; v i o l e t

hey, my name is danni & i’m 26 years old, she / her, GMT timezone.

this is an independent & selective roleplay blog for VIOLET HARMON from AMERICAN HORROR STORY: MURDER HOUSE. this blog is based mainly off of season 1 of ahs, with my own headcanons framing the character.

18+ only, will mention and contain triggering content such as blood, self harm, suicide, murder, ocs and crossovers welcome. established may 2021.

carrd

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&. 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

Violet had only hesitated for a second, one bleak moment where her better instincts told her to turn back and run. Away from this guy that she'd found herself actually halfway liking, away from the situation he'd promised her -- An exploration of some creepy shit he'd found, some haunted house mojo bullshit that usually would have been her exact level of fun.

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

The words themselves did little to alleviate the thudding panic in her chest, the malicious aftereffect of the nightmares that plagued her every single night. Evading sleep only worked for so long before she began to hallucinate, and the use of sleeping pills had been banned since the 'incident' as staff so lovingly to referred to her failed attempt -- And so Violet had taken to accepting them, to feeling worse and worse as each morning came around.

She hadn't told anybody, not even Tommy, not until the fateful September morning when she had been forced into the common room for some early rec time. Looking like shit, judging by the expression on his face when she sat down. Last night had been a bad one -- All of her demons seemed to have banded together like some kind of sick comic book crossover.

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

When Brook had asked Violet if she could borrow something to wear, the skirt that had been tossed in her direction had been picked out without a thought. It wasn't short - no, that was not her style in the slightest - but the fact that it hung around the knees meant that it showed more than she'd ever seen Brook wear before.

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

Girl. Eyes rolling, Violet leaned against the doorway that separated the safety of her bedroom from the eeriness of the rest of the house, the air heavy with unease and anticipation as Halloween loomed closer. She was playing a dangerous game? She wasn't the one wandering into other people's private spaces.

“I know it’s over - still I cling I don’t know where else I can go”

indie & selective violet harmon (ahs)

Either five years ago or about ten?  Seems like being dead screws with one’s perception of time altogether. Michael’s puzzlement as he glances over at her reveals the train of thought he doesn’t wrap into words, all the while he’s reminded of how little he actually knows about himself. Past self. When was he even born?  No one told him, neither did he ask anyone. Through a line of trees capping the suburban street they tread until the first patches of sand soften their footfalls. Some fallen leaves pressed into amassed grains crunch alow their heels. And the salty air… the freshness combined with the calm sound of not-so-distant-anymore waves — a shift in atmosphere mirroring that which resides between Violet and Michael.

Looks like the initial tension his first visit in the house introduced abates. No wonder; after all he isn’t any longer testing her nerves with threats of her family’s annihilation.

❛ I never went up to the attic. Maybe I should rectify that ❜, counters Michael with a crooked smile, one that could as well be mistaken for an unspoken threat. Which it isn’t. Leaving a trail of footprints in the sand, he at least can’t be bothered to look around for Tate or any other ghost finally savoring some freedom. Violet’s question hogs his mind effortlessly, pins his attention to the ocean ahead.  ❛ Fucked up pretty much nails it. ❜  A huff, then a slow shrug of his shoulders.  ❛ Those past years, there wasn’t any reason for me to think about the early days of my childhood. But now… ❜

Attempting to remember almost gives him a headache, nothing else.  ❛ I don’t know. Maybe father took the memory from me. Maybe it’s best I don’t know what happened. ❜  Or he simply skipped it. The idea drops late, evens out the crease contemplation pinched his brows with.  ❛ Anyway. How did you usually spend your Halloween nights on the beach?  Just hang around and admire the sight, or poke fun at some other people showing up here? ❜

Violet could almost feel Michael grasping at his own thoughts and memories, maybe knowing a little of what it felt like. Sure, her memories hadn’t been completely wiped when she died but they were getting hazier every day, blank spots where facts used to be, stock photo images where familiar faces once resided.

For a brief moment she wanted to tell Michael about their first and only meeting when he was a baby, when Vivien had ushered her forward for a few seconds before Ben was due to run away with him. He’d been wearing a little hat, staring up at Violet with wide blue eyes, and there was an intense unease there that made her back away. Was it knowing who he was, how he had been created? Or was it the little part of her that didn’t want him to leave, that actually held the tiniest echo of fondness for the baby in the carrier?

“You were a weird looking baby,” she offered, actually allowing herself to smile for the first time all evening. Maybe he didn’t have any memories of his childhood and maybe she only had one, but Violet could only offer what she knew. “Its nothing personal. All babies look like lumps.”

