you are a rock #fu2016

“from this moment on, you are a rock: you absorb nothing, you say nothing, and nothing breaks you.” | edward meechum off house of cards; agent of the secret service and personal bodyguard to the president of the united states. indie rp.

[mishproductions]

Le Feu Follet (1963) dir. Louis Malle

[halechief]

capernoited :D

send me a word.  /   capernoited - slightly intoxicated or tipsy.

            ❛    francis thinks very highly of you, you know.   ❜    it’s hours before he’ll be home, of course   —   a calculated fact she’s molded to her use, a glass of rosé in one hand, & a cigarette in the other. claire underwood,  indulgent in her unbecoming vices, a secret shared to tighten those tenuous ties which bind them  ;  he’s loyal to her husband, yes. not explicitly to her.     they never are.    ❛   that doesn’t happen often, edward.   ❜    she punctuates herself with a subtle raise of brows, filter gravitating to faintly curved lips, a thoughtful inhale executed to lengthen the space of silence which falls after her words.  she’s warm,  pleasantly so,  though not as compromised as she perhaps allows herself to appear.  it’s a delicate affair, but one she’s more than willing to orchestrate  —   the union between she and francis was largely dependent on absolute clarity: knowing where her influence fell short. knowing where his appetites got the better of him. she sees the unspoken even when he might wish otherwise .  .  .  though she doubts very much that he will, in this respect. 

                her hand lowers slowly, distracted by her own thoughts, smoke curling from her lips as she tilts her chin upward, watching it grow steadily more translucent in its climb toward the ceiling. francis would never outright admit an interest in edward aloud to her  —  and although he wasn’t subtle by any means in his gauche and purposeful use of the agent’s first name in their earlier conversation, she couldn’t help but be amused at his false indifference, at first. and yet .  .  . there was a troubling undertone to his reticence.  he used to be a man that knew how to take what he wanted. his confidence had taken a blow, his surety faltered  —  this business with the walkers and tusk was more than taking its toll on him. it was necessary, to claire, to offer him an opportunity to remind himself of his power. before he allowed them to be buried.  she ashes in the tray perched on the sill & brings her gaze back to edward, a soft, if knowing look in her eyes.    ❛   let’s not tell francis i smoked, hmm ?  we usually do that together.      —   now, come on. they say only alcoholics drink alone, so let’s get you something   .   .    .    you’re a bourbon man, aren’t you ?  ❜  

[meechvm]

hardinq‌:

no  amount  of  exposure  to  the  world  of  diplomacy  and  government  prepares  you  for  working  from  the  white  house.    or  at  least,  that’s  how  tess  finds  it.    it  doesn’t  intimidate  her,  for  there’s  very  little  that  could  boast  of  having  that  effect  on  her.    no,  it’s  the  change  of  scenery  that  she  finds  to  be  the  most  difficult.    it  was  only  a  few  years  ago  that  she  spent  her  days  travelling  around  the  middle  east,  sometimes  branching  out  into  eastern  europe.    she’s  a  nomadic  person  by  nature,  in  every  sense  of  the  word.    forever  moving,  no  matter  the  time  of  day.    it’s  a  nice  little  challenge  for  her,  to  concentrate  her  passion  and  energy  on  one  thing,  in  one  place,  and  all  while  trying  to  curb  that  passion  and  energy  so  she  doesn’t  shoot  herself  in  the  foot.

“  oh  my  god    ––    ed?  ”        a  little  laugh  comes  shortly  after  a  brief  blank  look,  and  both  are  forged  from  sheer  disbelief  at  the  sight  of  an  old  friend.    she  was  entirely  distracted,  barely  paying  attention  to  the  daily  chaos  of  the  west  hing  hallways:    that  much  she  has  grown  accustomed  to.    a  side  step  brings  her  closer  to  him,  and  out  of  the  way  of  hurrying  staffers  and  fellow  correspondents.    she  can  barely  remember  the  last  time  she  saw  him,  though  it  was  no  doubt  when  they  both  had  much  more  time  on  their  hands.        “  how  long  has  it  been?    i  had  no  idea  you  were  working  here.  ”

     he couldn’t say what feels more surreal: spotting her at the white house just out of the corner of his eye or her actually agreeing that, yes, they do know each other - not merely existing in his vicinity but actively acknowledging their mutual recognition. the last time he saw her, he remembers very clearly, was on tv; the last time before that close to fifteen years ago. in his mind, that has reduced her to something two-dimensional and very far away. to have her standing right in front of him now, in the flesh, animated, bright, leaves him entirely dumbfounded.

