#( samuhelll: asks. )

[samuhelll]

@devilmass asked: ∗ 77. sender and receiver cuddle bum out while watching television . 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 (accepting)

They’re sprawled on his bed, stripped of their belts and their pants as Michael in Caravaggio-baroque shadow says he’s putting Carlo on a plane to Vegas. 

“Letting him off the hook,” Sam whispers shoulder-to-shoulder, like they don’t know what’ll happen next. 

Rodrick is nearly tall enough to spill over this rinky dink mattress. Despite Sam’s rule of never smoking in bed, a carton of menthols lies pillaged between them. His cathode-ray television perches on a wooden armoire, glaring down like a walnut crow cawing omens of righteous cinematic death. Sam swigs beer.

Carlo shuffles into a car. Clemenza strangles him from the backseat with a line of wire. 

“Ouchh,” Sam rumbles, blasé. He crosses his feet in suzani socks and leans in. “Think that’s what they call cashing in your chips.”

[cartelheir]

@artmadc & @samuhelll asked : 💔💝

accepting: my muse in a relationship.

💔 do they have a certain type of person they will not enter into a relationship with?

plenty. pat can be picky, because she has a type and tends to stick with it. as i mentioned in the previous response, for instance, she wouldn't date someone who's too soft, because she knows they won't last. she has a preference for fellow criminals, or people who know she's involved with criminal activity, because she doesn't feel like spending her life lying about what she does.

another big factor would be someone who's directionless in life. ambition and success are things patricia both desires for herself and admires in others, so she would not like to date someone who's not striving for that.

💝 how long until they feel secure and comfortable in a relationship?

if someone wants to have a relationship with patricia, they should know she enjoys having some sort of confirmation that they are supposed to be exclusive at some point. she's not the kind of person you can just let it happen and assume you're already dating exclusively; or trust me, she will sleep with someone else at the first fight then argue that you never agreed on exclusivity (despite the fact that she would be livid if someone did this to her). so, she feels secure after this is agreed on. as for bigger plans like introducing them to her family or moving in together, it really depends on person to person, but it usually takes a few months at least.

[escapedartgeek]

❛ what are you talking about—’i don't care’? of course i don't care! it's a spec of dust in my universe. the minuscule core of an atom!❜ (maybe he's on the phone. maybe he's yelling at someone walking out. maybe he's frazzled and thought she said something to him and this is all a terrible misunderstanding. or- just tossing thoughts!)

why do i always have to witness these kinds of encounters?

that's the running thought that zora can't help but think - because this guy really seems like a piece of work. and they hadn't even said a word to him.

they found themself looking around for a moment, and idly following the person passing them by - clearly trying to get away from this guy.

whatever was happening here, they couldn't even begin to try and understand.

instead, they let out a bit of a sigh - before finally trying to address him. there's a deep skepticism and caution to their tone, almost as if they are exasperated that it reached this point at all.

"hey.. hey. i don't know what happened with that other person but like i didn't say anything to you. you are certainly free to care or not care about whatever you like."

[prvtocol]

᠂ ⚘ ˚ answering that ask made me emotional. romantic love may feel like a lost cause to bri at times but the endearing friendships she's made fill a void. happy belated gender-neutral “galentine’s day” / "palentine's day" to some of her dearest friends. Some are verse dependent if we write in multiple but we know that! :')

♡♡♡ Padmé ( @alootus ) :: Matt ( @techniiciian ) :: Becca ( @bellytochin ) :: Eden ( @b3ast0fburd3n ) :: Cross ( @duefault ) :: Vale ( @cyberpawn ) :: Caesar :: @badtrigger ; & hopeful friendships to develop with Sam ( @samuhelll ) :: Sahana ( @nightbrcther ) ♡♡♡

[sharpsuite]

@samuhelll played: " i won't tell a soul "

𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: AM I INTERRUPTING? MEME

" Another one of your jokes? " Chishiya asks as he stands on the other side of the vivid yellow KEEP OUT tape that the police still have surrounding the remnants of the disaster. But the police aren't around. And isn't it just OH SO FAMILIAR of Chishiya to be slinking around where he shouldn't ; like a cat that obeys only its own will and fancy. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket - not the one he had in the Borderlands but similar enough to not likely be a coincidence. He tilts his head. " Not telling a soul, with that being your whole thing? "

CHISHIYA REMEMBERS.

