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Joined October 2016
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you're still here but just check to make sure.
all you aspired to do was endure.
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݁ 𝑨𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧. retweeted
Jun 9
when i was in college i used to be the Roofie Tester for girls who thought their drinks might be drugged. i wasn’t actually doing it out of the kindness of my heart i just wanted free drugs
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it pads the blow enough for him to stop begging, because clearly the guy is doing his best, but that doesn’t hamper the kicked puppy look on zep’s face as he contends with going back outside. god damn it.
“y—yeah, okay,” he reluctantly concedes, ratty hair swaying —
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Hank’s empathetic by nature. Sort of. He’s also a selfish asshole, but he tried his best to leave that part of him in California, scattered in a mess of broken car parts and funeral processions. All of that to say, he feels for the guy. And he’s not wrong — Hank hasn’t seen him
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with each nod, “yeah. got it. two hours.” it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. freezing around the corner is no different to freezing in the park or some back-alley. at least this comes with the prospect of food. maybe. if the guy stays true to his word.
zep slinks —
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out of the bar as instructed, throwing a final glance over his shoulder before the door swings shut.
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luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the only thing amiss with his ankle is that it’s dirty and thin like the rest of him —— if she were to check his arms, however, she’d find enough track marks to confirm her suspicions tenfold. —
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⠀⠀at the centre of her complex, she is this: soft tissue swathed around her beating organ, available to prod at from between the slits of her ribcage. sharp things like 𝒽im have a habit of pricking the sensitive parts of herself.
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voice. he leans forward.
“th—that shit you gave me before worked, the bu - whatever. i mean — can’t you just give me some of that to - go?” he stammers out like he’s ordering at a drive - thru and not trying to get his grubby mitts —
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on a controlled substance. zep wrings his hands — a mirror image of her earlier self - soothing — while eyes that look like they haven’t seen a good night’s sleep in years plead with her. he needs this.
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xn--sal-x96a.xn--6ii sorry kittens daddy’s in bed with a headache today… replies SOON
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as the seconds pass, zep realises he could really, really use a drink. one of the worst parts about being homeless, and something people don’t tend to consider, is the limited access to liquid—not just food.
it gets old drinking from public bathrooms real fast, sniffing —
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Hank offers up a lazy grin, patting buddy on the shoulder before sidling up to the bar. Paul intercepts him, looking frazzled. Maybe he’s enjoyed a little too much nose candy, who knows.
“Look, man, you gotta get that kid outta here,” he whispers in Hank’s ear, gripping his
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around a faucet like a cat before they inevitably lock the doors overnight. to stop people like him getting in there.
the thought of an ice cold anything has his throat going dry with enthusiasm, so when the guy returns empty handed he’s more disappointed than he thought —
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he’d be, and what comes next is even worse. fuck.
“oh, come on, man,” he pleads, sounding more despairing than angry, brows knitted, “i didn’t do shit, i’m just in here to get out of the cold.” it’s not a complete lie. he hasn’t had the chance to swipe anything yet.
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this feels too good to be true—or maybe life on the streets has him wrongly convinced everything is a trap. he looks around for reasons to object and finds none, kissing his teeth in thought before nodding. “uhh. sure. if you’re—sure. uh, yeah. thanks?”
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A nod. That’s cool. As long as this guy isn’t dancing, Guilliani can’t shut the bar down. Chilling is cool. “You want a drink, man?” he asks again, oblivious to the fact that he just asked it. “It’s on the house because I’m the house, you feel me?”
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“nah, m’good.” he croaks in a poor attempt at nonchalance. if the owner recognises him he’ll be out on his ass in a second, and he doesn’t fancy his chances against this guy, either. “just chillin’.”
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“Sure do,” Hank says with a wide smile on his face that speaks volumes to his lack of sobriety. A hand claps the guy on the back, grip firm despite his drunkenness. “You wanna order a drink, dude? My boss is getting wigged out with you standing in the corner.”
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My lawyer informed me that my rat face will likely cause the jury to rule against me
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