𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆 !

𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆 !

[loudbarks-arch]

LOUDBARKS ── a   highly   selective   &   mutually   exclusive   portrayal   of   frankie   knox,   a   fandomless   original   character.   trigger   and   headcanon   heavy. 

────────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────────────

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖉 𖤐 𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𖤐 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 𖤐 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊

DISCLAIMER: frankie is nonbinary and uses she/they pronouns. please respect this in threads and ooc.

[nixscriptum]

[silent-stories]

<3

[serendipiteasworld]

Grabbing him by the throat and kissing him passionately until he's breathless ᰔᩚ

[brutalperception]

he is always observant. or at least, he's usually observant. lately, he's been feeling so outside of himself that he's not sure he's noticed anything. they freeze, and brown eyes cast up from the can in his hands. he notices the way her shoulders ease, the look of recognition on their face. he doesn't want to be recognized. their shoulders drop, and he notices the way she's holding something in the tension. maybe space for him, maybe understanding. he doesn't know what it is, he just knows he feels grateful for it. she apologizes, and he doesn't know how to hold brief huff of laughter. "really ??" the grin that ghosts across his face looks like a version of ben that existed at the beginning of this tour, before he went weeks without meaningful sleep, one that was fun and spiteful at the same time. "you think i can't take you in a fight, short stack ??" the grin is brief, well intentioned even. "it's fine." he doesn't say that he appreciates the offer of apology, that the boundaries he's set for his body are forged in something dark and traumatic. they say they're not trying to draw blood, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "i–" he doesn't know what he wants to say. NO ONE HAS EVER GIVEN ME THE SPACE TO NEED ANYTHING feels fucked up. "i–" he repeats, his voice cracks just at the edge. "– thanks."

[loudbarks-arch]

the tension in frankie's shoulders finally unhooks when the grin shows up briefly and stubbornly human, and it almost pisses her off all over again that she can feel relief about it; like she'd been braced for him to stay jagged forever. then he hits them with short stack and they roll their eyes so hard it's practically a full-body motion, the corner of their mouth twitching despite themself. "shut the fuck up," she says, stepping in just enough to jab the air near his arm, not touching, just punctuating it. "you're six foot three and miserable. congratulations, you could probably take most people in a fight." their gaze falls to his face when his voice catches, and they feel that strange, tender pinch in their chest they pretend they don't have; it's not pity, but recognition, and it makes them careful with the next breath. "you don't have to thank me like it's some grand act," she adds, quieter, still not making it heavier than he can stand. "i'm not trying to crowd you, ben. i just… get the 'tired' and 'needing space' thing more than i want to." a beat; their eyes narrow again, because they can't resist. "but if you call me short stack one more time, i'm gonna start biting ankles on principle."

[lookingforhalsey]

iamhalsey: another day another play 💓💓💓💓

[dxmnedderelict]

Frankie's around hurt. The once welcoming embrace of their presence had grown teeth which snapped and shred at the violation of Athanas treading on private territory. Their fusion had been torn apart by space, a once great star dimmed by comparison. Not Frankie. No, they remained as luminous as the day Athanas had met them. It was Athanas' spark which died out, again, exploded into one last beam of energy until sucked into a black hole.

Their descent into nothingness felt worse this time than when they were younger and had seemingly less to lose. What could possibly be more costly than their innocence? Frankie. The wound spread deeper, wider. Erratic numbness threw them into a stagnation that Athanas wasn't quite sure they could drag themselves out of again. Each time they attempted to find some curve in the pit to hoist themself up, they thought, 'what's the fucking point without her waiting for me out there?' So withdrawn into themself they stayed.

"I'll be around then. After the show." Their fingers flew to her face before they had the compunction to resist. It was foolish to believe that touch alone could mend the dissonance echoing through the chasm of their separation but it was all they had left to hold onto. They did have the last fleeting inflections of reason to keep from leaning in. Too much collision at once might cause Athanas to implode. They only asked for proximity, a dangerous flicker of something stupid brewing within their dark gaze that would be beaten down. They'd said enough. Too much without actually having a method behind their madness. If they looked deep enough, and they certainly were, Athanas could almost see through the blockade of armor and spears and back into her heart. Just the faintest flicker of it, but they swore they recognized that warmth. It wasn't snuffed out. Not yet anyway.

