[ CLAIM ] for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. / alana.
@prclone
WHAT IS LOVE BABY DON'T HURT ME DON'T HURT ME NO MORE--

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[ CLAIM ] for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. / alana.
@prclone
WHAT IS LOVE BABY DON'T HURT ME DON'T HURT ME NO MORE--

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@prclone asked : [ CLAIM ] for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. / alana.
it absolutely isn’t her fault when she stops in this sudden pause, neolution lights humming in loud fluorescence above their heads. it’s rachel pressed against her back and she mutes her startle response. her startle response is advanced, so the effort to breathe kicks in, turning into a vomitous dryer full of tennis shoes. thuds and stutters, but she mutes it, she mutes it, she mutes it.
she’s learned to mute it. she won’t give rachel everything. she refuses to allow the blonde to believe she has total control.
she keeps cards up her sleeve, too.
her fake hip twinges in what’s practically sympathy for its never-ending suffering. she breathes in. today she’s wearing amouage sunshine, blonde tobacco and beechwood, the undercurrent of the foaming sea rolling across low tide. it’s a feminine scent, and her posture wilts only lightly, gloved hand grasping the chilly gold handle of her cane. her stomach roils, and she couldn’t tell you between the idea of pain or pleasure. why? because she’s aware her neurochemistry is now just wired to zap between. because her life has been filled with rachel duncans, she’s just the most recent one.
“ i believe i’m off the clock, rachel. “
her words are softer than she intends them, floating away with the closeness of her own perfume.
prclone replied to your post: lackofacommonlanguage replied to your post “;;...
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hello,,,,,,, tramp sister.......
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rachel 🔪🔪 👀👀

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@prclone
coming here was reckless; but she embraced trouble with a lovers ardent. this is her chance to face her demons, her past, recurrent nightmares... breaking into Rachel’s highly secured flat is the right thing to do. it’s time. she has to, she has to do this no more hiding, Nikki would think so too. this is for her. and the others. this is for all of them. wary, she quietly wanders inside. slowly, as though it could save her from the way that her heart wrenches in her chest. and it’s connected to her pulse, to the strong pull of her lungs where they open like parachutes to keep her from falling, to her stomach where it wads up like a knot. the soles of her boots are heavy, too, not just because of leaden exhaustion coating the arches of her feet, but because though she has dreamed of being in this place, a nightmare. she fears the unknown. and it doesn’t get lighter the more she leads herself deeper inside this awfully cold place, and throughout the dark corridor. maybe she’s not here yet you’re fine, it’s fine, don’t be ridiculous... you can do this. you have a plan remember, stick to the pla.... - a noise comes from behind her. she freezes.