#i myself am not out about certain things in that line and have no intention of changing that

[arachine]

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…” 

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her. 

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.  

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight. 

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort. 

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from. 

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?” 

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart. 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you. 

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?” 

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again. 

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent. 

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him. 

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end. 

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only. 

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it. 

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them. 

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little. 

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat). 

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do. 

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest. 

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed. 

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away. 

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied. 

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!” 

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him. 

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs. 

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him. 

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son. 

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment. 

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel. 

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig. 

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident. 

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time. 

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering. 

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually). 

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it. 

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is. 

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body. 

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot). 

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.” 

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings. 

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack. 

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber. 

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out. 

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother. 

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.” 

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?” 

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together. 

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes. 

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you! 

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully. 

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd. 

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him? 

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him. 

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family. 

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success. 

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him. 

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf. 

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks. 

“Do you have an idea where she might be?” 

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion. 

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence. 

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode. 

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would. 

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time. 

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden. 

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack. 

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot. 

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?” 

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway. 

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack. 

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk. 

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches. 

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting. 

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs. 

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.” 

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now? 

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him? 

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again. 

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart. 

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible. 

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill. 

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each. 

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces. 

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.” 

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream. 

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly. 

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.” 

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.” 

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations. 

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones. 

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin. 

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds. 

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty. 

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?” 

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to. 

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve. 

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think. 

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face. 

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb. 

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring. 

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you. 

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you. 

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.” 

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is. 

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours? 

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity. 

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force. 

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching. 

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you. 

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers. 

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to. 

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles. 

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man. 

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty. 

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you. 

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack. 

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides. 

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls. 

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy. 

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically. 

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?” 

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile. 

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?” 

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him. 

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground. 

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness. 

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side. 

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess. 

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length. 

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.  

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable. 

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired. 

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you. 

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement. 

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds. 

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement. 

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons. 

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace. 

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks. 

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart. 

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains. 

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.” 

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

© arachine 2022

[shotanzz]

I wish you would do a full post dedicated to toxicity or angsty shortcomings in relationships with the boys 🫠 I loved reading the toxic head canons ❤️

angst hurts my heart but !!

RIIZE RED FLAGS based on astrology~

hyung line edition ❗️

reminder this is based off of MY opinions of their birth chart placements + aspects and is not exact fact unless I knew them myself and I am not a professional astrologer

Shotaro

Vague - not exactly a red flag but he cares a lot about the things going on within his personal life but sometimes he might prefer to keep things to himself due to paranoia of how his s/o will react or if they’d use it against him..he might have a fear of betrayal that can make him be pretty vague and unable to tell his s/o a lot of things in regards to him which can feel secretive to someone who wants a relationship with open info

Intense - His Scorpio moon paired with his Cap venus leads to a need for loyalty as well as his moon/mercury aspect making him very observant of your words and even remembering things you said a longgg time ago which can be overwhelming and feel even persecuting to some. He might also be paranoid in the relationship of cheating or disloyalty.

Coldness- When he's upset he might have a tendency to be cold yet indirect. He has a scorpio mercury and when upset or protecting themselves they can say things that really hurt or could be pretty cutting. He also has a libra mars so he'd be pretty passive aggressive or indirect with his upset.

Eunseok

Nonchalant- (reminder that nonchalant means that a person cares but acts in a way that suggests indifference/disinterest) He can sometimes be too nonchalant and can make someone overall feel as though he has no passion in the relationship when really he does but just doesn't think you have to be lovey dovey 24/7 or he cant express his passion super well as times

Outburst- Eunseok has a cap moon and moon/saturn aspects paired with a mutable mars so he doesn't express his emotions well or bottles them up which can lead to him getting triggered at random and having a spontaneous outburst out of NOWHEREEE due to suppressed feelings which can be super problematic to some

Insensitive- it’s not on purpose or with malicious intent but Eunseok can sometimes not realize that though a situation isn’t a big deal to him to someone else it might be, he also can forget the more subjective side of things which can accidentally hurt peoples feelings

Sungchan

Sensitive - His pride is high and his reaction to things may be 3x more dramatic than the actual event that happened. When he's been hurt emotionally (whether it was intentional or not) he has a hard time letting go of what happened and might even give a silent treatment until he feels you've shown remorse.