"I'm making my way back to you." Hands dropped to their sides, unsure if they really are past the point of return. "I just needed a glimpse that you're still there. Don't disappear just yet. I'll make it out again." A cold hand lifts, palm facing the sky as it's extended in an offering. "Can I buy you lunch for now?"

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie went still when their fingers found her face. not because the touch startled them, but because it didn't. that was always the danger with athanas; they could put a hand on her like no time had passed, and her body would know them before her thoughts had the chance to put up a fight. warmth bloomed where their fingertips met the redhead's skin, immediate and aching, and for one terrible instant all they wanted was to turn into it, press their cheek into their palm, and let themself have one selfish, STUPID second of relief. she didn't. but god, she wanted to. wanted, too, to lace their hand through theirs the way they used to when their mind got too loud and the world turned jagged at the edges. the want sat there between her ribs and throat, bright and unsaid.

their words landed deeper than frankie liked. i'm making my way back to you. it hit her with the force of an old song heard through a wall — muffled, familiar, enough to ruin you anyway. for a flicker of a moment they could almost see the shape of what they used to be; not gone, not quite, only hidden under too much distance and too many things neither of them knew how to carry without dropping. her gaze lifted fully to theirs then, and whatever sharpness had lived in her expression earlier had thinned into a tired kind of fondness, the sort that lingered long after it should've burned out. "i'm here," they said quietly, the words leaving their throat before they could dress them up or make them safer. "I haven't disappeared."

when they offered their hand, palm up, the redhead looked at it for half a beat too long. she wanted to take it. wanted the easy answer of skin against skin, the old map of them drawn back into their palm. but the hallway wasn't empty forever, and they were still living inside a lie that only worked if they handled it carefully. so she let the want stay where it was, tucked under her tongue, and gave them a crooked little smile instead. "you can buy me lunch," they said, their voice lighter now, though the warmth never fully left it. "i'm not gonna turn down free food just because you got dramatic in a hallway."

then she shifted, angling herself toward the direction they needed to go, though her eyes stayed on them another second; longer than necessary, long enough to let them know the answer meant more than lunch. "come on," frankie murmured, the edge of a laugh catching at the end of it. "before you start talking about orbit and collapse again and i end up letting you get away with way too much."

[brutalperception]

ben hates the gentleness. he hates that he feels the need to be kind about anything. his mind is fractured. he knows it is. because there's no reason he should be angry about any gentleness, but that doesn't stop the way it sparks and pulls him apart. he hates this. he wants to scream. but they step back, hands up. he notices the exhaustion. of course he does. a shuddering breath, gaze catches on hers. i'm not trying to take anything from you. he believes her when she says it. is that part of the problem ?? a beat, a soft glance, he hates this. "i don't think you're too much." he mumbles, and his voice betrays him. he hadn't considered how his behavior landed for them. he didn't have the bandwidth. he's still just trying to survive, still just trying to keep his head above water. there's nothing left to consider how he's impacting anyone else, so if his brain could stop that would be helpful. "just–" a rough sigh, "i'm not trying to draw blood, okay ??" hands shake, another sip of red bull. "if i'm being a dick like – i might be stupid about it but i will back off." this feels dumb. "i'm not trying to piss anyone off." he hates this so badly. "i'm just tired."

