Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/708619.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      American_Horror_Story
  Relationship:
      Violet_Harmon/Tate_Langdon
  Character:
      Violet_Harmon, Vivien_Harmon, Tate_Langdon, Sister_Jude, Sister_Mary
      Eunice, Charles_Montgomery
  Additional Tags:
      Mother-Daughter_Relationship, Cutting, Depression, Teen_Angst, Spanking,
      Bondage, light_bloodplay, Caning, Burning, Light_Sadism, Light_Masochism,
      Dom/sub, Age_Difference, all_the_feels, Recreational_Drug_Use, First
      Time, Child_Abuse, sexual_favors
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-04 Updated: 2013-03-21 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4095
****** Briarcliff School for Wayward Girls ******
by Hagia_Hyena
Summary
     "Conduct Disorder-the counselor said. Marked antisocial behavior."
     Violet is sent to a boarding school for troubled girls where she
     meets the enigmatic and handsome Mr. Langdon. But it's when she
     discovers his penchant for whips and chains that things really get
     interesting.
***** The Nightmare Begins *****
Briarcliff School for Wayward Girls. This school sucked. A bunch of junkies and
skanks from the sound of it. And why was she the one kicked out of Westfield?
Why not that bitch whose stupid mouth she punched? The first time she heard the
damn thing open she was talking about some guy doing coke off her nipples. And
the second time she was telling her to eat a lit cigarette. Horrible first
impression, if you were to ask Violet - the girl was asking for a sandwich made
of knuckles. But of course no one listened to Violet. No one ever did, it
seemed.
Conduct Disorder - the counselor had said. Marked antisocial behavior. Her
father had been mortified. What would his patients think if they knew what a
menace his daughter was? Well what would they think if they knew he cheated on
his wife with a girl nearly his daughter’s age? And of course her mother just
sighed and shook her head in that fake concerned way - like she gave a shit
about Violet even before she lost that baby. Yeah, they were disappointed but
fuck them. Fuck them.
“ - enforce disciplinary action. I know most public schools are averse to
corporeal punishment but we find it works rather well on the more difficult
ones.” The old lady wittered from across the desk. From the sag of her face
Violet surmised she was at least of near-death age.
“So you’re going to beat me?” She crossed her ankle over her knee and slouched
back into the chair.
“Violet.” Her father warned. “Just - don’t. Not now.” She rolled her eyes. She
looked around the office. It was made up of dark, over-polished wood and ugly
oriental rugs. Seriously, the rugs were everywhere. At least three that she
could see on the floor and one hanging up on the wall next to a dusty china
cabinet. On the desk was a picture of a much younger version of the woman in
front of her shaking hands with a cardinal or a bishop or whatever. Why her
parents were sending her to a catholic school instead of some remedial thing
was beyond her. Violet couldn’t remember the last time they went to church. She
just figured they were atheists now. Apparently not.
“Of course Mrs. Harmon. You’re actually welcome to meet one of our teachers now
if you like. You can look over her lesson plan. Academia is our top priority.
We don’t simply wish to be a place to dump troubled girls. We want to make sure
they get the same opportunities as all the others.”
Violet alternated between picking at the loose strands at the heel of her too-
long jeans and at the loosening string on her too-long, coffee-stained, well-
loved Joy Division t-shirt. This was bullshit. Her parents brought her here to
give her the illusion of choice, but the trivial questions her parents were
asking and the fact that anything Violet said had been immediately shushed
hinted that the decision had already been made. The old woman stood and hobbled
around the desk. Surprised she doesn’t need a walker.
“If you would just follow me.” The woman held the door open for them and they
were making their way deeper into the building. The walls glowed a dull grey
under the florescent lights. It’s what Violet imagined a mortuary to look like.
All washed out and lifeless.
They turned down another hall - this one decidedly more cheerful than the last.
Though the color was an ugly pastel yellow, Violet found it pleasant. It added
to the black and white checkered tile that made up the floor - a pattern the
girl had always liked. The woman knocked on a door to their right and was
immediately invited in by a sweet sounding voice from within.
A young woman stood in front of the blackboard, heavy book and several
notebooks in hand jotting down talking points. She smiled at them, juggling the
items in her arms but dropping them on her desk in a rather undignified manner,
knocking a stack of papers to the floor.
