Welcome Back - Tumblr Posts
ripped nylons and stolen skirts, scuffed black, leather boots that she'd been duct - taping and painting black just to pretend the soles were new — painted nails tug at the seams as she takes in the noise of the gallagher house as just that — noise. much more preferable to the noise at home, where the glass shattering was the result of a shady visit to a neighborhood clinic instead of one of his siblings dropping a dish in the sink. there was dysfunctional and there were the milkoviches, and mandy wanted what they had. pried into the small opening of space that'd hardly existed for her, nestling deep enough that it'd prove more work to remove her than letting be.
the question left her lips the way smoke burns, charred and strained. couldn't look at him, not out of fear or guilt but rather shame or the mortifying ordeal of simply being perceived. she didn't want to be weak. she'd considering taking those words back until he nudged her, short huff emitting through and pale, viridescents find themselves meeting icy blues. the cold of the winters that'd passed by now. “ there's this stupid club i want to get into. the like, the kind where they blow smoke up each other's asses an' shit. ” toe of her boot kicked at a small rock over the cracked, aged cement. “ i think they're stupid as fuck and i'd rather eat glass than associate with 'em but i made a bet with mickey an' he's being an asshole about it. ” there was a brief pause before she added, “ i have to ... write shit, do interviews. dress ... not like this. ”
✉ → "if i ask for your help, are you gonna make a big deal about it?" / @leventar
the question is so out of this fucking world that the inhale on his cigarette is stopped mid - drag, the smoke congesting his throat on its destructive path to his lungs.
"you wanna ask for help? shiiit."
plucking the cigarette from between his lips, his mouth curls as he exhales and blue eyes squint against the afternoon sun. the cherry - red tip is pressed against the wood of the step that they sit on outside of his house to join the rest of the scorched marks, the rare warm early spring chicago day tempting them to the front porch. voices leak from underneath the front door, the typical yelling that always exists in different contexts, and he rests his elbows against his bent knees.
"is it illegal shit? if so, how illegal?"
the question needs to be asked. it's said so casually that it's like the words are rehearsed in that exact order, repeated in several conversations. he nudges her with his elbow, ducking his head down to meet her averted downward gaze.
"hey, i'm fuckin' joking. only a little though. what's up?"