#cartelheir

[sharpsuite]

BONUS PROMPT FOR @cartelheir bc i love vivi and wish to spoil:

↳ NONVERBAL MEMES ↳ [ nap ] for your muse to fall asleep against mine

   Chishiya stares with BARELY concealed surprise as he feels Pat slump against him, burying her head against his shoulder. This doesn’t happen to Chishiya. People don’t so much as reach out to touch his shoulder or arm to pass by, let alone fall asleep against him. It’s like they can all see the void that he is, that there’s something wrong. He swallows down the bitter sensation that threatens to crawl out of his chest like ROT easing through cracks in the wall and focuses on the warmth and weight at his side. Pat is here and she’s fast asleep against him.

   He doesn’t know what to do about that really. Does he stay? Does he try to move her to a more comfortable position? Wake her? He tosses the lattermost option out before the thought is even done. She’d looked exhausted even before she fell asleep, like what rest she had been getting had been stressful. He cranes his head a little bit to study her face. She looks PEACEFUL like this. Probably one of if not the most peaceful he’s seen her since – ever really. Certainly since they'd returned from the borderlands and since her husband was dead and seeking refuge with him. It’s strange to come to terms with the thought someone can look at him and feel safe enough to sleep. It’s also strange to come to terms with the thought he’d once asked her to not leave him as he bled out. Strange, but not bad.

    Uncertainty ensures that each movement he makes is slow so as not to disturb her. He doesn’t have any reference for this situation. He’s never cuddled with someone, never fell asleep against his mom or had any friends. But he doesn’t want her uncomfortable now or later. He takes a very GRADUAL approach to shifting her off the sharp edge of his shoulder and towards the edge of his chest in front of the scapula, brown eyes focused as he makes sure not to wake her. She doesn’t wake, and he hesitates with a now semi-free arm. What does he do now? It makes him feel stupid, because no normal person would struggle with this. But HE does. Is he doing this right? Wrong? There’s no guide to tell him, no mathematical equation that offers a simple solution in the form of quantitative data. 

  He reaches down and gently pulls the blanket up further to keep her warm, head tilted to the side to keep track of her breathing and making sure he hasn’t woken her. It’s a TEMPORARY relief from the dilemma of what to do. It’s over too fast and leaves Chishiya right back where he started. Ever so slowly he lowers his hand, as if he’s afraid to get BURNED, until he’s gently resting an arm around her. The burning isn't quite imaginary though. It takes him a moment to realize that it's his lungs burning ; he has been holding his breath the whole time since he lowered his hand. It’s RIDICULOUS and he can’t help rolling his eyes at himself over how absurd he’d behaving. ( Except it's not that absurd, because this isn’t natural for him and it takes time to learn. ) She seems more comfortable like this at least so he takes that as a sign he did something right.

   His free hand reaches for the remote and he turns off the television, plunging the living room into a comfortable darkness. It feels a bit better, where his struggles aren’t as OBVIOUS. He’s always hated failing, not being good enough at something. It’s never been something like this though ; only a skill he hadn’t yet learned or a branch of knowledge he’d never pursued. Not basic interactive skills. His mouth twitches slightly at the thought and he focuses instead on the steady breathing and peaceful quiet.

   Maybe he should sleep too, but sleep didn’t feel anywhere near close to happening. His free hand lingers by his side before Chishiya lifts it to gently comb through her hair, chin hesitantly resting against the crown of her head. It’s REPLICATION – remembering what she’d done and mimicking it to the best he can. Tentative touch turns a bit more confident with time, more stable than the flighty feather-light nature of it before. It’s nice. It’s terrifying. He's not sure what he's going to do when she wakes up.

   He turns his head to the side so his cheek rests against her head and watches the gradual change of night to morning through the blinds. 

[samuhelll]

@cartelheir asked: 012. the roulette table in a casino. set the scene setting prompts (accepting)

“A-hho Houdini strikes again.” He claps, rubbing his hands together.

How does he do it?

“A little faith, trust” —Sam sticks out his finger, sitting far back— “and pixie dust.” The dealer slides a dull, glassy-eyed look. Like yes, that explains it all. “And, best of all? …Hey. Who’s got Lady Luck by his side.”

