quite serious.

you should be dead. it's a miracle.

i could almost fall asleep down here.

just don't get stuck here like i did.

isn't it after your bedtime?

don't forgive me. i wouldn't, if i were you.

will you get out of the car, please?

you're spooky.

you can see me?

you can't kill what's already dead.

you are the only warm thing to me.

only mothers can really know what being scared is like.

what are you in for?

tell me your story. i've heard all the others.

love can be like a well: steep sides, with no way out.

i don't know what to believe, just now.

i've read enough books to know that's not how it ends.

[wiltfllower]

❝ Twenty-eleven. I'm technically a missing person. ❞ Not something she usually broadcasts to those who just walk in - but since he's aware of the rest of her situation... ❝ My mom and dad are here, too... And my brother. But he was basically DOA. He doesn't do much other than shit himself and cry twenty-four-seven, so I don't know if he even counts. ❞

Isn't that tragic? Terrible? Macabre? She's leaning into it all for shock value, testing him for squeamishness. A soft place for a knife to sink and twist.

-- Violet doesn't know why, or what for. She's enjoying this conversation. Call it the teenage urge to be a total and utter cunt to anyone within eyesight.

❝ A lot of the shit you've heard about this place is probably true. ❞

          “You might want to lay off the news. That’s likely to drive anyone insane right now,”          Zero laughs.          “But I respect it.” 

He doesn’t know enough about the dead to discern whether or not her method will actually work. All he knows is what he’s already witnessed, other ghosts. So far, without fail, there is always at least some degree of degradation to the soul, disintegration of the self—but he isn’t an expert. He doesn’t make understanding the dead his business the way some of his peers do. For all he knows, she is different. Maybe he should keep checking back on her progress—or, more optimistically, her lack of progression. Against his better judgment, he finds himself rooting for her, hoping he comes back to a girl unchanged.

          “You one of the more recent deaths here? I can’t help but notice your modern, un-spooky clothes,”          he says.          “I heard some family died here in… twenty-eleven? Twenty-twelve? But it’s hard to tell which stories are urban legends and which aren’t.” 

[wiltfllower]

❝ Well first of all, I'm not old. So I know how to keep up with all the changes in the world. ❞ Violet watches Nora sometimes, wandering around and wailing at the differences, the butchering, the gutting of her once-beautiful and ever unhappy home. She's confused, doesn't understand. And Violet thinks that that's half the problem.

Aside from the gaping hole in her head, of course.

❝ And I keep track of the dates. The news. I keep my mind alert. I refuse to let time just pass by because I'm stuck here. ❞

Another little twist in his gut. I’m different. God, she really is young. He tries to imagine her in fifty years, a hundred, her spirit ravaged by restlessness, the unyielding march of eternity. How different will she be then? How rotten might she go?

          “Oh? Really! What makes you different?”          He’s genuinely curious about her answer, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, an underlying challenge: Prove it, kiddo.

[wiltfllower]

@deficd said: ❝ i threw the first punch. ❞

❝ Good. Those assholes had it coming. Next time, spit on 'em too. ❞ Violet does not miss school. She does not miss the monotonous droning of her various teachers, the courtyard politics, the side-eyes and weary glances from her fellow students and non-existent friends. Feyd having a shitty time at the same place a few years later is entirely unsurprising. Seems like school is shit, no matter how many years go by.

Violet winces a bit, looking at the cut on Feyd's brow.

❝ Did they gang up on you? This one girl used to have her friends pin me down, or else I would have beat her ass every time. ❞

[wiltfllower]

❝ Of course you're crazier than me. You willingly walked in here. ❞ Violet minimises her smile to a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth and glances away from his - as if anything is as interesting as a new visitor who seems perfectly at home with the concept of ghosts and cursed houses. In the long stretch between guests, the long today that is her existence drags somewhat painfully. It's nice to have somebody to talk to that doesn't treat her with outward pity, knowing what she is. ❝ And I'm not ever gonna go crazy like the others here. I'm different. ❞

@wiltfllower SAID:   you think i’m crazy , but i’m not .       ☆     flower face sentence starters     ☆     send FANMAIL!

