#↷ francis wymack ﹙ threads ﹚

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ there were probably more exciting things to do on a friday night than smoking a cigarette outside of the town's lone nightclub⸻ a masochistic test of discipline, like the proverbial moth trying to deprive itself of the flame that burned and burned and burned. but attempts at restraint did not make the allure any less bright. instead, he focused on the faded scraps of paper that plastered on the building's facade, a messy collage of events posters and local business ads, fluttering in the breeze. but there were two posters that stood out— demanded attention, really. side by side, and newer than all the rest. francis took a slow drag as he stared at those two faces, smoke curling up from his mouth as he exhaled with a sigh ﹕ a sound that almost sounded profound. almost. and francis looked like he was chewing on something meaningful, maybe deep, when he beckoned a passerby closer with a sharp psst⸻ a feeling of urgency underling the noise, as if his thoughts could not wait any longer to be said out loud. “ do you see it ? ” gaze returned to the missing and wanted posters, a brief pause just to see if they would make the same discovery. and finally, “ missing girl and wanted guy. they'd make a cute couple, right ? like, opposites attract or whatever. she looks all bright-eyed and fun, and he's got that ... ” francis circled his cigarette vaguely in the air as he tried to find the words, then taking another drag. “ that i'll ruin your life but you'll love me for it thing going on. kind of hot. ” smoke billowing out as he spoke, coughing when he finished the thought with a small laugh. “ but, guess it's too late to ask if they want a third, huh ? girl's been two months missing, so she's probably⸻ ” cigarette dropped to the ground and hand raised to his neck, a slicing gesture across his throat with lazy precision before letting out a croak. @c0nnectdots

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ he didn't come here for friends, not really⸻ the real reason more precarious and terrible than that. and while there was some solace in anonymity, in how the few locals that did remember him didn't ask any questions, the absence of friendly faces surely made his stay lonelier than he expected it to be. but francis was running his hand along a row of hammers when he spotted her ﹕ just a glimmer of recognition in his peripheral at first, didn't know how she knew her, until it finally clicked. kirby. the girl stitched into childhood memories of lake-splashed summer afternoons, walking a little faster passing by that haunted house on norwood, and that one time she pushed him too hard on the swing and he practically flew and landed on gravel. she looked more carefree then, different from the girl standing by the rope section, all stiff with her expression caught between some odd combination of dread and wishing on a star. and that was when he saw it⸻ her shopping basket and everything in it. francis stifled a laugh, part bemusement, part incredulity, because whatever she was up to, it looked ... unhinged. but instead of walking past and preserving the illusion of normalcy, he found himself drifting toward her, curiosity getting the better of him. “ kirbina, ” he greeted, voice light but underlined with amusement. and her name felt strange on his tongue after so many years, like dusting off an old polaroid from an entirely different lifetime ago. he raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin as he gestured vaguely at the incriminating collection in her basket and shelves of ropes. “ so, what is it ? planning a murder, which seems to be popular in this town, or ... exploring the dominatrix lifestyle ? ”

○    LOCATION   ⏤   hardware   store   . ○    TIME   ⏤   4   :   17   pm  ○    STATUS   ⏤   closed   for   @horrorphase   !

she  desperately  did  not  want  to  talk  about  it  .  in  fact  ,  she  was  doing  everything  in  her  power  to  hide  the  contents  of  her  shopping  basket  .  bleach  ,  gloves  ,  trash  bags  in  bulk  ,  a  shovel  (  only  a  small  one  !  )  .  it  was  only  after  she  put  the  last  item  into  her  basket  did  kirby  realize  that  she  looked  fucking  insane  .  in  redcreek's  only  hardware  store  ,  buying  all  the  necessary  items  for  a  goddamn  murderer  .  meanwhile  ,  her  building  manager  had  a  greenhouse  out  back  that  he  was  willing  to  let  her  use  to  take  up  gardening  and  she  wanted  something  to  do  after  work  .  why  didn't  she  go  out  of  town  for  this  shit  ?  well  ,  then  she  would've  looked  even  more  suspicious  .  she  stood  in  front  of  the  rope  section  (  she  needs  to  section  off  the  different  areas  !  )  and  then  ,  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  ,  a  familiar  face  ,  one  she  only  really  recognized  due  to  being  mutuals  on  social  media  and  goddamn  ,  if  this  day  could  not  get  any  worse  .  she  tried  to  step  slightly  away  from  her  basket  ,  which  sat  at  her  feet  ,  and  crossed  her  arms  ,  wistfully  hoping  that  if  she  just  stood  still  ,  he'd  walk  right  past  her  .

