𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗

𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖆𝖉

[skippingframes]

⠀ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── 𝖒𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖟𝖎𝖊. 𝖘𝖍𝖊/𝖍𝖊𝖗. 26. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

SKIPPINGFRAMES ─ a selective, low activity indie blog that touches on the darkest parts of the soul, grief, fame, & trauma. mature themes present. call me kenz. please don't use me for my men <3 discord is available to those who ask!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀🕸 guidelines 🕸 muses (mobile) 🕸 opens 🕸 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀🕸 bounded by ink to @likecavities @grinninglikeadevil @peachfvzz @dovecrys 🕸

[simplymanuela]

Every Year After 1.05 | I Choose You

[skippingframes]

CONTINUED for @gasolinelighter

jude followed him because apparently he had no survival instinct outside of a studio either, gaze flickering once to the door, then back to peter with a look of profound, theatrical suffering. “see, this is exactly the kind of hostile work environment i was afraid of. i bring you one car with the braking capacity of a shopping cart, and suddenly you’re diagnosing my taste in men with grease on their hands and poor impulse control like you’ve got a clipboard.” they stepped into the garage after him, careful to look interested in the car and not, unfortunately, the man opening the door for them. “for the record, emotional damages are the foundation of most of my relationships, so you’re not wrong, which is annoying. and yes, start on the casserole. i’m very traditional. i like dinner before a man risks workplace safety violations for me.” his eyes cut back to peter at the last comment, mouth curving before he could stop it. “also, please. fall in love with you before lunch? arrogant. presumptuous. devastatingly on brand.” jude lifted a hand, pointing vaguely between them as they kept walking. “i’m pacing myself. i’m thinking two, maybe three business days before i make a horrible decision about you.”

[likecavities]

mikey doesn't unpack things. she doesn't talk about them. too many nights spent alone with her thoughts, she supposed. she's given up on wanting to share anything with anyone else. she'd rather sit in it with the buzz of cicadas and the quiet hum of the wind through trees. it feels more like home than any roof ever did. "definitely." she laughs, "and it's easy enough to avoid the courthouses – but the decent chair ??" a wide grin tips across her face, "now that is the hard part to avoid." he mentions that it's a good thing she landed here, and he nose scrunches in something like appreciation and disgust all at once. "driving down standards, one prince albert at a time. the mikey carson way."

[skippingframes]

jesse huffed under his breath, the closest thing to a laugh most people were getting out of him, and kept his eyes on the half-finished stencil like mikey hadn’t just gone and made him feel fond in a way he didn’t have much use for naming. she was all noise and teeth and bad jokes, a little ball of energy ricocheting around the shop, but he’d been around enough wild things to know most of them only got that way because staying still had never done them any favors. “yeah, real inspirational,” he drawled, dragging his pencil along the paper. “put that on a business card. mikey carson: lowerin’ standards in places god don’t look.” his mouth twitched as he glanced up at her. “and quit actin’ like a decent chair is your weakness. we both know you’d chew through the upholstery outta principle.”

[likecavities]

closed starter for @skippingframes !

"take a wild fuckin' guess babe, i'll wait." a tip of their beer, and a wide, stupid grin. "c'mon – i wanna see what you're made of."

[skippingframes]

scarlett’s mouth curled as her gaze dragged over alex, camera hanging forgotten against her hip. “i’m guessing you like showing off for me. lucky for you, i know exactly how to capture your good side.”

[hcllowbodies]

