sodom

white tongues hang out; god is good

[andrewxiver]

jack--kennedy:

It was amazing how Jack could even miss the man in the first place. Andrew was a tall, well put together man who Jack had gotten to know from the casino. He had a presence about him that Jack could only hope to have one day. “Oh, Andrew, hey,” he sputtered out, bending down to pick up his things that had dropped around them. “I’m late. Really late. I just.. sort of slept in. But, uh, you don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want to have you go out of your way or anything.”

His manner has Andrew offering a quiet help of collecting Jack’s things, but his knees ache underneath him and he feels his back burdened with hours of drive-bys squinting in alleyways he wish he would never find his child in. He relates his apology, then, by insisting that Jack hitch with him. Andrew rounds the casinos every other day; it is no stretch to help out a friend. He calls out insistence of such and walks to the parking lot. Andrew slides unto the scorching leather and grimaces; shouts for Jack to mind it. He rolls the windows down to let the Nevada heat out of the leather and tunes in to Easy Rock FM. “Come on, saves you the fare and time!”

[anothermusic-blog]

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[andrewxiver]

nadiaruns:

there was no doubt the older gentleman was one of the more mysterious guests of the motel. he was different. he was well traveled. he was always well put together he wasn’t like many of the guests who came through the starlite, nadia had been intrigued by how he ended up in a place like this since he arrived. a small sigh escapes her lips as the children run off, she couldn’t be too upset about it. in all honestly, it reminded her of her own son when he was that age, it seemed like it was just yesterday. nadia offers him a polite smile, surprised by the gesture of the ten dollar bill. “ they’re really something else, ” she comments. she takes the bill, “ thank you mr. xavier.  is there anything i can help you with this evening? ”

A comfortable huff settles between his lips, the origin of a laugh. He extends the shared familiarity that blooms in him and props his elbow on the counter, leaning heavily and watching out for the two adventurous children. He agrees with her with a smile, kids really are something else and he tries very hard not to imagine if his child, whom he has never met, ever tried to sneak sweets out of pretty receptionists’ candy bowls. “Actually, yeah,” he answers after acknowledging her thanks and telling her that it’s nothing; because really, it isn’t -- but this is: “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m trying to find someone. Do you think you can help me with your logs?” He bites his lower lip into a guilty smile. The burden of the night weighs him and guides him to pull out a ripped photo of a woman and slides it discreetly to Nadia: brunette with dropping eyes smile into the distance -- his torment.

[andrewxiver]

cadebrewster:

     Cade wants to shout back, wants to get this guy out of his face so he can try and get himself some cash tonight, at least enough to tide him over for a couple days of meals before he gets his paycheck from the diner, but he just wont leave him alone. Cade thinks his aggression is well founded, he doesn’t need some creep prying into his personal life, but… there’s something about the eyes in the older man that says he really is concerned. Compassion is a look Cade hasn’t seen in a long time, so long ago that it seems almost foreign to him.

      The question is phrased… oddly ( but then again this is Vegas, there’s nothing here that isn’t odd ) but there’s that compassion again, tinged with a dark look that Cade can’t quite pick out just now, and suddenly his sense of fight or flight abades. He watches the other for just a moment longer before opening his mouth, wanting to make sure that his instincts aren’t lettng him down and he’s not about to get murdered in some dingy back alley thousands of miles from home.

     “For the same reason everyone is,” Cade says, finally, “Need the cash to get by – to make sure I at least get one warm meal today that isn’t just left over fries. To make sure I can pay to keep a roof over my head when my rent is due.”

A long black limousine speeds through the emptying street and breaks the chorus of tension. A drunk teen on the sunroof shouts as it passes by and spills alcohol on the roof with her laughter. The humming of the engine drowns out the words spoken and the thoughts blazed in the heat of argument. Andrew takes a step back and practices patience he has perfect through military composure and sucking teeth in rage.