He hasn’t lost once. The table is starting to crowd. Sam is fifteen bets in, his earnings ballooning exponentially, and he might be cheating, this might be rigged, this might be exactly what it looks like: an inordinately lucky man and an inordinately unlucky house. He passes Patricia a fox-ish glance. Lady Luck.

“Oh, hey-”

A hostess stops by. Bright-eyed, Sam lobs ingredients and instructions.

The game continues afterwards, Sam stealing the show, Patricia stealing eyes. It’s good to be somewhere other than inside the overlarge, glossy walls of a million-dollar villa. The four-by-four of his office. This is fun, too: them winning even if, improbably, she owns the casino.

The hostess stops by. Sets down two glasses. He angles toward her, and through the curtain of cigarette smoke-

“That” —Sam uncurls a finger. He clicks his tongue— “is what I call a Lucky Patty.”

Patty. Patricia. Lucky penny. A yellow chartreuse cocktail, ginger and bourbon.

There is no reasoning with him.

[carminewill]

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜ / for saiko

↳ AN ASSORTMENT OF DIALOGUE

" Well I didn't exactly think it was going to feel pleasant. " Saiko replies - her words LACK her usual bite and it just comes out as TIRED. She prefers to blame her lack of aggression on the blood loss. " I'm a bitch with an attitude, not a wuss. " She replies, allowing a weak smirk on her lips. That can't be said for ALL of the militants. Most of them were just scared people who happened to have a gun. They didn't like pain and had weak wills that caved to others. Like her, or Aguni, or Niragi, or just anyone with an actual BACKBONE.

She was prepared for the sting of cleaning the deep gash. Or she thought she was. Saiko was no stranger to pain. It had already been a familiar friend BEFORE coming to the Borderlands, both to inflict and to endure. She won most of her fights, but that didn't mean coming away UNSCATHED. This is definitely the worst she's ever experienced though. Fitting given the hellhole this place was.

" FUCK ! " Saiko hisses and throws her head back because it doesn't just sting a little. It hurts like a bitch. But to the militants credit, she doesn't flinch. Her nails dig into the ground and she lets out a slow, shaky exhale ( and maybe another curse ) . The pain makes her eyes squeeze shut but she forces them open, forces herself to watch the other woman work. She's not letting pain rule over her. What Saiko doesn't understand is why Pat is helping her.

" Well. This is going to be one hell of a story if anyone ever asks how I get this scar. If it scars. " Saiko's not sure if the injury will or not ; it seems like some tiny injuries scar and other major injuries DON'T. All she knows is there is a lot of blood and she's tired., Saiko doubts anyone will ask about the scar regardless. People don't get to know Saiko personally. Not here, not in the real world.

Finally the question burns her up too much to keep silent. " Why? " Why are you helping? / @cartelheir

[muutosarchive]

🌲 !

send 🌲 and i'll recommend a blog with thought-provoking headcanons

@divinehr immediately comes to mind. the shit she comes up with for pris, not even counting primo - it's honestly mind-blowing. it's so cool watching someone put so much commitment into their muse, &. build the kind of world &. three dimensional story / headcanons that priscilla has. it's so beautifully crafted &. the care is always so clear. i'm explaining this badly but she's just so fucking talented imo.

🍒 @cartelheir 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 ↪ TIME FOR SOME POSITIVITY!

[saburaito]

❝ YOU DON'T THINK THAT YOU CAN TRUST ME. it reads all over your face. it's eating at you, but you know that this can't be undone. the secret is out. i'm offering to help you, as long as i get my end of the deal. ❞ there was stiffness between the two of them, one that had always been there he supposed. whether the man who she was constantly wearing the shadow of was around or not; he had yet to see her fully relax.

@cartelheir / SMALL STARTER CALL.

[c1tyhaunts]

200 RANDOM DIALOG PROMPTS. @cartelheir: ❛ you owe me dinner. a very nice dinner. ❜

"And your fucking sicario owes me hospital fees and an explanation to my wife, but seems like we're both gonna go empty handed for a moment, baby."

As if nursing a black eye and his bruised pride wasn't enough, last thing he wanted was Miss Carosella also on his ass as well. Hell, Patricia's request wasn't even the most outrageous apology he had done this past week. But Che Ferraro holds grudges, and he held those grudges tightly and them bleed into any parallel & auxiliary relationships. Emmanuel's the ire of his eye, and would anyone blame Che for being a bit of a tight ass about the situation? A man of his stature, status, and physicality - getting his lights clocked out by some nobody?