At that point Violet found herself on the uneven sand, the feeling of it beneath her feet almost as foreign as the first time she’d come here. The sea stretched into the inky blackness, the sounds of drunken laughter in the distance mixing with the whispering of the waves.

“Its not what he did. Its who he is.”

          That statement alone causes her brow to furrow and she stares at her lap in quiet contemplation.   Who is he to them and who is he to her?   It seems they are vastly different.   It begs the question:  why is he so different with her?   Perhaps that’s something to ask him later. Right now,  her head lifts blinking in surprise at the question.

❝ Well… ❞   She gives a soft smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.   There’s a touch of sadness to it as fingers ghost over the scars that adorn her wrists.   ❝ I suppose he opened my eyes to the world.   I lived a very sheltered life.   It was cruel.   I became afraid of living. ❞

          Too many people she let manipulate her quality of life.   She lived by their rules and theirs alone.   Never her own.   Alice sighs,  shoulders shrugging briefly.   ❝ Michael showed me what it means to be alive.   He helped me love myself.   Well…   He’s tried to and I think I’m making progress with that.   He accepted me as I am,  with all my flaws.   I think that’s what anyone wants in the end…   even him. ❞

          She lets out a sigh.   ❝ I hope I can repay him that kindness. ❞   Gaze returns to Violet.   A part of her heart aches at the lost potential before her,  never aging,  never leaving.   Forever trapped.   ❝ I don’t think he’s a bad person…   Misguided,  certainly.   But there’s a light in him.  I’ve seen it. ❞

Violet listened to the spiel, though her eyes had wandered back towards the window and what lay beneath. People strolling along the sidewalk, kids and their parents, teenagers in love -- They had somewhere to be, people to see them. It wasn’t such a reach to suggest that everyone wants to be accepted, to be loved. Even Violet longed for it, secretly and in silence.

“Right.” The word crossed her lips absently, followed by a pause. Realising that Alice wasn’t going to continue, the teen turned back to the room with a tight-lipped smile that bordered on sarcasm. God, she sounded so much like Violet used to when she spoke of Tate. ‘He’s not a bad person’, ‘There’s a light in him’, ‘He’s... misguided’. Maybe it was the Langdon way. Manipulation ran through their veins.

“So you like this guy.” It was a statement, not a question. She’d never seen a more obvious crush. “Did he tell you anything about me? Not that he’d remember me or anything. Pretty sure I only met him once and he spit up on me.” Sure, he was only a few days old but Violet could hold a grudge.

After sixteen days isolated in confinement, when the lock to his door was finally unlatched early in the morning, Tommy made a beeline for the exit. His dark features looked pallid. He’d barely eaten, barely seen the sun, and his eyes were flickered feral, between the nurse giving him his medication by hand, to ensure he didn’t pocket it. No more room to spare for magic tricks. They were fed up with his behavior, with his act, the whole lot of him. If his doctor had a choice, Tommy would be left there till the end of his days.

The recreation room is the lesser of many evils. The pills swallowed is meant to keep him calm, collected, and his mind numb. The perfect cocktail offered to sit precisely still and make no trouble. It’s more than he should be prescribed. But there isn’t a bind he can’t find himself out of, there isn’t a window around he won’t shatter to make his escape, and their only means of stopping Tommy Jarvis is by slowing him down.

He’s alone, fingers idly adjusting his current project, a mask stitched together with little means. He doesn’t pay attention to the television, the show is white noise, when her voice rouses him out of his focus. She’s already seated when he meets her eyes, and Tommy nods anyway, “I don’t mind,” his thumb adjust the eyepiece of the mask. It’s a colorful monster, not as scary as the ones he used to make, more silly and vibrant.

“What do you think?” He holds it up before his face, “Should I add more hair?”

Violet was already reaching for a book from the shelf, not even paying attention to what she was grabbing. Anything would do, any ounce of escapism that she could possibly consume was deemed good enough by her standards. She hadn’t anticipated the boy wanting to talk to her, assuming that they would sit together in companionable silence. But the idea of talking to someone after being stuck here for so long wasn’t completely cringing.

Eyeing the mask he held, Violet raised a questioning brow. It was good, way better than anything she could make, but it still held creepiness within it -- Like a clown at a kid’s birthday party. You knew it wasn’t meant to be scary and yet you didn’t want to get too close.

“Depends,” she replied, a slight quirk of her lips as she looked up at his face for the first time. It felt strange, trying to smile. “On what the hell you’re trying to make. Is it supposed to look that creepy?”