#nonvia

[saevita]

‘   you know you shouldn’t be   ...   here.   ’        do i growl like a beast at the sight of her?   do i grow weary beneath my clenched teeth?   she’s alive in black,    sleek fabric hugging what should not be hugged,   the glittering belle in these ugly places   [   he prefers her in red,  terrible red,   splatters of it across her cheek,   covering her hands   --   they have been monstorus together before they had even known the other’s name   ].   he,   too,   confines himself to blackness   --   a shirt,   clinging against skin,   worth more than his last paycheck.    funny what little gifts he decides to spare upon himself   ...   he does not care what she thinks of his looks   [   do her eyes trace over me,    taking in new tone around my shoulders,   the spider - web scars that break over his hands?   ].    he does not care   --   and that is a promise to himself.

‘   you know that you’re intruding.   i thought you had a code of conduct   ...   what was it that you said last time?    you had rules,   natalia?   ’        her head snaps towards her,   the deadly scent of sprawling perfume following the movement.   sam drinks it in,   the lemon - scent of a woman who was trying too hard to be anyone but herself.   the lemon was not her,   too shiny and bitter,   forgetting herself as a wolfish creature.   am i prepared to be eaten whole?   ...   oh,   yes,   i definitely am.        ‘   don’t make me escort you out of here.    that’d look bad for both of us.   ’

@nonvia

[deputyfangs-arc]

@nonvia​ > the widow ! 

‘ c’mon, now, miss thang, ’   the deputy smiles, both hands raised.  ‘ i swear to you i ain’t one o’ them super soldiers, but i could probably go one-to-one with one. why don’t you put your gun down and let me explain what i’m doin’ here, and i promise i won’t even give you a lil’ white lie! ’

[femvoir]

@nonvia​​ said: “ you can’t fight this with strength alone. ”  |  inbox.

      SAMANTHA COULD SIT AND ARGUE, PUSH BACK ON HER INJURY but she is right. she wasn’t made to be super human, just peak conditioning to excel in their business. arms felt heavy, sore from the escape over rolling and pulling her shoulders too much. eyes follow to her voice as she was contemplating if skipping out one day would do any good. on one hand, she makes a grand return, finish the job. or push through it, power through pain so she can rest another day. infuriating to decide on what she wants to do versus what she should do. a soft sigh passes, heel turning to walk towards the widow and close the gap,  “  i’m just letting you know, i hate that you’re right,  ”  another few hours, and she’ll be up to tackle another round. even sam has her limits.

[treppenwitzz]

@nonvia​  said   :    i  pray  this  is  not  the  only  time  we  meet .

object    of    the    exchange    safely    dropped    at    the    bottom    of    the    tote    bag    frenchie    lent    her,    two    inconspicuous    pieces    of    linen    hazardly    sewn    together.    it's    just    business,    she    remembers    the    boys    calling    it,    all    you    gotta    do    is    take    the    thing    she'll    give    you    &    give    her    this    in    exchange.    [    dictionnary    says    :    BUSINESS    /    the    activity    of    buying    &    selling    goods    or    services.    ]    the    thing    is,    she    is    unsure    of    what    exactly    they    brought    ;    and    all    she    has    to    show    for    the    payment    is    a    piece    of    paper    she    places    in    the    woman's    palm,    some    scribbled    words    in    butcher's    uneven    handwriting,    too    tiny    for    her    to    decipher.    her    reading    skills    are    much    less    performant    than    her    understanding    of    spoken    words.    &    that    is    probably    the    reason    why    she    does    not    spend    too    much    time    looking    at    the    black    ink,    prefering    instead    to    raise    her    gaze    to    the    woman's    face.    murmured    name    in    the    others'    mouth    ;    called    her    black    widow,    called    her    way    too    much    trouble    —    difficult    not    to    agree.    kimiko    can    see    that    she    is    the    dangerous    kind    of    pretty,    all    sharp    edges    &    intense    eyes,    debating    your    next    move    before    you    have    even    thought    about    moving    at    all.    always    one    step    ahead    —    with    a    smile    or    with    a    snare,    which    is    to    say,    beautifully.    kimiko    is    not    fooled.

a    prayer    softly    spoken    in    the    space    between    them    :    a    chasm    that    will    only    grow    wider    once    kimiko    departs    to    find    hughie,    waiting    for    her    in    the    car    a    few    streets    away.    but    in    this    moment    of    no    import,    nothing    but    borrowed    time,    with    no    more    exchanges    to    execute    &    no    more    promises    to    make,    she    cannot    help    but    nod    her    assent    —    she,    too,    is    curious    to    see    what    would    happen    if    the    experience    had    to    be    repeated.    what    if    they    met    again    ?    lately,    life    has    been    nothing    but    the    monotonous    repetition    of    the    same    day    :    a    life    in    hiding    with    too    many    men    &    too    many    weapons,    grief    clawing    her    sanity    away.    all    the    permanence    she    can    afford    now    is    that    dark    dirty    hideout    &    a    bunch    of    men    with    good    intentions,    terrible    manners    and    too    fast    words.    seeing    that    woman    again    ?    —    a    dangerous    game    to    play    but    a    game    all    the    same.    kimiko    has    grown    tired    of    waiting    for    the    tv    screen    to    get    interesting.

index    taps    her    chest    once    before    being    extended    toward    the    other,    fingers    widening    between    them    in    a    slow    gesture    of    assent.    [    me    too    ]    a    tap    on    the    wrist    where    a    watch    would    be,    a    question    in    her    eyes.    [    when    ?    ]    no    prayers    for    the    wicked    :    we    make    plans.    we    make    vows.    we    act    on    them.    a    smile,    but    no    desire    to    hide    :    sharp    as    if    it    was    drawn    with    a    claw,    she    taps    her    wrist    again    before    gesturing    at    the    place    between    them.    [    when    &    where    ?    ]