     as she draws near, his arms twitch involuntarily - like his limbs remember an intimacy that’s no longer there, it’s muscle memory initiating the hug he knows would not be appropriate. so he stops himself and clears his throat, counting on her assuming that perhaps his arm’s just fallen asleep. ‘ it’s--- a while. ‘ his nod is somewhat mechanical and he’s not sure he can let go of his frown quite yet. without being aware of it, she has dragged something very private out in the open, something small he’s not thought about in a very long time. now it’s here and steadfastly refusing to be ignored, smack in the middle of his workplace, no less. the resulting reactance makes him tense without him meaning to.

     ‘ it’s not a very public job ‘, he agrees and nods again. what a meaningless reply. he tries again: ‘ sorry, it’s just--- you’re here. ‘ as if she hasn’t noticed. ‘ how have you been? ‘

[lifeinpoetry]

Is the blood on your hands dry? Is it slowly disappearing? Mine isn’t.

Ashley Mares, from “Psalm of Scattered Ashes,” published in Luna Luna (via lifeinpoetry)

[brutlista]

     “     uh oh , they’re onto me .     “     if he could find anything to surpass monotony , the impassive notations heugh elegantly laces in his speak , he would snatch it clean out of the air and stuff it into his mouth , just for meechum .     “     if i told you i wasn’t involved in any way  , would you believe me if i said it wasn’t a lie ?     “  

@meechvm // starter

[meechvm]

    ' i’m no lawyer ‘, he avoids his question altogether, in all likelihood providing the clearest answer by doing just that. no matter the circumstances - he knows - underestimating heugh would be a fatal mistake. ‘ but you probably shouldn’t be here either way. ‘

[meechvm]

@hardinq​ — starter call

    if he lets his focus drift enough to blur his view, the comings and goings at the west wing start to remind him of a beehive sometimes: from where he stands, and stands still for a good portion of his morning, it looks like an endless string of people hurries through this hallway, as impossible to keep track of as they are extraneous to his day. although he is very much paying attention it remains only superficial; risk assessments in the blink of an eye, a split second of eye contact and already they’ve walked past. he barely registers faces, voices, a smudge of red hair in his peripheral vision ---

             wait. he pauses, his focus suddenly sharp. there is a flicker in his expression of something presumed missing in action, something soft and tender that’s threatening to melt just a fraction of his professional resolve - for the shortest of moments, he even forgets to look stern. before he can stop himself, it falls out of his mouth like someone else must have put it there, breathless and perplexed: ‘ ----- tess? ’

[meechvm]

( hey so,  now that i’ve retrieved my password after literal years-- is anyone over here even still alive?? if so,  like this for a starter and/or reply i guess??? someone remind me how this works. )

[phrenicschits]

Visit Original Link

Nightcrawler - James Newton Howard

Nightcrawler: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

[lookporn]

[prefiromeninos]

Undertow. by francisjsmith on Flickr.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I am someone who did not die when I should have died.

Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (via anxlgesic)

[meechvm]

@ovalbound — starter call

     technically, he is still off duty. his shift only starts in twenty minutes, the president is only supposed to be up in forty, edward’s not even required to be here yet. potentially even shouldn’t be here yet. but where’s the harm in showing up early? (would hardly be the first time.) so he’s sitting slumped into one of the lush sofas downstairs, eyes closed, only half there - so what? not like anyone’s going to notice down here.

    except of course he does.