the sound of rory's laughter is quiet, but noah catches it all the same. they had done enough pretending not to be thinking about this, noah thinks. he kind of thinks they've been doing enough pretending for weeks. but whatever, he doesn't mind, if he ends up here, with rory grinning at him like he's the most fun person in the world. there's something perfect about this. stairwell echoes, rory pressed against cool sheetrock, the stairs still ahead of them. there's something right about the fact that noah couldn't hold himself back from doing it, like the click of the door had simultaneously closed out the outside wolrd, and opened up his chest, sending adoration pouring out. not that he'd say any of that. "oh i have. obviously, too." he chuckles, "was shocked whenever you didn't bring it up." a grin, "god forbid a man objectify the guy he's out with." out on a date, maybe. but noah never mentions that part either. as far as he's concerned, what they have is great, and he doesn't want to fuck it up by saying something. rory's thumb brushes against him, and noah feels heat climbing up his neck. he likes that rory wants to touch him. he's never felt as desirable as he does in the warm lighting of the city skyline slicing through his bedroom, tangled up into rory and laughing. and sure, it's always short lived. he always comes down from that high too fast, worries too much. but it's worth it, he thinks. because he's with someone he cares about, and for a merciful, short period of time, he doesn't have to think about everything that's wrong with him. "yeah, i'm countin' on it, beaumont." how many times had noah said it – that he's counting on rory thinking he cares. and yet, they're still here. maybe he should be a little less terrified of everything dissolving. rory's forehead presses to his again, and heat climbs up his cheeks once more. in an instant, he's pulling rory upstairs by his wrist, like school boys running to hide in abandoned hallways and behind buildings to sneak just one more kiss. there's something so gentle about it, if noah examined it he'd probably lose his mind. but still, he can't help his own laughter.

[skippingframes]

rory let out another laugh as noah caught his wrist and practically hauled him up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time without much grace but plenty of enthusiasm. “jesus, slow down,” he called after him, even though he wasn't trying very hard to pull away, his grin only growing wider as it echoed through the stairwell. he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen noah like this — so light and openly happy — and it settled somewhere deep in his chest, warm enough that it almost caught him off guard. rory had always been the one people eventually drifted away from, schedules changing, trades happening, and lives moving on. he'd gotten good at expecting things to be temporary. but noah kept reaching for him instead, tugging him closer, and making room for him in ways that felt quiet enough to miss if you weren't paying attention. maybe that was why it meant so much. by the time they reached the landing, rory gave noah's hand an answering squeeze before bumping his shoulder into his. “look at you,” he teased, a little breathless from laughing more than the stairs. “couldn't even wait thirty seconds before kidnappin' me up here.” he shook his head, fondness bleeding into every word. “good thing i don't seem to mind bein' kidnapped by you.”

[hcllowbodies]

"it's not a setup if the answer is almost always yes." noah can['t help his laughter. "an' i don't think your midwest privileges get revoked for orderin' a bagel wrong in jersey. i think that's a perfectly acceptable chicago based fumble." he shakes his head again, "boyfriend privileges on the other hand..." he trails off, like he's considering a revocation. not that he ever would. and there's a large part of noah that is panicked by this conversation, but he keeps shoving it down. it's too much fun to talk about nothing with rory. even if the nothing is bagels, which he decidedly doesn't eat anymore. noah would do anything to sit in this laughter. there's nothing easy about survival for noah. nothing comes without bared teeth and white knuckles. he learned a long time ago that to make it through required sacrifice. to protect his brothers required bloodshed. he's never really had anything soft. so this – arguing about corn sweat and bagels and nothing at all– when rory's gaze tips adoring and noah's smile runs crooked, feels earned and perfect in a way noah has almost no experience with. i kinda like havin' you around. "i kinda like bein' around." rory says he'll come to jersey, and delight lights up noah's face. "we can go to the stone pony in asbury park !!" there's a level of delight in it, like a little piece of noah is being offered without so much as a second thought. "no need to apologize to the devils." he snorts, "fuckers traded me."

[skippingframes]