Oh, Che's seething - ice pack still on his eye as he leans in his own seat across from Patricia. His normally lively, almost over-zealous attitude is wiped clean off his face, revealing the mask that got him far in his career. Resentment seethes from him, and lacking any filters, his words shot out faster than his own thoughts.

"Your boy got lucky, Carosella, cause if I wasn't a saintly man, that woulda been the last thing he would have ever done." Che almost scoffs, refusing to even say Manny's name. Pointing his finger to her, he wags it as he speaks as he paints the picture again. "That boy has the nerve to punch me in front of my people, at my fuckin' establishment? Does he not know how to take a fuckin' joke? Find yourself better company, baby; thugs like that only gonna drag your value down, believe me..."

[sharpsuite]

F G T Z for chishiya

↳ VALENTINE'S DAY ALPHABET HEADCANONS

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt? If your flirting language is taunting or snide remarks, absolutely! He can also do eye contact. In a traditional sense of flirting...not really. It's not so much he can't so much as he doesn't have any interest in trying. He could if he put the effort into it. His flirting is more of the teasing, taunting type; he keeps eye contact, actively tries to engage in conversation (or bothering them), but also learns their likes and dislikes and might utilize it like bringing a snack or something (albeit under the guise of another reason).

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right? It depends. Chishiya is good at PRACTICAL gifts and ones he thinks would be useful to someone. So if you're someone who likes those kinds of gifts, you're golden! But he's not very good at SENTIMENTAL gifts or random 'hope they like these' kinds of gifts. He typically sticks to what is practical and/or what he knows they like, or anything that they point out and say they want.

This all said, Chishiya does not like gift shopping. He'd do it, but if you're with him, he's probably complaining and trying to get it done with as fast as possible.

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love? It's not something he's thought about. Chishiya doesn't believe in soulmates or the red string of fate, or anything like that. But true love in terms of people genuinely loving each other and mutually supporting and growing? He's...borderline on it. He does but he does also think it has a limit to it. Maybe a very high/deep limit, but not that there's a love that couldn't be broken or shattered by something. However, he has doubts that HE could ever experience it

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with? Only a couple. A lot of this is simply due to his lack of real interest in it and a busy schedule more than anything else. Chishiya is sex-positive and he has enjoyed it, but it really isn't something he needs and its more by happenstance than anything else. The first time he indulged was because he was curious if it would make him feel anything. While it was a physically pleasurable experience, he was left disappointed though unsurprised it didn't end up meaning anything to him. Those couple he has slept with have been more than once; he does find it better to have someone who knows what is liked and explore with vs many new ones.

[samuhelll]

@cartelheir for details about ocs headcanons (accepting)

what is your oc's favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink?

this depends. sam loves a good red wine with hearty meals. he’ll have an old-fashioned if he’s feeling pretentious at a lounge. in his apartment by himself, cheap and convenient and the air stuffy, he’ll crack open corner-store beer—preferably in glass bottles. bloody mary - it’s a meal in a glass. he will drink fruity drinks. also: piña coladas with the song playing.

he used to never feel the effects of alcohol. after losing his immortality, his face will turn pink. his ears, too.

is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions?

sam is both. sometimes, mostly for fun, he’ll act on spontaneity and listen-to-your-heart gut feeling. other times, but perhaps more so, he thinks things out. this does not mean they are always good plans. sometimes his plans get him into worse trouble. his biggest plan gets him killed.

[r4bidog]

“ how the hell did this happen? ”

 expensive cushions stained crimson , seeping through the fabric into the pillows . he believes patricia would be lot less hostile toward him if he'd just move into the bathroom and didn't ruin her couch . but gangjae , albeit not mentioning it , felt dizzy . even his mocking laughter didn't sound sober , he closed his eyes lazily and waves his hand toward her nightgown ; ❛ you look so hot in that . . . carina . cariña ? ❜  spanish isn't easy to learn , but he's trying his best and while he's bleeding out through the bullet hole on his shoulder , he still tries to practice , no ? his head rolls back against the couch , a wince openly painting his features , he tightens his hold on his shoulder and hisses out quietly ; ❛ don't you have a fucking doctor around here ? ❜

    * injury starters. accepting

[desireur]

@cartelheir sent the following: 06. in a private jet, on the way to a business trip. + Partition - One muse puts on their best lingerie to seduce the other

V.01 ━━ In his line of business, there was a set of unspoken guidelines formed from common sense to keep things professional and safe, with the most prominent ones being: Don't gamble other people's money, don't fuck with your own clients [ or their wives ]. In the past 27 years Le Chiffre managed to break both of those with, with enough frequency for it to end up in the file MI-6 once had on him. Patricia was one of those frequent trespassions.

