#Revitalizing Youth

[crossbackpoke-check]

giroux x any of then sens youngins

banging my pots and pans together WHY NOT ALL OF THEM

claude giroux, as demonstrated by the pie chart, is so beautiful and so shippable. i want those sens yungins to make him feel like an absolute dinosaur and i would read any and all of it even if i am more partial to claude/flyers pairings. to be specific:

josh norris: i need you to watch this video and tell me that's not horny. in what other contexts can you teach josh french, claude

timmy stü: i know there's gifs out there but the way he is with claude on the bench... ohhh he wants to fuck that old man so bad, he wants that old man to tell him he's pretty and doing so well

brady: idealistic/intellectual match rather than pure physical To Me. would be very interesting to explore if brady sees a future in claude, if claude sees his past in brady, the chain of captaincy etc etc

brady AND timmy: i love linemates who are obsessed with each other and seducing their old man case closed

thomas chabot: who would i be if i did not give you a pairing for no reason other than i said so. french canadian connection? the thread is out there somewhere and it's in whatever tiktoks chabby sends to claude

[seoafin]

they just aren't making anime like lain zankyou no terror higashi no eden durarara!! psycho pass no.6 mawaru penguindrum zetsuen no tempest etc anymore huh

[enliwish]

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[sscplherbals-blog]

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[simsimulation]

Power Couple

After taking some much needed time off for maternity leave, Yasmin has been trying to get back into the groove of things as a Private Attorney. The legal world is cutthroat, especially for working moms, but it seems like all that hard work she's been putting in is paying off. She was recently highlighted as one of the 100 most brilliant legal minds at Attorney at Law magazine and she's now closer than ever to making partner at her firm. Devon on the other hand, recently made a career switch to the political career after feeling stuck as a lawyer after making partner. However, in his new career, his young, can-do-attitude has revitalized the 'youth vote' & has people wondering "could he be the next president"?

Previous | Next

[1000sunnygo]

Ope ope fruit speculations

so I just found this post:

It's too late to participate in the discussion there, but I want to add a small information that seems to get lost in translation.

Ope ope no Mi's ultimate surgery is "Eternal Youth" (不老), not "Immortality" (不死).

Aren't they used interchangeably? Well, Oda did something curious in Volume 107:

In the magazine edition, Blackbeard asked Law if he (the fruit) could make him both eternally young and immortal - as seen in the left image (不老不死) . IIIRC it was the only time when "Immortality" was added to explain Law's power. But Oda removed the "Immortal" bit in the volume version of the same panel, it was corrected only to eternally young (不老) as previously said during Dressrosa.

Maybe it means Imu isn't unkillable and Law doesn't have to sacrifice himself to reverse the surgery? The "reverse" effect isn't supposed to work in the first place, given Hancock's explanation that her paramecia power is irreversible once the original user dies. It'd be strange if the rule changes from one fruit to another:

Makes me wonder why powers like Hobby-Hobby which keeps the user young don't have the "Eternal Youth" effect. It seems Doffy collected the hobby fruit for a similar research on Eternal Youth, but then learned about its limitations.

How does a natural death occur in One Piece anyway? Is it heavily related to soul rather than one's physical self? A person's soul stays within a body for a specific duration (the natural lifespan), then leaves regardless of the physical condition of the person. If the soul is empowered with revive revive fruit, it can revitalize the body regardless of the corpse's condition (Brook). Since Law is able to swap personalities, it's possible that that Ope ope is able to "operate on" the soul. Eternal Youth surgery could simultaneously sustain a human body and keep the soul trapped within the body forever (which Sugar's fruit can't do), and thus a person gains indefinite lifespan.

I subscribe to the theory that the Elders (who have the ability to immediately heal) had never been humans and their ability isn't the result of ope ope surgery. They could be an extension of Imu's own, unknown devil fruit ability that let him create five puppet figures to run the government. Or they're real demons who would cease to exist once their original summoner (Imu) is killed. Imu, the so-called immortal human, keeps himself safe in a locked room where he cant be harmed, so he can exist forever.

The theory that it's Lili's (eternally young) body Imu is currently residing in makes some sense too, maybe he now has a muse for Vivi and wants to be swapped into her body.

Whichever case it is, Ope ope is definitely involved.

It's possible that a reason the govt allowed Law to become a shichibukai was to regain their access to Ope ope. It'd be ridiculous for the govt to not to collect Law's lineage factor to replicate the 5 billion bounty worth of power. It's very likely that vegapunk was able to replicate the "soul swapping" power of it, so rn Law's original fruit isn't highly sought after as it once was. The govt can still exploit ope ope powers, but they don't need Law to do so.

I don't think they've made his seraphim, it was a long term and expensive project. But how wild it'd be if Doffy's seraphim is revealed to have the Ope ope ability, operating with Law's lineage factor?

I should sleep lol

[moineauz]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ( rockin'roll ! )

"and if you don't love me now, you won't ever love me again."

★ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐗 / the 70's rock band that took teyvat by storm

ISSUE 01. Everyone knows who The Sunbird's Six were. Their songs revited through the nations: tender and ethereal with each poignant verse. Yet, the group of six showed they could sing verses of ardour while thirsting with unrequited rage that tore souls apart in one sitting. Their debut and only album ‘Vermilion’ was hypnotic and utterly divine. It was a mosaic of winsome pieces that were put together to make one gut-wrenching album that you ultimately ugly cry to.

SO WHO WAS THE SUNBIRD'S SIX? Comprised of four founding members from Mondstadt, one from Snezhnaya, and the other from Fontaine, we get a cast of Teyvat's most talented musicians. Specifically, Diluc Ragnvindr as lead guitarist, songwriter and vocalist and ( Name ) St. Laurent as lead vocalist and songwriter. The duo bewitched the throng and perhaps themselves with both their flaming allure and vocals. Youth of the 70's wanted to become ( Name ) with all her charm and freedom while some fans died to get a strand of Diluc's hair alone. The other members include Jean Gunnhildr on keys, Rosaria on drums, Kaeya Alberich as bass guitarist, and 'Childe' as rhythm guitarist.

ISSUE 02. Yet, as The Sunbirds Six became a renowned household and rock name, their disbandment remains unknown- until now.

★ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐗

Kaeya Alberich ( bass guitarist ) : Ha! We were good... too good.

Rosaria ( drummer ) : Back then- things were simpler. You wanted to play? Grab an instrument and fucking play. That was our original motto... until things started getting messy. And by messy I mean Diluc and Childe. Maybe even ( Name ) too. *Sighs* Actually, all of us. But, you can't write an album like 'Vermilion' without going through all that shit.

Jean Gunnhildr ( pianist ) : When the four of us first came together, we were decent. We all loved playing- some more than others- but we were okay! *Smiles slightly* But, if you're going to go beyond the walls of the Ravginder basement- we needed more.

Childe ( rhythm guitarist ) : Do I sit here? *Laughs* Oh okay. When I was invited to join the band- I said, "Okay, my partner will join too." and of course, there was zero objection cause you don't find a musician like ( Name ) anywhere... a small part of me selfishly wishes that she [ ( Name ) ] said no when I asked. *Laughs* But who am I kidding? I'd go through all that again and again... even if it meant dealing with Diluc-

Diluc Ragnvindr ( lead guitarist ) We only needed another vocalist, a female one. So, we found one.

Kaeya : I was the one who told him we needed a female vocalist and I found her and Childe.

Rosaria : Rockin' roll is not serious till you really add whatever emotions ( Name ) had in the mix- and that's exactly what she did.

( Name ) St. Laurent : *Smiles sweetly* It was ugly, so ugly. However, bygones be bygones. It was only rockin' roll.

Diluc : It was not just rockin' roll.

