frank

the mute

[weltenwellen]

“how does one scream in thunder?”

— Sonia Sanchez, from “Elegy (for MOVE and Philadelphia),” Of Poetry and Protest

[mutav]

‘ i always felt closer to nature than i did to people. ’

@tenccs 

they don’t get enough storms in New York.  both Sam and Frank are in agreement on that. Frank always watches his hands- well, she always watches his hands to begin with, but she always watches them when he draws, makes it a point, stares openly like she has no shame. ( she has no shame, lost it somewhere between the third suicide attempt and the feeling of ending a life that is not hers. the hollowness, the way a penny drops. ) it could be anything- roses, the open landscape of his childhood, or storms. rarely people, though, at least none that she sees.

the first time she saw him draw, it was on a napkin at brunch. some friends were there, talking about something Sam didn’t care about and Frank barely paid attention to- of course, Frank got tired of spending time with them half an hour ago, only staying because the feel of Sam’s leg pressed against hers felt so nice, because the mimosas were bottomless, because there was a couple three tables over who were planning a murder or a wedding and she wanted to find out. 

she has the couple in her periphery, but her eyes stay on Samuel’s hands, sketching storm clouds idly, the Southwest landscape spread impossibly large across the napkin. she barely breathes, afraid to disturb him. 

they’re interrupted by a friend, asking what they’re doing, the laughter from the table sounding like hyenas to Frank’s ears. 

the storm, one of the few that hit The City dead on, rages outside her windows. her drafty loft carries the sound well, the light better. lightning cracks all around them and she watches Sam watch the storm, his bare back to her, his scars glowing in the bright light. it looks to her like they’re calling out to the lightning. his dark hair moves in a powerful gust of wind shaking her windows. 

they don’t need to talk, not really. ( sometimes she wonders if he says things, if she says things, sometimes she doesn’t remember seeing his mouth move, sometimes she doesn’t remember using her voice. ) 

she speaks in response, whether or not he actually says, “I always felt closer to nature than I did to people.”

“what’s the point in being close to people?” she’s right behind him, her hand reaching out to trace the scar running across his back. she ignores the small shock against her fingertips, running up her arm and roping around her heart. she does not say, except for you, but she is certain he will know.

[mutav]

❛ just grab a hold of my hand. ❜

@tenccs | spy au? s p y a u

their cover isn’t blown, not yet, but Frank can feel her heart pounding, the fire under her skin of adrenaline spreading. fight or flight meets hide in plain sight. her fingers slip into his ( he’s warm, her fingers still ice cold even in the Turkish summer sun. ) and they press closer together as they make their way through the crowd. 

the documents she stole are tucked against her skin under her dress, long sleeved and flowing. ( it’s funny that she was chosen for undercover work, considering the scars she’s picked up along the way and the effort it takes to hide them. it might have to do with how cool of a head she keeps, it might have to do with Sam Wright needing that in a partner, it might have to do with her legacy, it might have to do with her knowing more than she should from a glance. it goes beyond profiling. ) 

it does feel natural, look natural, the way they draw together. ( she likes his hands, she thinks. ) she doesn’t look over her shoulder to see men in black scanning the crowd, but she sees it nonetheless. she draws closer to Sam and rests her head on his shoulder. after a second she turns her head and whispers in his ear. “one at our eight o’clock, three at our two.” she keeps the look on her face soft, her smile breezy and coy. her lips brush his neck right behind his jaw, and she pulls back a little, laughing and looking bashfully down to her feet. ( two of the three at her three o’clock look away, the third is focused on someone else entirely. )

[rarerpmemes]

of   monsters   and   men   /   starter  sentences.

all   these   starters   are   taken   from   the   2011   album   “my   head   is   an   animal”.   feel   free   to   change   the   pronouns   as   needed!