In that light, the kid looks daunting, but he sees the way the cold has made home in his nose and ears - ugly red on pink-flushed cheeks.  Money talks, as he has been so eagerly informed; and so he lets it talk. He briefs a quick question of willingness - seeking consent in his request for just companionship. It is in the expense of the innocent that he seeks his own peace of mind.  If this kid is real, how daring of god to drop by once again.

 Andrew eagerly suggests getting out of the cold, pointing at a diner across the street a few paces from where they stood in the muted light. He crosses the street in wide steps and calls out into the night. "I'm not a young man. I can no longer practice patience, and you have an appetite." Andrew muses then, headlights spotlight their faces in quick rising successions, how that girl could easily be his child; how this kid could easily be his. 

He stands on the other street and waits for the the kid to join him. He doesn’t even need to be real.

[master-of-n0ne]

Visit Original Link

[andrewxiver]

cadebrewster:

     Cade tries his best not to be offended, his baby face has gotten him far on some nights, but the obvious disinterested look in the mans eye as Cade lets his eyes wander tells him that’s not gonna be the case tonight. The flash of guilt and pain that hits him at the word parents is easy to cover with exaggerated annoyance anyway.

     “I’m twenty five,” Cade says with a roll of his eyes, adding a couple extra years to his life span with a bitter hint to his voice. It’s a bid to stop the judgemental eyes piercing him so goddamn hard and, christ, Cade can’t believe how unlucky he’s been lately. First his phone broke, eating up all the extra savings he had to fix it, then an entire week passed with less than mediocre tips, and now a night with no pulls is turning into a lecture from a greying man who thinks he knows better.

     “Listen, okay. I don’t need your lectures,” He says, the smile from earlier vanished as he desperately tries to think of a way to leave this conversation without getting in harms way. “So unless you’re gonna pay me to listen to you preach about my poor life decisions, I’d appreciate it if you left.”

The sea crashes into a cliff, it foams as it resides and comes back with unabated fury; but he is no longer in the sea and so he contains it.. Andrew wants to argue with himself that these kids are informal in formality and mask ignorance with insolence; yet he finds his frown deepening, so close to baring teeth. He’s been here before - Subic, Guam, Okinawa; he has been here before and no longer wants to be. ”Look here, kid, I --. “  His argument is half-formed, wanting to spill from his lips. 

He gets as much before he hears god laugh. God is here and he leans now against a lamp post, indeed drinking a well-aged whiskey and smoking a cigarette too white to be good. God is here, it dawns him. In the presence of another God fades into the ashes - sometimes into smoke - but he is here now; and Andrew is here now with the kid.  God winks at him, and he knows now that this is all form of wrong. He watches god finish his drink before disappearing into the boulevard, smoke trailing him.  He picks up his words and continues with his voice in the brink of shaking.  “I asked you an innocent question, albeit with personal concern. “

He runs a hand over his and turns look into the kid’s features and realizes why god now laughs -- the kid’s the embodiment of all his recent nightmares, and he needs to wake up. “There is no need for aggression  Your defenses are far too hostile to be natural.” He hears himself speak and it reminds him of himself as a captain - intimate in faux-detached berating.  “Just please tell me why you’re here, really here.” Please tell me you’re real, he prays in a whisper.

[andrewxiver]

acirrprimxnxproper:

People had passed her all day and not one had said a word to her, not that she minded. People in America seemed to like to keep to themselves more often than not, and in that moment she didn’t much care about the lack of conversation. It allowed her mind to clear and her skin to adjust naturally to the heat that was sweltering even in the shade. It was the scent of take out that caught her attention even more the familiar gentleman lowered down to join her at her side, lips lighting up in a soft and tired smile which grew at the sight of the food, her stomach spoke for her and she took it with a nod of thank you.

Mister Iver was a perfect gentleman, something she very much appreciated and she was not upset at the imposition he’d made at sitting down beside her. If anything she was thankful for it. Good company was always enjoyed. Unwrapping, her burger, she turned her attention to what he was showing her, only grinning her understanding before she took a bird like bite of her own. She never chomped into anything, it was unsightly. Smoothing the wrapper down in her lap to catch anything that might fall, her brows rose as she watched the grease and condiments fall onto his shirt.