    ‘ excuse me, i wasn’t -- ‘ no. getting caught dozing at the residence by the president himself is embarrassing enough, he’s not going to make it worse with flimsy excuses. instead he sits up (way too fast), clears his throat, unsure what’s more mortifying: his uncoordinated movements or the fact that, evidently, the only place that ever calms him down enough to sleep anymore is the god damn white house, of all places. ‘ i apologise, sir. this won’t happen again. ‘

[meechvm]

yxtes liked your photo 

[meechvm]

@hollyweirdo — starter call

      what’s so ridiculous about all this -- deep breaths, 1, 2, 3 -- is that no matter how often he’s forced to step outside, he feels completely fucking useless every single time. staring down at the ground, the cracked cobblestone’s just as blurry as the vinyl flooring was inside the bar, hideous and far away. completely harmless, though. he’s steady on his feet, all he has to do is breathe. little break out in the cold, obscured among the gaggle of smokers, and then he’ll go back inside again to nurse his drink like nothing ever happened. nothing ever happened. if he just keeps himself from looking over his shoulder every two goddamn minutes, he’ll be fine.

      ' oh. no, sorry, i don’t smoke. ‘ the apologetic smile’s not enough to hide the fact that he was clearly not expecting to be talked to at all. neither does his lame addendum, an entirely unnecessary attempt at explaining himself: ‘ i just like to... stand outside. sometimes. ‘ yes. clearly he’s doing fucking great.

[sorelips-deactivated20170324]

[meechvm]

@mygirlhoodhasteeth — starter call

     it’s fairly easy, being a soldier. despite the sleep he’s lost over garbled memories over the years, he’s absolutely positive it’s nothing compared to this: caught between two forces of nature threatening to collide. he’s got no side to fall back on, no pre-assigned allegiance picked for him by the powers that be - instead he’s left to betrayal by default. (fittingly, it makes him feel like a child.) how the hell is serving them both supposed to work when they’re not an entity anymore?

    the presence of someone new and potentially dangerous isn’t exactly helping, either, even if he’s trying his hardest not to jump to conclusions. (and yet the very way she looks at the first lady---)

    ‘ i’m not. ‘ staring, that is, although he clearly was. stuck outside the door with her while the underwoods (grown-ups) argue in private doesn’t exactly leave much else to do. ‘ why, am i making you nervous? ‘

[meechvm]

@heelscrossed — starter call

      looking ahead, there’s distant lights all along the horizon, warm little reminders in the crisp night air that they’re not the only ones awake at this time of night. although they might as well be. if the first lady wants to go for a run at one a.m., he is hardly going to argue -- so long as he’s the one accompanying her. thirty-hour day be damned.

      looking down, at washington d.c. half asleep, they get a decent excuse for taking a break. right up at the top of the hill, the only thing obscuring their view is the steady fog of breathe out - breathe out. it’s easy to pretend it’s all he’s focused on when he walks up behind her, to make sure she hasn’t stopped for another reason entirely. ' quite the view, isn’t it? ‘

[heelscrosseda]

“Don’t you know how much good you’ve done for others?” ( "you're a good person, claire." D: )

QUESTIONS !

               it isn’t often she’s caught without a response to give. even backed into the furthest corners & attacked on all sides, it is rare that she stumbles with her STATEMENT or fails to immediately spin the situation to her favor —— of course, it is equally rare that she speaks with someone that she genuinely cares for, or admires. yet, even edward’s importance to her does not explain her inconvenient lapses in emotional control .  .  .  weakness seems to pervade her senses, lately ; patricia walker, with nothing but her usual meek words & kindness, had been able to crumble her resolve only days earlier, & fleeting though the moment had been, she does not reflect on it lightly. edward’s praise understandably hits rather closer to home, surely, but that “exception” cannot be considered for the toll the first lady had been able to take on her. she exhales, back straightened as she does, head shaking.   ❛ i know you mean well, edward .  .  . but it isn’t that simple.  ❜