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oh i DARE you to steal my writing

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well now that I see how welcoming the 2.0 team is for longtime members, I’ll see myself out!!

This is my discord and if u guys ever wanna indie/1x1 just hit me up bc that blog is under constuction lmao

don’t know what my plans are but here’s my discord for anyone who wants to keep in touch !

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don’t know what my plans are but here’s my discord for anyone who wants to keep in touch !

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High Fidelity (2000)

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caitlinjstasey 🐉

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Dream a Little Dream of Me playing from another room Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong

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✌ cora/emery

SEND A SYMBOL FOR A CORRESPONDING PROMPT/STARTER. [ ✌ ] my muse reaches out to yours after months of no communication.

After the first full month of no communication, Emery did what every theatre obsessed girl did when they were going through a break up. Especially a bad one. Watch The Last Five Years. 

She had run through and memorized every note of Cathy’s agonizing story. Until there wasn’t a single moment where she thought Jamie was the worst. Which he is. And so is Cora. Absolute pees in a pod those two would be. Liars and womanizers always found their way to each other she supposed.

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“You know my motto: always leave them wanting more.” sloane/emery

American Horror Story Sentence Starters (Seasons 1-4)

“And you always do, kitten.” She said affectionately, applauding hard for Sloane as she exited the stage. Looping an arm through hers, she walked with her to the dressing room. Feeling lucky to have someone who not only understood what she went through even a little bit on stage. But also helped her grow in ways she might not have otherwise. 

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buzz, favorite thing about sloane?

FUCK ‘EM UP. | NOT ACCEPTING.

“How the fuck am I supposed to pick one thing? Knob. I’ll narrow it down for you though. I love that she’s the only person who’s ever used my real name and not made it sound like an insult. I dig that she’s got a sick sense of humour, and by that I mean fucking twisted. She says some shit that makes me feel for the length of a punchline that I’m a nice, well adjusted person. That’s not easy do. And I can tell you something for nothing, I’m not fucking easy to love. And I’m definitely no walk in the fucking park to live with either, but she still said yeah when I asked her to move in. Said why the fuck not when I said come with me to this one horse fucking town,” Buzz monologues, pausing only to scratch the side of his nose with his index finger as he tries to narrow down years worth of examples into compact, easily digestible tidbits. 

“She’s fearless and impulsive. Imagine every day starting and ending like the best coke high you’ve ever ridden but you could be stone cold sober. I love that she’s not perfect but she’s perfect for me. There’s this scar on her back, I love seeing it. ‘Cause I might as well be a roadmap of all the ways a body can get stabbed, sliced, punched, split open and stitched back together without being fatal. Reminds me we been down some similar roads,” He recounts, already sharing more than he would have liked to – he preferred to keep every part of her to himself. 

“If I ever find the cunt that did it I’m gonna string him up and let her carve her name into his skin with the most jagged piece of glass I can find. First, middle and surname.” 

Straightening his back, he stretched his arms out, sure that he’s sat for far too long. He couldn’t recall the last time he had engaged with a conversation outside of one shared with the person he was talking about for this amount of time. 

“I think it’s pretty wicked how her day can dictate mine. I could be having the worst of the worst, job gone wrong, body stinking up my trunk ‘cause I haven’t decided where the fuck to get rid of it and I’m about ready to put the next person that looks at me funny in the ground she can come waltzing over in one of her minxy moods and before I know it I’m actually laughing about it. To cut a long spiel short, if you find someone you can laugh with, fuck, fuck with, kill with, kill for and they’re willing to sacrifice everything for you? I reckon it’s worth the grafting that comes with the day in, day out shit. Also, her arse.”

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“I feel like we’ve done this before.” emery & cora

‘  now, that’s not true—-  i’m never on the bottom.  ’  and she doesn’t understand why the time she actually is makes emery suddenly contemplate their … situation. exes on paper, but always followed up with a semi-colon rather than a period ; they paused, but never really stopped.