This whole ordeal was good proof of why the said common sense was important. Quantum's meetings were sparse, but hidden in plain sight, this time Dvořák's Armida at the National Theater being their cover. Once his obligations were out of the way, he had arranged that he had a new potential client for her own business. Quid pro quo, as had always worked for him, and didn't seemed to bother Patricia.

He had just put the phone back in his jacket's pocket when they reached cruising altitude, eye seeking her only to find her standing, speaking to the [ significantly taller ] air hostess, half-smiling lips instructed the woman to leave, the cabin's door clicking after her. He never ceased to find amusing her capacity to impose and control despite the petite construction. Once the cabin door clicked close, it took but a second for the same commanding air to turn to him, prompting his own lips to mimic her smirk. His attention wasn't optional.

At some point that Le Chiffre Marcel couldn't bother to recollect the short distance ceased from existing, and Patricia had made herself comfortable on his lap, still with the unwavering demanding glare despite his hands already resting on her tighs ━ now only felt, as his eyes had long lowered from hers, focusing on everything beneath ━ as the straps of her Coperni leather dress were pulled, a familiar bra revealed from under it, a gift he thought fitting to 'mourn' Cèsar's demise. ❛❛ << I knew gold would suit you. >> ❜❜ Spanish felt appropriate, warmer than english, closer to his own french and to the feeling [ carnal as it was ] that was behind the sliding up of hands, move which ended with hands unabashedly gropping her ass, pulling her closer.

In no time sheer tulle, golden embroidery and golden jewelry were the only things left on her, a much more fitting look in his opinion. Her own demands were made known through grinding hips, removed tie and open button shirt. The entire week being spent between business and sex hardly made it all boring to him, the same readiness made itself present each time, except this time it pushed prudence away, pointless really, as he couldn't materialize condoms and stopping wasn't even seen as option. Patricia been his sole company for the past week either way... There was little consequence to be considered, and neither commented on it.

One smooth move of his hands was enough to pull her an inch upwards, index and middle finger sliding under delicate fabric, one pulling it aside as other began teasing her cunt, entering her after a vocal request he saw fit to oblige, and she saw fit to retribute, a single hand expertly undoing his belt and zipper, already hardened cock being pullled out and jerked. Yet again there are lost seconds between rushed preparations and her hand guiding his erection inside her, a fluid move of her hips settled him deep inside with a delighted moan, and a steady rhythm was prompty found by her hips. She had time to do whatever she pleased, his control being forsaken willingly. At least for the moment, as the firm squeeze on the sides of her hips reminded.

[afraidofchange]

🚩🚩

hot takes. | @cartelheir

As a topic of hot contention recently, RPing is a social activity. It requires socializing with the people you interact with to plot/plan/generally get to know your writing partners to some capacity.

In this way, it is a two-way street; you cannot expect everyone to always be reaching out to you. You cannot always expect everyone to make the effort and idc if you have social anxiety, it's a hobby that requires communication and partnership to be successful.

Obviously a lot of us (myself included) have busy lives with school/work/family/other hobbies, and require a lot of time to manage that, so rp may get put on the backburner. That should be understood by everyone that some of us are slow rpers and take time or lose muse and need time to get it back.

HOWEVER... if you are one of these people that refuses to fill out someone's interest tracker to show you want to write with them, or refuse to send memes, or refuse to interact and then complain that people don't reach out to you? You're the problem!!!! It's you!

Generally speaking, most people follow back blogs they want to interact with at some point, and while I know I follow some blogs because I've known them before from elsewhere or that, even if our characters may not be compatible, I can still send memes like this or headcanon memes, or just support their posts by giving a like or leaving a comment! It's not hard!!! figure it out!

[feilien]

@cartelheir said: "∗ o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night ." {♚ x 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 || Accepting x}

 It was late at night, and Long Zhi was in the middle of his martial arts training, when one of the clan members entered the room to let him know that there was someone at the door for him. Which left him confused for more than one reason: one, it was obviously fucking late and no one in their right mind would go knocking at anyone's door at that time of night, let alone on the door of the Liu family, and two... he never had visitors. Least of all at his own home. 