❛  my head is an animal.  ❜

❛  i think i taught you well.  ❜

❛  we won’t run.  ❜

❛  we’re here to stay.  ❜

❛  you’re a king and i’m a lionheart.  ❜

❛  we’re still the same.  ❜

❛  i’ll be here to hold your hand.  ❜

❛  i’m already there.  ❜

❛  the books that i keep by my bed are full of your stories.  ❜

❛  i met a man today and he smiled back at me.  ❜

❛  there are thoughts like these that keep me on my feet.  ❜

❛  hold my hand, i’ll walk with you.  ❜

❛  it’s keeping me awake.  ❜

❛  some days i can’t even dress myself.  ❜

❛  it’s killing me to see you this way.  ❜

❛  the truth may vary.  ❜

❛  there’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back.  ❜

❛  i miss our little talks.  ❜

❛  soon it will be over and buried with our past.  ❜

❛  some days i don’t know if i am wrong or right.  ❜

❛  your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear.  ❜

❛  don’t listen to a word i say.  ❜

❛  the screams all sound the same.  ❜

❛  all that’s left is a ghost of you.  ❜

❛  there’s nothing we can do.  ❜

❛  please hang around.  ❜

❛  i’ll see you when i fall asleep.  ❜

❛  far from home, all alone, but we’re so happy.  ❜

❛  keep your heads held high.  ❜

❛  slow me down.  ❜

❛  shake the rust.  ❜

❛  alone, i fight these animals.  ❜

❛  i’m coming back.  ❜

❛  maybe i’m a crook for stealing your heart away.  ❜

❛  you know i can’t love.  ❜

❛  i think it’s best we both forget before we dwell on it.  ❜

❛  hold on.  ❜

❛  hold on to what we are.  ❜

❛  hold on to your heart.  ❜

❛  i miss the comfort of this house.  ❜

❛  can you chase the fire away?  ❜

❛  i’m looking for a place to start.  ❜

❛  everything feels so different now.  ❜

❛  just grab a hold of my hand.  ❜

❛  i will lead you through this wonderland.  ❜

❛  ignore all those big warning signs.  ❜

❛  i dare you to close your eyes.  ❜

❛  get out of here.  ❜

❛  go away.  ❜

❛  your waves are rocking me.  ❜

❛  i am all alone.  ❜

❛  i move slow and steady.  ❜

❛  i feel like a waterfall.  ❜

[littlelovelymemes]