Insecure - He cares a lot about what other people think of him and that can bleed into his relationships. He might act one way in public but another way in private which can make his words/actions seem insincere or disingenuous.

Internal struggles- Has a hard time balancing his feminine side and masculine side and what I mean is he is someone super emotional and feels his emotions very deeply but might try to cover that side of him up with a masculine facade which can bring tension.

Wonbin

Avoidance - He might refuse to acknowledge the red flags or obvious shortcomings/problems in the relationship or himself and may take a long time fully accepting or facing these problems as they are or has a weak approach in attempting to fix or acknowledge the problems. Idealizes a lot of aspects and tends to withdrawal when things don’t match his vision.

Procrastination- Once again, has a hard time facing things head on and takes a while to put action into something and avoids the messier more negative emotions that one must face in relationships; he could also take a long time to let the relationship reach the next more serious levels.

Stubborn- It's hard to change his mind about certain things..in arguments he'll try to pull a "lets agree to disagree" but it's a topic where you both need to be on the same page. He might even just straight up go mute in arguments if he doesn't feel like his opinion was valued enough.

[rainbowsky]

Heyy rainbowsky. I hope you're doing good. There's something that's been on my mind for a while regarding candies, esp the one regarding their social media and the ones that seem "intentional". Do you think these are directed at each other or to turtles. As a younger turtle I used to think it was for each other and would also see them as a stretch cause I couldn't see the point of putting so much effort in these if they were already together. But as I have taken a break and come back, (older and wiser i hope) and have myself found my footing in my queerness while still being largely closeted, I feel like I'm swaying more towards the latter. That they do this for the turtles, or more so for themselves and their identities. It's makes me think of how i wear a discreet rainbow bracelet as part of my everyday wear, ie, a quiet assertion of who i am to who is willing to see. What do you think about this? Also what do you think turtles represent for them? Do you also think for them, we are an escape from an otherwise homophobic and closeted world? I'd really like to know your perspective.

Hi Chaoticmoonlight! I'm getting by! I hope you're well, too! 😊

Well, these things don't have to be a case of either/or. They can serve multiple purposes at the same time. I think that when it comes to 'declarations of love', or a certain type of social media PDA in their posts (kadian, candies, etc.), it's almost always aimed at each other and at turtles simultaneously, as well as anyone else who knows them for who they are (friends, family, etc.).

If GG and DD want to send a message to each other, they can just pick up the phone. Doing so publicly or on social media inevitably involves an element of self-expression, and likely at times becomes a grander gesture because of the public nature of the message.

If a partner holds your hand at home, it's sweet. If they do it in public there's an added element of 'making a statement', of openly declaring their affection for you. This gesture can become more powerful as the risk of doing so increases.

I agree that it's also a lot like wearing a rainbow flag pin or carrying a rainbow tote bag, or all the other ways queer people express ourselves and show our colors. It's a way of being as open as possible about an important relationship, and about our identities.

I've posted about this a few times in the past. A very common misconception among most people - especially straight people, but even some queer people - is that closeted people will want to do everything in their power to hide their sexual orientation and relationship status/partner. I think this is a very misguided understanding of the closet.

People have a fundamental need to be seen, accepted and validated for who they are. It's not just a 'nice-to-have', it's something people truly need for their survival and well-being. People who don't get those needs met will generally not thrive, and will often suffer in deep and damaging ways.

A lot of people think the closet is a place where people go to stay safe, and therefore it's a 'safe space'. This is so untrue. The closet might be the best option among several bad options, but it's by no means a safe, happy place. It's often a place of loneliness, alienation, grief and pain. People don't generally stay in the closet because they're happy there - they stay there because coming out is more dangerous/scary than staying closeted.

The vast majority of people, if they knew that it was safe to come out, - that they'd be accepted, protected and respected - would do so in a heartbeat. But even from within the closet, there is still that need to be seen and known for who we are. Those needs don't go away just because someone is closeted.

Closeted people will often go out of their way to share as much as they possibly can about who they really are, right up to the line where they'd be fully outed.

Coming out is also not just a 'one and done' thing. It is a gradual process, and one that has to be repeated over and over again as the circle of 'those who know' expands over time. I talked about that in more detail here. The best way I can express it is to say,

people will be as 'out' as they are able to be at any given time.