“oh, boyfriend privileges?” rory repeated, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion. “see, now that's emotional manipulation. threatenin' my relationship over a bagel?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head like he was deeply disappointed. “you're sick, vanek.” it was impossible not to laugh, though, especially when noah looked so pleased with himself. somewhere along the way, rory had realized that making noah laugh had become one of his favorite things. there'd been a time when every smile from him had seemed cautious, like it had to ask permission before it stayed. now they came easier and brighter. god, they were brighter. and rory didn't take that for granted. he wasn't arrogant enough to think he was the reason for all of it, but he liked believing he was at least part of the reason noah could sit here talking absolute nonsense about jersey bagels with his whole face lit up. i kinda like bein' around. the words were so simple they almost slipped past him, but they settled somewhere deep anyway. because rory knew enough about noah by now to understand that nothing was ever just simple with him. sometimes the smallest admissions carried the most weight. he smiled before he could stop himself, softer than he'd usually allow. “yeah?” he murmured. “good. i'd be pretty pissed if you didn't.” then the stone pony came up, and noah looked genuinely excited, the kind of excitement that wasn't guarded or second-guessed first, and rory felt something warm tug in his chest all over again. “the stone pony?” he repeated. “alright, that's officially on the list. you get bagels, i get to see whatever place made jersey worth defendin'.” he bumped their shoulders together again, unable to stop smiling. “and honestly? i don't think i care if the bagels are life-changin'.” his eyes stayed on noah for a second longer than they probably needed to. “i think i'd have a pretty good time either way.” then, because sincerity had a time limit before it made his skin itch, he pointed accusingly at him again. “and those devils were idiots. i'm legally obligated to say that as your boyfriend.”

[likecavities]

ky doesn’t really expect romy to understand anything about why something works, or how it does. baseball players aren’t exactly notorious for electrical knowledge. he’s pretty sure romy’s only listening because he’s being polite. the darkening skies, the promise of thunder, he’s starting to wish he had said he couldn’t come out and fix this today. he’d rather lock himself in the bathroom of his trailer, and pretend the weather didn’t make every nerve ending light up like a live wire. “can’t have chicago’s best short stop eatin’ cold food off dirty plates because he’s too proud to fix a circuit breaker.” the compliment comes easy, the accent lilts at his lips. his eyes flick back over to romy when he mentions that ky keeps looking outside. “uh– yeah– ‘s just– ‘s gonna rain.” he shrugs like that’s not part of the problem. “kinda hate drivin’ in the rain.” it’s not the rain that’s the problem, so much as the thunder. but that’s no one’s business but ky’s.

[skippingframes]

romy snorted at the compliment, even if it hit him a little warmer than he knew how to handle, and naturally he started talking before that feeling could sit there too long. “driving in the rain sucks. playing in it sucks, too. ball gets slippery, dirt turns into soup, everybody acts like sliding face-first through mud is suddenly a great time, and then the grounds crew takes six years to decide if we’re actually gonna keep playing.” his eyes drifted toward the window before settling back on ky, catching the tension his shrug didn’t quite cover. romy wasn’t great at asking the right questions, but he knew when someone looked like they wanted an excuse not to leave. “you can hang around till it passes, y’know. i’ve got hot food and clean plates now, apparently, so you’d basically be wasting your own work if you left.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah tries not to make his issues everyone else's problem. he tries not to make it rory's problem even more. but that sharp little laugh settles pointed under his ribs. THAT'S NOT FAIR. he knows that indignant part of himself is shouting about how much being fair matters because nothing ever has been. hasn't he done enough to earn his privacy??

rory doesn't know that. noah keeps trying to remind himself about it. rory doesn't know about doors opening when he didn't want them to, doesn't know that it always feels like there's a hand wrapped around his throat. he doesn't know that silence was rewarded, but never too much. never enough to make things stop. and noah, despite himself, is still ANGRY about everything that happened to him. angry that he let it happen to him. he doesn't regret the choices he made. he regrets not being stronger, not biting harder, not drawing enough blood to be left alone. maybe that's why he's so closed off now. because being left alone is still a fairly NEW luxury. i love you. i can't shrug it off just because you told me to. i can't keep loving you through a locked door. oh. he feels bad again. but then that stupid, righteous anger rears it's ugly head. SORRY I'M NOT EASY TO LOVE! I WARNED YOU! "i get to talk on MY TERMS." he hates that it comes out like sadness, instead of anger. like fear instead of strength. "what do you want me to say?? hey rory, i'm having a shitty day because grown men never knew how to keep their hands to themselves ?? DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER??" there it is !! there's that noah vanek bite he's always gotten himself into trouble with !! and he shouldn't – god knows he shouldn't be so mean, but that doesn't mean noah can hold it back. his eyes roll, irritation written into everything. it's always been easier to reach for anger than it has been sadness. or vulnerability. "you don't get to just decide i have to start talkin' because you want to know." it's all too sharp, "an' if i TOLD YOU everythin' – you'd never look at me the same. so can't we just cut the bullshit, and you leave it when i tell you to?"