‘  have i mentioned how pretty you are from this angle  ?  ’  it’s absolutely a line to get her back in the mood, but it’s sincere. then again, cora can’t name a single angle where emery doesn’t look distractingly pretty. it’d be far more upsetting if most of the blood in her body hadn’t rushed to erogenous zones.

she sits up slowly, though slightly unable to bite back her long exhale, and presses soft kisses to emery’s shoulder.  ‘  we’ve done this before, yeah. and we’ll do it again, if you’re so inclined. most people would lose their shit for the sort of unadulterated sexual chemistry we’ve got.  ’  along with the emotional chemistry, though she’s hard pressed to acknowledge that at a moment like this. she settles on a chuckle, though slightly strained.

‘  em, don’t question it too much, okay  ?  don’t tell anyone i said this, but you’re my favorite, and what we do—-  i mean, it’s always more than what we do, right  ?  ’  it’s the closest cora can get to laying herself bare, but emery’s always been more understanding than most ; probably more than cora ever deserved.

‘  it’s always more than what we say it is.  ’  @cfganglands

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& BOOOANE

he’s found it.

it’s the single blemish of imperfect along sloane’s miles of smooth, golden skin—-  each curve just right, even the freckles across her stomach becoming a point of pride than the point of insecurity she viewed them as in her youth. unlearning the toxicity of her upbringing is a difficult task, but the notion that she had to be beautiful, flawless still plagues her conscience. silky, vibrant locks, taut stomach, coy smile ;  when your livelihood depends upon the richest man taking home the prettiest toy, it’s difficult to suddenly become okay with yourself.

she’s been pretending to sleep, because she enjoys the way buzz wakes her up: either it’s a kiss to her shoulder or a kiss to her inner thigh, but either way it comes with an accented, mumbled,  ‘  sloaney …  ’  that makes her wonder how she’s ever woken up to anything else. she waits that grumbled cadence, but instead feels his fingertip brush against the scar along her lower back. she’s seen plenty of bruises, cuts, gashes on buzz, but she’s different—-  she’s supposed to be perfect.

‘  it’ll fade soon, i promise.  ’  it won’t, having been two years since she received it, but who is she promising  ?  buzz  ?  the man who’s seen much worse  ?  herself, for allowing it to happen  ?  her parents, because they’d look on it with disgust  ?  how many times could she say sorry anymore  ?

‘  it’s nothing, i swear. some drunk asshole wanted me to do somethings i wasn’t down for, and when i left, he smashed a beer bottle on my head and got … creative. really, you should’ve seen the shiner i rocked for a bit.  ’  except she hadn’t allowed anyone to see her like that. sloane valentine with her baby blues couldn’t have a purpling bruise taint her face ;  she lost out on a week’s worth of money because of it.

buzz’s digit continues to repeatedly explore the length of her scar, and it’s almost calming, ‘til she remembers what it means.

‘  it’ll go away, i won’t always have it. i’ll be perfect for you again.  ’  when she says that, she feels his hand pause. the room is quiet, still, and she wonders if the facade has already been ruined. if the scar’s enough to send him running, wait til he sees what else she can do.

finally she hears the groan of the mattress beneath them and the shift of his large frame—- is he leaving ? grabbing her clothes to get the fuck out ?  the possibilities briefly make her sick, until … she feels his lips. he kisses above, below, then right on the scar. and for the first time in years, sloane allows herself to cry in front of another person. still too frozen to really sob, sloane presses her cheeks against the pillows and lets a deluge of tears slither down reddened cheeks.  i’ll be pretty again, i’ll be pretty again escapes her lips in quiet gasps, until she feels his hand take her jaw and their eyes lock under the early morning glow that washes over them ; sloane silently thinks he looks like an angel, twisted as it may be, but the lips that caressed her wound now press to her forehead and remain there while she trembles with sobs beneath him— from anguish to clarity to finally, resolutely, relief.

and for the first real time ever, sloane valentine feels beautiful.

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“You never take it seriously, you never get hurt.” / ethan n sloane 💁🏻‍♂️

‘  lying again ?  ’

there’s a smile in her voice that’s incapable of meeting her eyes, which are always more wounded or feral than she’d like to let on ; if they were the windows to the soul, she wonders what people gauge when they look into hers  —  or if that’s why nobody’s given permission to gaze too long, always met with a snipe or a quip to act as an easy distraction.

everything about sloane valentine is designed to deflect. in which case, she should find kinship with his remarks ; after all, hadn’t that always been her game  ?  never get hurt, you always have fun. the problem is, the inky black core that’s taken the vacancy where a soul ought to reside is growing restless and leaving little room for ambivalence. what she feels comes in tsunami waves, crashing ashore violently & always leaving an array of debris in her wake.