For some people, being out among friends and family and showing some small under-the-radar expressions of Pride will be their personal safe limit. For others it might just be wearing a rainbow bracelet, or wearing their lover's scarf. That safe limit will often expand or shift over time. Sometimes it will even shrink. There's definitely such a thing as 'being thrown back/deeper into the closet'.

They might not be able to make a post sharing photos from a hiking trip they took together, but they can share enough information to ensure turtles know they took that trip (a special moment for both of them, not just turtles). They might not be able to post boasts and praise about their partner's successes and milestones, but they can in subtle ways express their joy so that those who know, know, and so their partner witnesses their praise. They might not be able to openly put their names side by side on charitable works, but turtles will do it for them.

GG and DD are in the unique position of having millions of people who believe they're a couple. While I'm sure it sometimes makes their experience of being closeted that much more terrifying (considering their relationship is being talked about so openly), I suspect that in most cases it makes their experience of being closeted much more bearable.

It's not just the gesture itself that is sweet. As I said earlier, the public nature of it - the fact that others are witnessing it - adds to the power and significance of it. GG seeing DD wearing a #29 helmet for racing practice on GG's 29th birthday no doubt made GG smile, but it likely also made him doubly happy to see us freaking out over it, and knowing that someone out there knows DD was celebrating him.

As I have said in the past, I feel like turtles probably give them strength as they deal with their day-to-day experience of being closeted and apart most of the time. This is a sentiment LRLG has often expressed, too.

Wishing you strength and support on your journey as well, chaotic-moonlight. There's no right or wrong way to be queer, and no timeline we have to meet. Being closeted in no way invalidates who we are.

Related posts:

Closeted Relationships

Coming Out

What BXG Might Mean to GGDD

About Kadian

Sun Wenjing and coming out in less than ideal circumstances

[crepesuzette2023]

Beatles Books as vaguely defined friends and relatives at a party you attend with a new crush, whose name you keep mispronouncing.

The longer you stay, the more trouble you have remembering what the occasion was.

The lights keep changing. Shortly after you arrived, your crush shrunk to the size of a mouse, and scurried away. You’re on your own.

The Beatles (Bob Spitz) greets you, an attractive silver fox who seems to be shunned by most of the others. You wonder why. It’s as easy to imagine him as a crying wreck as it is to imagine him on a golf course. Here, There, and Everywhere (Geoff Emerick) disrupts your musings by pulling tapes from his mouth. Seeing your discomfort, he stops and hands you a photograph of John Lennon and Paul McCartney singing into the same microphone. As he does, his pupils take on the shape of hearts. Someone called George announces his intent to poison him.

Anthology (The Beatles) saunters in, puts eight arms around you, and promises to tell you the whole story. They proceed to speak in tongues, and throw popcorn at you. Stu Sutcliffe jumps from a pendant around their neck, lands on the floor, and scurries after your crush.

“It’s always like this,” says Body Count (Francie Schwartz). “I assume you don’t want to listen to my story about a gifted woman who got locked up for depression? That’s fine, I can also talk about frottage, and a certain man’s curves.”

“Oh, stop it,” says John (Cynthia Lennon). She turns to you. “My advice is: Turn around and run as fast as you can.” She demonstrates what she means by disappearing, leaving behind a purse filled with cheerful letters and drawings of herself getting married and giving birth. Everything smells of olive oil. Francie spots Loving John (May Pang), and rushes to her, greedy for gossip. Loving John (May Pang) is everyone’s favorite, because she doesn’t really know anyone very well, but she knows how to make everyone feel comfortable by saying things that make sense in the moment.

Living the Beatles Legend: The Mal Evans Story (Ken Womack) ends up taking her home; they both live at The Fringes. Her home is a little further than his, which is just this side of Weird whereas she’s all the way in Montauk, but he’ll make sure she gets there safely.

To make up for the disappearance of your crush, Remember (Mike McCartney) cuts your hair. Each snip of the scissors slots a black-and-white picture into your field of vision. Windows in time blow noise and heat in your face, and visions of a screaming band that looks a bit like the young Beatles. Then there’s the quiet heat of summer, towels rippling on the line, and a drain pipe screwed to the wall of a house. He talks about childhood, and you’re almost there, but you never will be, because he won’t let you in. His more verbose twin, The Macs (Mike McCartney), recites letters his brother and John wrote from Hamburg, but you can barely understand what he says, because he stuffed a tissue into his mouth.