[loudbarks-arch]

i don't think you're too much. the words hit her in a place she wasn't guarding, and for a second frankie just stands there, with her chest tight, like she doesn't know what to do with something that isn't a jab. the anger doesn't disappear, but it loosens; it stops clawing for the next punchline. they watch the shake in his hands around the can, how he keeps drinking like caffeine can stitch him back together, and it clicks in that quiet, unpleasant way: he's not posturing because he's cruel, he's posturing because he's barely holding it together, and they recognize that too — the instinct to turn sharp before anyone can get close enough to see you're not okay. frankie exhales slowly, and her shoulders drop a fraction. "okay," they say, softer, still careful not to make a big thing of it. "i hear you." a beat, her jaw working as she forces herself to say the part that tastes like swallowing pride. "and… i'm sorry about the kiss." they don't dress it up as a joke; they don't pretend it was some grand statement. "that was me losing my temper and grabbing for control in the worst way. you didn't ask for that." even if i enjoyed it, she thought as her gaze was steady on his."i'm not trying to draw blood either. i just—" they shake their head once, a small, frustrated motion. "i'll back off."

[brutalperception]

ben is trying. he really is. succeeding, however, is beyond him. of course it is. he's never been good at any of this. not really. his grip gets impossibly tighter, like if he grips that counter tight enough, he'll be able to stop fucking losing himself in the tension and the anger and the discomfort. he hates this shit so badly. it feels unfair that she's so capable of seeing straight fucking through him. "if you don't like the view from where you're standing," a beat, thick with frustration, passes between them. he's behaving like a skittish animal and he knows it. "fucking MOVE." tattooed hand cards through his hair, "nobody's making you look." he hates how much it sucks– hates how uncomfortable he feels constantly. it's all going to crumble under his white knuckle grip, and he can tell. being SEEN has always felt more like a threat than a reprieve. they mention that caring makes people take more, and he hates how honest it feels. how true to his emotions it feels. he hates fucking talking about this. about anything. "i'm not trying to take shit from you, frankie." it comes out too gentle for his own taste, like the ghost of vulnerability he doesn't let out anymore. but then his gaze narrows all over again. like he's slipping back into anger because it's the only way he knows how to protect himself. "fuckin' fine. i'm saying it. back up."

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie swallows hard when the gentleness slips out with her name. because it's there and then it's gone, like he's ashamed he let them hear it at all. the anger in her doesn't vanish, but it tilts; it turns into that old, familiar sting she tries not to carry around, the one that says you only ever get the truth when you force it. "okay," they say, quieter, and they back up. two steps, hands lifted in a small, wordless show that she heard him. for a second their gaze drops, and when it comes back up it's steadier, just… tired at the edges. "i'm not trying to take anything from you," she adds, her voice low. "i'm just… really used to people deciding i'm too much before they ever tell me where the line is." a beat; the words catch, and they don't soften them into a joke. "so when you say 'back up' after you've already snapped, it feels less like a boundary and more like a door in my face." she exhales, controlled, her eyes still on him. "you said it now. i'm listening. i'll give you the space... i just don't want to spend another tour learning i have to earn basic decency by bleeding first."

[almostbetter]

He watched her undress like a man witnessing something he'd been told his whole life he didn't deserve to see. The dress slipping from their skin, the slow reveal of every mark he'd left: the faint bruise blooming on their hip where his fingers had gripped too tight, the reddened skin on their inner thighs. Evidence. Proof that this happened, that she had let him, that she had wanted him to leave his trace.

The steam curled around her like something alive, softening the edges of her, making her look half like a dream he was still inside. The water hit their back and sheeted down, tracing the same paths his mouth had traced, and he stood frozen on the tile, hands limp at his sides, breathing in the thick, warm air that now carried her scent mixed with his.

When they turned to reach for him, he felt something in his chest unlock. Like a door he'd kept bolted for years swung open without warning. Stellan stepped forward. The water hit his back, running down his spine, over his shoulders, into his eyes. He blinked through it, focused on them. On the water clinging to her lashes, the way her hair stuck to her cheeks in the dark, the flush still high on her chest.

His hands found her waist. The skin there was hot, slippery under his palms. He could feel her pulse through his fingertips, or maybe that was his own heartbeat, he couldn't tell anymore. They were too close, too tangled, too much the same thing now. He pressed his forehead to theirs. The water ran between them, a river cutting through the small space where they almost touched. It tasted like nothing. Clean. Neutral. The opposite of how she tasted, which was everything.