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ the problem with being a tourist, a stranger in a town so desperate to look tight-knit despite all the murdering each other, was that francis didn't know who to come to when he needed something. people seemed wary of anyone a little out of place⸻ but he was desperate at this point, didn't have a dealer here, at least not yet, so he did what anyone might do when adrift ﹕ leaning back against the wall outside dolly's, hands stuffed into his pockets as he studied anyone passing by. he was looking for anyone who fit the part. someone younger, someone who looked like they smoked grass— maybe out of habit, maybe to take the edge off a life that pressed too hard. someone who looked stressed as fuck. it was a gamble, sure, but everything in this town felt like one. the diner food, the weather, people's sanity. and when his gaze fell upon a stranger nearby, looking particularly stressed out, francis didn't hesitate to approach⸻ pleasantries not exactly his thing, had one question so sharp and insistent that he didn't bother with that smalltown how do you do. “ hey man, ” he started, voice low and rough at the edges, not exactly trying to bring attention to the conversation, but with a smile too warm to possibly be genuine nonetheless. “ don't suppose you know where a guy could get some weed around here, do you ? i mean, c'mon, surely you know. you look like you could use a fat blunt right now. ” tongue clicked, looking at the other man as like he could read him. but francis was just projecting. then almost as an afterthought, francis added, “ not looking for anything harder. just weed. ” he drew a cross over his heart, smile tugging into something that might have been a smirk, though it felt more like a grimace. as if saying that out loud made a difference, as if drawing a line in the sand could hold back the tide. @capitclkarma

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ from the very first time he tasted it, francis had always sought out trouble⸻ a way to catch the attention of those supposed to look after him at first, until it became much more primal than that. he didn't want it for the chaos itself, but for the way it made him feel alive ﹕ heart hammering in the kind of rhythm that reminded him there was blood in his veins, something sharp and hot and real. there was truth to friction, a clarity to standing too close to a breaking edge, and francis had spent half of his life testing the boundaries of that feeling. wondering how far he could lean into the heat before it burned him whole. and places like this were always ripe of the possibilities, the dancefloor a breeding ground of vices and mistakes, a pulsing thing of sweat, sound, and shadow. and yet, francis' attention was only locked— hooked, really— on someone that looked like trouble personified⸻ a scowl carved deep into a face that begged to be either shattered or worshipped under these seizure-bright strobing lights. “ that's one hell of a scar you've got there. ” francis said as he approached, raising his voice just enough to slip through the wall of sound, words came like they'd been dipped in something slow and sticky, deliberate. his lips curved into a smirk, the kind that asked for trouble because trouble was all he'd come here to find ﹕ but not exactly opposed to whatever else he might discover, especially now with a closer look. “ looks like it hurt like hell. it's kinda hot, though. y'know people love broken things. ” takes one to know one. gaze traced the jagged line along taylan's throat, lingering a little too long, mesmerized by how it almost glimmered faintly in the light, pale and uneven, standing out stark against his skin. then, his gaze dragged back up, searching for taylan's eyes, a thinly-veiled challenge in his expression. “ mind if i touch it ? ” the question slipped out like it was his right to ask, like he was already halfway there in his head, imagining his fingers trailing over the line of it. “ heard the dead girl also got her throat slit, but hers didn't get to heal like yours. ” @ofvolatile

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ there was no real reason to be here aside from the fact that it was only place open in the dead of night, when sleep was an impossible dream in a sprawling lakehouse that felt suffocating⸻ its emptiness pressing down on him and his loneliness. at least here at dolly's, the hum of the old lights buzzed louder than his more dreadful thoughts, place nearly empty, save for a trucker nursing a coffee and a line cook that looked like he should be a nude calendar model instead of flipping patties. he definitely looked like a march or april kind of guy, too pretty not to be a sleazy womanizer, and so people must be hiding their eggs from him like it's easter. practice safe sex and all. he seemed fun, at least. but those were just the intrusive thoughts that invaded francis' head as he stared at the cook instead of coming up with what he wanted to order. he leaned forward, arms resting on the counter, eyes tracing the other man's nametag before looking into his eyes. “ i'll just have whatever you recommend, salvador. ” he clicked his tongue and smiled, before attention drifted to the abandoned newspaper on the counter. the article on the front page wasn't exactly what he expected from the local press ﹕ but it sure was entertaining, albeit a little disappointing that the mystery might be over when he only just got here to see how he'd fare against a sharp knife. francis tapped the photo over and over and over until he got the line cook's attention again, a low chuckle echoing faintly in the empty diner. “ this girl— they think she has something to do with the other one going missing ? i mean, she's got a face that looks like she's a little too into pegging. but hell, with a face like that, she should be able to have whatever she goddamn wants. murder included. ” @brntout

