#bruisednotes

To be honest, it's taken the better half of twenty minutes and a couple of shots for Eden to work up the nerve to approach him. What would Shane Hollander be doing in a club, of all things? Well, they're not going to question it, and they slide into the seat next to him at the bar, grinning a little.

📁📁 i’ll be NICE and ask for TWO from everyone <3 “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon

“ clive, look at me. ” the world narrows to the short distance between them. arthur, standing but a few feet away, keeps his arms steady at his sides, palms open and waiting. tall grass sways at his knees. the blighted lands lingered like a dark scar over his shoulder, only a few hills north from the secluded fields they'd found. the shape of them transform the bearer into a paler line in contrast. his voice is low, warm, patient. despite the hard beat of his pulse, he keeps his gaze steady. the deep browns of his eyes stir once—a thin, aether-laced gold brushing against the irises—before he forces the color back down.

he takes a breath, deep enough to shutter in his chest, then nods. takes another. watches the other watch him with a small, growing satisfaction. steady the moment, he tells himself. keep him here instead of back there, at the worst of it.

“ we have time. ” he reassures. the other's worry softens his face, not enough to take away the tired wrinkles around his eyes or the hesitant pull of his lips, but enough to braid care and caution into something quiet. gentler, perhaps, than the dominant has been able to afford in a long while.

“ you've been burying yourself in work for weeks. ” arthur continues. not accusing, just measuring the toll of burden. the months since cid's death had been anything but kind, and everyone knew clive took the worst of it—staring into the shape left behind and hoping with each day that every order, instruction, mission, and bounty could fill the gap. though now, with the hideaway steadily building, everyone split into their roles with as much sureness as they could muster in these trying times, it seemed the most opportune moment to remind the dominant that there was only so much command could do for him.

especially with the bout of heat beneath all that false calm.

[♦] - for a superstition / back luck headcanon

Negative Headcanons [ accepting ]

[♣] - for a mistake/regret headcanon

During the early phase of Sen7inel's criminal career, she worked for various crime rings around the East Coast (primarily NYC), typically dealing with the endless middlemen or handlers who helped run the various territories. Sen7inel learned there was a pattern to working with these types: find an in, prove your worth, when they start to take you for granted — get the fuck out before you become dispensable.

There was one man who didn't fit the pattern. She doesn't even remember his name; she was barely 18 and still just trying to survive on her own. But she remembers he ran a tight ship. He was older, more patient than what she was used to, fed her on the occasion, told her to take the night off when she was sick.

She didn't really understand why she left. Without notice. She would have rationalized it: the job was drying up, she needed to move. The real reason, the one where she started to feel like someone was getting too close, she wouldn't have the words for that yet. But every once in a while, her mind wanders back to that time, and she wonders what happened to that handler with a faint pang of regret for not even saying thank you before she left.

[♦] - for a superstition / bad luck headcanon

Sen7inel isn't generally superstitious. But she does not keep candles around her spaces. She'll say it's because she'll forget to blow them out (which, frankly, is a real risk) but also the cult/institutions used candles frequently in the rituals and sermons that she'd rather forget.

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about, Than."

Zagreus, of course, knows exactly what Thanatos is talking about. It's that wide-eyed, pleading stare he gives him whenever he doesn't want him to go, to try to get him to shirk his duties just for a little bit longer. It works sometimes. Other times, Thanatos just seems more irritated than anything else. Zagreus sticks his lower lip out in a pout, an arm wrapping around Thanatos' middle to try and stop him from leaving the bed.

@bruisednotes / IZAL ──

distracting your lover from a task by kissing their neck. kiss & tell.

He's lucky he's not using his mouth in another way to distract her, she'd have flung her pen at him and made him go retrieve it after. It probably would have been the better way, for her, she'd have at least gotten some work done while he was off pretending to pout about it. But no, no, Izal had chosen the right way to go about distracting her. Heat pressed against her back and lips on her neck. His hair tickling her bare shoulder as he tilts his head and turns his distraction from his a press of lips to her pulse to something a little more firm, a little damp, a little hot, with a hint of tongue and teeth and wet heat -

Oh, he's fucking lucky. Lucky that his mouth is perfect, and he's perfect, and he knows just how to hit all her buttons the right way. Knows just the way she likes to be teased and distracted.

@bruisednotes / STARTER FOR SOAP ──