One simply little phrase reveals that Chishiya remembers where others hadn't, or fumbled with broken pieces of memory that they couldn't understand. IS IT SO SURPRISING THAT HE WOULD? ( He hadn't at first, but it had come back swiftly, a wound in memory stitched up with recollection. )

He stares at Sam, head tilted to the side ; LIKE HE'S STUDYING SOMETHING PIECE BY PIECE. Clearly he isn't concerned. Which is nothing new - few things cause even a flicker of worry much less a prolonged experience of that emotion or any other. Then his gaze shifts to the moonlit remains. It feels like chasing a ghost in some ways, though Chishiya's not sure what he's after. In some manners, he feels MORE LOST HERE than within the Borderlands and games. At least there he had once had a goal. Not here ; there are no games to beat, no challenge to solve. JUST LIFE.

" Besides, who would you tell anyways? " He lifts an eyebrow challengingly but finally moves to safer ground, ducking under the tape to no longer be on FORBIDEN GROUND. " Long time no see, Sam. "

[allevilsarc]

❛ you should be doing this . you were meant to . ❜ @samuhelll

he's right. i know he's right, yet i don't want to give sam the happiness of confirmation. my eyes flick to stare at him, the corner of my mouth turning up. " yeah? you think so? " i add a toying tone to my voice, eyes sparkling. i can only hope that it's going to work. of course, sam would do anything if i asked him so sweetly, like he's some sort of pet begging for affection. i bring a finger up, manicured nail sharp under his chin.

" you're fucking right. i should be doing this. isn't it nice to finally agree with me for once? " i reach up, finger tapping softly against the tip of his nose. " i can't believe you actually believe that. after all, don't i deserve nothing-- well, less than nothing. still, it's sweet you're in my corner. i mean that. "

[eurosleaz]

❛ well? how do i look? ❜

" -- you want my honest answer? you look like you're about to sell me a car i don't need at a price that's way too fucking high. " sadie's eyes turn down to look at sam's outfit, then all the way back up at his face. he's pathetic, she wants to say, but it's bitten back. she's a nice person, you know. if you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing until you can bitch with other people.

" i mean, you're not my type personally, but i'm sure there's someone out there who's just willing to snatch you up. " sadie clicks her tongue, hands clapping together. " i mean. like i said, not me, but there's someone. why do you ask? "

@samuhelll

[miidnighters]

:* for any

@samuhelll | Send “ :* ” for your muse to receive a kiss from mine | accepting

He spoke so prettily, didn't he, all tongue twisters and half-truths. It left Bella enchanted - entertained like she hadn't been in years.

It's with a laugh on her tongue that she smacks her lips to his, purely to shut him up (it's pretty, sure, but the man never stops).

"Will you ever speak straight?" Bella asks, moving back to sit on his desk (pushing whatever he was working on out of her way). "Or am I destined to think twice as hard through every conversation with you?"

[samuhelll]

@rottine asked: Happy St Patrick’s Day, Sam- Margot is handing him a little gift wrapped in green this morning, and straddling his lap as he opens it. Getting herself in ready position for when he sees that “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” shirt.

Margot climbs into his lap like a Scottish fold and Sam teases, “Best seat in the housee.”

She offers a neatly wrapped box, hebracious chlorophyll green and his mouth still sparkling with freshly squeezed orange juice. Sam half-smiles, bewildered. “What’s up?” he asks, partway suspicious.

Her eyes goad him on. As always, he’s persuaded effortlessly into her antics, a coin in the irresistible pull of Margot’s magnetic field, and pries it open. He pulls out a shamrock green tee. It says ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’.