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ needs and nourishment truly had nothing to do with this impromptu field trip to this shitty town's only grocery store⸻ only really meant to fill the time before the next urge for something more intriguing than his futile attempts at sobriety. he should know better by now ﹕ yet something in him still wrestled against his whims, some foolish desire to be good, despite how it often felt this ugliness inside him had always been just another birthright. but the aisles of amrak was hardly the place to think about the human condition, bloodshot eyes bruised by sleeplessness roving across the shelves without focus, as if searching for something and forgetting it in the same breath. and francis slowly pushed his shopping cart, each wheel wobbling in discord, hand hung slack over the side, brushing anything and everything off the shelves, landing into his cart with muted thuds. there really wasn't any rhythm to this aimlessness, cargo piling up in reckless abundance ﹕ ten boxes of cereals, a dozen canned soups, a whole row of instant noodles, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, none of which would be consumed when he could always just order takeouts from lakeside grill. still, francis pushed on⸻ as if this terribly mundane ritual might stop the spiral that was coming. but that was wishful thinking, no stopping the tremors in his veins, how the colors in the grocery store suddenly looked too bright, how the fluorescent light now felt too loud. breath became shallow and quick, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control. and overwhelmed with his head swimming, swimming, swimming, francis nearly hit someone with his cart, stopping to a screeching halt just an inch away from colliding against the woman standing near the end of the aisle, inspecting a display of imported chocolates. he didn't know her, but there was something he immediately recognized ﹕ a steadiness he couldn't find in himself. and maybe that was what drew him in— the faint hope that it might rub off on him, even if only for a second. ��� hey, ” he started, voice rough and low, almost a whisper, almost like a secret, like it had to fight its way out of his throat. “ do you know where to fuckin' get some, uh ... ” he had to think for a minute, wasn't even looking for anything, just wanted to ground himself to a conversation. but as soon as words failed him, intrusive impulses hijacked his body with the first familiar thought⸻ and francis mimed sniffing something off the back of his hand, rubbing his gums, then even pretended to roll up a sleeve and exhaled sharply, all his gestures ridiculous and frantic. @inlustre

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tag dump.

↷ francis wymack ﹙ character study ﹚

↷ francis wymack ﹙ countenance ﹚

↷ francis wymack ﹙ threads ﹚

↷ francis wymack ﹙ soundtrack ﹚

↷ francis wymack ﹙ aesthetics ﹚

↷ francis wymack ﹙ ask memes ﹚

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01. kieran talbot : intro. threads. character study. 02. foster dasgupta : intro. threads. character study. 03. henrietta nivans : intro. threads. character study. 04. francis wymack : intro. threads. character study.

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ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ this wouldn't be first time he had felt embarrassment, even found some kind of shitty poetry in it⸻ the way it burned you clean, stripped you down to something raw and honest. he could definitely feel it now, cheeks ruddy with heat, as the man in front of him— a deputy, no less— looked at him with an air of practiced authority. and for all his talk of his own pathetic charm and quick wit, francis had definitely walked himself straight into this one, and there was no clever way out. but if there was anything life had taught him, a lesson that didn't enter one ear and out the other, it was that if the ground collapsed beneath your feet, you could either fall or grab at the nearest ledge and pull yourself back up. so, francis grinned, easy as ever, even as he cursed himself internally⸻ shaking the deputy's hand with firm grip, letting it linger long enough to toe the line between cordial and something more. people liked to be seen, to be appreciated, and he made sure to do just that with his eyes as he stared at the cop. “ francis, ” he introduced, voice deliberately smooth and warm. “ spent some summers here before, but you can say i'm still mostly new to town. pleasure's all yours. ” his gaze darted toward the hand drifting toward the deputy's belt, subtle and instinctual but a telling move nonetheless. and francis raised an eyebrow, playful, attempting to seem unbothered. “ but hey, it's not every day i get to chat with a man of the law. i promise i'm a good citizen, deputy. never even been cuffed, except that one time i hooked up with this hardcore feminist from nyu, but those were pink and fuzzy. and she had a pink leather whip, too. ” hands raised in feigned surrender as he leaned back against the wall again, like he was making himself at home despite the circumstances. “ but the question⸻ right. just wanted to ask how you relax around here. must be difficult with all the ... excitement this town's been seeing. but you seem like the type who's got it all figured out. ” a smile on his lips, faint but inviting, as if daring the deputy to drop the pretense even for a second.

one day everything would be okay, and he would look back on this time in his life and laugh. it was what he had to tell himself was the truth. the mantra he repeated each and every morning he woke up. but the years went by slowly as the chapters in a textbook. and every day things got more dreary. a sick mother. spiteful brothers. a murder investigation. his best friend the subject of said investigation. kaz chose to look at the bright side — this is why he got into the profession. to help. to help investigate and clear bronte's name and save the town from a killer. much easier said than done but nothing would stop him from trying.

he'd gone out out to pick up food for bronte. he wasn't really sure how to help other than do his job. but he wanted to comfort her in some way. let her know that things would be okay and he wasn't speaking as an officer but as a friend. kaz figured a meal would be a start.

until the man stopped him. he had to restrain himself, keep his mouth from falling open like a cartoon character. the muscles in his jaw worked as he stared at the man against the wall. and he kept going. and there was nothing he could do but blink. he hadn't recognized him and this only confirmed he was a stranger. rather than address his words, he stuck his hand out for a handshake. "deputy kiskova. i don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting. and who might you be?" his free hand moved towards his belt, unconsciously drifting toward where his handcuffs were when he was on duty. "i don't think i heard you right. mind repeating your question?"