“This is Sister Mary Eunice, the World History professor.” The old woman
introduced her. The young woman smiled apologetically.
“I’m terribly sorry. I’m just trying to -” She scrambled around the desk,
quickly recovering the papers. She stacked them neatly and collected herself.
“I’m just trying to organize my lesson plans.” She beamed and politely shook
their hands.
As they exchanged ’nice to meet you’s’ Violet sized her up. She seemed like one
of those people that wore a mask of confidence over a very fragile ego. It had
probably come up in some performance review that she wasn’t assertive enough.
Like a little girl trying on her mother’s clothes to look grown up - all the
elements were there, they just didn’t fit. There was a weariness about her.
This job was wearing her down, Violet could tell.
Mary Eunice went on to tell them about the daily activities in the classroom
and the general performance of her students. It sounded painfully dull.
“So how often do you discipline the girls?” Violet asked.
The woman seemed surprised. “Well,” She started slowly. “I don’t normally do
that. I either send them to the Mother Superior’s office or I send them to
Sister Agnes’.”
‘”Who’s that?” Violet asked.
“Oh, it’s not a person.” The old woman laughed. “It’s sort of the therapy wing
of the building. You’ll do exercises in self-reflection, have to write papers
on how your behavior effects others and the like. It‘s where we hold the
etiquette classes as well.”
Ben Harmon smiled. It was faint, but Violet caught it. Etiquette classes. That
sounded… horrific. Hopefully she wouldn’t be required go - or to pass it. Her
parents were obviously happy with the school. Whether or not it was because
Violet would be staying there 9 months out of the year was up for debate.
Her parents were invited back into the old woman’s office while Violet was
ordered to wait outside. She paced across the hall, shuffling her feet so they
squeaked on the linoleum. She was so lost in her own little world that she
didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right up on her.
“You waiting on someone?” A man, probably mid-twenties, gestured to the door.
Despite herself, she immediately slunk back, letting her hair fall in her face.
She hated when she did this. Anytime someone even moderately attractive so much
as looked her she suddenly turned into this… Shrinking violet. She sneered
internally. And he was attractive. He was at least a head taller than her with
unkempt blonde hair, big brown eyes, and what she deemed a ‘charming’ little
freckle on the end of his nose. She feigned nonchalance, twisting a strand of
hair around her index finger.
“No, I just broke into the building and now I’m loitering out here for the hell
of it.” She mumbled. To his credit, her sarcasm seemed not to faze him. He
simply nodded as if she had answered him politely. He cracked the door open and
knocked quietly. He obviously got the reaction he was looking for as he
disappeared into the room. Violet could hear friendly conversation from behind
the door. She continued her obsessive pacing, finger still twisting her hair.
Before long the young man emerged with a large file, giving her a look of pity.
He stood there for a moment just staring at her and looked as though he wanted
to say something.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” She snapped. She was starting to feel a
blush creep up on her cheeks from the way he was looking at her. There was no
way she was going to embarrass herself by letting him see the reaction he was
causing.
“I’m sorry.” He stuttered a bit. “It’s - it’s just that the ones signed up for
the studies… well.” He sighed, shaking his head and walking down the hall.
“What studies?” She asked. He ignored her. “What studies?!” She shouted after
him. He paused, seeming to take a moment to collect his words. He moved
hesitantly back to her, checking to be sure no one else was around. He was too
close for comfort. At this distance she could smell the spicy scent of his body
wash overlaid with the harsh smell of laundry detergent. She tried her best to
meet his eyes, but ended up mostly staring at his shoulder.
“Like um…” He pointed to the ceiling. “You see that up there?” She followed his
gaze upward. “You see that big ’gullible’ written on the ceiling?” If the
capillaries in her cheeks weren’t full to bursting yet, they soon would be. She
pushed away from him sputtering. The combination of arousal and humiliation
shut down any kind of smartassed remark she could have made.
“You should probably be more respectful of the staff if you plan on going to
school here.” He smirked, turning away. “Also, watch your language.” He strode
down the hall toward the classrooms.