"I've never stayed," he whispered. The words were swallowed by the hiss of the shower, but he was certain they heard them anyway. He knew they did. "I've never wanted to stay. It feels strange. All of it. Your skin under my hands when I'm not trying to take. The quiet. The way you're looking at me right now."

He looked down at her, at the top of her head, at the way she had to crane her neck just to keep him in focus, and something in his chest tightened. Not possessively. Not hungrily. Just... tenderly. Like he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her, and realizing how carefully they had to look up to find him. His hands slid from her waist, one coming up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading gently through their wet hair. The other pressed flat against the small of their back, pulling them closer, eliminating the space between them.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He let out a shaky breath that ruffled her wet hair. "But I know I don't want to stop. I don't want to leave. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and have this be something we don't talk about. I want to stay in this with you."

[loudbarks-arch]

the water softened everything.

steam curled along the glass and marble, turning the bathroom into something quieter, almost suspended outside the rest of the apartment. frankie felt the difference in the slow rhythm of the water running down her shoulders, in how her breathing had finally started to match his. the earlier chaos — the heat of the kitchen floor, the desperate collision of bodies — felt distant now, not erased, but settled into the air like the echo of thunder after a storm.

they noticed the way he looked at them. not with the same raw hunger that'd driven him minutes ago, but with something steadier. almost careful. when her dress slipped away and fell to the tile, she could feel his gaze following the marks he'd left: the bruise forming along her hip, the faint redness along her thighs where his hands had held her. proof that it'd happened. proof that they'd wanted it. instead of feeling exposed, she felt strangely grounded in it, like the space they stood in now, in his home, carried the quiet aftermath of everything they'd done together.

when they reached for him and he stepped into the shower, the warmth of the water running over both of them, something inside them loosened. his hands finding her waist felt natural and instinctive, like her body had already memorized the shape of his touch. they leaned into it without thinking, their fingers resting lightly against his ribs as his forehead pressed to theirs. water slid between them, over their faces, down their shoulders, but neither of them moved away.

she listened when he spoke. i've never stayed. the words weren't loud, but they landed with weight. frankie lifted their chin slightly so they could see him through the thin curtain of water. her lashes clung together, strands of hair stuck to her cheek, and she didn't bother brushing them aside. they wanted him to see them like this, with no performance, or distance.

when his hand slid into her hair and the other drew her closer, she rested her palm flat against his chest. his heartbeat thudded steadily beneath their hand. and for a moment she didn't answer. they just let the quiet stretch between them, then they exhaled softly.

"good," she murmured. their thumb traced a small arc along his sternum as they spoke again, their voice low under the hiss of the shower. "because i don't know what i'm doing either." the admission felt strange, but it didn't scare her the way it might've once.

they shifted closer, closing the last inch of space between them, letting the water run over both of their shoulders at once. the apartment beyond the bathroom was silent, the kind of silence that only came late at night in someone else's place — familiar to him, new to her.

"but this is your place," they added quietly, glancing once toward the open doorway before looking back at him. "and i don't want tonight to turn into one of those things people pretend didn't happen just because morning shows up."

her hand stayed steady against his chest.

"so if you're saying you want to stay in it," they said, softer now, "then i'm here. in your kitchen, in your shower, in whatever comes next."

she held his gaze for another moment, calm but open.

"we'll figure the rest out when the sun comes up."

[almostbetter]

He stood there for a long moment, frozen in the doorway, watching her cross the threshold like it was nothing. Like stepping into his world... this absurd, expensive, carefully curated version of a getaway... was as simple as walking into a coffee shop. The golden light from inside caught the edges of her, softening everything, and he felt something in his chest shift. Something he didn't have a name for. Just you and me.

The words landed somewhere deep, soft and unexpected. He'd spend the whole flight here bracing for her to flinch, hesitate, to see all the way he didn't fit into the picture she deserved. The knots in his shoulders had been coiled so tight he'd forgotten what relaxation felt like. And instead, she'd just... walked in. Turned back with that crooked smile. Told him she was excited. Excited to be here. With me.