          “Did I say I thought you were crazy? I don’t think you’re crazy. Not yet, anyway. Give it a few more years, when your spirit has decayed a bit further.” 

He leans harsh with the dead, but it would be a lie to say he’s completely untouched. She looks young. It’s sad. Bleak, too—an eternity of unresolved teenage angst awaits her. With that in mind, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did lose her mind faster than the average ghost. Still, it’s obvious she isn’t there yet; she’s completely coherent, her form is solid enough that one could mistake her for alive. Holding up well.

He smiles.          “I can guarantee I’m crazier than you. By a mile.”

[wiltfllower]

People are more complicated than that, but the situation isn't complicated. When somebody does something to hurt you without apology once, they'll do it again if you let them. Violet looks at Alexandra like she's the child, barely repressing the rolling eyes, the deep contempt for adults who would prefer to bury their heads in the sand than notice when their kid is suffering.

Violet feels a tingle behind her ear, the back of her neck. Tate, somewhere nearby, listening in. He's always around, hidden, and she always feels him.

Not a monster, not always. Her skin crawls.

❝ That's such a cop-out. When somebody hurts the people you love, the people you're supposed to protect, you have to be stronger than whatever love you think is there. ❞

Alexandra's expression doesn't change at first. It holds, frozen for a beat too long, as though Violet has struck some hidden seam inside her and she is waiting to see if it splits open.

Then—so faint it might be missed—her shoulders ease. Not relax. Just shift. A recalibration of weight she’s long since grown used to carrying.

"I'm not afraid of him," she says, softly. Her eyes never leave Violet’s face. "I’m afraid of what is left when he’s gone."

There is no drama in the words, no self-pity. Just fact. A woman explaining the weather.

"He wasn't always like this," she adds, tone dipping into something almost tender. "And even now—he's... he's not a monster. Not always. People are more complicated than that. So are the things we love."

[wiltfllower]

Jesus Christ, this woman sounds more depressing than a Tolstoy protagonist. And that's coming from Violet, the girl who killed herself. Still. She can appreciate a want for privacy. Too bad she wont get it here, even with the door locked, these rooms are packed full of the dead, all watching, all reliving their own private tragedies in the very same room.

"You look like you're scared of something." Which Violet cannot relate to. "Why stay with a man you're afraid of?"

Alexandra's gaze lingers on Violet a moment longer this time, as though weighing her up. Not unkindly, but with the measured caution of someone who has learned, long ago, to say only what must be said.

"In private," she replies, tone smooth as silk stretched thin. "When the doors are locked. When no one is listening through them." Her eyes flicker—just once—to the far window. The curtains don't move, but she watches them all the same.

Her eyes return to Violet, unnervingly calm and steady. "Comfort," she says, almost absently, "is not always the same as safety."

[wiltfllower]

@rejectory

"I told you to leave." Yet she refuses to say the words to make him. Violet feels her shoulders hunch, the decade-long grudge aches like yesterday. "I can't talk to you, Tate. I can't even look at you."

The contradictory nature of eternal adolescence, she is older and wiser but cannot feel so. He is still somebody she loves. It would be much easier if it felt like time had any effect on the wounds he's inflicted.

[wiltfllower]

LUTHER SENTENCE MEMES

quotes taken from season one; episode two.