She grasped for a word other than idiot. Idiot. Violet you fucking idiot. She
finally settled for her old, faithful friend.
“Yeah, well fuck you, asshole.” She usually made it sound less desperate and
weak, but it was better than whatever pathetic witticism she could come up with
in this state. Could be worse. She didn’t even look to see if he had heard her.
She just folded her arms as tightly across her chest as she could manage and
ducked her head down, trying to disassociate herself from the situation
entirely.
***** Underjoyed *****
Her parents planned a brutal family dinner in honor of her starting boarding
school the next day.  They had sat in silence for a bit before Violet could no
longer stand the sad charade of a family her parents pretended to be. It was
obvious from the way her parents refused to look at one another that whatever
bond they had left was fraying rapidly. The stiff way her father asked her
mother to pass the green beans and the way Vivien barely acknowledged him.
    Violet found herself in her room hating the world and everyone in it. Her
father had come in earlier to ask her what her problem was, the ensuing
argument had ended with her in tears and him storming out of her room slamming
her door behind him in frustration. She now found herself lying in bed too
drained from her emotional outburst to reach over to her dresser for her iPod
which she so desperately craved. Instead she scratched the scabs on her wrists
until they were burned raw and the flesh under her nails was too slick with
blood to continue.
    She had made sure to pack her razors - hiding them carefully in a manicure
set she had gotten for Christmas. At least she would be able to find some
solace at Briarcliff.


    The ride was uneventful. She moped in the back seat despite the front
passenger’s seat being available. Her father had stayed home with a patient so
her mother was driving her to her first day of school.
    “Well, at least you’ll be starting on the first day back - not in the
middle of the year.” That was the first thing she had said to her daughter
since they started this hour and a half long car trip. Violet just shrugged and
mumbled an agreement under her breath.
    “Are you okay?“ Vivien asked. Her tone was soft like she genuinely wanted
to listen. Too little too late. Other than wishing I hadn’t woken up this
morning - that I’d just died of a brain hemorrhage in my sleep? Fucking
horrible.
    “I’m fine.” She droned, running her nails through the grooves in the faux
leather seats, picking at the seams.
    Vivien was silent for a few more minutes before chirping, “I looked over
your Literature syllabus. It looks like you’ll be reading a lot of books you’d
probably enjoy. Have you read Lord of the Flies yet?”
    Violet shook her head. Before the miscarriage one thing she and her mom had
bonded over was a similar taste in, and passion for, books.  
    “Watership Down was on the required reading too.” Vivien smiled dreamily.
“I remember when you were little you’re dad rented that for you not knowing
what it was about,” She laughed “I freaked out when he told me, I thought you
would be traumatized but you thought it was the greatest movie in the world.
The messed up bunny movie. Do you remember that?”
    She did remember it. She smiled fondly thinking about it. She hoped they
would get to watch the
video.
    “Yeah.” She couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice.
    “I love you, Violet. You know that, right?” Her smile faded. Way to go,
mom. She shrugged again. Vivien caught her eye in the rear view mirror but she
tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed.
    The rest of the ride was quiet

    
    They pulled up in front of Briarcliff and Violet felt her stomach sink. She
hated normal high schoolers - there was no way she was going to get along with
these girls. But for four whole months she was going to be stuck here. Great.
    Vivien helped her unload her bags and bring them into the building -
offering words of encouragement the whole way. As they entered the foyer they
were directed to the dorms by colorful signs in quirky fonts and an excess of
smiley faces. Violet let herself imagine she was being escorted to her death by
lethal injection. It became quite a bit harder to maintain this illusion as
they approached the dormitory proper.  She was asked to sign in and be assigned
her bunk. Then she was handed a bag of uniforms and sent on her way.
    “They’ll be giving me a number next.” She scoffed.
    Vivien bit back a smirk, “You’re being dramatic. It’s boarding school -
it’s like that.”
    Some of the girls had already changed into their uniforms and were larking
around in the halls. Violet sneered as she saw a middle aged man leering at one
of the girls while standing next to his (presumably) wife and daughter. Vivien
escorted her up to her dorm. The room was quite small. Two bare twin beds sat
on opposite ends of the room. The paint was chipped in the window and Violet
was dismayed to find that there were thick iron bars on the outside. She looked
pleadingly at her mother who, to her credit, seemed as perturbed as her
daughter.