Giving him a playful roll of her eyes, the small woman dug in her bag at her side, pulling out a tissue and a Tide pen. Motioning with her hands in question of his permission for her to enter his personal space, before she reached over and used the pen to clear up the messes after a soft blotting with the napkin. Sliding the pen back into her bag she gave him a bright smile at the fact that she’d saved his shirt, and then returned to her meal.

Evolet’s handwriting is neat and looping from where he is seated, fitting of a slow song. He swallows the bitterness of the toiling all day with another bite, another patch of dribble of on his shirt. In his curious state of surprise, he lets Evolet take care of his messes for him -- a complete first and gestured by a stranger. He thanks her with conspiratory smile, promising that he will ruin her progress. Ah, but he knows better -- he takes a thin napkin from the paper bag and eats with what finesse one can when having a cheeseburger with a slice of pineapple on it. He looks at Evolet, and then he watches the clouds.

The fading of the light gives the sparse cloud some character -- he sees then a circus: an elephant on a single leg; a porta potty in the colonimbus with a trail of impatient drink cards with the inability to fall in line in the cirrus. The patch of grease on his shirt is still damp, and he knows that it will not be an easy stain to remove -- just as the mire of his thoughts sitting quietly in the space between him and Evolet. He sips his diluted soda and tries to wash it all down and tries not to think of his nearly-full hip flask. 

He thinks twice about asking Evolet why she has a Tide pen in her person, but defers from it in better judgement. Silence is pregnant with meanings and he fosters its growth. A bird passes through the elephant and the porta potty clouds, and Andrew wonders how often birds fly through this land of sand and sadness.

[andrewxiver]

cadebrewster:

» @andrewxiver

     Yet another day without any decent tips meant yet another night out on The Strip. Cade wished people could just learn to tip properly so he wouldn’t have to spend the cold evenings in just a t-shirt and jeans, but apparently people never change. His luck hadn’t struck out yet either. It was almost midnight already, and not a single car had pulled up on the curb to even sample the goods – christ, maybe tonight would be his first night without a meal in a while, maybe he should just quit smoking so he could afford to keep some savings.

     He was just lighting up yet another cigarette, hoping the soft glow of the tobacco would somehow keep him warm, when a man came walking down the street. Middle aged and alone, eyes soft and mouth drawn thin… Cade was rarely one to stereotype people, but this guy definitely fell into the pool of ‘usual clientele’, so he might as well push and try his luck.

     “Hey mister,” Cade said, a sly smile on his features as the other walked by, “You looking for a bit of fun for tonight?”

God walks through the crowd of tourists and their flashing cameras, smiles intrepidly while humming to Bee Gee’s Staying Alive of all things. The tourists take pictures of fountains, street signs, of passersby and  subpar Elvis impersonators. Andrew is blindsided by a flash on his left and he winces just so, enough for god to laugh at him and call him a pussy. Out in the sea, he could see a single candle flicker in the dark 20 miles out; here in the strip he’s lucky if he sees the ground. He barely strides through the sidewalk with god’s deceiving words -- turn here, turn there -- but there is a RIM-67 going of in his ear and he would rather trust god than simulated war. Another has gone without finding his salvation.

He sees light flicker in the distance - the candlelight in his Atlantic - and walks towards it. Smoke sticks to his white oxford shirt, and he imagines that the cleaners would be disappointed to smell cigarettes on his person. He has maintained such an upstanding reputation so far. “I’m looking for something,” he supplies; god is gone now in the presence of the young man, probably sipping whiskey Andrew no longer allows himself to sip, “but I don’t think it’s the same thing you’re trying to give. -- how old are you anyway? Are you 15?” His sons at 15 flash through his eyes and blood boils in him. Neglect is far more easier to criticize when it is not your fault. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

[andrewxiver]

corawinterfell:

“I just have a question. Is it normal to people here to find fish in their doors?”  She said in a serious tone, staring at the receptionist in front of her. It was her first day at the motel and something weird like that was happening. Cora wouldn’t have minded if she didn’t thought it might be a threat against her, the girl would have just picked up the fish and threw it away in some dump. But Mark was still around and he always liked playing games. “I wanna talk to the manager.”

