#*( para )

[curicuskitten-blog]

          she’s never felt so damn nauseous before in her entire life; that kind of nauseous where your stomach feels like it’s on your outside and the slightest movement is going to make you loose your cookies no matter what you do to stop it. rachel curses herself silently as she lifts trembling hands to knock on the door in front of her. she hasn’t seen him in years, but they’d recently reconnected and he’d told her, should she need anything, not to hesitate reaching out to him. she’s sure he meant a phone call, or a text, not showing up on his doorstep at two in the morning, soaked to the bone thanks to the mother nature’s raging hormones happening outside. another quick succession of knocks. “freddie, open up!” rachel calls, sounding a bit helpless. she’s thankful for the rain, however, because it hides her tears - and her fear. 

[curicuskitten-blog]

         “You promised you’d let me practice! It’s not even going to hurt a little!” So, maybe not everyone was into being her personal pin cushion, but if she was going to get any practice at all, she had to start somewhere, right? Plush lips purse into a soft pout as she discards the needle on the top of the kitchen table beside her. “I’m not going down on you if you don’t let me stick you, that’s the trade, sweetheart,” Rachel is only half teasing. She’ll probably go down on them anyway, but... she should be able to get something out of it, first! 

[sheffieldrockers-blog]

the more you open your mouth the more you're forcing performance all the attention is leading me to feel important                             (completely obnoxious) now that we're here, we may as well go too far

      ❝ --would y'like to head out of here, then? ❞

 because the venue is reveling in the mutual bliss of alcohol and potential cocaine use, and alex feels an inclination to simply head out of here with the bird he's been chatting up--she's a sweet thing, really, but his mood draws him to be characteristically indifferent. it's quite clear in his posture, draped over a loveseat with the bird (he can't seem to remember her name) sitting on his knee--well enough, then. he'd have one of those one-night shag things and have done with it. 

[sheffieldrockers-blog]

and what a scummy man just give him half a chance i'll bet he'll rob you if he can can see it in his eyes yeah he's got a nasty plan ...i hope you're not involved at all

he doesn't want to say much, with the way the bloke is leering at her--but it's unsettling, to say the least. she doesn't seem to notice it very much, this familiar bird--how can he go about telling her? that this fucker seems to be making the eyes at her to the point where alex worries for her own safety? maybe he's just paranoid. that might be it. he finds his way to her, anyway, catching the girl's attention by clearing his own throat before dark eyes flicker to look towards her. 

      ❝ ...be careful, yeah? not sure, but i think th'bloke over there might try t'corner you or drug your drink or summat... ❞

[sheffieldrockers-blog]

YEAR: 2014  SETTING: it's an after party and everyone is pretty drunk--alex can hardly remember just what this particular party was for, but he and matt had decided to make an appearance anyway. feeling quite warm after downing a few glasses of brandy, alex can't help but notice a certain starlet that caught his drunken gaze.

          ( electricrosary ) 

she was, for lack of better words, the very essence in which alex found appeal. drunk? yes, and it's a wonder that he can catch sight of her with his shades on and with the dimmed lighting of the hallway. a foreign house in hollywood hills in which the gathering turned into a moderately packed after party in which she, in all her ethereal glory, graced the gleaming tiled floored and papered walls. yes, okay, it's her. be cool, turner. you're not that wasted (yes you are, and she looks so beautiful how are you even going to manage a hello?).

she's fumbling for a pack of cigarettes and he wants to know what brand they are, he wants to know how often those slender, bejeweled fingers catch the flimsy pack in her purse--he wants to know what shade of lipstick will press into the white paper of the cigarette and oh shit does he want to know how that rosy shade of lipstick will feel on his cheek or mouth or neck (let's not get ahead of ourselves, al).

but she doesn't seem to have a lighter, does she? the cigarette caught between her full mouth, and she's looking moderately distressed as she searches her purse for something to light the drug with--that's it! that's right! he tries too hard, sometimes, but he's drunk this time, stalking towards her swiftly and drawing out his own lighter to slip forward and offer her the flame. 

so suave. so old hollywood, holy shit.