[skippingframes]

rory flinched like noah had actually hit him. for a second, all the fight went quiet in his face, replaced by this awful, stunned hurt he didn’t know what to do with. he’d wanted noah to talk. he’d begged for one real sentence, and now that he had one, it sat between them like blood on the ice. grown men never knew how to keep their hands to themselves. rory’s anger didn’t vanish, exactly, but it changed shape so fast it made him feel sick. “no,” he said, voice rough. “no, it does not make me feel better.” his hands flexed at his sides, useless and angry and afraid all at once. “you think that’s what this is? you think i wanted details so i could win? so i could prove a point?” he shook his head, eyes burning as he looked at him. “i wanted you to stop standing in front of me like you’re bleeding out and calling it privacy.” he hated this. he hated that noah had learned to turn pain into teeth. he hated that every time rory reached for him, noah acted like being loved was just another trap waiting to close. but beneath all that, rory hated himself a little too, because maybe he had pushed too hard. maybe he’d grabbed at a locked door and rattled it until noah finally screamed from the other side. “you’re right,” he forced out, even though it scraped. “you get to talk on your terms. you do. but you don’t get to spit the worst thing you can think of at me and then tell me i’m the asshole for caring that it hurt you.” rory took a breath, shaky and uneven, refusing to look away. “and don’t you dare decide for me how i’m gonna look at you.” the words came out quieter now, but no less firm. “you don’t get to take that from me just because you’re scared. i’m looking at you right now, noah. same as before. pissed off, yeah. scared for you, yeah. but i’m still here.” his jaw tightened, emotion dragging at every word. “i’m not asking for everything. i’m asking you to quit treating me like the enemy every time i want in.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah tries to be smart about the way he handles things. he tries to be the kind of person who can be handed things like emotional turmoil and vulnerability, and handle them without letting anything break. it's not easy, but noah has never really done anything with ease, save for skating fast, one timers, and finding the slot. that, and taking care of physical injuries, he supposed. the way noah cares about rory is consuming. it settles things within him he didn't even know were still shaking, it brings parts of himself out of him that he thought died a long time ago. couples share fries. noah didn't say they were a couple, but maybe rory had ?? there's a part of him that feels wildly important because of it. like he MATTERS. romy starts talking about his job, and the family dynamic that came with it, with so much pride. noah wonders if that's how his little brother talks about things. "i think the variety is what beats us." he laughs, shaking his head. "my brothers are constantly locked in the worlds dumbest who does noah like playing hockey with better competition." he shrugs, laughter curling at the edges of his lips. "so i guess i get it." romy explains their parents divorce, and noah nods. he remembers rory telling him about it, when they watched the wicker man and drank tequila. "can't say any high achieving sports family is particularly well adjusted." definitely not the vaneks, not that noah expects romy to know that. he's not the most familiar with baseball. he knows that technically they're cubs fans. he can follow a game no problem. he knows that his brothers care a lot about them. but noah has always been a little more obsessive than he lets on, and sitting for the length of one kind of feels the same as going insane. "but i guess it could be worse. you could be boring."

[skippingframes]