 So, after grabbing a towel and making himself at least somewhat presentable, he made his way downstairs. Curious —and perhaps a bit wary— he tried to glance through the small window in the door first, but all he could see was the top of someone's head. No help at all, of course. Finally opening the door, it took him a moment, but then he recognized the person he was now facing.

 Completely dumbfounded, Long Zhi temporarily forgot his manners, and simply said: "What the hell are you doing here?" Then he pulled himself together and cleared his throat, before stepping outside with her and closing the door behind himself. Pat wasn't a complete stranger; they'd met a while ago and had talked a handful of times before, sometimes for hours. And, quite frankly, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit infatuated with her, but... That still didn't explain why she was here. "I mean— Sorry. It's just.. Super late. Didn't exactly expect anyone to show up on my doorstep. Is everything alright?"

[proofwhisky]

@cartelheir asked : sender finds receiver after a fight. \\ violent starters. accepting !!

VIOLENCE IS SAFETY. Tommy doesn't know where he'd first learned of this concept, or when he'd allowed it to so entirely consume his life. Perhaps it doesn't matter. He grew up fighting, either with his brothers or the older boys on the streets of poor Birmingham neighborhoods. He grew up winning. Then the war had come and gone and done what it could to solidify Thomas Shelby's reputation for brutal violence, and now people hear his name on the street and move out of the way.

That doesn't seem to stop people from insulting his mother, however.

Some bastard had been too drunk and too foreign to know the gravity of bumping into Tommy on the street and smearing his coat with coal dust— and Tommy had been willing to let it go, stepping aside to leave, when the man had slurred something about Tommy's mother being a dockside whore, and the police were called to put a stop to the fighting.

No matter how many fights Thomas finds himself in, he has never gotten used to the crushing guilt and shame of the aftermath. At least when he loses, the damage he'd done to his opponent is more justifiable. When he wins, and the adrenaline stops, reality slams back into place like the set of a stage play and all he can see is the fear and the judgment in the eyes of the spectators, accentuated by the stunned silence, his uncanny ability to destroy things on full display.

His office had been the nearest place with a change of clothes and decent liquor, so he'd trudged over and locked himself inside without a word to Lizzie or any of the other women in his office, which was ill-advised, as they were trying to inform him of Patricia's presence in his office.

Thomas all but skids to a stop upon seeing the back of Patricia's head, the rich brown curls of her hair shining in the golden light, her jewelry glittering like it's trying to taunt him.

He's holding his tie in his hand, the stiff collar of his shirt torn halfway off and a large gash through the fabric at his side from a knife. His jacket is tattered and dusty, his face dotted with blood and a pink bruise beginning to blossom beneath his left eye.

"Get out," he says harshly, having chosen Patricia as the unfortunate recipient of the venom he'd been building up in his heart on the walk to his office. "You don't have an appointment. Get out."

[sharpsuite]

BONUS PROMPT FOR @cartelheir bc i had to ↳ SEND ✉ FOR 5 TIMES MY MUSE DIDN'T TEXT YOURS & 1 TIME THEY DID

THE FIRST TIME Chishiya almost texts is because she's been absent from class. Which is, of course, the day everything happens at school. A fight in the cafeteria with a teacher caught in the crosshairs, a science experiment gone wrong ( because who gives fire to known troublemakers?) , and a surprise quiz. But he's a rather DRY texter and he's not thrilled at the idea of her blowing up his phone with messages wanting more details. He decides to save it for TOMORROW when she's hopefully back at school and he can elaborate in real time.

THE SECOND TIME he goes to text her, his mother stops it. Not because she knows who or what he's texting, but merely on ACCIDENT. Chishiya is bored and he's already calculated the fact that the presenter certainly couldn't see him if he was texting. The people in front are too tall and he's too far back. His hand slips into his pocket to grab his phone when his mother makes that disappointed tsk sound of disapproval under her breath at something the lecturer said.

He doesn't have to say anything; his mother is already correcting or elaborating in his ear about minute details. HER SON is going to get the correct information and nothing less. This is all a good experience for him and she dons a polite smile while introducing him with the declaration of it being good for connections. He's not stupid. It's just to show off the perfect family illusion. Two hours later the event is done and Chishiya can't be bothered to text when he just wants to nap.