❝  exactly what happened yesterday?  ❞

❝  i threw the first punch. ❞

❝  fall or jump?  ❞

❝  do you not worry you’re on the devil’s side without even knowing it?  ❞

❝  he fell.  ❞

❝  the difference between us is one of degree, not category.  ❞

❝  you’re too clever for me.  ❞

❝  are you afraid of me?  ❞

❝  do you like this kind of thing? this controlling, macho bullshit?  ❞

❝  _____ is gonna die unless you help them.  ❞

❝  what do you have to do to a boy, to get him to do that?  ❞

❝  it takes such a toll.  ❞

❝  one life is all we have, life and love.  ❞

❝  whoever takes life steals everything.  ❞

❝  he’d have been happier as a priest.  ❞

❝  how does anyone compete with a calling like that?  ❞

❝  i’m proud.  ❞

❝  anyone would be tempted.  ❞

❝  don’t die for him. not for him.  ❞

❝  who else knew you were here?  ❞

❝  he’s ashamed of you.  ❞

❝  he told me all your secrets, just so i could humiliate you.  ❞

❝  i’m here to tell you what kind of man your dad is.  ❞

❝  if you don’t leave ____ alone, i will kill you.  ❞

❝  you need to let it be.  ❞

❝  i think i got the right man.  ❞

❝  i like her, by the way.  ❞

❝  one coffee does not make us friends.  ❞

❝  she felt she’d lost you to the dead.  ❞

❝  we’re friends - i want to make you feel better.  ❞

❝  i don’t know what we are, but we’re not friends.  ❞

❝  i have no wish to hurt you.  ❞

❝  brownies/scouts honour.  ❞

[wiltfllower]

an interpretation of violet harmon of american horror story's 'murder house' -- long-form, 18+ only, written by lavender.

[wiltfllower]

"What time and place are we talking about here? Where can you cry, if not in the comfort of your own home?" Violet, always prepared to give the tough-love tone to an older woman, finds herself thrown a little off by Alexandra's tone. Patience isn't something you get very often in this place, and if you do it's served with a healthy measure of condescension.

She feels almost bad for her.

what's wrong with crying? / @wiltfllower

Alexandra's expression doesn't shift, though her fingers still ever so slightly on the rim of her glass. She glances at the girl—not sharply, but with the kind of cool patience one reserves for a child repeating a question already answered.

"Nothing. There is simply a time and a place."

[wiltfllower]

@viciousthorns said: ❛ Shouldn't someone your age be at school right now? ❜ 

"Shouldn't somebody your age be at work right now? Or at least anywhere else other than some creepy abandoned old house." She was going to play nice, but the school comment really sours her pretty immediately. Violet tilts her head to one side, all sass and snark and her arms folded across her chest.

She doesn't usually deal with intruders, but the others seem to be lost in their own interpersonal dramas to deal with the house's latest guest - so the task falls upon her. Which works out just fine; she's bored out of her damned mind, passing a tennis ball back and forth in the attic between her and Beauregard for the last few hours.

"This place isn't safe. You'd better make this a short stop."

[wiltfllower]

@rejectory said: ❛ you'd do that for me? ❜

Violet shuffles the deck against the attic floorboards and smiles down at the dust cloud that puffs up in wake of her movements. She has a general rule not to ask Tate about his home life - she's eavesdropped on enough of his therapy sessions to know that it's not exactly a cake walk, and she's not about to poke and prod at all his sensitive spots - but his genuine awe at her offers to do something nice for him does make her want to.

There's a little pause in their back-and-forth, but she nods when she finally looks over at him, all casual, smiling just a little. One card for him, one card for her. Then another, and another.

"Sure, of course. It's easy. I got the new iPod for my birthday, but my old one works just fine. You can totally have it. Just, like, make me a list of songs you want on it and I'll download them for you."

[wiltfllower]

interest call. - like this post and i'll hit you up with some plotting ideas! i'll limit this to the first couple for now while i get my bearings on this blog, but sooo excited to get this all started!

[wiltfllower]

violet's ipod is one of the few things she managed to keep for herself after death, though she hasn't been able to update it since. she takes great care to keep the tech preserved, though she knows one day it's going to break down and become too outdated to use one day. these are the tracks that accompany her while she mopes around the house.