He followed them inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft, expensive thunk. The warmth wrapped around them immediately. The air smelled like clean wood and linen, with something underneath, maybe cedar, maybe just the particular scent of a space that had been waiting, empty and pristine, for someone to fill it. He set both bags down just inside, hers on top of his, like they belonged together. He straightened up slowly, joints protesting after hours of being cramped in cars and planes.

"You've never been on a vacation." Never. Not even as a kid. The thought settled into him, heavy and cold. He'd spent his childhood on sets, in hotels, in places that looked like vacations but were really just work in different costumes. But he'd at least had the illusion of it. They'd had nothing.

"That's..." He stopped. Didn't know how to finish. Sad felt wrong. Unfair felt presumptuous. Explains a lot felt like too much. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft whispers of the heater. "Frankie." Their name came out like a confession, barely above a whisper. His thumb traced their cheekbone, feather-light. "You know this isn't some test, right?" He searched their eyes, that quick flicker of something he couldn't quite name. The need to make them understand burned in his chest.

"You don't have to be impressed or grateful or any of the things people usually are when they're in places like this. I just wanted you. Here. With me. However you are. That's it." He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes, breathing her in. "And for the record..." A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, self-deprecating, almost shy. "I'm excited, too. Which is weird and uncomfortable and I don't really know what to do with it." He could feel the heat rising in his own cheeks, unfamiliar and unwelcome. "So if I seem a little quiet about it, that's probably why. I'm not great at... this. The part where I don't have a script." He pulled back just enough to look at them, hand still cradling their face.

"But I want to learn. With you."

[loudbarks-arch]

the door shuts behind them with that quiet, expensive click, and the sound feels final in a way she didn't expect. outside disappears all at once — the cold air, the car, the long chain of travel that brought them here — and the warmth inside wraps around their shoulders like something deliberate. for a second she just stands there, letting her eyes adjust to the soft glow of the place.

it’s beautiful. there’s no denying that. glass and dark wood and clean lines that make everything feel deliberate, carefully placed. the kind of space they normally assume they'll knock something over in if they stay too long. but it doesn't feel hostile. just empty, and waiting.

she notices the bags when he sets them down, hers resting on top of his without thought, and the sight pulls a quiet reaction from somewhere under her ribs. a small, domestic image that shouldn't matter as much as it does. together, their brain supplies before they can stop it.

when he repeats it — you've never been on a vacation — her attention comes back to him. there's a familiar reflex in her body to shrug it off, to downplay it before anyone can turn it into a sad little anecdote. people tend to hear things like that and decide they've figured you out. they hate that look more than almost anything. but he doesn't give her that look. he just holds the thought for a moment, quiet and careful, and somehow that's easier.

his thumb grazes their cheekbone and they go still without meaning to, their eyes lifting to meet his. the question — you know this isn't some test, right? — lands deeper than he probably realizes. because a small part of her had been treating it that way, instinctively cataloging the room, the situation, the rules she might not know yet.

don't break anything. don't look out of place. don't make it obvious you've never done this before.

the knot of that loosens a little when he says they don't have to be impressed, or grateful. that he just wanted her here. with him.

his forehead touches theirs and they close their eyes for a second, letting the warmth of him settle them. it occurs to her then that he's exposed here too, in a way he might not be used to, with no team, schedule, or buffer of people or expectations. just them. the quiet of the house pressing in around them. and when he pulls back enough to look at them, they're already smiling a little.

"good," she murmurs first, her voice softer than before. "i'd feel kind of weird if i was the only one internally panicking about being excited."

their hand lifts almost automatically, fingers catching around his wrist before sliding down to lace with his. grounding, for both of them.

"i know you're not testing me," she adds after a moment. honesty asks for a little more, so they give it. "i think i'm just used to walking into places and feeling like i have to earn being there somehow. or act normal enough that nobody notices i've never done this kind of thing before." their gaze drifts briefly around the room again, then settles back on him. "but i don't really feel that with you."

that part surprises her a little, hearing it out loud, but it's true.

their thumb brushes over his knuckles slowly. "and yeah, the house is… kind of incredible. i'm not gonna pretend it isn't. but that's not really the part i'm excited about." a quiet breath leaves her, almost a laugh. "i think i mostly like that it's just you and me."

they lean a little closer again, not quite a kiss, just enough to share the warmth of the space between them.

