snoewblood

[snoewblood]

scandal meme: [5/6] quotes

[snoewblood]

TRIPLE FRONTIER (2019) dir. J. C. Chandor

[snoewblood]

(c)

[snoewblood]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃

killed by saturn. 18+ only. connected to @adeadlyspy

[snoewblood]

Tenderness and Rot, Kay Ryan

[snoewblood]

favourite movies wached in 2023

5. The Bourne trilogy (2002-2007) dir. Doug Liman, Paul Greengrass

Who am I?

[snoewblood]

[snoewblood]

PRINCESS MONONOKE / もののけ姫 1997 | dir. Hayao Miyazaki / 宮崎 駿

[snoewblood]

eyes glanced over the curve of her cheek, following along to find her lips and gaze looking right back at him. a haunted look turned soft, a serene, cool river showing him his reflection in return. he’ll admit, it felt utterly hazy to him. strange to be in a place where bullets weren’t flying over their heads or at each other. a dream? no, the body next to him was warm, familiar— he could feel skin beneath his fingertips. hear her voice clear as day in his ears. if it was a dream, he’s happy to stay in it for the rest of his shadowed life.

memory tries to crawl its way through his image, piecing together events of the night prior: dirt, grime, metal, shouting— fire and soot. while his own vessel aches, he felt little pain coming back to him. brows furrow to close his eyes once heat from the sun begins to hover over his face. time was ticking loudly in his ears. the feeling of her fingertips over his cheek had him wince. he had to speak to her, he had to push aside the animal on the outside and let himself come forward for once. they weren’t at each other’s throats, there was no prize to gain right now. “ …you okay? ” asking from the pit of his stomach, he whispered and opened one eye to see her again. he, too, would like to keep his gaze on anya.

from his view, no injuries on her end can be found but she was ridiculously good at pushing aside her own body and heart to lie to him about her condition… not that he took offense. it’s their nature, right? “ where are we? ” he couldn’t stay in this haze forever and they both knew it. a gentle turn of his body closer to hers, leaning away from the sun to feel its warmth on his back, he can feel his aches coming back to him with full force now. he fell. or he was knocked off his feet somehow. the memory was still a blur.

she rested soundly - safely - for the first time in a long, long while. up so long the previous night; danil licking his wounds and anya appearing as his enemy. . . or so she thought. her wrists are not handcuffed above her head to the frame. waking to the sensation of an finger rubbing across the raw, scarred area instead of the pull and burn of cold metal was surreal. was this freedom? even just an taste?

but then she opened her eyes. . . somewhat startled by the realization of her situation. in whose bed she sleeps, whose voice she has been hearing, whose finger dragged over her skin in an way that made her stomach flutter. danil. the man she had chased, and she who was chased by him. an gruesome and wonderful game of cat and mouse turned inability to do the job. neither one of them could convince themselves to pull the trigger and in the end, they clashed lips instead of fists.

she jumped slightly when she finally yanked herself from sleep, but not so far out of her skin that she pulled away from him. anya locked eyes with him and smiled softly. she wouldn't have minded seeing that face every morning. her hand comes up, the one untouched by his mindless tracing, and she rubs her fingers over the highest part of his cheekbone. an rainbow of bruising had surfaced on his smooth skin. gently she leans forward, places an soft kiss on the bruises that were present.

" danil. . . " she whispers back to him, lips brushing slightly over his skin. this was an dream, but the monster at bay told her mind it was an trap. she does her best to shake the thoughts as she lays back into the pillow - her eyes dare not leave him out of fear of losing him. ( @snoewblood )

[snoewblood]

intuition swelled in his gut that she knew a little too much and was falling deeper into the crevices of a world he tried to keep her from. a lie. right from her lips and he knew something like this would slip out. it's a natural defense, especially at this time of night. delicate as she seemed on the outside, inside was a clever creature he could listen to all day if he had the time to spare. it keeps him reeling in for more, learning what else she had to say or what she was so curious about. it's part of the reason why he could not get rid of her cast-iron grip-- whether she's aware or not.