★ ARTISTS AND OTHERS. Diluc Ragnvindr, 'Childe' or Ajax, Jean Gunnhildr, Rosaria, Kaeya Alberich, Zhongli, Lisa, Neuvillette, Albedo Kreideprinz, Xinyan, Pantalone, Rosalyne Lohefalter and more.

UPDATES AND POSTSCRIPT. Updates at least once a week (subjective to change). Female pronouns and vocal references.

SIDE COMMENTS. I love rock so let’s combine both. (If you genuinely understand the song reference in the beginning you are my friend now). Inspired by Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, Florence Welch, the ambient sounds of the 90’s (Mazzy star and Mojave 3), Daisy Jones & the Six and of course the 70’s. Warnings will be in each chapter.

WHAT DO THEY SOUND LIKE? Here is a playlist of the previous artists and more to give you a feel!

★ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / the album , track 01

expect occasional changes to the track as the story develops

PREFACE — who are you? WILD CHILD — don't stop the music!

Vermilion

Stay Around (or not)

Reverie

Don’t Look Back Now

Runner Up

Tell Me You Love Her

Bright, Young, Woman

The Voices

White Lies

Visceral

Underneath My Skin

Valberry

Gone to Waste

Shoot Your Shot

From Afar

Dawn’s Shadow

In Leather and Faux Fur

Two for Two

My Monoceros Caeli

Deep Six

INWARDS NOT OUT — tell me, how have you been honey?

TAGLIST. @aphrodict @tragedy-of-commons @tipheeweefee @nyoomiin @https-mika @stvrdew @kascar-chronicle if you are interested in becoming part of the taglist, then drop by through an ask!

[deadpresidents]

I don't understand why news stories about JD Vance keep mentioning that he's the most unpopular non-incumbent VP candidate since 1980. Unless they're talking about John Anderson (maybe? who knows?), that would've been the Reagan-Bush ticket, and they won! Maybe the VP choice really doesn't have that much impact on elections?

I think they're just using 1980 as a starting point, not as a comparable example. George H.W. Bush was an excellent choice as Reagan's running mate. He brought ideological balance to the ticket, was extremely qualified, and unified the party (he was Reagan's closest challenger for the nomination in the 1980 Republican primaries). The better example for a horrible VP pick would be, as I have seen mentioned in some places, George McGovern's disastrous choice of Thomas Eagleton in 1972, which ultimately resulted in Eagleton being dumped for Sargent Shriver eighteen days later.

Dan Quayle was a very questionable pick when he first was chosen as George H.W. Bush's running mate in 1988 because people just didn't know who he was. Even though Quayle had served in the House and the Senate up to that point, he had made so little of an impact that his selection was pretty shocking to many observers. I think the bigger problem with Vance, however, is that he's just plain unlikable. Even Quayle had a certain attractive quality to him because he was a youthful pick who brought a different kind of energy to that ticket once people got over the shock of him being picked. Vance hasn't added anything to Trump's ticket, and it's easy to argue that he's actually had a negative impact on the campaign, which is the one thing a Vice Presidential nominee should never do.

In retrospect, Sarah Palin was obviously one of the worst VP picks in American history, but she revitalized McCain's campaign in 2008 and there were moments were she really shined. If she had been actually qualified or prepared for the role she would have been a different story. I was working on the Obama campaign in 2008 and remember watching her give her acceptance speech at the 2008 Republican National Convention and we were all thinking, "Oh shit...they might have something here!" And then she started having to do interviews and it immediately became apparent that there was nothing under the charisma. We went from being scared that she might be good to being scared by how extraordinarily unqualified and ill-prepared she was.

There have been misfires on the other side, as well. Joe Lieberman was one of the least-inspiring choices of my lifetime. John Edwards, one of the slimiest American politicians of the 21st Century (which is quite an accomplishment), was as much of an empty suit under big hair as Sarah Palin was. And Tim Kaine may have been well-qualified for the job, but I don't know anybody who was excited when he was Hillary Clinton's choice. I don't even remember Hillary Clinton being excited about picking Tim Kaine. Kaine wasn't a net negative to Hillary Clinton's campaign, but I didn't think he added anything, either.

When it comes down to it, I think it's more likely that you're correct about the VP selection not having that big of an impact on the election. It's still an important inflection point in a campaign because it's the Presidential nominee's first big decision and EVERYBODY is paying attention. And, sometimes, it's an indication of the type of team the President is going to build around him when he does govern. But there hasn't been a running mate that really made a difference for geographical reasons since LBJ was nominated in 1960 and helped JFK narrowly win Texas. Yet, geographical balance is always one of the most-talked about aspects of building a ticket.

The most important thing is to pick somebody who is qualified to be President if necessary and doesn't take anything away from the ticket. Ideological, demographic, or regional balance is always good, but not necessary. One of the better tickets of my lifetime was Clinton/Gore and Clinton was a young, Southern Governor who decided to double-down and chose an even younger, Southern Senator as his running mate. Clinton chose someone who he thought could help him govern. And one of the other best tickets of my lifetime was a losing one: Romney/Ryan in 2012. There was more of a demographic/ideological/regional balance with that ticket, but Romney chose Ryan because he wanted an active partner in governing and Ryan had the legislative experience that Romney lacked.

Again, it's probably less important to the general election results than it seems, but the whole "Veepstakes" deal is always fun for political junkies, so we'll never stop talking about it!

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (5) - the trouble was always here

pairings: biker!cody rhodes x black reader, biker!roman reigns x black reader (mentioned) warnings: FLUFF! descriptions that imply stalking. explicit descriptions of blood and violence. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. cody being kinda simpy (he’s so adorable) roman being a jerk still (he’ll come around) authors note: a present day chapter!!! w/ a full cody perspective because we haven't gotten that yet. finally a little cody and roman interaction. thanks for 1700 followers btw!!! word count: 8800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

...m'not tryin to cause trouble for you...

...you don't wanna cause trouble anymore...

cody had felt the premature slight of his own words then. those few weeks ago, amongst the wordless overly cool diner air and lukewarm food. and then felt it again as he said it. your eyes tired and cautious—dim and slipping into sleep just after the end of a twelve hour shift—suddenly veering off into something less meek and weary.  indignation a bright flare as it woke you up to be less inviting. and cody was still suffering the trickle down effects of that somewhat exhaustive empty diner reunion, along with the onslaught of a new torrential down pour of bullshit caused by his president's drunken tantrum. the diner situation was a mild disagreement. a brakeless drive of frustration that he meant, but did not mean to say. and he'd said the thing that you'd always hated. "don't be dense". a stupid fucking move on his part. it made maneuvering the funeral—God rest's richie's soul—a few days after, awkward and God awful. cody hoped it was something worth leaving to cool off. a dissipation that would make way for a fresh slate. and he'd made headway, little as it was but he was getting his footing again with you. but roman. oh his president and fearless fucking leader. he just had to muddy the water.

and all of that humble, earnest desire—despite the hesitancies—to return back into the fold that was the world of the bloodline, to go generally unscathed, had been destroyed. by whiskey-beer inspired words and the wrath of a bruised man. because yes, roman had performed so well in chilling over since their youth, that now he was bruised. marred and undone, that much cody knew. a spoiled over bitterness that sometimes made for thick and difficult to breathe in air. a siphoning of the room to please him self. to revitalize whatever'd been lost. and unfortunately, to your credit, you'd done well at stealing away such heavy grief, turning the funeral into a reunion. but roman couldn't just sit still in his shit. he had to spread and smear about his anger. a tantrum that sent you home quiet. a silence cody was made to suffer through because he'd taken it upon himself to be your ride to and from such an event of a funeral. made to suffer because he cared. 

but that service and burial for richie, in the grand scheme of cody's long anxious waiting, had been just two weeks ago. two long weeks of silence. and yeah maybe it was partially on him. mostly roman's doing but maybe him too. 'you don't wanna cause trouble anymore', the overripe cherry on top of already stale cake. 

in essence, you were doing his bidding. because avoidance of the bloodline meant free from trouble, as scathing as that thought feels to him. but cody isn't above admitting it. the forming of something harsh and sickly in his belly. a hollowness that drains his skin. not hearing from you is odd. something he hates. 