"also," she adds, a hint of mischief slipping into her tone now, "i did come prepared for vacation activities."

there's a flicker in their eyes that suggests they're thinking about the carefully folded things in their suitcase. things she definitely didn't bring for the hot tub or the breakfast toast.

their smile tilts crooked. "so you not having a script is probably good," she finishes lightly. "because i definitely don't have one either."

[dxmnedderelict]

Athanas never expected the other to understand what they said. As reliant as the skip of a scratched record was repetitive, from the day of their rebirth, they had walked amongst those that couldn't speak their language. Many times it felt as though the people in their life did actually speak some foreign, indecipherable dialect. It wasn't for lack of trying. Athanas had tried to reacclimate back into their world. Eventually they had been released from the hospital, returned to school, sat at the dinner table with their younger sisters and nanny. They simply had become too different. The human flesh they were trapped in no longer felt like home, and unfortunately they were aware that there was no home out there for them.

It was usually that understanding came afterwards. Eventually after enough was spilled from the cracked mind of theirs, Frankie sorted through the rubble and found some cohesive line of thought. Surprise surprise, Athanas wasn't completely dumb. There was some intelligence buried within the chaos. Most people didn't have the time nor patience to sort through it. Athanas couldn't blame her. If they could detach themselves from their own self and become something different,,, they would in a heartbeat. If they were different, maybe they and Frankie wouldn't have broken up,,,

A tightness swelled their heart against their lungs making it difficult to breathe. Not a want or need but a compulsion. irresistible, obsessive- a repetitive and near insatiable compulsion to drop to their knees and beg for the slightest glance from the divine being before them so that it might quell the raging distress of their thoughts. Even if only for a moment, Frankie was their peace. She had a remarkable gift at demanding the glowing eyes lurking in the shadow to flee, the ghosts haunting their mind to scatter. Only, Athanas no longer had the privilege of requesting such a gift,,, so they froze in place until the clawing craving ebbed slowly back into the recesses of their mind.

A smile flickered and sparked across their face, ignoring the tremor in their fingers as they slipped into their pockets and trailed obediently after them. Silence ensued for longer than they could afford after she spoke, attempting to and failing at locating what the correct answer was in this situation. Why would they want Athanas near them? Why had they kissed them just moments ago? What did a break up mean to Frankie, for Athanas was unsure if they had the same definition anymore.

"Depends where 'around' is for you. I will be around 'somethings', 'someones', and 'someplaces'. I think you wouldn't want me around your somethings, someones, and someplace." An itch braced in the back of their throat, clearing it with a stalling grumble. "I believe- I want- but I don't think-" Lungs drew in a sharp inhale stubbornly, squeezing their eyes tightly with the grinding of molars. "This blue is different, Frankie. Deeper. It's not right, but what do you want me to do about it?" A genuine question. A plea for guidance. A sobering breath shuddered within them, a dull ache beginning its beat. They focused on it, drawing that throb forth into the front of their skull to pay attention to its rhythm. To keep them focused.

"Do you think that it's- I mean you should- fuck- I want to be in your around." Each word punctuated their desire, pushing through doubt and the urge to let the corpse of their relationship rest. It seemed increasingly more difficult to respect whatever boundaries Frankie placed around them, unsure how this tour affected the split. "I want to be there, but I'll take anything you have. If you don't. Want me around."