    “Well,” Vivien heaved a great sigh. “Lets get you settled in.” She pulled a
fresh set of sheets from the canvas bag on her arm, fitting them over the
mattress. There was a small closet with a short chest of drawers in which
Violet could keep her clothing and belongings. Vivien was finished with the bed
by the time she had all her uniforms packed away and was helping her tack
posters up on her walls. She hadn’t been allowed to bring her very favorite
ones because of their “obscene or violent nature” but she at least had her more
artistic ones.  
    
    They sat for a bit - Vivien striking up a superficial conversation with her
daughter. Violet really didn’t want to be there. She wished she hadn’t punched
Leah. She wished she could take it all back and go back to being a wallflower -
passing through the world like a ghost. She wished she could go back home -
back to her parents benign neglect and just exist. At least with that life she
could keep what self-worth she felt hidden away and protected deep within her -
she could nurture the little flame in private as she bled out the poisons in
her veins that sought to extinguish it.
    As it was, she felt thrown away. Like a little doll no one wanted to hold
any more. All covered in piss and vomit and a whole manner of unsavory things
that made the injustice of tossing out such a sentimental thing seem bearable.
    Vivien wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and placed a kiss on
her temple. She left her lips in the girl’s hair and sat that way in silence
for a minute. If Violet had any emotional reaction to the gesture, she didn’t
show it.
    Violet heard her mother sniffle as she relinquished her hold on her. The
woman reached down into her oversized purse and pulled out a thick, black
spiral-bound notebook and a fancy fountain pen. She handed them to Violet who
found that the cover was made of a strangely rough material.
    “You can do etchings on it,” Vivien elaborated. “See?” She took her nail
and made a dash on the top corner. The black peeled away to reveal a lavender
foil underneath.
    “Use it to write me, okay?” Vivien stroked the girl’s hair. Violet nodded
dumbly. “You can use it as a journal too. Or a sketchbook. It’s stationary, but
it’s not lined.”
    “Thanks.” Violet mumbled. It was a very unique gift. Her mother had
obviously put a lot of thought into it. It was another thing they shared - a
love of writing and an artistic streak. Her eyes started to burn with unshed
tears and she tried desperately to collect herself before she started to cry.
    Vivien’s arms wrapped around her again. “I love you, sweetie. Even if you
don’t write to me, I’ll write to you.” Violet nodded into her mother’s chest.
“And call me if you need me, okay?” She tried to get the girl to meet her eyes,
but she refused to do it.
    
    They said their goodbyes. She had about an hour to get settled before she
had to go down to the atrium for new student orientation. She started by hiding
her new notebook under the mattress - not knowing if her roommate would be a
thief. Speaking of which, the bed next to hers remained mysteriously empty
despite the late hour. Violet allowed herself to hope that perhaps she would
have the room to herself. She perked up a bit - she took great pleasure in
alone time. The school would be much more tolerable if she got it in plenty.
    Alas, this was not to be. A pale, thin girl about Violet’s age stalked into
the room balancing her bedding and the bag for her uniforms. A mostly empty
looking duffle bag was slung over her shoulder. The girl spared a quick glance
at Violet - annoyance plain on her face. She barely acknowledged Violet’s
presence in the room but that suited her just fine. She wasn’t here to make
friends.
    The girl set to work making her bed with dingy sheets and a thin unwashed
blanket. She then folded a girly patterned sheet in half and threw it over the
bare curtain rod over the window.
    “The fuck is your problem?!” The girl suddenly shouted in a thick Brooklyn
accent . “You’re just starin like a fucking creep.” Violet was startled by her
sudden outburst.  
    “What’s your problem?” She snarled. “You don’t even know me. And for your
information I wasn’t staring at your grungy ass. I was watching what you were
doing.” Westfield all over again.
    “What’s going on in here?” An older woman stood at the door.
    “She was muggin me, Sister,” The girl was quick to say. “I was just askin
‘er what her problem was.”
    “I was not!” Violet shouted, indignant. “She just blew up out of nowhere
and I -”
    “Enough!” The woman shouted. “Mother Superior’s office.” She glared at the
girls. “Now.”

