#thequeenalone

This meme.

The statement elicits a response that is somewhat tremulous. She knows only that she has to force her hand away from her own throat, away from where her thumb wants desperately to worry at the flesh. She instead covers it with her other hand, and ducks her head in something like a nervous smile.

“You aren’t mine. You can’t be,” Alana says softly, though now her thumb is kneading at her wrist, anxious, “You can’t-- be mine because you’re yours. No one can belong to anyone else. But we can-- we can choose to give parts of ourselves to each other.” Someone tried to make me theirs-- everyone has, and it’s been nothing but bad for me, please, understand--

Send “Don’t touch her/him” to see my muse’s reaction to your muse defending them against a physical threat

Baribus’ head lolled, his golden yellow eyes hooded and unfocused. His head felt stuffy and his thoughts hazy as if a fog had rolled into his mind, preventing all but the simplest thoughts. He felt ill and the incense his captor burned didn’t help.

The door to his room opened and a tall, blonde haired man stepped inside, flanked by what seemed to be a pair of dingy squires whose filthy frock coat sleeves seemed to stretch long past their arms. He made his way into the room, the air thickening as his blue eyes surveyed the leer through his thin-rimmed spectacles. The man smiled and approached Baribus, glancing down at his ankles and wrists to ensure he was properly secured in his seat.

There was a gentle pulse in the room as if the air itself were a muscle or giant gastrine. Baribus stirred, roused by force and echoing threwd. A faint smile of satisfaction crossed the blonde man’s lips.

“Mm, good. He’s becoming more responsive to the threwd. Very good.” He reached out to touch the leers forehead when the air shuddered and a voice growled from behind him.

         Regina’s breath catches. She’s been soft with Alana, tender, wanting Alana to feel safe; trying to blunt the impact of her want, which would love to be rough with Alana, which right now would love to take, and take, and…          ❝ Just… Tell me if it’s too much. ❞          Her words are murmured in a rush of breath against Alana’s ear before her lips find that pale, lovely neck again, teeth now nipping inside her kisses.

It’s the way that neck turns obediently aside and she purrs inside the sound, a genuine whine escaping that is almost entirely made up of weakness, of nothing but want. A pawing thing. Very far from the wolf or the lion she is usually.

This meme.

♋ - My muse writes about yours. Perhaps the first time they met, or an event that was particularly important to our muses’ relationship.

      Regina, disarmed, didn’t even have time to startle. Her breath caught as Alana moved in, then released in a soft sound of surprised pleasure; she lifted a hand, touched Alana’s cheek as she kissed her back. God — Alana’s lips were so soft.

        The moment was over too soon, leaving Regina warm, tingly. ❝ Mm… ❞ She cupped her cheek more fully, thumb stroking over the line of Alana’s jaw; a line she’d love to kiss, if that option was now open to her…

         ❝ No, dear. No — you’re fine. ❞ Regina was already moving in for more. Maybe later, she’d overanalyze, question, pick apart the moment; for now, she was going to live in it.

You’re fine. Alana’s practically humming with it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Those two words. No. Three. ‘Dear’. What a great word. What a wonderful word. Keep it, keep it secret, keep it safe, keep it, keep it.

And Doctor Bloom’s own sound is a soft thing— kittenish, in its way. Almost a whimper, a wanting thing. And she is never touched, she really isn’t, but she’s made of that sound and those mirror-glass baby blues of hers. The way her mouth quirks in a jut, like a punctuation mark, just when she pulls back to breathe.

"Am I better than fine?" She asks, eyebrow quirked. And this is not the ramble that so often creates Alana. This is the sound of tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m right. This is ego, almost.

This is who she very well could have been, maybe forever ago.