✰ * º ❛  twin peaks ask meme.  ❜

‘  i have no idea where this will lead us, but i have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange.  ’ ‘  damn good coffee!  ’ ‘  when did you start smoking?  ’ ‘  i smoke every once and awhile. helps relieve tension.  ’ ‘  when you see me again, it won’t be me.  ’ ‘  every day, once a day, give yourself a present.  ’ ‘  where we’re from, the birds sing a pretty song and there’s always music in the air.  ’ ‘  why are you whittling?  ’ ‘  i feel like i know her.  ’ ‘  achievement is its own reward, pride obscures it.  ’ ‘  i believe i was visited by a giant last night. twice.  ’ ‘  you’re his whore.  ’ ‘  i’d rather be his whore than your wife.  ’ ‘  the only thing columbus discovered was that he was lost!  ’ ‘  coincidence and fate figure largely in our lives.  ’ ‘  is that bag smiling?  ’ ‘  i plan on writing an epic poem about this gorgeous pie.  ’ ‘  we’re going to need some more coffee.  ’ ‘  it’s so strange. it’s like i’m having the most beautiful dream and the most terrible nightmare all at once.  ’ ‘  i consumed 15 donuts today. all jelly.  ’ ‘  damn fine sheets. i’m gonna get naked and slide around in them.  ’ ‘  i know who killed her.  ’ ‘  in real life there is no algebra.  ’ ‘  i don’t think anybody really knows me.  ’ ‘  hiding from your fear doesn’t make your fear go away.  ’ ‘  fact: she had a sweet tooth for nose candy.  ’ ‘  maybe he’ll realize i’m the woman of his dreams.  ’ ‘  i love this music. isn’t it too dreamy?  ’ ‘  you know, there’s only one problem with you… you’re perfect.  ’ ‘  escape! i’ve got a better idea: a tall, dark, and handsome stranger falls madly in love with me, takes me away to a life of mystery and international intrigue.  ’ ‘  maybe you should runaway and join the circus.  ’ ‘  we have to promise to keep this between ourselves. our secret.  ’ ‘  styrofoam never dies for as long as you live.  ’ ‘  i decided i needed some me time.  ’ ‘  i’m only quiet on the outside.  ’ ‘  the problems of our entire society are of a sexual nature.  ’ ‘  to be perfectly honest, i think i’m in a little over my head.  ’ ‘  sleep deprivation is a one-way ticket to temporary psychosis.  ’ ‘  you don’t know what trouble is.  ’ ‘  great. after the square dance, maybe we can all take a hayride.  ’ ‘  but you don’t like me?  ’ ‘  i like you very much.  ’ ‘  i’ll see you again in 25 years.  ’ ‘  you really like to make everything sound pointless and stupid.  ’ ‘  your body feels nice against mine.  ’ ‘  i’m insane?  ’ ‘  why aren’t you here?  ’ ‘  our world is a magical smoke screen.  ’ ‘  what really is creamed corn?  ’ ‘  this cherry pie is a miracle.  ’ ‘  shhh. i’ll do the talking.  ’ ‘  that’s the kind of girl to make you wish you spoke a little french.  ’ ‘  i always felt closer to nature than i did to people.  ’ ‘  beautiful people get everything they want.  ’ ‘  i’ll see you in my dreams.  ’ ‘  would you like some pie?  ’ ‘  don’t worry, bad boy.  ’ ‘  her absence touches me in ways i could not predict.  ’ ‘  i thought you could teach me.  ’ ‘  if i’m ever lost, i hope you’re the one they send to find me.  ’ ‘  women were drawn from a different set of blueprints.  ’ ‘  what i want and what i need are two different things.  ’ ‘  some ideas can arrive in the form of a dream.  ’ ‘  you may think i’ve gone insane, but i promise… i will kill again.  ’ ‘  there is a sadness in this world, for we are ignorant of many things.  ’ ‘  you’re the most cold-blooded person i’ve ever seen!  ’ ‘  i’ve never, in my life, met someone with so little regard for human frailty.  ’ ‘  well, i’m sure he meant to hit you.  ’ ‘  there’s a sort of evil out there.  ’ ‘  i’ve got one man too many in my life and i’m married to him.  ’ ‘  look at us. two men apiece and we don’t know what to do with any of the four of them.  ’ ‘  then we got married and i find out all he was looking for was a maid he didn’t have to pay.  ’ ‘  i feel so stupid.  ’ ‘  she had secrets and around those secrets she built a fortress.  ’ ‘  you’ll have to excuse me this morning, i’m running late. i only have time for coffee.  ’ ‘  i only have time for coffee.  ’

[mutav]

❝ yes it is morning, good however it is not. ❞

@tenccs

this is how Frank remembers it, them, when they were a plural.         not ever— well. they were together but never…         at the time, it had felt insubstantial and reckless and free. primal and physical and nothing else. ( that’s what they told themselves. even when Frank lay curled sobbing in a ball after telling him to get out, even when Sam got angry enough to short circuit nearby electronics. that’s what they told themselves when Frank crawled into bed next to Sam and pressed into his side as he sleepily wrapped his arm around her, her apologies barely audible against his skin as he kissed her forehead. they weren’t together. they simply slept together sometimes, and those sometimes could be a months long affair. )this is how she remembers the mornings after their meaningless nights; cotton mouthed hangovers and pillows blocking out the harsh sun. she remembers how beautiful he looked underneath the covers, how his curls tickled her back as she rolled over to reach for water. 

she doesn’t remember the nights before, not really. that was the point of them. ( she remembers pieces, his hands, the taste of his skin, the sweet way he sounded against her. she remembers thunder and the comfort of driving rain against a window as they lay tangled up in her sheets. ) but she remembers the misery of their mornings.

she remembers the hangovers and furious tears and blinding pain. she remembers, now, watching a storm alone in her loft, that it was all entirely worth it.

[ptonkinsource]

Avoid spending money on trendy things. Find a style that suits your body shape and your lifestyle. There are certain pieces of clothing that look amazing on other people, but I know they just don’t suit my body shape, and therefore make me feel self-conscious. I feel confident knowing what I look good in.