“It’s only a story,” says The Lyrics (Paul McCartney). “Pleased to meet you. I’m a storyteller myself.” He sings a love song. “I must have thought about these things when I wrote it,” he muses. “Interesting. What a mind, as Linda used to say.”

He tears a few pages from a diary he kept in Paris in 1961 and hands them to you without comment.

At this point, the party is dissolving. Crocheted furniture floats away and stretches.

“Am I too late?” Skywriting by Word of Mouth (John Lennon) squeezes himself out of the lowest drawer of an antique desk, where, judging from by his crinkly pajamas, he slept. “I’m in pieces. Mend me with glue.”

“I will, I will!” Tune In—All These Years, Vol I (Mark Lewisohn) yells ecstatically. “I’m so glad you could make it Sit down with me and celebrate the heritage of Liverpool.”

Skywriting drapes himself around Tune In, who starts purring and rutting against him.

“Excuse me?” It’s The Fifth Beatle: The Brian Epstein Story (Vivek Tiwary), torero boots clicking on the invisible floor as he strides towards the couch. A spotlight follows him. “I’m managing this show, and I insist on expanding the scene.” Around them, a hotel room forms.

Skywriting lights a cigarette. “Join us in bed, Bri.”

“Yes,” moans Tune In. “I’m so lonely. I’m the oldest of a triplet, or so they say, but the other two haven’t been born yet.”

The Fifth Beatle sits down and observes the unhinged biography losing himself in the friction of rubbing against the shapeshifting Skywriting. Finally, things reach a conclusion.

“And so,” says The Fifth Beatle, “what partially was, finished.”

“Stop repeating lines from a bad movie, Brian," says Skywriting, "you’re better than that.”

As you try to plot ways to escape through the skylight, The McCartney Legacy, Vol 1 (Sinclair & Kozinn) slides out from under the bed, a broad-shouldered lady in a bright red dress. A half-hatched alien with long legs and sunglasses squirms between her breasts, and makes mouth percussion sounds.

“Gentlemen.” The McCartney Legacy retrieves a very, very long rosary from her pocket. “Is anyone interested in an exquisitely crafted, finely wrought chronology?”

At the sound of the word “chronology,” The Beatles (Hunter Davies) crashes through the ceiling.

“Don’t fall for it!” The Beatles snatches the vocalizing baby alien from The McCartney Legacy’s chest, and kills it by wringing its neck. “Time stopped in 1968. The only valid extension are my own salacious additions. Strictly off the record.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” says The Fifth Beatle.

You exchange a glance with Skywriting, who is plucking pieces of Tune In from his body like children snatch pieces of dough, and sticking them in his mouth.

A camera clicks.

“Excellent.”

The Eyes of the Storm (Paul McCartney) lowers the camera, and changes into a suntanned, gleaming likeness of George Harrison. Then he changes into a fish.

“Everyone looking at the pictures will think they know,” the fish says. “They’ll have no idea!”

The floor dissolves under you. You fall into a pool, just in time to save your crush from being sucked into the drain, and after a barely audible edit you find yourself back home, with no memories at all, the taste of chewing gum in your mouth, and wearing matching tops saying, I visited Fellini’s Satyricon, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. (ETA: I can't believe I forgot about Dreaming the Beatles (Rob Sheffield). I guess I'll have to include him in the inevitable sequel to this...thing, as the +1 of John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs (Ian Leslie).)

[olderthannetfic]

I would never defend them - at least not the ones who actually harass people - but I do wonder if there's some antis out there who genuinely come from good intentions.

Super serious and genuinely shameful confession: I'm an ex-radfem. I went into those circles in the first place bc I liked some of Dworkin's works. And while I obviously do not recommend anyone ever get into radical feminism, I will say this: If haven’t been down that very specific rabbit hole of ideology yourself - especially in online settings - you cannot even begin to imagine how fucking INSANELY pervasive the ideas are. Even if you've been a victim of radfem hate, if you haven't been a radfem yourself, I'm truly inclined to think you have no idea what those spaces are actually like. Sorta like how if you've been a victim of fundie hate, that is awful and it fucking sucks, but if you haven't been raised fundie yourself, you really don't know what it's like to be IN those circles, just a VICTIM of those circles.