“Margot.” His face turns confused. He huffs. “This is great and all, but...”

He knows. It’s in the red of his hair and, had he been human, that prone-to-sunburn skin. It’s his innate faerie need for trickery and the no-good, his penchant for games and the whimsical and kidnapping unsuspecting pewter-eyed, banshee women to warm in the nest of his bed.

Sam turns bright. He takes her waist. “Go ahead. I’m lucky!” he pipes up. “I might rub off on you!”

[samuhelll]

@prvtocol asked: ❛do you remember anything? at all?❜ 𝟐𝟎𝟎 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 (accepting)

The restaurant is quiet. It’s a touch high-end, more for her, but he’d suggested it when they’d miraculously crossed each other’s paths knowing that one of two things would happen: the first, that she wouldn't be able to say no. The other, that she'd conjure up some flimsy, see-through excuse. It’s an overbearingly French place, the kind that uses pâtisserie instead of bakery. 

Naturally, the conversation had segued into their dead, mutual clients. If he remembers anything that might explain anything.

“It Happened One Night,” he tells her, then, seemingly by random. Sam folds his hands over the table, launching into an explanation. “We met once— singular!” he points out, quickly. “The proverbial, if I may, ships in the night. So, what do I know?” He slants his mouth. Nothing, apparently.

Is Brienne unsettled by the deaths? The body?

Sam gives her a thoughtful look, quiet. Water ripples from a fountain. “Hey,” he finally says, an almost forced smile. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

[samuhelll]

@rottine asked: [ injury ] sender cleans receiver's wound and patches it up prompts for comfortable intimacy (accepting)

Under the full, gleaming moon of midnight, as Ash Hollow is fast asleep and as a possum skitters across a road... as an owl hoots in a tree by the cemetery and people turn in their beds... here, under Margot's care, Sam flinches.

He never wanted to be found this way. Not with a broken nose, the blood dried stiff over his lip. Not in the middle of a parking lot, his keys still dangling from his hand. Not by Margot, who knows he isn't healing like he used to. Who knew, by a single glance and no questions, under the badly fading lights of the bathroom mirror, why: that this is a consequence of being ousted, his mortality laid bare before her. Sam utterly fragile. Utterly quiet.

Another touch, him twitching away. Disinfectant and cotton balls, a running sink and her hands... 

“Thanks." His Adam’s apple bobs, his voice scratchy. He thumbs at a drop of water. “For not... mentioning it,” he says.

For pretending she doesn't know. For putting him back together. Sam looks down to the band-aid wrapper, then her feet on the mat, mustering something approaching a smile. That's not what it is. “A face only a mortician would love, huh?”

This is the closest he's ever been to her.

It's not how he wanted it.

[samuhelll]

@thxwxlf asked: ∗ 65. sender  throws  receiver  into  a  wall  during  combat . 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 (accepting)

“Easy. Easy.” He grunts, wincing, rattling both hands by his ear.

Fist in his collar, Sam squirming against the wall of a doomed fusion Mediterranean-Thai bar. She’s tall. Thyme green eyes. The moon bounds off them like crystal balls, hypnotic gas giants. 

“Okay.” He clears his throat twice then swallows, mouth tacky. “I’m going out on a limb and guessing… two’s a crowd. Maybe” —he points, one finger skyward— “you’re a lone wolf.” He chuckles like balled paper. Sam wets his lips, his engine restarting. “I’m just— doing business. Just... making my rounds. On a very public, very not private, might I add, city sidewalk. Which, in a minute or so, who knows—” he smiles, rolling his wrist— “you might find occupied by another pedestrian, coincidentally, coming this way.”

And who might see this.

Maybe he’d trespassed by attempting to make a deal in her domain. Is it her domain? Maybe she heard him from behind, caught off guard. Sam looks down to the tip of his loafer.

[samuhelll]

@ghoulishundertakings asked: ∗ 33. sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task . 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 (accepting)

“You know what they say,” he starts, teasing. “A watched pot never boils.”