-monday. the first week in june-

text message | incoming: need your help

text message | cody r: ?

text message | incoming: car is fucked

text message | cody r: glad to know i can hear from you if you need something

text message | incoming: 12 hour shifts are a bitch. so sorry for not checkin in every second of the day...was trying to keep away from all this trouble i'm apparently causing. my bad. 

text message | cody r: where are you?

text message | incoming: the house

text message | cody r: be there soon. 

and maybe it's the june heat getting to him, the bare down of the sun muddying his sensibilities till they roll over and form newer with these streaks of entitlement. an entitlement he'd never profess outwardly. never claim to outside of loose thoughts and the nagging linger of other truths kept unsaid. but cody—and God does this sound awful even as he thinks it—much prefers you away from pensacola. away from home. because in those times, his willingness to please you was nothing more than some shapeless desire. something he would do if he could. a possibility. the distance keeping the brunt of his feelings at bay. but having you here—as much as it makes him happy—seems to cause more issues than he'd like. because issues mean a loose fumbling grasp at things. a lack of control. because now he'll actually have to acknowledge the burn in his belly when you look at him. the prick of heat over his skin when you say his name. your anger influencing discomfort till he makes it right. he'd have to—amidst such a cryptic life—be honest about deeply buried thoughts. the hidden things he's always promised to himself to keep hidden. 

and maybe thats why his words slipped out so loose and fast and inconsiderate. 'you don't wanna cause trouble anymore', because bits of that trouble include a deep unearthing of his own shit. 

because roman isn't the only one troubled and undone about you. 

cody's teeth suck. a quick, easy, manifestation of displeasure. because he doesn't stay put and he doesn't drag his feet either. he moves with purpose. present mechanic duties forgotten along with the old and janky BL AUTO sign behind him as he shifts his weight up and into a tow truck. displeasure because maybe his selflessness is more than just a base line compassion. but servile? no. cody isn't that. but as he backs out with a reverse and drives off to meet at your place, your parents old house, he feels his stomach coil up in a way that burdens him wholly. a feeling that has only performed well enough on rare occasions. a tight ball settled at the base of his belly, his chest going on with an irregular beating and cody thinks it's all so damn pitiful. years and years of a slow simmering, never quite getting to the rapid chaos of a boil but hot all the same. but if not for the tease of it than what else was there to have? what other possibility could there be for him besides the grand swarming performance of butterflies. his eyes rolling as he drives. twenty something again. with this particular thing, he still isn't ready to name, cody is in a perpetual state of being that twenty something guy. 

the blare of a horn pulls him up and out of his harboring. the street light apparently green for sometime. 

and he decides—because he's in control, he swears—to leave it be. to allow his body to process the sensations. an attempt at emotional extraction from the physicality of it. because it's not butterflies if you don't call it butterflies. because names give things meaning. a process he's done time and time again. evasion easy and efficient. 

because he's towed plenty of cars. fixed plenty of cars. this would be the same as the others. no emotional weight and ancient histories involved. because cody has the control to will it so. 

and the settling of this process gives him freedom. enough to slip back into the familiar. something that lacks such sentimental complexity. cody observes. the roads, the weather, the cars. taking a fine tooth comb through the details. 

"the underestimations is what gets you son. don't let em get you". 

dusty's voice curling about his left ear. riding just under the flow of a summer breeze. and cody never knew his father to be wrong about anything. 

"always take note of the scene son".

the regularity of the day but a facade. sunny and warm and unsuspecting. but cody knows enough to know that the mere face of a thing is not the representation of the inward parts. that if you look well enough for a thing, it will appear with a clear exposure. and the drive to your fathers house is both familiar and burdening. the pensacola heat and the sentiments of faraway memory attempting with much fight to dull his senses. streetlights he's passed and roads he's turned down before. the only difference now being your presence. and there goes the curl in of his belly. his words refusing to form into truth even inwardly still, to spell out the feelings. feelings he thought quelled. it's something he so obviously needs to work on. his eyes flitting to his rearview mirror, breaking away from those too ardent thoughts. 

a gray chevrolet ss maybe? the model he's unsure. but he's fixed many a chevy to know that its a chevy. 

cody turns a corner, and with him turns the chevy. something he doesn't think much of. giving the wheels of the tow truck an easy ride for a few miles or so. but the chevy remains a comfortable distance behind him. cody takes a test turn. an abrupt right that veers him slightly off course. 

but his truck isn't a pain to follow. the size of it easy to make out. losing the tail from such a spur of the moment turn before it appears again. behind him and steady. the windows tinted. 

his ears burn warm. fingers itching. 

cody rolls into the beginning of your block. double parking several doors down before quickly exiting the tow truck. his fingers slipping out his shades as his feet kick up loose gravel. the tint of them blocking the harsh beat down of daylight. the chevy rolling by at a slower pace, something done to very obviously piss him off, before it continues down the block and out of his sight. his eye looking to catch the plates. 

C47-6BQ. repeating it to himself for good measure. 

and something in cody jostles. a squick sinking in his belly as his nerves go on disturbed. twisting to perform well in his gut. a sickening swim of intuition. the weight of an impending viciousness. a feeling he knows all too intimately well. amidst the quiet breezy heat of the afternoon, the tips of his ears warm and his fists balling. thumbs working to skim his knuckles. always restless and ready. but the quiet is nothing if not the surface of a deepened well, endless in its depth and muddy. filled with slow to die creeping things. problems thought fixed rearing with an ugliness. but these are the worst of his worries. the what if thoughts that take over him. making him restless, but ready. cody is always ready. headaches persistent from an overworking. C47-6BQ. florida plates. a gray chevy ss that drives slow. to what? to taunt him? a warning maybe? 

an acknowledgement. 

he hadn't agreed that night to do what they did. feeling the inner parts of him growing soft and malleable. but messages need clear words. there was, is, never any room to mince words when so little of them were at their disposal in any useful way. actions more concrete than anything that could ever be said. 

KG's house, your house now, closer to him. his feet growing slower. knuckles working still in tandem with the blooming of a familiar knocking in his skull. 

he'd voted for something more diplomatic. a message that read like an advisory. some agreed. seth and jey and sami. 

"this ain't the fucking UN. we ain't working to save face on foreign affairs".

roman had spat that out. riled up and the ball of his fists demanding. and he couldn't be persuaded otherwise. 

and that particular tasting of whiskey was hell to swallow. these slivers of guilt nestling along the bite of it. the bottle passed from man to man and mouth to mouth. a partaking sip that was as vicious as it was fraternal. a dirty burn at the back of cody's throat, before the bottle was poured out over nico jeff's back. dean's fingers working to bring about the quick flick of a match before it'd been tossed hot. the soul crush of a scream and the sizzling singe of skin. and maybe this gray chevy SS is the beginning results of a lack in diplomatic flair. and maybe it isn't. maybe cody's restlessness has finally deadened his intuition, his edge. but cody is his fathers son. and cody has never seen his father be wrong. even beyond death and the grave. 

it'd been reckless. an eager show of power where such theatrics need not exist. but cody's opinions have not had room for proper growth in sometime, especially not now. 

and as cody twists the house key into your front door—a key he acquired sometime after KG's death—he feels that bursting in his belly. that pulling, nagging feeling. skin skittish and his eyes taking to the quiet of the block again. waiting for what? well he's not sure but he waits anyways. painstaking seconds where the dread feels most sure, amidst the stillness, just before the coming in of the storm. 

he wants to be wrong about this. strong, tired fingers twisting the knob to step over the threshold. and he wants to be wrong about his preferences too. wants to feel the guilt of his entitlement, of not wanting you here. but even that wars with other desires. fingers itching to touch you. to hear your voice without the disruptive tone of radio waves.

his head ache taunting him. playing about his skull easy. your movements swift and urgent as you move about the living room. seemingly on a mission. heaps of moving boxes everywhere still. the house cluttered and undone by such abrupt use after years of loneliness. 

cody knocks. stepping in fully. 

your attention shifting just barely. a half of a half of an acknowledgment that plummets the ball in his belly. doing well with this little game of silence. a large box in your arms as you move it to the corner of the living room.