stepping aside from guilt, he knew well enough that naomi never needed someone like him. a show of his hand, his true nature, and perhaps, she'd still never look at him the same. eyes and ears followed wherever she went, not for his own curiosity but for her protection. because god knows the kind of muscle she carries around isn't enough for him to be satisfied with.

miłość. still sweet as always. it pains him to call her out, truly. he shouldn't have to but he remains for a moment, studying each word and gesture. he felt like he knew her well-- it's always burdened in the back of his mind not to trust himself with that notion. things can always change. a heavy sigh passes his lips as he straightens himself out, palms at the edge of the island and a tilt of his head, " naomi, " a gentle warning coming from his voice, " i'm not here to argue with you. let alone force you into doing anything you don't want to do, " leaving his post, his steps were near mute. the closer he got, the softer the rest of him was. he couldn't be firm-- stomach turned into knots and burned a hole where love used to be. at least, where he hopes some remains would lie.

he was close enough to not really overstep his boundaries, itching to hold her hand or even touch her cheek, he speaks lower with defeated eyes, " i'm asking you, just this once-- " his voice was a plea, just above a whisper, " no dealings with any mafia, no cartel-- don't make me beg, цветок. "

"Then it just tastes like nothing with salt."

Argumentative was the mood she always defaulted to when Danil showed up. He had a bad habit of appearing places whenever Naomi believed she was free of him. As if he had a tether to the deepest confines of her mind, the moment she truly banished him from thought and allowed herself a smidgen of her life without him he came waltzing back in. He was the shadow that lingered in the corner of every room, cast larger the more she tried to shine on her own. So often she wondered what would happen if she dimmed herself entirely. Would he truly leave her, then?

She hated when he smiled. It was easy to remember a time when it caught her heart in her throat and made her knees feel weak. She hated that he had the capacity to smile the same way now that he did when they were married. She'd been dumb enough to believe it was reserved for her, once ... only when the blinders had been half-pulled from her eyes did Naomi know it was just part of whatever facade Danil Yakovenko wore that day. (If that was even his real name. She wondered if she kept his surname out of spite ... if it was real. If he even existed?)

What she hated most though ... was how her heart stilled even now. She cast bright eyes down to the marble island top, let her fingers shift from her chin to the back of her head to ruffle soft strands of sleep-mussed gold.

"Is that why you broke in, Danil? To warn me? I'm as careful as I always was, from whatever secret dangers apparently stalk me at every turn that you can never tell me about. You have to find better reasons to break in, miłość. This is getting tired."

Palms flattened on the marble, weight shifting to them to bear her rising from the stool. Silk and legs dripped from the seat to the floor in one smooth motion and Naomi was careful to keep her robe clutched shut. It wasn't as if he'd never seen her in her sleepwear before ---but that somehow felt too private now, permission revoked. Lips pressed into a thin line close to a frown and when she looked over her shoulder at him there was a shadow of something in her gaze.

"I don't know what people you're talking about. I'm a gallery owner, nothing more. You know that."

Lie. She could do it, too.

[snoewblood]

Elizabeth Lail as Guinevere Beck — in You S01E01 "Pilot"

[snoewblood]

[snoewblood]

hiding the truth posed a disservice to her. it would only continue the vicious cycle left behind by his superiors and what has been instilled in his brain for years. he couldn't do that to her anymore. the stomach for it was long gone the moment his real purpose was exposed-- at least, the now-abandoned purpose.

" not true, " he countered like a silly boy, small with furrowed brows for just a moment so he could wrap up what was left of the cheddar properly, " salt makes it better-- " a turn of his heel to put it back where it found it, with the rest of her delicacies, " --you should tell your staff to go shopping. starting to run out, " he didn't want to scold her. truly, he didn't. arguments, to him, were not in his favor to get his point across. he understood his place with naomi and he knew that she was utterly observant when it came to him dodging her question.

he places the knife down and away from him, show that he was no physical threat (as if he would ever lay a harmful finger on her) " i need you to stay under the radar. you don't know who or what you're dealing with, naomi, " if she listened close, an air of plea mixed with sterness can be found. he'd hate to beg, tell her not to dive straight into dangerous waters with people who have been undertaking society since before the two of them were even born. even dabbling in it, just a small piece, is enough to hook her in the business of foul trade. his eyes did not peel away from her face, searching for a piece of the girl he once knew to be so effortless to him. seeing cracks in the very image of her would turn his stomach into knots, " these people will not hesitate to find you in the middle of the night-- or in the day and take you out if you are of no use to them. "

Once upon a time ...