His kitchen brings forth déja vu of a childhood kitchen with its nineties floral wallpapered walls and stained pinewood cabinets. Sam stirs a pot, looking aside to her. 

“We got some cinnamon action going on—read it’s good for the ol’ GI tract,” he drawls, skimming froth from the pot, “annd, gotta see this,” he rumbles, tapping a sealed bag. “A little something I like to call... the star of the show.”

It’s a container of star anise. It makes him think inexplicably of finger-licking Auntie Anne’s food court pretzels and piping holiday milk, only this time it’s a bubbling witch’s brew of cardamom-coriander pho. Sam rolls his wrist like conjuring a spell and lifts the spoon, half-smiling. “Now that,” he says, “is liquid gold.”

[samuhelll]

@celesteye asked: [ patch ] sender carefully patches one of receiver's wounds PROMPTS FOR ORDINARY THINGS THAT FEEL INTIMATE (accepting)

“I was- dumb,” he finally decides, craggy in the night. Sam flinches before she’s even touched him. “Just… some turf thing.”

The peroxide burns. He hisses like a child. It wasn’t his finest hour - Sam, sprawled on the ground after sealing a deal with some half-dead divorcée that another creature of the night, their name undisclosed, insisted was theirs. You don’t belong here. She was mine. Sam had only smiled, paisley-tied and hands tented, then chirped, ‘What can I say? — Early bird gets the worm.’

What followed after was a prompt fist to the face. A kick to the ground.

Sarah had come in in a blur of hazy-headed colors and scraped him off the ground.

“I’d give Rocky a run for this money,” he half-teases, more rueful than anything, quiet. Sam tries for a smile, and he clears his throat. “I’ll... tell her,” he says. “Okay?”

He means Margot. Like there's any avoiding it.

[samuhelll]

@sharpsuite asked: ❛  this day feels like it’s never gonna end.  ❜ 𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑷𝑻. 𝑰 (accepting)

Sam sits deep enough so that the back of his chair slants. The hour encroaches slowly towards night, and though the blinds are drawn, he can well imagine that the sun has started to slither down past the concrete city and behind the dead, empty streets. 

This man with his long, bleached hair and too-cool-for-school look— Sam actually wishes, really, that the power worked. He’d charge his phone. He’d catch something on TCM. Turn on the radio. 

“You should’ve seen it back when. You guys- sure, you have your computers and your smartphones—power to you—but the golden days? I’m talking wallball, 25-cent comics, and this little thing I like to call” —he holds up his hands. He waits for it— “soul-searching.” 

Clever. Sam keeps his elbows on the desk. A battery-powered clock still ticks, counting down the seconds. All of this to say—

“Two words.” Sam smiles. “Carpe diem.”

Life is what you make it and seize the day. Or as much as a death-trap city will let you.

[samuhelll]

@rottine asked: “you don't have to leave just yet ... you could stay the night if you wanted to.” 𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑷𝑻. 𝑰 (accepting)

He took her across state lines to see The Maltese Falcon. It had been empty save for the odd old couple, the scatters of popcorn from earlier throughout the day, lastly, them, sometimes watching the movie, sometimes each other. He learned that Margot kisses with her mouth closed, long and slow and quiet. The stuff dreams are made of, he crooned in tandem with Bogart against her lips. Because he’s dumb. 

They left shortly after for something to eat when it occurred to him, belatedly, that everything closes before 8PM. With nothing to turn to, they sought refuge at a 7-Eleven. His pockets rustled with change. 

Now they’re here: her place. The front steps. Sam feeling floaty. “See you tomorrow?” he asked after bumping into her face gracelessly; a brief peck goodbye.

Margot looks at him in a way that makes his stomach flip.

She asks him to stay, and he lets his breath go. “...Sounds great.”

He steps inside. The deadbolt locks with an audible click, and before she can fully turn and say something, he takes her shoulders and kisses in two seconds dead.