"forgot you have a key", your eyes not meeting. occupied. a finger throwing away a gesture toward your car keys on the coffee table. "the car is right out front. i think the alternator is bad, the battery keeps going-"

"it's fuck me i guess".

and cody can't help the uncomfortableness of this. the skating around and the avoidance. the way you maneuver about and refuse him. a first time of it all that makes him bristle. because when you were in new york, he never had to deal with such bouts of silence. never had to wade through the terrible water of your indignation. there was never anything tumultuous or gut wrenching about this, playing a part in the skull knock of a headache and the overwhelming process of sifting through untouched, un-talked about feelings. it was easy and nice and shapeless. a private little thing to call his own. and God was it good and selfish. and shit what a fuck load of entitlement its caused. so very obviously existing on both ends of whatever this is. because you'd just expected him to perform. and he'd gone about it up til now without a syllable of push back. 

"what?" 

and the way you say it. like a sudden cluelessness of it all has so suddenly taken you. makes his nerves itch. a scratch he can't reach. his arms folding instead. a little more solid and upright. "some courtesy would be nice", a slow stride up to where you move about. his path blocked by boxes. "y'know considering the state of fucked your car is in, a hi or how you doing would be good to hear". his nerves still itching, face warring with itself not to grimace. the shuffle of boxes nearly sending him over a wall. and God after years, you knew still just how to set him off. silence eating him whole. "i'm doing fine by the way if you're wondering". 

you sigh deep. like you're being inconvenienced. "are you good now? got that off your chest?" 

its an abrupt movement. something he's barely processing till he's halfway through it. snatching a stack of boxes from your hands and setting them recklessly over the couch. his eyes hard. irritated. 

"is there something here? what am i missing?" 

because the tension of it unsettles him whole. 

you side step and he's following diligently. patience thinning. he gives you no where to go.

"cody i just want my car-"

"the car stays unfixed until you talk to me. none of this icy, boxin me out shit". 

your eyes cut to him. "i can do without the hostility". 

"be upfront". 

making him live in silence again. amongst the clutter of boxes and bright near blinding daylight. because this part of you has always been a process. something surgical and proving to need a little bit of method. a little bit of time. but cody's patience wears on him. thins his resolve. and such tiredness in of itself can only come from the deep well of care he's got stored in himself for you. and at this present moment 'care' is the word he chooses to commit to. a silent agreement. a word that explains the tensity of headaches and borderline nausea. butterfly's corralling in his belly to sicken him. an uncomfortableness in his body that only wanes with the slipping off of that face of disinterests you've worn so well till this second. 

your eyes softer. struck with bits of pain. 

"i'm not gonna be in places where m'not wanted. i'm not here to be a punching bag". 

"so then why are you here?"

you bristle. "cody what are you-" 

"i'm being serious. why are you here?"

because his curiosity has never taken him so wholly as to ask. only ever to accept the circumstance. but the validity of his question is true, enough for it to unearth an answer that carries just as much sincerity. 

"this is home cody", you give him. 

simple and plain and affirming all of his little ardent unpleasantries. because if this is home, and he's always been here, does that mean he's home too? does the possibility of that answer extend to others? question's maybe not to be answered today. question's maybe never to be considered outside such shapeless thought for the sake of his own poorly crafted peace of mind. because he can live with possibilities. with formless what if's and maybe's. 

"good". a word that falls quick. full in the way it exists against the air. as sure as all the ones after it. "so fuck him then. don't let him and his bullshit run you out of where you wanna be. don't give him that". 

because roman could shift the temperature of a thing quite easily. rooms and situations and people. could siphon the air to a blue-gray-skinned suffocation if it pleased him. hell he'd done it weeks ago. a harsh ability. so very fitting for him, for his heavy leather and even heavier boots. for the little patch that sew itself across the right side of his kutte. cody's president. his oh so fearless fucking leader. 

but it doesn't mean that other things, other people can't live and last amidst the width and hot take of such pride. 

and you concede. "you're right". looking to him with that full acknowledgment he'd wanted for some days. soft brown eyes warm. 

"i don't think i've ever really been wrong about anything". 

"shut up", a small smile against pretty lips. 

his eyes catching the curve of them more than they should. 

"c'mere". 

and the effects of such a slow, gradual, embrace warm him over better than any afternoon cast over of the sun. relief and then the inevitable fluttering swarm of butterflies. that control he so easily subscribed to having earlier done away with as your arms circle about him. a tight enough embrace that brings about the beginning breaths of a resolution. smelling of autumn inspired things that arrest his senses. and maybe this is where those entitled preferences grow sour in their wrongness. maybe his earlier afternoon selfishness was some petulant, tired, anxious reaction. the coming back to life of twenty something thoughts and ideas. maybe seconds old him was right. more right than that slightly older him. because the rightness of the matter was only ever contingent upon where ever  you were and where ever you wanted to be. and that he can agree with, if it meant an embrace this good.

his hands slip. wide and spreading at your back comfortable and innocent. your hands just the same at his arms. your fingers softly testing the strength of them. a slight press in he's all too aware of. 

"you try to silent treatment me again for two weeks and we're gonna have problems", he plays. smiling down on you.

your eyes play at a roll. "m'sorry", you give him. teeth stuck to pull over your lip. your eyes flitting to his mouth before they return. a quick slip of a movement that does nothing to quell the rise of warmth in his fingers. that he felt and saw. a sensation he'll mull over the validity of later. 

his palms come up to hold your cheeks. a tender hold that leaves you unable to look away from him. gentle eyes delicate in their waiting. your fingers holding his forearms. and this to cody feels like an agreement of the moment. the silent reciprocation of a not so newly born intimacy. the shapeless thing now found to have an edge. a streak of definition. new york and pensacola. the everlasting length of text messages and lasting too long phone calls. strung together words that almost say "i miss you", which could've been said if not for the fear of actually meaning it. and the fear of what meaning it means. 

his thumb runs a streak at your skin. sincerity blooming dangerously pure. "m'very happy you're here. okay?" 

if nothing else, the surest affirmation. cody hopes you believe him. 

"okay". 

and when the tension is far too real to believe in, cody falls away graciously. pulls in his touch and the daze of his eyes enough to regain the lasting bits of his composure. hands feeling empty at his sides before he's crossing his arms up over his chest. stepping over boxes again and making a sluggish path towards the door. 

"i should have your car back by wednesday latest". 

you advance with him. "just let me know how much i owe you". 

his eyes roll. "we just had a nice bit of resolution. don't ruin it".

"cody i'm being serious". 

you both linger amidst the threshold of the door. his eyes slipping over your skin to remember the softness. "i'm unfortunately aware. i'll see you soon".

and he doesn't think. finds even that its better not to harp on the why of whatever he does. and its innocent enough. an easy lingering kiss to your forehead. something terribly gentle. an accumulation of all the unspoken things. and with that he leaves. never giving himself the courtesy of seeing whatever you've decided to express in the wake of something as affectionate as his mouth on you.

