You had me going out of my head..my life was falling, my friends said I looked like I was dead, and now I look stupid.
-
-
Damn you cupid, you were shooting at me instead of landing on him. If this is how it should be, we should have stayed how we were.. -
Something has changed in you. Towards me. You’re distant, cold. I don’t know what I’ve done, but I’ll leave you alone from now on if that’s what you want. Is that what you want? You know why I’d leave you alone? Because I care about your feelings more than mine. I love you. There I said it, not just on some chalkboard. I would never let anybody or anything hurt you. I’ve never felt that way about anyone.
-
-
ok vi ok.. :’(
-
Violet and Tate <3
She finds him in the basement, which is where he seems intent on spending the rest of his self-granted eternity. She hasn’t been down here since her first undead Christmas, because of the sheer knowledge that he’ll appear in front of her, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. However, when she steps off the last grimy stair, it’s eerily quiet.
She glances around, searching for any sign of him, when the unmistakable crack of a match striking causes her eyes to cut over to a now-dimly lit corner of the cellar. His face is equally unmistakable—stony expression, tired black eyes, a sigh in his speech.
“What are you doing down here?”
It occurs to her that she really has no idea. Why now, why after all these years? She isn’t even sure what, exactly, she wants. To talk? To run back into his rough arms that were always almost forcibly gentle with her? Even to bash his head into the cement wall?
Her mouth opens and out tumbles a short stammer that couldn’t possibly be matched to any sort of real English word, and instead of making her own decision under his cautiously watchful stare, she scurries back up the stairs and makes sure to slam the door when she reaches the top.
-
violate
Anonymous
She’s stopped crying. She can’t seem to let the tears fall anymore, she just can’t.
She doesn’t think about him, no. She doesn’t. She doesn’t imagine his blonde curls around her face, she doesn’t imagine his pink lips on hers and she definitely doesn’t imagine his somehow sick but beautiful laugh.
Gosh, she hates him.
She does.
-
-
Lemonworld
Author: gimmedanger
Title: Lemonworld
Summary: The house gave me Violet, kept me perfect for her for almost twenty years. She was my gift, and I lost her because of the choices I made. Emma was Violet’s gift; she filled a hole in her heart in a way that I never could, at least not now.
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don’t own American Horror Story.
The house wasn’t sentient. It didn’t think. But it did feel things. It did have needs. Like a carnivorous plant. I could feel it around me, restless, twitching, pushing me out of the wood and plaster and glass that had been my safe haven since that Christmas, and back into it instead of being a part of it. I opened my eyes at the end of the hallway by my bedroom, feeling the air around me heavy and expectant.
I heard voices moving through the hallways and I strained my ears trying to make them out, catching words here and there before the same realtor who sold us the house rounded the corner flanked by a couple ooing and awing their way through the classic L.A. Victorian.
I scrutinized them as they approached. The wife, some fake Barbie bitch, was more plastic parts than actual flesh. She might have been pretty at one point; before the cheek and chin implants, before the nose job, the tit job, the lippo, the tummy tuck, the bleach bottle blonde and contacts making her eyes technicolor blue.
The husband reeked of womanizing almost as badly as the noxious cloud of cologne that followed him around, burning my nose. His phone chimed in his pocket as they made their way down the hall and he ducked into my old room to bark orders at some flunky, giving me a better understanding of his wife’s many, many enhancements.
Apparently if you want to land a Middle-grade, middle-aged Hollywood producer you have pull on your big girl britches and get nipped and tucked and trade in those ballet flats for stilettos. Sooner or later she’d get traded in for a newer, faster, sleeker model because in her late twenties she was probably getting a little long in the tooth for him.
So when the sullen looking little mousy brown haired girl rounded the corner clutching the hand of a nanny to join them I had no doubt what role she played. She was a meal ticket, a safe guard, a security blanket to make sure that when daddy did dump mommy, as he inevitably would, she’d get a nice fat check every month, at least until the little girl was eighteen.
It was amazing how the house could attract shitty parents; The Mongomery’s; The Langdon’s; The Harvey’s; The Harmon’s. I had accused my parents of benign neglect, but these two took it to a new level.
-
DELILAH FLOYD • TAISSA FARMIGA • SEVENTEEN • SENIOR
“Just so you know, judging from my little experience, I kind of believe in fate. It just works in really fucked up ways sometimes.”- Denise Flemings
She was going to the party for her art. Delilah said to herself. She would never go to a party, especially not one filled with the assholes that she calls her classmates. Her best friend, Presley Miller invited her to come with him. She knew that videotaping the true side of Rosewood’s incrowd would definitely score her an spot at her dream school NYU. She’d probably become the next Sophie Coppola after she was done with the film. You see Delilah thought of herself as too cool for her generation. You can go as far as calling her anti-social. While everyone was talking about that new Britney Spears song, she was listening to Bon Iver. Every girl wanted to wear jean shorts and a tank top, Delilah preferred a chunky sweater and a lace skirt. Delilah wouldn’t admit it but she didn’t just want to known as the hipster girl sitting on the bleacher, smoking cigarettes. She wanted to more friends than just Presley. But she just didn’t trust people, not after what Kier Fabray did to her. He betrayed her for those diet cokeheads and imbeciles. Since then, she just hasn’t been able to open up to anyone.
• What Happened at the Party?
Delilah was getting a ton of great footage for her film. So far she got Tinsley Chadwell get drenched with beer and Adam Campbell bullying an innocent party-goer. If this didn’t show how fucked up teens are now a days, nothing will. She was looking for Presley when one of the potheads threw a brownie at her head. ‘Perfect, fucking perfect’ She thought to herself. She opened the bathroom door to find Kier holding a blowdryer to his crotch. She tried to get out but the door wouldn’t budge. After wasting their breath screaming for help, the two enemies actually started having a decent conversation. At one point, it even seemed like Kier was going to apologize but that was stopped by smoke filling up the bathroom. The two escaped out of the bathroom window and Keir jumped off of the roof. He told her to jump but Delilah was scared to jump off of the roof. Keir promised that he would catch her, he promised that he wouldn’t lie to her like he once did. So she jumped and like he said, she landed in his surprisingly firm arms.