A little blonde girl had a dream of marrying a handsome, dark man who could whisk her away from the world she knew. A man who would show his hand and bring her to a world where softness was not backhanded and shunned but instead celebrated and uplifted. She'd met that dark man at the right time and he had whisked her, but only so far and only so much before the illusion came shattering down. This world was not made for soft things and a woman was never meant to wait around to be saved. Naomi picked up the pieces and resumed her life, changed and somehow less of herself, more with thorns and sharp edges that locked away the little blonde girl who'd wished and dreamed.

Her bed room was all windows, high rise overlooking city lights like a thousand glittering gems 'neath the endless black abyss of nighttime waves upon the ocean. The soft clatter every so often had been enough to jar her from light sleep (she barely slept well these days) and those moments before the waking world really reared its head she reasoned it was just leftover from whatever her mind had conjured in dreams already forgotten moments before. Only when she heard the sound again did she sigh and shift, let the soles of too-arched feet barely touch the plush rug beneath her bed, then the cool marble tile just at the edge. She reached for her silken robe and let it hang from her shoulders as she opened the door and peered down the hallway to the lights on in the lonely kitchen.

Night time in her apartment was like a liminal space, usually. Except the warmth of the living filled its essence and for a staggering second Naomi thought the worst of her nighttime intruder before she laid eyes on them.

Worse than the worst.

She swallowed the beat of her heart, leapt up into her throat, and tightened the hold of her robe over her chest.

"Danil..."

Half a question, half an accusation as if he could be anything other than who he was (and he had been for about six years). One fine brow arched and when she parted her lips again a sigh escaped them. Just passed one in the morning was hardly time for a cheese charcuterie board ...

"Yes, you woke me."

The padding of her feet was soft against the tile, an easy cadence as she approached the island where he worked and allowed herself to perch on the tall bar stool closest to the hallway she'd entered from. An elbow pressed onto the surface, chin resting in the palm of its hand.

"Why are you here? Certainly not to scold me about my cheese choices?" A beat. "I don't like mozzarella. It's tasteless."

[snoewblood]

heat graces over his face, trotting along his eyes and forehead to stir the man awake. a scrunch of his nose and he's nearly bothered by the gentle nudge of the sun beaming down on him through the window. he was alive-- he can smell clean air, not soot and dust. he can taste no blood, nothing foul lingering on his tongue. a wave of grogginess and heavy weight took over his body as he moved his body a bit on the bed. a soft, pillowy cloud that he can melt into for weeks on end. he didn't know where he was... it just felt safe for now.

for the moment he rested with his eyes closed, he listened closely to every bit of sound near him: muted streets from outside, assuming he was high up in some apartment or room. birds chirping and even the muffled sound of television playing in another room-- maybe the news. he couldn't make out the language but it sounded important and direct. finally, he opens his eyes, much like a machine beginning to operate slowly and starting up. he takes in his surroundings with tired eyes and tired body. he must've knocked out during his last escapade as he begins to feel his aches and pains starting to come back to him. nothing he couldn't handle, it was just uncomfortable.

on his right, eyes led him to find a soft cap of hair and a body beside him. anya. she was still with him... she stayed like she promised. he didn't want to move from lying on his back, he only wanted to admire her for just a little bit longer. gently, his warm fingers reached for the bit of skin he was able to see, just her forearm and leading down to her wrist and hand, " anya, " a soft whisper leaves his dry lips, his pinkie finger grazing along her skin back and forth.

for @farforvdova

[snoewblood]

[snoewblood]

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating.

Sylvia Plath, Ariel