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie's teasing expression faded by degrees as they spoke, not all at once, but in that quiet way a room changes when the light shifts and you don't notice until the color is different. there they were again — half falling apart in front of her, half trying to hand her the broken pieces in a language only she'd ever bothered to learn. maybe that was the cruelest part of all this: that they still understood athanas. not every jagged edge, not every turn their mind took into its own weather, but enough. enough to hear the fear under the rambling, enough to feel the ache threaded through every stalled sentence, every correction, every failed attempt to make their thoughts stand upright and behave.

for a moment frankie just looked at them. really looked. the tremor in their fingers tucked uselessly into their pockets, how their words kept tripping over themselves, and asked for so little and too much all at once. it got under her skin in the worst way. because even now, even after everything, athanas still knew how to sound like a wound they wanted to put their mouth on just to make it hurt less. her lips parted, then closed again; a hundred answers rose up and died there. the truth was, they didn't know what half of this meant anymore either. the breakup lived in private, hidden in the seams; but out here they still wore the shape of each other in public, still moved around one another with all the old gravity intact. it made every boundary feel blurred at the edges.

her gaze dropped for a second before finding them again, warmer now, touched with that tired fondness she never managed to kill. "around," they said at last, a little gentler than they meant to, "is my band's bus." the corner of her mouth lifted faintly. "the girls are going out after the show tonight. if you want to stop by before that, or while they're out, you can." they tipped their head, studying the tall figure with that same hard-earned understanding, like they were trying to make the invitation plain enough that athanas couldn't twist it into refusal on the way down. "i mean it, ath."

then she stepped a little closer, close enough that the space between them felt charged again, close enough that her voice lost some of its sharpness. "and for the record," they murmured, gaze holding theirs, "you don't have to ask me like you're begging for scraps." a small exhale left her, almost a laugh, grief, and affection too worn to name all blended together. the redhead's hand lifted, brief and light against their arm before falling away again. "if you want to be in my around, then be there."

[halseygray]

Halsey at Webster Hall Homecoming Night 2: HFK (x)

[pennywises]

Bill Skarsgård and Odessa Young in ASSASSINATION NATION (2018) dir. Sam Levinson

[brutalperception]

paying attention to him makes him feel insane. and frankie's gaze is hard. they're LOOKING. he's so fucking uncomfortable it makes him want to scream. and she might think he's acting like they're disposable, but the thought hasn't even crossed his mind. because he doesn't think any of this is disposable, that's the problem. that every interaction feels like it's sliding a blade under his skin, and the only person who has to deal with the scars in their wake is HIM. fuck. this is stupid. he HATES THIS. "i didn't do SHIT to you." he replies, and now he's fucking pissed. now he's starting to snap. "you wanna see me snap, keep fucking talking." because if they're being honest, which ben has yet to want to do, he's got a mean streak a mile long. and he does try to keep it on lockdown. he does try to keep it from impacting the people in his fucking living quarters. "because you don't know shit about what i'm feeling or why so stop acting like a fucking expert." he's rolling his eyes, and turning on his heel. he wants to stalk away, but something in the way that they look at him keeps him rooted there. hands reach out to the shitty little counter top, knuckles blanching. and then he's turning around, and his voice is dripping with venom. "where do you get off telling me how i'm supposed to deal with my fuckin' feelings anyways. you think you're such a goddamn expert??"

[loudbarks-arch]

frankie feels the snap coming like a stormfront; it should make her flare right back, and part of her does (her pride bristles, her temper wants to swing) but then she sees his hands on the counter, the white knuckles, how he's stuck there like he's fighting himself as much as he's fighting her, and it hits a little too close. because they know that feeling: the urge to bite first so no one can get their teeth in you, how being seen can feel like a threat instead of relief. she swallows, her jaw tight, and when she speaks it's still edged, just… less explosive. "i'm not a fuckin' expert," they say lowly, holding his stare without charging him. "and i'm not trying to tell you how to deal with anything." a beat, breath measured. "i'm tellin' you what it looks like from over here. because when you're cornered, you swing, and i get that. i do. i recognize it." her mouth twists, almost bitter at herself. "i've spent my whole life acting like i don't care because caring makes people think they can take more." they shake their head once. "so, no, i don't know your reasons. but i know the shape of it. and i'm not trying to fix you, ben. i'm trying not to end up bleeding all over the place just because you won't say 'back up' like a normal person."

[strbrryfemme]

"you bruise so easily" take advantage of it then

[silent-stories]

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