romy barked out a laugh at that, bright and immediate, because boring might’ve been the one accusation that had never successfully stuck to a beaumont for longer than five minutes. “oh, thank god, because for a second there i was worried we were gonna have to develop personalities outside of sports and unresolved family tension,” he said, tipping his head like noah had just made an extremely valid medical diagnosis. there was a strange kind of relief in how easily noah kept up, not just with the jokes, but with the shape of them — the little dodge-and-return, and how he didn’t push too hard but didn’t disappear either. romy could see why rory liked him. more than liked him, probably. definitely. there was a patience to noah that didn’t feel performative, and a sharpness underneath it that made romy think rory hadn’t just found someone kind, he’d found someone who understood the exact language of being difficult on purpose because being easy with people had never worked out right. “world’s dumbest who does noah like playing hockey with better competition is insane, by the way,” romy added, grinning. “that’s worse than me and rory. at least ours has categories. points, contracts, playoff appearances, who mom pretends she isn’t bragging about more loudly to the neighbor. your brothers are just out here fighting over emotional ice time.” he shook his head, amused, but the fondness in noah’s voice when he mentioned them didn’t escape him. neither did the careful way he held back pieces of himself, like every personal detail had to pass security before it made it out. romy understood that more than he looked like he did. “but yeah, you’re right. boring would be worse. boring would be tragic. rory would hate boring. he’d act like he wants peace and quiet, but that guy has the personality of a raccoon trapped in a garage. he needs a little chaos or he starts inventing reasons to be pissed off.” romy glanced toward the front door where rory had disappeared, then back at noah, his grin easing into something warmer. “so, honestly? you fit. not in, like, a normal way. none of us do that. but you fit with him.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah has been trying to occupy less space since he was twelve, like taking too much was the thing that caused the first domino to fall. maybe it was, he doesn’t remember anymore. but rory’s hand closes around his wrist beneath the blanket, and his chest tightens. there’s a lump forming in his throat, and he desperately tries to swallow it. it’s not working, but when has noah vanek ever gotten lucky enough for something like that to work. his heart aches in his chest again. get it together, vanek. it all feels too painful. “i just–“ but the words die on his tongue. it’s fine. he’s fine. rory offers him an opening to lean, and noah knows he’s being overwhelming by placing his head in rory’s lap. but god, all he wants is to rest. he wants to feel rory’s hands in his hair. he wants to stop thinking. he’s barely putting his weight on the other player, like if he can hold his head perfectly still rory won’t notice that he’s still holding himself up, that he can’t quite relax into putting any weight on him. too heavy. i don't need perfect. i don't even need useful. noah doesn't know what to do with that. useful is the only way he's ever derived any value for himself. he's not perfect, he knows that. but he tries. he tries so FUCKING HARD. rory mentions he's making things everyone's problem, and noah lets out a wrecked little laugh. “i like you bein’ my problem.” it sounds too tight, and way too sad. he feels sick with his own need for comfort. god, shouldn’t he know better? "'m sorry your brain's bein' an asshole."

[skippingframes]

rory looked down at noah in his lap and immediately forgot, for one dizzy second, that he was supposed to be pretending he wasn’t in agony. because noah was holding himself there like he was asking permission from the entire room, like even now, even exhausted and hurting in that quiet way he tried to hide, he didn’t trust himself to need anything without making it a crime. “you’re doing that wrong,” rory murmured, because it was easier than saying the first dozen tender things that tried to climb out of him. his hand moved into noah’s hair, careful at first, then a little more certain, fingers dragging through it in a rhythm meant to coax him down. “the whole point of putting your head in my lap is that you actually put it there. otherwise you’re just doing an ab workout, and honestly? weird time to train core, vanek.” the joke faded off with a tired exhale, and rory let his thumb skim near noah’s temple, slow enough not to jostle either of them. “yeah, well, lucky for you, my brain’s been an asshole my whole life. the concussion’s just giving it a theme night.” his mouth tugged at one corner, but his gaze stayed on noah, warmer than the joke allowed. “and i like being your problem too. obviously. that’s why i keep showing up with the world’s worst timing and elite cheekbones.” he paused, swallowing down the pain sparking under his taped ribs. “you don’t have to earn this, okay? not the lap, not the hair thing, not me wanting you here. you can just have it.” another pass of his fingers through noah’s hair, gentler now. “besides, final game tomorrow. pretty sure the team handbook says you’re legally required to let your injured boyfriend be nice to you for morale.”