‘  i think it’s good to hurt. hurting can be weaponized.  ’  sloane’s gift has always been turning a weakness into an asset. her pain had become her armor, her fears manifesting into motivation.  ‘  and for someone like me who’s been destined to fuck up, it’s good to know that all this … whatever inside of me …  ’  rage, hurt, confusion, a sickly need for control  ‘  … it can make me stronger. nobody ever suspects someone like me, you know  ?  nobody thinks that i can …  ’  murder, destroy, rinse, repeat ; ruin, agonize, decay —  she drifts off, creating mystery where there’s only horror.

finally, the humor glints her gaze and she visibly eases up right before his eyes. something wry and wicked envelopes her features, the nearest shield for the brief glimpse of a little too much he’s been given.  ‘  isn’t that the best  ?  they just don’t know.   ’

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💌boane

💌 for a letter my muse would write to yours.

1 November 2018

Ben,

There’s nothing in the world I can’t say to you, but it’s always a little fun when you dig into your pocket for a knife and come out with a love letter from your girl. I mean, the blade’s in there, too. Obviously.

You’re all I have in this world now, and that’s the only way I’d ever want it. Fuck the Valentines, fuck the whole damn name. It’s you and me, Sloane and Ben Barton, and I couldn’t be happier. No, really, it’s been twenty-three fucking years, and I’ve never smiled this much. The Bartons. The Bloody Bartons. Do you suppose they’ll call us that?

You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met. Nobody’s been as good to me as you, and nobody looks as beautiful when they’re slicing throats. You’re everything in the world, baby. You and me, always you and me.

Come home to your girl, your wife, and let her give you lots of kisses, we can smear the red between us. I wanna spend my life singing our songs and fuckin’ destroying anyone who tries to come between us. I know I’m a rotten mess sometimes, but you’ve made it seem like the easiest thing in the world. I love you, Ben. Mr. Barton. My husband. That still gets me a little wet!

Alright, I’m rambling because I know you’re on the job and I’m already needing you. As always, get ‘em good, and let me kiss your knuckles when you’re back. I think I’m gonna be romantic and attempt to cook while you’re out, so given my history, be sure to pick up some pizza. Maybe this whole long ass love note was just an excuse to get you to bring me pizza?

Nah. I’m just crazy about you, old man.

Always,

Sloaney (Already nutting over the idea of signing off with S. Barton)

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the fact that this lead to a much darker revelation... I REALLY HAVE TO SCREAM SAKFKSDF

I REALLY HAVE TO SCREAM JDHGFSGH 

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“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” cora/emery!!

A STAR IS BORN (2018) STARTERS

“We really can not be doing this,” This was her place of employment. In a room where she and all of her coworkers shared to get ready for their shows. The lights of the vanity’s casting them in a golden hue that looked so dreamy against Cora’s skin. As if she was made exactly for this lighting, for this moment here with her. 

But the room practically begged someone to intrude. A single door the only thing keeping the world out from their stolen moment between her songs. It would be an hour before she was back on stage again. And she should be using that time to change and warm, instead of letting her arms lay blissfully around the neck of the girl who’d sought her out after her song. 

Lips that should have been ordering a drink at the bar or speaking with other patrons about how much she enjoyed the show, were pressed against her neck and bringing forth a symphony of breathy laughter. The situation equal parts torrid and troubling in her eyes. 

“I’m serious,” Emery managed, her eyes glancing over to the door every other moment as her skin began to flush under the feeling of warm hands skating up her thighs. Her heart racing at in an irregular time signature.  

A hand found Cora’s chin with an uncharacteristic roughness, tilting it upward to look her in the eye. “I’m positive there are rules that would get me in trouble for this.” A soft peck on her lips intended to suck any harshness from her words. 

Only to be met with a promising rebuttal. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”