-tuesday. the first week in june-

kill them with kindness. it's a pride-less phrase. suffers the body to think and act against itself. against the primitivity of instinct. bloodline born instinct. brass knuckle rings and the broken neck of a beer bottle. the drawing up of wet crimson blood and splotchy bruises to deserved skin. killing with kindness isn't cody's forte, but neither is senseless violence. because things need purpose. they need a reasonable decline into bitterness before that shameless stain of iron can dress his tongue. there has to be proper earthen ground to stand on before the strong, old nature of his leather takes him wholly. 

that childish little shoulder check had been accounted for the moment it happened. along with roman's tantrum that led to your teary eyed bout of silence. and you'd never mentioned what he said, but cody felt the possibility of a violation. a deep splitting open of the skin all for the sake of proving that he could do it. that too had been accounted for. and the more he thinks on it, richie's funeral—though no funeral begins or ends well—was only a few steps from a mess. an uneven state of affairs. touch and go as they say. everything too thinly spread, and the histories now existing with too much distance. which has been, was, and is never good. because unbridged gaps promote weakness in the foundation. and naturally, roman—stuck in whatever thoughts of his own—gives no effort in making it easier. 

and cody can feel it, amongst the swelter of the summer sun. the heat talking, taunting through slim breezes. their time approaching soon. a clashing up one against the other, like the stressing violence of metal against metal. he just hopes time for it is sooner than later. before the foundation is too weak to be resolved. 

it's interesting though, funny even, because cody isn't a grudge keeper. doesn't go all out in the meticulous process of such an angry keeping of the score. but that faithful swarming of butterflies, care and the need to please, they use him well as a champion to do their, his inner, bidding. posing and propping him up as this great defender. 

and roman makes no qualms about going unheard. unnoticed. his body tall, blotting out the spread of one of many lights shinning above your car. lips spreading in that amused way that works to cover up the lesser delighted parts of him. "if i knew we did free work i'd put up a sign or two. let the people know how generous of a business we've become". roman's hands pressing into the car to lean inward. a proximity that performs well to make anybody with sense uncomfortable. "i'm a charitable man cody, but i got my limits". 

cody hums. continues the process of switching out your alternator. because you were right, the alternator was fried, causing your battery to drain. an easy enough fix for him, but roman attempting his little show of dominance didn't do much to help. 

"i guess i'm just a little more compassionate".

roman chuckles. turns to lean up against the car where cody works. arms crossed and relaxed. giving him enough space to perform the fix but not enough to do it comfortably. "being a doormat isn't compassion rhodes. it's just being a doormat. humor me though..." he begins. "what's the little deal you two got set up?" roman's faux interest running annoyingly under cody's skin. "you do a little fixin' here and there and then what? she pats you on the back? gives a little scratch behind the ear? tells you how good of a boy you are for her?"

a dog? really? the abuse of it cutting into one ear and refusing to leave out the other. a deep lodging that slots up and slips in against the warmth of his blood. and yes. it's accounted for. like the ticking scratch of a pencil to check through a box. "i don't know roman you tell me". alternator be damned. the heat of the day sticking to cody ungraciously. "you got it all figured out, maybe you know something i don't. six or seven years, cause honestly who knows or gives a shit, of prior experience on the resume and all. thats a long time for skill buildin, to be wrapped around her finger". 

and cody sees roman falter. the slightest bit of a half step. a small little tell so often easily missed. can feel his chest burst wild and so damn delighted. that subtle jaw twitch beneath his president’s beard. 

roman is close. eyes hard, narrowing over cody's face. "it's nothing you got that's better than shit she's already had. that i can promise you". 

"you keep mistaking me for someone you're in competition with".

"competition ain't a word in my vocabulary, but i'll humor you", smiling mirthless. "if it were, we're still levels apart. it's actual comedy how uneven the paying field is here". 

"and you're so right about that", cody fully amused. "considering just how much she avoids even saying your name, i think i like the level i'm at". 

and this was it. the steady decline into bitterness, fixed only by that warlike clashing. an affair close enough, the phantom taste of something iron, wet and pungent on cody's tongue. because it'd happened before, history always finding a way to rhyme. to unearth already thought to be dead things that were not so lifeless after all. 

"hey!", the far reach of deans voice, echoing over loud against the walls of the shop. "kiss and get a room or break it up!". 

cody is right. killing with kindness is treason against the body. against words and instinct. an esteem-less, pride-less thing. and he quite likes his pride. 

-wednesday. the first week in june-

text message | incoming: are you busy later in the evening?

text message | cody r: shouldn't be. whats up?

text message | incoming: making dinner. you should come by. 

text message | cody r: absolutely. your car is all fixed up btw. need me to bring anything else? 

text message | incoming: just you❤️

it means nothing. it means, nothing. it. means. nothing. and the feeling is juvenile. overly sentimental and spilling over. a losing fight as he urges himself not to break with a smile. because cody is old, or at least old enough not to fall into such thrills reminiscent of early twenty something wish and desire. but that doesn't stop the sickly sweet churn in his belly, nor does it keep his eyes from falling over the short exchange of texts. these little flits across the screen, a short comb over, as if with the third and fourth time the letters will reappear to read something different and new and less intimate. less domestic. because he fixed your car and now he's left with the silly assumption that you're making him dinner for it. not just for him but for him all the same. and its all stupid and oddly sitting under his skin. swarming tight in his belly so much so that he walks awkwardly amongst the cloudy chill of the afternoon air. it means something, but for the sake of his peace it will have to mean all of nothing. 

his stomach growling on a dangerously annoying cue. body ready to make the trip back to pensacola. marianna, florida suddenly too far from home—a mere two hour drive—for proper comfort. 

but his leather keeps him bound to club business. his shoes kicking up the loose dirt of the beginnings of a wide patch of land. a ranch spreading out over for some acres. grass reaching his ankles and the air crisp with the teasing smell of rain. seth and dean marching forward just in front of him, seemingly more focused. void of an ardently born frenzy about the nerves.

and in the distance, just at the entrance of a corned off shack, steve waves them over, before disappearing inside. the scuffling walk over to the shoddy wooden build of it giving cody enough time to steel over his expression and the manner of his disposition. because they were on a ranch after all, surrounded by the easy roam of an abundance of cattle being raised commercially. a job like that surely needing an expert level of perception. perception cody is sure steve austin has. what with the stoic manner of his eyes and the mirthless pull of his mouth. always watching and quietly discerning. even with the satisfaction of good business, cody has yet to see the rancher actually smile ever. cody figures he'll save his musings for another time. 

"boys", steve greets. reaching his hand to greet them. firm shakes before he's uplifting duffle bags from off the shack floor and placing them atop a wooden table. unzipping them to reveal the disassembled parts of a variety of fire arms. 

"how's business steve?" dean gives, as the three of them look over the contents of the bags. touching against cool, dangerous metal.

"sometimes good, sometimes not so great, but it goes either way", his voice coarse. "m'hopin we can facilitate business well enough without issue". 