“Ah, so you got one too?” His guayabera hang light on his shoulders, loose in all the place hot with desert heat. He imagines the back of his neck runs red now.  He has just gotten back to the motel after walking about the neighborhood like a tourist -- panama hat and iced tea -- until it’s far too hot to do so. He spares a quick greeting to the receptionist before turning to the lady. “That’s a tui chub,” he informs while wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Global warming, he implies in a chuckle, but he can see that the humor is lost. He pushes his luck by asking if she isn’t a fan of the fish.

[andrewxiver]

nadiaruns:

if there was anything to be known about nadia benson, it was the fact that she had an incurable sweet tooth. wherever she went, she was sure to have candy with her and that included work. it wasn’t uncommon to find a a small bowl of sweets next to her for her entire shift and by the end it would be completely empty. nadia wasn’t exactly the type to share either. the moment she sees a hand reaching for a piece she warns the offender, “ those aren’t complimentary. ”

He stalks through the lobby with his pressed pants and unimpressed frown. Daylight sheds through orange, blue, and violet; his bones shed in exhaustion with them. He passes through the front desk and nods in amicable recognition at the lady behind it. Just then, he hears her speak and quickly looks back, an apology forming on his lips. -- and then he sees two kids crouching low behind the desk, and a hand outreaching for a bowl of sweets. He wants to berate them for their intrepid ill-manners, but then fondness floods him. We were all young once.  He crosses the distance and watch as the kids run off, leans on the front desk, and pulls out a ten-dollar bill from his sports jacket. Alexander Hamilton frowns where the bill is crumpled as he passes it to the lady. “Kids, huh?” 

[andrewxiver]

🍗

🍗 - What is your muse’s perfect meal?

Chicken tonkatsu, steamed rice, and pork steam buns served with barley tea and strawberry mochi. Yum!

[andrewxiver]

🍎🍌🍉🧀

🍎 - Does your muse care about texture when it comes to foods?

Before joining the navy, Andrew deferred from food that are too crunchy or crispy. He used to have a wide overbite and chips would often get stuck on his teeth or cut his gums. When he joined the service, it dawned him how almost everything was a shade mushy -- bread, stew, fruit. It was godsend. Nowadays, he does not have any preference, however; although he still stirs clear of crunchy good.

🍌 - Are there any foods that your muse will refuse to eat, no matter how it is prepared or who offers it? 

There is no way in hell Andrew would ever eat eggplants and okras. He hates them with a passion; he just don’t like them. He’s actually gone to argue to people that eggplants are one of the least nutritious vegetables out there. Thanks, internet!

🍉 - What food makes your muse’s mouth WATER? 

Nothing will ever beat Filipino chicken adobo and pork steam buns. They are god’s gift to mankind. He has printed the recipe and is on the quest to cook it one of these days.

🧀 - What food is your muse allergic to?

Thankfully Andrew does not have any food allergies he is aware of. Milk does not upset his stomach, and seafood has a place in his heart. However, he has a weird allergy to wisterias

[andrewxiver]

⌆ ❖❤

⌆ a nervous tic or habit they do

Andrew owns three hand grips - one sits in his car, another on his bedside table, and the last is for Sundays. He fancies himself in control despite the spike in his compulsiveness, and he tries to apply logic into it – that exerting his impulses into a hand grip looks less suspicious than doing push-ups to ease the nerves.

❖ describe their hands

His hands are tan and callous-full. He’s cut it more times than he can count, and he being in the Navy did not help softening them at all. They are big and long, cold with clammy sweat. Andrew cannot imagine life without them.

 ❤ describe how they show affection

He doesn’t have his father’s heart. Andrew does not shy away from affection when he feels it - however rarely that maybe. He hugs, kisses, cries, and laughs. He kissed his sons in the cheeks until they were well beyond their teens; used to pick them up whenever he could. When he was still married to his second wife and didn’t have enough space to grow plants, he planted peruvian lilies at a friend’s backyard and gave them to her on her birthday. There is more to affection and love than physicality. He is amazing in giving, and his affections are always free to take when he sees it fit. 

