#smokesaturated

[coinsurgery-blog]

🔟

ana associates edgar with…

1. Foods: Cheeseburgers & Mango Smoothies, sometimes.2. Colors: Hues of brown.3. Scents: Cigarette ash and classy-ass cologne.4. Plants: An office plant.5. Animals: None.6. Times of day and of the year: November. Late hours of the evening.7. Places: His office. The coffee shop. 8. Drinks: Coffee.9. Phrases and words: His attempt to say Rojas. I’m sorry.10. Emotions: Frustration. Anger. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Love.

[cruciblc]

// quietly sends you love

[ <3 ]

[bloodtrade]

@smokesaturated

     “Yes, I’m a little busy right now-- May I help you?”

[orphxnking]

smokesaturated liked for a starter! | Accepting!

“...What is this?” He looked up at Edgar as he placed  the paper against his desk. It was an envelope with a seal pressed into the back of it, no name that he could  see. “Who is it from?” 

[blankasset]

🔪

Send me 🔪 for my muse’s reaction to yours shoving them against a wall and pressing a knife to their throat

His blood runs as cold as the knife touching his pulsing artery. He goes still as a statue by instinct alone, only his eyes moving.

He wonders whether this is all his past misdeeds coming back to haunt him, though he had no idea it would be in the form of Edgar of all people. He’s torn between wanting to give in and accept the consequences and his human instinct to fight for his life.

“Why are you doing this?”

[hawksvane-archive]

‘rough touch’

(your muse delivers beatings to mine) –> ( x )

    Blood dripped from a split lip. He enjoyed the feeling. Wait, no-- “enjoy” was wrong. You didn’t enjoy pain, not in the sense everyone assumed. You just.. enjoyed the rush, the release, the sensations that surrounded the pain. You didn’t even have to be hurt to feel the adrenaline, and it wasn’t the same as any old injury.

    Someone else’s fist, or knife, or.. (not guns, those were too final, those were too difficult to roll out from under once the metal buried itself in flesh).. it was why he was found in the center of drunken bar brawls so often, why casual encounters might turn into bloody knuckles if he had enough to drink and knew he wouldn’t go too far. He might feel guilt to be using another that way, but they were usually equally drunk, equally looking for something to let them run.

    This was different. There was an unspoken agreement, and Clint couldn’t even remember how they came to it. But it was one of the meetings he looked forward to most. One of the highest points he could anticipate, because in no way would it end with energy capped or sleep starved.

    No, after a brawl with Edgar, he could expect to sleep without dreams or otherwise the night after. Collapsing in exhaustion. Too tired to even think.

         Yeah.

         That’s what he looked forward to most.

[coinsurgery-blog]

text to: @smokesaturated​

     - I’m out Christmas shopping right now with Olive.      - I don’t even begin to know what you’d like if I got you something.      - You’re going to have to give me more than a hint.