"a simple pick up now and drop off later", seth starts. "it's nothing we haven't done before". 

and steve hums. the noise of it short lived and singing low as it considers seth's assurance. a hum so obviously filling itself with disbelief. steve austin unpersuaded as he makes to lean up against the dusty wooden wall of the shack. blue-grey eyes falling over the three of them. "well usually our business isn't accompanied by so much of a ...spectacle, which is never simple". something like mirth taking his expression, forming wryly. "i didn't know pyro-theatrics were in you all's arena of business". 

something in cody winces. a flinching of his memory as it works with a tireless hand of remembrance. smelling now amidst the earthiness of the ranch that pungent burn of alcohol and nico's skin. his screams as the sizzling melt of his flesh sings hot and dirty. the heavy disappointment felt from that night, filling cody whole once more. his insides malleable and undone by discontent. a decision made he'll always hate. 

but dean chuckles the silence off. a lazy, toothy smile along with it. "we're a uh...multi act group. a variety show if you will". 

"i can admire the severity of it, but also, i gotta say...", steve starts. leading them out of the shack and to their parked truck. duffle bags filling their hands as they all make way across the ranch. "...i don't like it much considering it hasn't done nothing for you all but draw some attention". 

and if nothing else causes a failing in the security of cody's nerve, this does. a fast to plummet drop in his stomach and the quick maneuver of his memory once more. a swift to move flooding of curiosity filled with anxious debris. that grey chevy rolling by slowly and the horribly conspicuous tinted windows. not a warning but an acknowledgment. he breaks his silence. "how'd you hear about it?" 

"got a call from a buddy of mine over in tallahassee askin about the bloodline and that boy yall burnt up. apparently he's connected. well enough for some trouble i'd assume". 

which affirms the existence of the chevy. C47-6BQ, the plate number this echoing mantra about cody's thoughts. eager to remember it for use later. a beat of silence falling over them all as they load in the duffle bags. and what a coincidence it is, for the day to be overtaken by that edging smell of rain. not yet willing to unleash the brunt of it's power but settling to tease them all the same. 

"he was trying to set up a base of sorts near pensacola beach, dealing off the boardwalk and out of some local bars, pushing laced shit", dean goes. his vice president's patch catching cody's eye. black fabric sewn against a gray silver to spell out his rank. his thoughts rolling into words, never straying too far from roman's way of thinking. "our city has been free of the hard stuff for as long as we’ve been around. askin nicely didn’t work for this guy. we're just tryna keep our side of the street clean". 

seth nods, catching deans eye, though he's slow to do so. weary still, cody is sure. steve settling over cody, sharp eyes searching. a silent examination. looking for doubts, cody is sure of that too. but he gives nothing. says nothing. 

"an admirable act for sure", steve nods. his eyes appearing more gray than blue as they live under the cloudiness of the afternoon sky. cody feeling the brunt of them still, sharp cuts into the skin of his face. steve looking for an agreement maybe, or the sign of a grievance. and though the discontentment remains sure, cody's loyalty reigns better than the softer parts of him that work to veer off into less agreeable thoughts and ideas. and it will always remain that way so long as his leather sticks to his body. fraternal codes and all that jazz. never letting the outsiders know of such disagreements and presenting a united front. 

"im guessin we feel good about the merchandise?", steve asks. 

dean reaches out for a handshake as he goes to speak. cody and seth gesturing the same. "absolutely. beautiful stuff as always". 

"drop off is the same?'", steve making his way back slowly. 

"yes sir". 

"word of advice from an animal enthusiast", steve starts. slowly walking backwards to face them still. "no more of the fanfare theatrics. if you plan on puttin down an animal, a bullet between the eyes gets the job done quick and just fine".

a thing easier said than done. the free fall of those words—"gets the job done quick and just fine"—growing a torturous distance from the ability he had once upon a time, when such time was endless. because way back when, cody could feel that crunch of gravel beneath his feet everywhere he walked and thought himself untouchable. an inherited hubris for sure. leather over his shoulders like armor and the roar of his engine this endless war cry of invincibility. he took cuts and bruises and the slices of knives as easy as the road would the simple skid of a rubber wheel. but the days grow shorter here in this older age. the memory in his muscle though quick, not as quick to perform as it used to be. his head wild with the outburst of an aching almost always and his body tired. 

and although the trip from pensacola to marianna and back was a usual one, the ride this time seemed to be quieter. those piled up duffle bags of violent metal heavier and the doom in his belly rolling over harsher than normal.

but that burden in cody never eases, only ever turning itself into something different. the cloudiness of the day rolling over into the evening. the sharp smell of rain resting in the air still. teasing him. your house porch light glowing a warm yellow as he steps up to it. keys in hand and that swarming flutter in his belly. hunger and a not yet spoken into the air passion forming this terrible marriage under his skin. leather draped over it all like a second skin. 

he steps into the house, met with a savory warmth. something fragrant that eases the tension. his boots thudding softly over old hardwood floors. music low and melodic to fill in those pockets of dead silence. your maneuvers about the kitchen a little less than fluid. body still coming into a slow to perform remembrance after a great forgetting. 

but you hear him. throwing words over your shoulder. "leather off at the door please". something your mothers used to say to your fathers. trying their best to grasp at control over a life bigger than them all. 

and cody obliges. feels the domesticity of it running rife in him so much till it starts to smoothen out the ache in his head and the weight in his belly. "hey", speaking gentle. unable to help himself as a hand finds the hard work of your arm, a brief interruption where he squeezes tenderly to let you know he's there. "hey", you give back. similar in how warm and delicate it feels against the air. an arm curling his waist as you reach to kiss at that patch of skin thats too close to his mouth to be his cheek, but too far from his mouth to be anything more than what it is. that 'what it is', he has no damn clue. but it feels good. a little more than amazing maybe. 

he stands off and away enough to let you finish what looks to be a dinner thats a little more abundant in nature than he was expecting. leaning up against the counter as you dip a spoon through the heat of a thick gravy. "smells good".

"i hope it taste good", a thread of nerve weaving through as you scoop the spoon. "i haven't made a roast in a while but here, try this", giving up the silverware. leaving cody to nearly melt in the richness of it. reminding him of old times even. bloodline sunday dinners and the simple inconvenience of wanting to be anywhere but with his parents and their friends. "missing anything?" 

"a plate and a drink". 

you smile. reaching above in the cabinets for a yet to be opened bottle. the cold of cody's blue eyes slipping easy as they lay over the skin that peaks as your top rises up with the reach of your arms. and then the quick awkward look away, warmth in his cheeks as he feels the childish guilt of it. 

"is wine ok?"

"s'perfect".

and no he does not mean to stare so deeply. to emphasize the pronunciation of a word that implies such flawlessness, but it happens. makes that meeting of the eyes last a little longer. a lingering that works well enough with low playing melodies that it forces your tell. lip stuck between the pull of your teeth. turning back to the food that waits impatiently, seeking a reprieve. 

you push at him playfull. in a fashion that begs for the air to be a little more breathable again. "ok go sit at the couch", turning back to your accomplishment of the night. "i'll be there". 

a certain pride swelling in his chest as he makes way to get comfortable on the couch. effectively influencing your nerves enough to cause a little speechlessness was more than cody hoped for tonight. taking in the cleanliness of the living room as he waits. the space bursting with earth tones and splashes of green. the smaller details slightly different, but the feel of the house remains, even with the age of it. the glass of old framed photos clearer, having been cleaned. the boxes working to overtake the floor corners no longer there, the shelves decorated with what must be things collected from your time in new york. a small bowl of rings at the center of the coffee table catching his eye so much that cody reaches for it. carved silver rings he remembers your father wearing all the time. so much so that the impressions remained in his skin.

you bring the wine and glasses first. walking back for the plates. sitting a comfortable distance away from him on the couch. close but not too much. enough for the air not to be so thick and consuming. 

