#streetspeakin

        miles stares down at clint, trying very, very hard not to laugh at the slurred question. there are many answers he could give, but he settles with crouching near clint where he’s managed to make himself comfortable on miles’ living room floor. 

                   if the bartender casts him a concerned (or really, irritated) look,                    patroclus doesn’t pay attention to it, because he’s the one paying                    for it anyways, so who’s he to judge? still, patroclus swipes the                    shot glass with a huff and dances away, though it’s really starting                    to look more like twitching and rolling. yet, he suddenly finds that                    it’s a great idea to show off his dancing skills when he sees one                    of the drunk girls he’s vaguely befriended tonight clamber up onto                    a table, quickly following suit as they trip and laugh and stumble                    along to a booming beat that’s surely going to make him go deaf                    sooner or later.

                   eventually, though, patroclus feels the edge of the table, instead of                    a surface. how funny, he thinks, testing out the air and gravity                    pulling him towards the ground. patroclus barely feels the panic                    in his stomach, before he neatly collides with a pair of arms and                    knocks his forehead against someone else’s skull, landing rather                    gracefully with a throbbing bruise on his head and a grimace on                    his face.

          ❛ A rich man bought one of my paintings today. ❜ He barely got the man’s name and his card crumbled into nothing when he accidentally dropped it in the rain gutter, but he has the 1200 dollars to prove it, which he tugs from his pocket and drops on the table. ❛ You take half of this and then I will designate one hundred of it to Dog. ❜   

throw the shorty over your shoulder | @streetspeakin

for the most part, he hates being manhandled. hates being remindedthat his size makes it easier for people to grab and toss him around.but the way clint threw him over his shoulder and the way the manheld onto him made him laugh. they were teasing, joking before, andnow he knew how much it took for the man to ‘snap’. a laugh escapedand he ran his fingers through the man’s hair.

meme

they leave, in the end.

it’s the kind of people that they are, when it’s down to the bones; everything else stripped back from the boys with too many scars and too many bruises, ribs built up as fortresses around hearts that are one blow away from breaking. they leave, ultimately, flee from the things they can’t face, from the people that’ve gripped too tight and held too carelessly.

‘i’ve got your back’ means little when it’s laced with smoke, mouth filled with ash, mouth filled with broken promises, lies- the ashtray will be emptied when they’re alone again and names have been forgotten ( when it doesn’t hurt so much ). they’ll bury themselves in their vices and move on, won’t they?