[boxheadpaint]

And like who the fuck is this guy [gestures to reflection in mirror alone in bathroom

[thesoldiersminute]

Anya Taylor-Joy as Lucky Armstrong Lucky | S01E02 "Make 'em Dance"

[persianmom]

I am chronically online but not in a way that keeps me informed #mybubble

[spidersinmysoup]

Spiritually my spirit is always smoking a cigarette but physically i am.not because hashatg smoking kills

[cupidghoull]

could I bounce on it while you're playing videogames with your friends? 𐔌՞꜆.  ̫.꜀՞𐦯

[pininganticipation]

♡ @skippingframes.

[commonmonsters]

Eleanora had complained to Hana in passing a few days ago about how the nail salon she had been going to for years had closed. She didn’t know why they closed (maybe it was because the prices were so low), but now she was scrambling to find somewhere else that stayed open late and charged fairly. Eleanora could have started doing her nails herself again, but she didn't have the patience or decisiveness to do it long-term. After her complaint was properly validated (like it always was), Eleanora carefully broached her follow-up question. Would you do my nails for me in the meantime? It’s painting adjacent! She didn’t anticipate the eager willingness, the excited confirmation, or the way that Hana took it so seriously. As they sat across from each other at the table, Eleanora couldn't help but marvel at the care her girlfriend had taken in fulfilling her request. The meticulous organization, multiple sketches, and the artistic discipline written all over her face as she began painting sakuras on her thumbnail. If Hana hadn’t asked that she not move, she would have leaned in for a kiss to show her appreciation.

Hana looked so pretty when she was concentrating. Eleanora noticed the way her brow always furrowed when she was deep in thought, or the way her nose scrunched if she was deciding if she liked the angle paint hit canvas. She watched intently as her girlfriend worked, switching between brushes and nail polishes and making her artistic claim all over her thumbnail. Eleanora needed Hana to take photos once she finished; the only tragedy of this would be that the nail polish couldn’t stay on forever. Allowing Hana to pull her hand closer, Eleanora’s gaze remained fixed on her face. The hard, focused look remained on the artist’s face as she put her finishing touches on her thumbnail. Once the intensity of her expression softened, Eleanora knew she was as satisfied as an artist could be. She took Hana’s permission to look, absolutely smitten by how breathtaking Hana’s brushwork was. “This is incredible,” she breathed, smiling helplessly. The intricacies of the petals and branches that shone through on such a small surface were unbelievable. Eleanora’s eyes found Hana’s, and she beamed. “Beautiful work, baby. Do you do pedicures too? I might not have to find a new salon at this rate,” she joked, chuckling to herself before surrendering her hand back to Hana.

[skippingframes]

the praise warmed hana more than she expected, though she tried not to let it show beyond the faint lift at the corner of her mouth. she accepted eleanora’s hand again with careful fingers, turning it beneath the light to inspect the finished design from another angle before moving on to the next nail. really, she only wanted eleanora to have nice things — things made specifically for her, with enough care behind them that they could never feel ordinary. if a salon closing had given hana the opportunity to provide that herself, she saw no reason not to take advantage of it. besides, eleanora had been right about one thing: it was painting adjacent, and hana had never been able to resist a new medium once it presented itself. the scale was unfamiliar, the polish behaved differently than any paint she had worked with, and the living canvas required far more patience, but that only made her more determined to master it. “of course it’s incredible,” she replied with quiet confidence, dipping the brush into the next shade of pink. “i made it for you.” at the question of pedicures, hana rolled her eyes playfully, though the affection in her expression ruined any attempt at annoyance. “you are becoming very demanding for someone receiving a complimentary service,” she said, guiding eleanora’s next finger into position before beginning another cluster of petals. the thought of painting her toes was not entirely unappealing, especially now that eleanora had planted the challenge in her mind, but hana was not about to grant her the satisfaction of agreeing so easily. “i’ll start charging,” she warned, glancing up at her girlfriend through her lashes. “and my rates will be insulting.” still, her thumb traced briefly over eleanora’s knuckle before she returned to her work, already considering what design might suit a matching pedicure. she suspected eleanora knew perfectly well that hana would do it without hesitation, payment or not, simply because she liked seeing her adorned in art that belonged to no one else.