[andrewxiver]

do you have any regrets?

“When I was nineteen, one of my uncles called me up. Dad was stationed at Fort Hood at the time; and there were nine of us - my family and I - cramped up in an army housing. My uncle just gotten back from a tour in Vietnam and he wanted to take me and my brother driving in his Volkswagen to Mexico. At the time I was dating this first wife, and we found out she was pregnant and were keeping a secret. – She, uhh, she got scared when I told her that we were driving south; thought I’d leave her and our baby. So I stayed back in Texas and never got to drive down to Mexico. 

I don’t regret staying; I regret not taking her with me. I regret not realizing early on that there is always choice.

We always have a choice.”

[theinboxmemebook]

Food-related asks!

🍎 - Does your muse care about texture when it comes to foods? (I.E. Prefering crunchier foods, disgusted by foods that are oddly mushy.) 🍌 - Are there any foods that your muse will refuse to eat, no matter how it is prepared or who offers it? 🍉 - What food makes your muse’s mouth WATER? 🍇 - What is your muse’s favorite food? 🍓 - Which food is most likely to hurt your muse’s teeth when eating it? (I.E. Cold foods, like ice cream, or hard candies.) 🍒 - What food does your muse most enjoy eating with a friend? 🍆 - Does your muse care about how a food looks or sounds (when explaining what it’s like) before tasting something? 🌽 - What food does your muse love but irks them to prepare/eat? 🥞 - What is your muse’s favorite breakfast food? 🍗 - What is your muse’s perfect meal? 🍪 - What is your muse’s favorite sweet food? ☕️ - What is your muse’s favorite drink? (Can include alcohol.) 🍿 - What is your muse’s favorite snack? 🧀 - What food is your muse allergic to? 💀 - What food would send your muse to the hospital?   🍴 - Dig in! Send this emoji + any food item and my muse has to try it!

[andrewxiver]

primxnxproper:

It felt as if days off were rare these days, for not only did she work full time, but she took as many extra shifts as possible. If they were ever going to get another place, a home, she needed to save as much as possible. Exhaustion, though, seemed to be her constant companion. Taking care of her father was like a job all on it’s own sometimes, and she couldn’t help but feel as if sleep was an elusive, mystical thing.

Her father lost to a coma like sleep that came with the amount of alcohol he’d taken in that morning, Evolet had cleaned him up and gotten him into bed before retreating into the sun. Well… to the shade. Her pale skin was unused to such powerful rays and the small young woman burned easily. Still, the dry heat was pleasant and even the writing of her pen in her journal stalled as she got lost in day dreams of days past. Of a past that felt like it had been an entirely different life.

The asphalt melts with the heat; and so has his dreams. Andrew pulls up the parking lot of the motel -- his hands grip tight the leather of his steering wheel, and he imagines that behind them, he has made half-moons with his nails. He breathes; or at least he tries to - with the heat thick in his nose, fogging his vision with blurred assurance. His car now smells of processed beef patties and grease anyway, with a fastfood takeout sitting on the backseat. No Dalai Lama meditation room there.

He leaves the windows a quarter open to let the smell out before stepping out of his car. A fry hang from his mouth as he makes his way to his room and sees a blithe figure on the ground. He respects the silence and contemplation formed around the young woman, yet his compulsion has him sliding next to her on the floor. Just so, he takes out a burger from the paper bag and offers it up to Evolet, before he takes another one out for himself. Gingerly, he unwraps it and shows her his favorite part -- a pineapple resting on top of the patty. He offers a smile and gets to form his own pocket of silence.

He takes a bite and ruins his clean white dress shirt with the greases spilling on to him. The sun sets on the horizon. What a world of difference life has been.

[andrewxiver]

why the navy?

“Someone’s gotta do something different. My dad was in the army, everybody was in the army. – I liked their uniforms better, too.”