[10ccs]

💏 FRANK!!

   francis is the only one who gets to see him like this. vulnerable, exposed, frightened if you squint your eyes and look close enough. ( not that she’d have to because she sees everyhing whether he like it or not.

   he can’t say he’s all too crazy about it. ) 

    sam shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, toying with the unlit cigarette between his fingers to give himself something do with his hands as he watches her do whatever it is she’s doing.  she spares him a glance every few minutes like she knows what he wants, or rather what he (thinks) he needs from her.

   the cigarette remains unlit, but his leg jiggling to a beat that only exists in his head joins the rhythm.  

   he can’t stop staring at her lips. he shouldn’t be staring at her lips. it shouldn’t have ever gone this far. 

   but he can’t stop staring. 

   after a moment she puts down the paints, then turns to him fully, and says, “if you’re going to do it samuel then i’m not going to say no.” 

    there’s a moment of sheer surprise that stalls his response before he kicks into gear. the cigarette falls to the ground and he closes the gap between them, both his hands cradling her cheeks as he crushes his lips desperately against hers like he’s been waiting to do this for months. 

   ( and truth to be told: he has been waiting for this for months. )

[quotemadness]

The cigarettes you light one after another won’t help you forget her.

Frank Sinatra (via quotemadness)

[mutav]

Sharing a secret-- not a smile, exactly. Neither of them are prone to smiling, but there is a Look, sometimes. They both see too much of the world and the people in it and know and know and know

@jamesgros | sharing a secret not-smilethere were quiet times, in the before. quiet like muffled like distance like safety in the certainty of knowing. it all made sense; Genevieve handled, Frank hadn’t yet been called in to provide help from above, The German was there, around, off to the side of the room but there. there the same way of a house plant, awkwardly belonging with fluorescent light and half-lived in places- juxtaposed, but generally not requiring additional thought.

not a smile, but something like it. he’s easily sighted above the crowd, and he had heard what she had heard, and she catches his eyes- bright, shocking things they are, she wonders how Genevieve can stand looking at him as long as she does. ( Genevieve will think that when she meets The Good Doctor. How can Francis stand it? ) 

a Look, a quiet look for a quieter time. no pull to their lips, a couple of seconds of mutual humor, and then a disappearance like the sudden absence of a wind. a scattering of back to the party, back to awkwardly belonging. 

( Francis misses The German, too. )

[mutav]

Sometime after the war but before a Good Man rises from the dead, a Doctor and an Artist are Not Friends. Not Friends and not quite touching, on a long train ride through a cold country. ( honesty, honesty: the Doctor is as cruel and cold as the wind, and the little Artist’s hands are red and red. they are going to do something they are better suited for ) Maybe she will not forgive him if he kisses her temple. Maybe it is better if someone does not forgive him.

@physixian | mystery verse who knows

There is no room for pardon on her lips; there is barely enough room for the few words she manages, when she remembers her voice, when she can fight through all the grief and truth that strangle her. Francis is not the judge, simply the witness.  ( And mercy, mercy, she has never seen something so horrible as the man next to her. )

Her hands are moving, sketching, nervous energy made useful. She has a perfectly legitimate reason to be out here. ( They are, both, perfectly legitimate. ) Meeting the Good Doctor was a happy coincidence, someone to share a long, cold journey with. They are Not Friends, but it is pleasant enough. ( Enough, enough. They are Not Friends because it’s not a choice, because she looks at him and chokes on truth and grief-yet-to-come and love and love--- )

The Artist freezes. ( deer, meet headlights, ha. ha. ) His movement is subtle enough keep her from bolting from startling, and after half a breath her free hand- ice cold and trembling, raises to the side of his face. She, careful, gentle, reverent, traces the line from his temple until her hand cups his jaw. She’ll remember how close his shave was, how hot his skin felt against hers, and the tempo of his pulse. ( She will remember everything. How unfortunate this all is. )

No. There is no forgiveness here, Doktor.                                                           only grief.

[mutav]

tenccs:

he was mugged on the road from goldenleaf to daemarrel when in he middle of the night he was mugged. robbed of the majority off his positions – gold, his satchel, the very so important ring on his fingers that swrled with storm energy that’s not best left in the wrong hands, it’s used to control his abilities, but the gem in that ring stores more power than most what to do with. 

however, that’s the least of his concerns. bleeding out in the middle of a dirt in the middle of the night has never been his ideal way to go, but his palm is pressed up against a stab wound in his gut and blood is seeping through. he always figured he’d die alone, and he always figured it’d be peaceful, but his entire body is wracked with pain that’s begging for him to scream. 