THE THIRD TIME is in his last class of the day after some girl tried to ask him to a dance. She had the intention to at least. He'd overheard some of her friends chattering about it - they hadn't realized he was only a few feet behind him in the hallway. He's not interested. Instead of showing up early like usually, he steps into the classroom with only thirty seconds to spare before class starts. She calls his name and he looks but then the teacher starts and he knows she's too much of a rule-follower to break them. She goes back to her seat and he's pleased it worked so well as he contemplates texting Pat about it.

It's only a fifty minute class, so he doesn't. He would much rather share in person anyways. When class ends, he slips out the door before anyone realizes and makes his way to their usual meeting spot.

THE FOURTH TIME is when Chishiya has a new treat in front of him at some bakery. It's delicious and he's pleased at his decision to come here. Not a surprise, really. He takes a bite of the chocolate dessert and licks the powdered sugar from his fingers while he contemplates it. He DOESN'T solely because he's certain she's going to tease him over stopping at the bakery yet again. Besides, he can always use the excuse of a new dessert to drag her along another day without the increased liklihood of being teased for.

THE FIFTH TIME water is dripping from his hair as Chishiya clutches onto the sink and contemplates texting Pat. IMPULSIVITY is not a word that is common in Chishiya's lexicon nor one associated with him. He carefully plans everything ; effortless or indifference nothing but a feigned disguise while he's calculated everything silently. Except for this that is. His eyes flick to the hair bleach and bottle on the side of the sink in his bathroom and then towards the mirror. It's STRANGE to see the dark hair gone, obliterated in an attempt for...what? Anger? Acknowledgement? SOMETHING?

He hesitates when he lifts the phone to take a picture to send to her. It'd look better dry than wet, he reasons. ( Reasons, as if he doesn't know it's the tremble of uncertainty in his chest that makes him hesitate. ) Besides, she's probably asleep right now. He sets the phone aside to do one more rinse before towel drying his new hair.

◆

HE FINALLY TEXTS. It's been two days since he'd bleached and dyed his hair, dark hair turned a shocking moonlight blonde. He feels the urge to laugh at the ordeal. Because really, what had he thought that this would achieve? NOTHING. Chishiya had known deep down that it wouldn't do anything but it was one of the few times he hoped he might be wrong. His father never saw him and his mother had barely spared a glance. Just the standard ' How are the grades? . . . As I expected. ' conversation that are almost the only conversations that they have. They weren't even conversations so much as habitual comments that he doubted his mother was actually listening to. It just leaves him empty and lined with disgust at his own pathetic attempt for something.

At least he likes the hair. Maybe she'll appreciate it too at least. He grabs his phone and texts a quick message.

[To: Pat - Status: SENT- 6:00 p.m.] Meet at the river view bridge in half an hour?

[wellfell]

 ❛ i hope you don't mind me saying this ( @cartelheir ) but your lipstick's smudged a little . ❜

     * one liner call. accepting

[embodies]

❛ honey, i'm hoooome ! ❜ affections called out more for nosy neighbours than to alert his would - be wife of his presence, roll of the eyes punctuating his trudge through the door. sometimes he doesn't think he's quite cut out for this domesticity act as he once was adamant : the suburbs are one big jerk - off to who can cultivate the best garden and every hello, how you do is really an attempt to ask questions, to pry. their joint worst nightmare.

he's quick to unsheathe his jacket ( but not before checking through the blinds ! ) — it was initially such a novelty to dress up as someone he isn't. yo, it's like, cosplay ! but now it feels like an uncanny second skin, a mask forever glued to his face, features never to be seen by the outside world. self expression is a cruel commodity to take away from a human being. a necessary evil for the illusion of safety.

❛ you would not be - lieve ! the jackasses i see on a daily basis out there. ❜ haphazardly button - up shirt is also rid to the pile; the return to his own personal normality is not quick enough. thrusting a hoodie over his torso ( you can change your name but the scars remain ) he immediately feels more at home.

❛ i mean, total zombies just let out in public. this guy tried to negotiate the price of a fuckin' kitchen cabinet. like what, you're gonna haggle over a can a' beans next ? be for real. i made better money cookin' up baby blue with old shit - for - brains. ❜

@cartelheir. ♡