"you never told me how much i owe you for the alternator".

the sincerity of that making cody's eyes roll, albeit a little more playful than serious. his fork working over the plate to dig into it. leaving you to hear him hum with delight at the taste. "dinner makes us even". 

another smile riding through to stretch over your lips. a comfortable wordless air settling over. quiet enough aside from the low ride of the music for cody to notice the wane of his headache. never afforded the grace of a full reprieve from such a pain but here, now, it's the dullest it's been for sometime. and he doesn't necessarily want to do the work of thinking over exactly what that means but he can feel the beginnings of that truth. in the heat of his cheeks and the ride up of a tingling over his spine.

"i feel like fixin the car up for me is the latest thing in a long like of things you've done for me", your plate set aside on the coffee table. glass in hand and trying your best to meet his eyes. "i might be cooking for you for a while to pay you back". 

"if it's anything like this, i'll be over here all the time". setting his plate down next to yours. turning to face you more. "for real though, whatever it is, i'm here. i got you". 

and he isn't sure what of what he said does it, but something flashes through the brown of your eyes. like the quick burning soar of a celestial body. working hot to cover the space of your memory before it disappears. your mouth sipping at your glass again. 

"how's your mom?"

a piece of his curiosity cody has held off on revealing for a while till now. 

"she's good". a neutral expression. a less rigid disposition even. "spoke to her maybe three or four weeks ago". 

"did you tell her about coming back home?"

"we spoke about it briefly", your thumb rubbing over the body of the wine glass. "she didn't have much to say about it". 

"m'glad you both found some footing with each other". 

"yeah", you nod. lost in thought. an arm bending to rest up on the couch. you head falling into your palm. "i think after everything with my dad, the door opened up some for us, but a lot of things for me just changed really quick". the music you have playing, a sweet addition to your voice. your eyes finally meeting him. sincerity blooming full but with a pace that notes the fragility of its unfurling. "we sorta, kinda, reconnected after dusty went, but i think after my pops died i understood you a lot more". eyes nearly nailing into him now. a quick difference from the timidity of them just moments prior. "being in new york, i was used to living alone but not feeling that way y'know? like in the back of my mind when he was alive i could eventually just come back home to him, to everything...", your voice dropping off. 

a heavy sigh he can only imagine the weight of. sipping from your wine and resting the glass down before you finish your thoughts. 

"...what i'm trying to say is...is that you understood me in a way that felt good. i didn't have to explain myself because you just knew what it meant to lose like that". 

his hand reaching to hold over yours. body shuffling against the soft leather of the couch to get closer. a comfort he can't afford to deny either of you. thumb circling the skin delicately. a faint touch that waits for acceptance. and when it comes the embrace of your hands are full and nearly overwhelming. fingers tangling as they curl over one another sweetly. 

"it goes both ways though", he gives. "thats why it's so easy to talk to you". a beat of silence. his words so far from a full admission of feeling but the affects of such a release tear through him all the same. heart stuttering and his belly twisting. his hand in yours still, playing aimlessly against the skin. eyes trailing over all the free space. "how you holdin up here on your own? is the house too big for you?" 

and cody only forgets he's without his leather at the feel of your hand trailing up his arm. over the ways of old tattoos and muscle. a faint squeeze to test the strength of it that he can just barely make out. as if to examine a particular quality he has yet to figure out. your thumb pressing into the inner fold of his elbow. "i think i just need to get used to it again. my apartment in new york was small, so it was fine being by myself". your eyes fall over him. warm from the yellow glow of the living room lamps. feeling them drift to his mouth before they return quickly to his own eyes. "it's just a lot of stuff attached to this place. i just need to readjust, but m'pretty used to living alone".

"that doesn't mean you like it", he says. enjoying the soft touches to his arm still. 

"very true".

"let me know though if that changes. we can always find something else for you". 

you smile. "look at you being all worried about me". squeezing his arm playfully before getting up to take the plates back to the kitchen. giving him a much needed cut in such thick aired tension. 

"ice cream?", you call out. 

dishes and utensils clattering in the background. 

he sighs. needing nothing else. "m'good thanks". waiting for your return to the couch. 

a bowl and a spoon in your hand as you pad softly over back to him. legs pressing into the couch as you go to sit with your legs folded under. "can i ask something?" your eyes curious. slipping over him with some hesitancy. 

"shoot". 

your hand plays with the scoop of the spoon, dipping in before you go to taste it. a silence as you so obviously string together words. gears turning. "at the end of last year, you told me you were seeing someone. what happened to her?" 

"why?" 

"you talked about her quite a bit, was just wondering". 

and never has the admission of anything been so burdensome till now. a weight atop his shoulders threatening to fall into his body till it flattened him. crushing bone and that faithful spirit of possibility. cody could live with what if's, could live in the terrible purgatory of maybe's and daydreams. he'd been doing so for sometime even. settling into a comfortability so stagnant that it left him statuesque. but the room is laden with a melodic tune still, the forever ache about his head nearly done away with and the memory of your easy touch playing over thought. maybe now is the time. as he's so terribly subdued by the moment. maybe now is the chance to tether together the words always left unsaid. 

"you want the truth?"

your eyes flit to him. these little flecks of weariness. "why wouldn't i?"

he sighs. ignoring the twist in his belly. "at the top of this year you asked me to make copies of the keys to here because you were seriously considering coming back to florida for good". 

"i hadn't fully decided yet though". 

"the fact that you considered it was enough for me". 

"i see". 

your eyes on the coffee table. forsaking him. or thats what it feels like at least. an awfulness biting into him slowly. ripping into the skin where his stomach lives. his ears warm, the heat feeding into his face till it rises in his cheeks. 

"listen", cody starts. looking to salvage what he can. "i didn't mean to-"

a sugary vanilla taste slipping over his mouth. your lips quite cold but sweet. the abrupt feel of them softer than imagined. the fulfillment of such imaginings only coming into a full registering once the thick heat of your thighs set over. an easy maneuver to straddle him. your palms at his cheeks and your lips firmer. his tongue licking in slow. savoring the milky taste. a moan breaking up quick, his fingers running beneath your shirt to curl lazily into supple skin. working as an extension of memory. using his touch as a tool to stain himself with everything of you. and God does it feel good. relief washing him whole. a good sort of creep in his spine as your nails run at the nape of his neck. 

his arms embrace you more. the simple hold of your hips slipping into a hug of your body that fastens you to him. another moan filling up his chest before it leaves him, loving the little pick and tug your teeth give his lip. 

a phone rings. stutters the momentum of passion. 

you groan annoyed. hiding your face in the dip of his neck. 

"i think that's you", cody says. palms feeling up on your skin still. working beneath your shirt. getting used to the tenderness. 

you lift up from him. reaching for your phone to tug it out of your back pocket, answering quickly.

"hello", you give. "hello?" your eyes rolling as you end the call. "so damn annoying", you gripe. pulling away from him to sit back against the couch. 

his curiosity piqued. "whats the number?" 

"it's blocked". setting the phone down. mildly irritated. "thats the third time thats happened though". 

it's hard, not to immediately think the worst. "when was the last time?"

"on my lunch break the other day-"

"what day?"

the sudden inquisition of it all gets to you, but it all feels too convenient not to question. 

"i don't know cody", rubbing your hands over your eyes. "monday". 

another ring. clashing terribly against the mellow drive of the music you have going. whatever residuals of intimacy that still lived in the air, now done away with. this time the call blaring from his phone. a shrill noise that brings back the throb of his head ache. he answers quickly, standing from the couch and making way to the living room windows. a peak between the blinds to scope out for anything oddly placed. 

"dean", he gives into his phone. 

"cody quick question". the noise of paper flipping in the background over dean's voice. "i just turned down service on a chevy malibu, the plates looked phony as hell and the girl was being a bit of a weirdo when i asked for the vin. you work on any red chevy's lately?" 

"not that i can remember. you get the plate number by chance?"

"yeah, it was C47-6BQ". 

we gonna stop it there but yeah, the drama is gearing up. some roman next chapter i promise!

