bompurl

[bompurl]

who done it

connor: lieutenant, i know you drank my thirium.

hank: why the fuck would i drink robot juice i can't believe you're blaming this on me

connor: we have 24-hour surveillance.

hank: did i ever tell you i have a twin brother

[bompurl]

banas or however you spell it are fucking GROSS. hey hey look its a yellow thing hey look you have to look you hgave to peel it and do manual labor WRONG it's mush haha be fooled.

[bompurl]

SWAT Gavin (he's winking)

[bompurl]

fuckass start of fic from like two years ago.

Gavin doesn't remember when he stopped feeling alive, but he remembers the exact moment he rose from the dead.

Avery Meneses. A name he would never forget, a name burned into his head like a branding on a cow.

He remembers being so scared he was angry, smashing that boy's head into the wall so many times his face was unrecognizable.

He remembers hearing such loud screams it gave him a headache.

He remembers looking down at the boy's face, wondering how it got like that. He remembers the sickening crack it had made each time, each crack healing that disgusting pit in his stomach.

He remembers wishing he could just see a little bit of the skull, just to prove he could do something.

He remembers hating himself for it, as well as the satisfaction that came when it happened.

He remembers the burning feeling of cuffs on his wrist, how they cut into his wrists like rope.

He remembers the police officer who had gotten him out of jail looking at him with pity in his eyes.

"You're going to be alright, kid. It's not your fault." He had said. Gavin remembers looking at him, pleading silently for help, for somebody to just please help him.

The officer had given him a small hot wheel car and told him the next time he saw him there it better be because he wanted to be like the officer.

Gavin had cried for the first time since he turned fourteen that night, choking and begging for nobody, slowly breaking apart until he picked himself up again and marched back to that same station, proving to himself he could live again.

fucking LOSER i love him.

[bompurl]

live footage of me cracking open a cold one (god-forsaken journal)

Going back to old writing is either just like:

1. “Who wrote this masterpiece?! It was ME?!”

2. “Who wrote this absolute shit? Oh fuck my life, that was me, wasn’t it?”