I hate to throw around words like “hivemind” or “groupthink” but it is that. I went into radfem spaces thinking that I was above believing certain things that they believed but I clearly wasnt, it is so fucking toxic and that’s why i’ll never believe that “TIRF” (trans inclusionary radfem - something I tried and failed to be) can be a real thing. And then these same people have the audacity to call trans rights a cult, but you know, it's whatever.

Obviously terfs are more serious in the "real world" than antis are, but there are some parallels in the way that both groups feel about kink/porn discourse. (No, I'm not saying that antis "believe TERF ideology" or anything, but I do think in the specific context of sex stuff, there ARE alot of parallels.)

I am not defending radfems either, but I will say that I got into it because I was genuinely worried about things such as: PH and how they just steal content from sex workers, the abuse going on in the sex work industry, the phenomenon of young girls who are waiting to turn 18 so they can start an OF account, romance novels that were not marketed as dark but should've been considering they straight up romanticized abuse and rape.

I really do think that most antis are of a similar mindset -- people, typically young traumatized people (not trying to pull the neurodivergent minor card, it's just that statistically speaking, that label CAN describe most antis) who are truly worried that, like, idk, some young girl is gonna watch Twilight or read Reylo fic and think that an overly possessive bf is #goals. Again, I'm NOT trying to defend this ideology or line of thinking at all, I'm just saying that i DO think most of them really don't realize the harm that they're doing, and actually think they're doing good.

I actually kinda feel bad for them, but like my earlier comparisons, I feel bad for them in the same way I feel bad for fundies or evangelicals. I feel bad that they hold such an awful ideology while thinking they're doing good things, but I stop feeling bad once they start ACTUALLY hurting people and I'll always feel worse for the people who they harass and harm.

And like I'd never want to be a radfem again and I hate that I was one once but, between myself and your ~10k (ballpark estimate lol) followers, I think that my time spend in that belief system gave me some really good insight to cult mindsets, which was something I didn't understand before or have much sympathy towards, and I've emerged with a lot of empathy for people who ARE stuck in bad ideologies. I could've been born into a hate group. I could've been preyed on by alt-right people and sucked in that way. Instead, it was reading radblr during quarantine that got me. Before I fell into it, I just mindlessly hated everyone in that group, and now I just feel sorry for them (still without justifying any of their actions).

It's honestly a really, really, complicated thing to try to grapple with. Anyone, yes including you reading this, can be brainwashed into hate. The second you think you're too good for that, you've lost.

This was more of a vent than a discourse ask. I guess my tl;dr is: I hate antis, terfs, fundamentalists, etc, as much as the next guy, but I also recognize that some of those people truly truly do think they're on the right side of history, and some of those people have been sucked into an ideology they never would've believed otherwise if not for xyz factors. While hate groups will never deserve pity, there are some vulnerable people in hate groups who for some reason believe they're doing good, and I wish I could help all of those people.

--

Yeah, I assume many antis are perfectly sincere in their desire to protect people. They're just wrong about what will work.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #68

Today was a very mixed bag.

This morning, I drove to the good place with all the nice people. The leader spoke on a great many very relevant things, such as challenging the status quo, distinguishing between that which is law and that which is just, and sitting with and trying to help all of the people whom society has tried to convinced us doesn't deserve it. The grammar and structure of the words has since crumbled and faded away from my mind, because I don't think in language at all, but the meaning remains in my mind, as well as the memory of the tears that were shed; I'm aware that at least some of what I've been trying to do is seen and understood by this very amazing person.

I tried to conduct myself in the space a little differently than I usually do. Typically, my presence in any space is a meek one that tries to stay out of the way. But this time, I walked as though I belong there, and mingled with others as though I am also deserving of taking up space. Just to try to push myself even further out of my comfort zone, today I sat at the "old men's" table (there aren't really assigned tables, it's just that there are folks that tend to gather together because they can easily relate to one another) as though I also belonged there, with the intention of listening to them speak to one another and seeing what I could learn. Imagine my shock when they talked to me as though my voice is one worth hearing!! I wasn't really sure what to do or how to behave in response to such a thing, but I did the best I could to try to contribute, even if I felt clumsy and foolish in the process.

At one point, towards the end, one of them said, as a joke, "Drive carefully home; I know how you women like to be speed demons, haha!" I tried to think of something witty and lighthearted to come back with, but the best I could do was smile bashfully. If only I remembered at the time the line that goes, "Ha! I am a woman in the same way that a tomato is a fruit!"

