#ft. francis

[romymccready]

who: @dadivosos (francis) where: his place & this is pre-event ok byeee

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, that moment between day and night when everything looked slightly unreal. francis would be getting off work about now. across the street from his place, romy waited, eyes fixed on the space where his car would soon appear. she'd exhausted every other option for reaching him. not even two weeks had passed since she'd slept in his bed and found herself stupidly...wanting. wanting him in a way she’d never wanted anyone before. it wasn't just the kissing or the physical connection they were developing all while saying they'd remain friends. but rather it was a hunger for permanence. she wanted something real with him.

then thanksgiving arrived with alix's invitation drawing romy into their family circle as if she belonged there. she’d spent the holiday with francis; his looks across the room, the way she was sure she meant something to him. the evidence was too overwhelming, too consistent. but after that, silence. days passing without a word, each one stretching longer than the last. she waited, but inevitably ended up here. when she saw his car pull into the garage, she gave it a few minutes before she crossed the street with quiet determination, marched right up to the front door, and knocked. "francis," she called. "i know you’re home." her voice carried neither anger nor desperation. just romy, calm and patient and absolutely done with being ignored.

[benziies]

                ¿eso  es…  sangre?               @francvz, @kwondanis               …              “  ¿eh? no...  ”  se  mira  las  palmas  de  las  manos,  y  sólo  entonces  se  da  cuenta  de  que  parece  haberse  cortado  en  algún  momento  gracias  al  manchón  oscuro  que  trae pero que no escocía, seguro por adrenalina.  " ¿o sí? ¿cuándo pasó? ” se pregunta. sin  embargo,  al  fijarse  de  nuevo  en  compañía,  frunce  el  ceño.  “  espera, ¿cómo  siquiera  te  fijaste  en  eso?  no  me  digas  que  quieres  morderme  y  que  has  venido  aquí  porque  huele  bien...  ”  un  poco  receloso,  estúpidamente,  da  un  paso  atrás  ¿¡pueden  culparlo?!  ¡acababa  de  despertarse  para  encontrarse  en  un  simulador  de  resident  evil y no desayunó! todo un poco loco.

[ofclaires]

starter for @stfrcnis​

– CLAIRE’S ANGER RISES STEADILY LIKE THE TEMPERATURE ON A SUMMER AFTERNOON. around two to four am, she’s patient, talking out her concerns, but as it creeps into the morning hours and students are given permission to roam the halls, claire becomes increasingly volatile, twitchy and nervous. after all, she HASN’T heard from nudge, val, or a handful of other people, and they know there’s CODE BLACK, but they don’t know why. francis presence is comforting for a while, but each passing minute brings claire CLOSER to her breaking point as she tries to make sense of what’s happening ( and why nudge hasn’t texted her back ! ) 

by the time the robots roll through the halls, claire is close to hitting someone. after all, it’s been HOURS. students should be given information right now, and it’s not quite fair for them to be locked up like this – right ? “jesus fucking CHRIST,” claire hisses, “it’s been hours and they won’t tell us what’s going on? for the most prestigious school in the nation, they clearly have a bunch of fucking dumbasses running things right now,” she hisses as the FOOD ROBOT enters the room. 

“and what ? they send this fucking useless shit,” she SLAMS the robot against the wall, “like everything’s gonna be okay and we should feel perfectly well taken care of ? fuck that,” she pushes francis away and moves toward the door, “i’m getting out of here, i don’t care who i have to fight, i’m finding out what the fuck is going on.”  

[ofskinandbones]

despite his best instincts, in the last few months he’d grown to trust francis shepherd. his roommate was a good man, he’d thought. an honest man. he’d even, unintentionally, let francis in on a few of his secrets. and this whole time, this whole fucking time, he’d known the truth, about what rafael had been meant to do. one of his fellow blackthorne boys had let it about when the institute’s students learned of their true purpose, and suddenly he was storming back to his room. 

when he turned the corner and saw francis there, he didn’t pause or hesitate; he hauled the man up by his shirt and pinned him to the wall, eyes wide and furious and searching for someone, anyone to blame. “you knew,” he hissed, pressing francis firmly into the wall by his shoulder blades. “and you and everyone kept it all to yourselves! some brotherhood you keep!”

@stfrcnis​

[nikolasjpeg]

when he was in high school, nik’s social worker had told him to take things one day at a time. do what you have to do to wake up tomorrow. that advice typically helped to navigate his time at gallagher; what could nik do today to feel better, to get better? today, he decided, it was target practice. nik was improving, in truth; he hit the target about half the time. that wasn’t good enough to pass, but he was getting there. any gallagher girl or blackthorne boy, though, would think he was an absolute disaster. especially when he missed the target five times in a row. nik threw his head back in frustration, bringing it back down with a hissed “goddammit,” and reloading his clip. 

@stfrcnis​

[romymccready]

who: @dadivosos (francis) where: casino night

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦 through the haze of the flickering slot machines that illuminated his face in reds and greens. romy lifted a hand in a small wave before weaving her way toward him, feathers on her back catching the light. "hello, francis," she greeted, her voice carrying that faint warmth she reserved for him. "you a gambling man?" she questioned, lips tilting in a small smile. she paused at a slot machine, pinched a coin between her thumb and forefinger, then guided his hand open and placed it against his skin. "it’s lucky. or at least i think it is. you wanna put it to the test?"

[romymccready]

who: @dadivosos (francis) where: home

𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, francis had been inconsolable. romy had expected that much. romeo had been the closest thing francis had to a brother, what she hadn’t expected was how useless it would make her feel. in most social situations, romy already had trouble knowing what to say, or when to say it. grief made that worse. one would think a life steeped in tragedy might have taught her how to comfort someone through it, but it hadn’t. she didn’t know how she’d gotten through the bad things that had happened to her. she just had. kept breathing. kept moving. but that made shitty advice. so she did what she knew how to do best. she made herself useful. she shuffled into their bedroom with a glass of water in one hand and a takeout menu in the other, quiet as a ghost except for the drag of her socks against the floor. “drink,” she said, setting the water on the dresser within his reach. then she put the menu beside it. “then pick somethin’ you wanna eat, and i’ll go get it,” she said. “you can stay in bed all week if you want,” she added, crawling in beside him with careful, deliberate movements. “but you gotta eat and drink. rules.” romy settled close; not crowding him, just near enough that he could reach for her if he wanted to. “you wanna talk about it?”

[romymccready]

who: @dadivosos (francis) where: a flea market!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, and the may sun was brutal, causing romy to trade in her usual layers for a sheer, gauzy dress that kissed her knees, exposing inked skin that wouldn’t look out of place here. the flea market had taken over the block in a cluttered sprawl of folding tables, rolling racks, and milk crates full of junk. hipsters and weirdos drifted around, iced coffees sweating in their hands, stopping to inspect vintage clothes and handmade trinkets. every few steps, someone tried to hand them a zine or sell them on some mutual aid group or a ‘collective’ — the latter of which romy had no interest in even hearing about. “what about this?” she asked, picking up a vintage landline phone shaped like a frog. she had a feeling francis would say they already had too many frog-shaped items, which was wrong. there was the mug, yes. technically multiple mugs. and the ceramic figurine on her bedside table, but that one was wearing a cowboy hat, so it was different. she kept wandering, fingertips trailing over the edges of things without committing to touching them, pausing in front of a dated wedding dress, its sleeves puffed and dramatic. romy stared at it. “have you told nan yet?” she asked suddenly without looking at him. there was no warning or segue into the conversation, because that’s just how she was. “or your mom?”