OPEN.

it’s not important why the slender woman is out so late, her dark cloak silent as she moves down the road. ( no horse, no bags, though armed if you knew how to look. ) what is important is that she made a beeline for the man on the side of the road, the hood of her cloak shielding her face from view, even as she knelt next to sam. 

“this won’t do.” voice soft as a ghost’s, her pale hands shining in the moon light.

her knowledge of healing is, at best, rudimentary, but she can stop him from bleeding out. “what a mess you’ve found yourself in.” one hand raised over the worst of his wounds, glowing pale yellow that cuts through the night. her other hand goes to his chest, gently holding him in place.

[mutav]

y’all i don’t fuck around with themes or do anything with coding or official stuff anymore ( #yolo #imtired #irpwiththreepeople ) but consider this a little reference for this dang fantasy verse: 

Francis is a noble born(let’s say equivalent to her father being a high duke) who renounced her place in line for the throne in a protest of her brother(an actual, literal bastard) being told he would be titleless and out of running for the throne once the truth of his birthright came to light. She joined the clergy, though we all know that’s just an excuse to get away from the eyes of the court after renouncing her claim to the throne. (also to hang out with cute girls all the time.)

if we’re staying with the DnD lore stuff, frank is essentially a knowledge cleric with a rogue subclass. she travels as a soothsayer and seer, occasionally aiding her siblings in a “i love everyone equally but i love you more equally” kind of way. 

[mutav]

56. Sitting on Frank's floor and mixing paint

@allpurposebogeyman

Frank likes her apartment- she’s had it for almost a decade. A corner unit in what has become a trendy loft building(though it was mostly vacant when she moved in, squatting and using it as a studio), it’s a simple single room that explodes with natural light in the morning, light pollution at night. Canvases are hung- some covered, some not. Some work is sketched and others are half finished. It is still more studio than home– the only sign of her actually living in the space is her large, half used bed pressed against the wall, mounded with pillows and soft blankets. There are trinkets and artworks from her travels, but they are an afterthought, arranged in such a way to not impede on her workspace.

The two are in the center of the room, the afternoon light turning grays to golds. Roderick is next to her as she sits on a low stool. The soundtrack is softly playing Balkan pop, punctuated by the hum of the city. There is tea and pastries and it is warm enough that Frank has her long sleeves pulled up to her elbows, silver scars shining gold. ( she has more freckles on her arms than her sisters, funnily enough. ) 

Francis does not like having people with her when she works. ( Rod is hardly a person, haha. Ha. ) But this is… good. Roderick is very good at mixing paints. She likes to see his pants legs touched with yellows and whites, matching her own ruined clothes in a funny symmetry. ( It is nice to see his clothes ruined with something other than blood and fire. )

The work is just beginning- wildflowers, of some imagining. She casts a glance down to watch Roderick’s movements. Few things, for people like them, come easily. But moments like this are… fine. This is fine. 

Roderick moves and the light catches some gray paint in his hair. Without hesitating, Francis reaches out and tries to remove the speck with delicate finger tips. She lets out a soft “oh” as she only manages to give Rod a silver streak in his hair. She freezes, hand still almost touching him. 

Men like Roderick are on borrowed time by the age of 20. Roderick, in particular, throws out all probability estimates concerning survival based on behavior. ( Better men, much more cautious men than him have died much sooner. ) He will not grow old, will not have a distinguished silver streak in his hair like he does now. She will lose him, soon enough. Then who will mix her paints? Then who will drive her up to the Farm? She loves him, too, you know. All soft and already in mourning.

“Sorry.” Barely more than a whisper, her hand pulling back farther. “Though,” a small smile, “I do like it.” 

Occupational hazards, you see.

[horrificmemes]

Send my muse anons pretending to be someone they care about. The twist: make these anons as heartbreaking, disappointing, or anger-inducing as possible.

Pretend to give them bad news, pretend to break up with them, pretend to make an upsetting confession - as long as it hurts, it’s fair game.

[mutav]

y’all is it bad that i want to do christmas threads... like all the time...

[justanotherrpmeme]

Send 🎶 for our muses to dance together