    She hadn’t even been there a day and already she was in trouble. Violet sat
on the floor in the hall across from her roommate who she now knew to be named
Mia. The nun, sister Jude, had asked if they had even introduced themselves
before fighting and, once she discovered they hadn’t, made them exchange
pleasantries.
    As it was, Violet still referred to the girl as ‘bitch’ while Mia called
her ‘cunt’. The girls were called into the office by a very severe looking Jude
and ordered to stand in front of the Mother’s desk. The woman sighed when she
saw them.
    “Never takes you long, does it Mia?”
    “No. I’m sorry, Mother superior.” Mia answered instantly.
    “Alright,” The woman huffed. “Lets hear it. You first, girly.” She gestured
to Violet to speak.
    She paused a minute, not sure if this was some sort of trap. “Well,” She
stuttered. Her jaw opened and closed desperately like a fish out of water, but
try as she might, she couldn’t force words out when she was put on the spot
like that.
    “Alright then,” The woman turned to the bitch. “Mia?”
    “I was just puttin up my stuff and the whole time she’s just staring at me
like she’s got a problem with me or sum’m sos I ask her what her problem is and
she starts yellin at me like -”
    “I did not! I wasn’t even staring -”
    “You weren’t given permission to speak!” Sister Jude slammed her hand on
the desk, shutting Violet up immediately.
    “It’s Mia’s turn.” The Mother superior informed her.
    Violet scowled, crossing her arms tight over her chest.
    Mia continued. “So she’s yelling at me, right? And then Sister Jude comes
in and now we’re here.”
    They stood in silence for a time before the older women looked to Violet to
share her side of the story.
    “I was just watching her put up her stuff and she just blew up on me out of
nowhere.” Violet grumbled.
    “So you were staring at me?” Mia sneered, smacking her hands down against
her thighs as she uncrossed her arms.
    “What was I supposed to do?! Stare at the wall?” This girl was really
pissing her off.
    Jude interrupted. “You were supposed to get along. Both of you.”
    “And you’re going to.” The older woman stood and rounded the desk. Sister
Jude moved to the other side of the room and pulled a cane from the closet in
the corner.
    “Bare your thighs.” The older woman instructed them. Mia complied
immediately, pulling her pants down to her knees. Violet, however was too
stunned to do much of anything but gawk.
    “What?” She squeaked.
    “Five strikes with the cane for fighting.” She looked between the two older
women before slowly lifting her dress up to below her butt.
    Mia got them first, gritting her teeth as her face screwed up in pain.
Violet let out a pained groan when the first blow hit and when they were done,
she quickly pulled her skirt down, holding it there as if it were the only
thing protecting her from Sister Jude.
    Then she was sent down to the orientation.     
    She squirmed into her seat in an attempt to take the pressure off of her
probably bruised legs. The air-headed man at the podium outlined staff
expectations for the girls and reviewed punishments for misbehavior but Violet
heard none of it. She balked at the injustice that had been done to her - the
injustices that would continue to befall her if she kept up this rivalry with
the bi… Mia. She decided that she would try to make amends when she got back to
the room. No matter how much it hurt her pride.
    She briefly took notice of what was being said by the staff when the blonde
man from before stood in front of them. Mr. Langdon, his name was. Apparently
at the delicate young age of twenty-fiveish he was the department head of
English and Literature. She hoped she wouldn’t have him. It would be
humiliating to sit in his class if he recognized her.

    She had a whole speech planned in her head for when she confronted Mia. It
slipped from her mind when she entered their room to see the girl smoking by
the cracked-open window. She drew a shuddering breath before beginning in as
calm a tone as she could muster.
    “Listen, they’re not separating us so can we forget what happened today and
at least try to get along?”
    Mia considered her for a minute before replying, “We ain’t talkin’. That’s
getting along.”
    “That’s fine.” Violet let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. She went to
the closet, snatching her own contraband cigarettes from her manicure set and
lighting one up and grabbing a book from her bag.
    They smoked in silence - Violet reading, Mia staring off into space - for
several hours until a bell rang announcing that it was time for dinner.    
    

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