[penpalking]

31 July, 2024

I woke this morning, with a strong desire to saunter through the woods. The morning was still, not a sound caressed my ear drum. I looked around, nonplussed. The curtains drawn, my room fully veiled in black. What, pray, had woken me? I glanced around once more, not able to put two and two together. But then it hit me. It was a feeling, deep within my soul. It was as if an old friend had rung me up, and had impressed upon me a desire to spend much needed time together. I felt the call, the longing - and I knew I must answer.

Bracing myself against the cold, I quickly got dressed. One leg, two legs. One arm, two. On my way out of my room, I picked up un ami - my trusty knit cap. I had a feeling it would be needed. Making my way across the landing, I chanced a gaze outside through a slightly frosted window. I had to catch my breath. Lo and behold, yonder - thick mists embroiled & wrapped around the grey trunks of the tall wooden soldiers standing guard at the edge of the clearing. Their branches wholly still, outstretched, enveloped in thick fog. My, what a majestic and magical sight it was!

I skipped down the stairs, ran to the coat rack, threw on my wintery coat, my wintery boots - I was out the door.

The grass was lightly frosted, crunching amicably underfoot. I took in a deep breath and soon felt the long fingers of winter reaching through my nostrils, down my throat, and into my very lungs. It's grip was strong, but not wholly smarting. A few tears formed at the edges of my sight, a side-effect of this wintry weather.

I made my way down an icy path 'tween the trees, a quiet hush lay over the woods. Winter had cast it's frosty magic - not a tweet, not a hoot, not a single patter of paws - all sat (or slept) in silence, wholly under it's spell. The Ice King ruled supreme with a permafrost hand - the flora and fauna knew it. Every being, plant, and forest sprite, lay in waiting, submitting to the potency and might of that glazed ruler.

I walked in reverence, aye, but tried not to let it weaken my step. Strong and courageous I strutted, under the bent arms of the Ice King's soldiers. Green moss flecked with brown peeped out occasionally from under the foliage, and I found my gaze casting about for the sight of chanterelles and other burgeoning shrooms. The air was thick with the living world, crisp and strong and filled with sweet and melancholic aromas. Ah, to feel young again - each breath rejuvenating, restoring, and revitalizing one's countenance.

It was as if the very Fountain of Youth was sprinkled into the mists - little drops cast about by swirling vapours, entering the lungs, the pores, one's very being. Mating with one's skin, cells, core.

As I walked further further into the bosom of these dense woods, I felt myself coming closer and closer to the truth. Each step an increase in veracity, rightness - as if the world was becoming more and more real and authentic, the further I ambled along. The very heart of truth beats deep within those woodlands, and I consider myself a lucky fellow indeed, to get to venture so close to something so ethereal. I almost feel it coursing through my veins, each step a beat of the heart. Pumping me full of candor, revelation, viability.

I get lost among the tree trunks, I really do. Not directionally, no. But spiritually, mentally, emotionally. I lose myself to the majesty of nature, of the beauty that surrounds me. Of the peace that comes with distancing oneself from other human beings.

It's a simple thing, really, a walk in the woods. But there's nothing simple about the profound impact and change it has upon one's thoughts, feelings, and general mind set.

There is beauty in the little things. If only you'd take the time to see.

[asm5129]

So

It certainly seems this opportunity for the democratic part is not being wasted.

Kamala appears to be truly revitalizing the Democratic Party. There is an energy that I haven’t seen in ages for a presidential candidate.

She’s been making strong headways in her campaign, highlighting all the right things like her track record as a prosecutor taking down men exactly like trump and the destructiveness of Project 2025.

She’s raised tremendous amounts of money for her campaign very quickly and has already secured presumptive nominee status.

She’s being memed but in a way that’s making her seem likable her rather than making her out to be incompetent or that feed into misogynistic or racist narratives, which is building the youth vote.

The republicans are scrambling to find a way to demonize her and struggling to without dipping into explicit racism and misogyny, and shockingly the fact that there’s only three and a half months left until the election might actually be working in our favor because they built so much of Trump’s campaign around making Biden specifically out to be unfit for the presidency. Now the nominee isn’t Biden, so a lot of their arguments are just…gone. And they have very little time to figure out how to counter the new energy.

Kamala seems to be likable, charismatic, intelligent, confident, have a real backbone and presence, and most importantly she seems to be inspiring genuine unity.

Obviously we shouldn’t get complacent and even if she wins there’s plenty of work to do on the ground level, and obviously a republican majority can still cause a lot of damage to her ability to do anything truly meaningful as president so we still need to secure wins locally, but despite those concerns…I think we’re in a good place.

[spiribia]

short while ago: why would people want to just make up lore about something with very little basis instead of just making an original universe. that's just not a satisfying premise for theory building around t

2 weeks into sky cotl running off of nothing and outdated concept art: a MEGABIRD is an organism massive enough to form its own self-contained ecosystem. it buds free-willed organisms of light from its body that accrue knowledge and life experience. when these organisms die, they return to megabird, which fuels itself off of these formed memories and wipes the slate clean, rebirthing entities anew. accumulation and passing down of knowledge in the mortal realm means information broadly survives and only expands over generations, even as it is absorbed from individuals by megabird (though there are still cases where knowledge may be lost to time).

eventually, megabirds made 'mature' enough through generations of consuming memory may release their progeny into their immense cultivated nest (all light organisms are arguably its children, but sky kids are literal Children of The Light). these children typically take on the shape of the dominant / knowledgable organism within a megabird system, allowing them to most efficiently acquire information, so our sky kids appear humanoid.

despite each of these seed's potential to become a supermassive organism eventually, megabirds tend to generate them in droves, as very few of them actually ever leave their megabird system of origin and become fully realized megabirds themselves. this is by species design. a megabird is something like queen eusocial insect, with most of its children taking on roles of workers, to help maintain its garden. megabird children gather memories in their time in the nest, but unlike with other organisms, the megabird does not consume these memories when sky kids die - it simply revitalizes the kid and sends them back as the same continuous being (seen in eden). sky children spend their youth harvesting as many memories as they can. future megabirds will carry this information with them as the basis to shape their own worlds in the future. sky kids can become young adult megabirds by accruing enough winged light and memory to fly all the way out of the current megabird system. in this transition they burn away their adolescent bodily form for light, shedding it for a more traditional megabird shape. these are known as alates. most sky kids will not have this ambition. the

[talonabraxas]

Ostara ☀️ Talon Abraxas

The Spiritual Meaning of Ostara

Ostara, the second Sabbat within the pagan calendar, heralds a season of renewal and rebirth, celebrated globally as the official onset of spring. In ancient folklore, this time is linked with the goddess Eostre, a youthful maiden often depicted carrying a basket of eggs—an enduring symbol of new life and growth. Many practitioners believe Eostre bestows fertility and abundance upon the Earth during this period.

Spiritually, Ostara beckons us to embrace new beginnings and fresh starts, shedding the weight of the old to welcome the promise of the new. Just as the natural world undergoes a profound transformation—trees budding, flowers blooming, and the Earth awakening from its wintry slumber—so too are we encouraged to shed our old skin and emerge revitalized. This symbolic rebirth mirrors the internal journey of self-discovery and renewal, urging us to release stagnant energies and embrace personal growth.

At the heart of Ostara lies a profound reverence for the delicate balance and interconnectedness of life. Day and night achieve near parity during the Equinox, and we are reminded of the intrinsic harmony woven throughout the universe. Thus, Ostara serves as a poignant reminder of the eternal dance of creation and evolution, inviting us to embrace the energy of spring, cultivate spiritual growth, and celebrate the endless cycle of life’s renewal.