❝ you’re gonna lose a finger if you don’t get outta my sight right now. ❞ // frank @weaponid
of course, frank would show up like this. LIKE A THREAT, like a memory she hadn’t invited but couldn’t forget. gloria doesn't flinch, she never does. not for violence, not for men like frank, and certainly not for words spat like warning shots. but still, there’s a shift in posture, a tension strung too tightly in her spine, her jaw locked up. the man was smart enough, at least reading the tone far from idle in the promise of action. he walked off with a bruised ego and utterance of a half-assed apology in his wake. gloria doesn't watch him go; her eyes are on frank. ❛ fuck sakes, frank, you don't get to do that! ❜
her palm is firm, flat against his chest and pushing back on the immovable force. she'd gotten good jabs in before, but there was no need to cast a larger spotlight on them. and she presses into that rage humming inside him, steps in rhythm and away from prying eyes and forming bodies around the commotion. the part of herself that still aches for him wrestles with the anger towards that feeling. past bone and marrow, cutting into her dna and whatever the empty sky deemed sufficient for a soul. it all stirs beneath her ribcage, something that wants to remember instead of survive on scraps. ❛ you can't threaten everyone that breathes near me, you don't have that kind of privilege. ❜