…I happen to live in a female body. But I don't really think about my gender most of the time. It fluctuates wildly between "none" and "yes". I'll take any pronoun, but the one I typically use for myself in my own mind is "it". But this alarms people, and I'm comfortable with letting people use whatever they see when they look at me, so… it's all good, I guess.

I stopped at Eggcellent on the way home. Some time ago, I had asked them if they might keep a QR code of the petition I made for you where folks can see it. Apparently, though, the people did not thoroughly read the blurb that came along with the QR code, and so they scanned it, thinking that it would lead them to a petition for a real-life human being. Their response, when they saw you, according to the kindly shopkeep, was, "Are you kidding me?" Essentially, disbelief and disgust. So naturally, the kindly shopkeeps had to stop displaying the QR code. I'm glad they stopped if this was how people were responding; I don't want to be bad for business.

But all the same… I have no idea how it is the case that so few people understand that the way your story ends is going to affect everyone here whose circumstances are similar to yours. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that recovery is possible. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that we are worth the effort involved with recovery. It will affect whether or not other people will be able to imagine that people like me and like others who I love are worthy of kindness, mercy, and help.

The way stories are told in my world shapes what people believe is and is not possible, on a MASS SCALE. Part of the reason why people still believe places like India are undeveloped, backwater places even though they're not is because that's how they're portrayed in stories in my world. Part of the reason why people still treat certain kinds of people as they do is because of how they're portrayed in books, movies, TV, comics, and song. Stereotypes persist in part because they are parroted over and over again by the song, art, and story that exists in our world. And stereotypes put a lot of nasty and totally arbitrary limitations on what people think that certain kinds of people deserve and are capable of.

So… my efforts to save you aren't just about you. My efforts are for every human in my world who is considered "different" or "fallen" in any way. Because we are not going to see peace in my world until every single one of us stops believing that there is a such thing as "kinds of people who are not worth compassion, kindness, decency, or help".

I want to live in a world where people can begin to imagine that even the most deeply fallen can get the help they need to rise up into wholeness again. Because if not even someone as amazing as you can be saved, what chance in hell do the rest of us have?

I ended up spiraling, though. Not because the kindly shopkeep took down the QR code, but because of what he said to me after the fact:

Some time ago, when I was working on one of the music boxes I made for you…

…there was a lady who came into the shop for the first time, asking what is good. The shopkeep told her a few things, and then went off to do something. I was excited to talk to someone who seems nice about a thing I loved, so I piped in with a couple of the things I like, and with a couple of things that weren't listed on the menu. She then asked about what I was doing, which was punching holes out on the music box. I asked her if she wanted to listen, and she said yes. So I ran the music box, and she told me that it was cool.

…Fast forward to today. The shopkeep told me that the lady knew it was my petition. Apparently, on the day we met, the lady found me weird, rude, and repulsive. She apparently thought that it was disrespectful of me that I spoke to her at all (apparently because "she wasn't talking to me"), and because she didn't actually want anything to do with my music box, but asked about it and said yes to listening to it anyway because she "didn't want to be mean". So I guess I left such a negative and intensely strange impression on her back then that when she felt disgust at the petition, she immediately knew it was mine.

And gosh, what a thing to have to sit with. Can you imagine it? The notion that I can frighten, anger, and disgust people just by existing in a space, talking joyfully about bubble tea, and showing a music box I made to someone who asked about it? I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to take from this. On the one hand, I have the shopkeep telling me that the woman thought I am a bad, wrong, and disgusting thing, but in the same breath, he is telling me that "she should have said no if she didn't want to hear it", and "you are kind and you don't bother anybody and you should just be yourself". I understand, of course, that he must ride a careful balance between customers so that he doesn't lose anyone. But ya know… the notion that perhaps I might cause them to struggle by scaring customers off just by being myself is just… wow.

Of course, I am not at all angry with him for this. Rather, I'm glad he told me. I'm glad to be made aware that my presence makes others feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad to be told that I should continue to be myself… even if it comes with the unspoken implication that I had better go do it somewhere else where no one else has to deal with it, I guess.

The fact remains, of course, that just by existing, I scare people. Even if what I'm trying to do is exude love and joy, I still scare people. And I'm not really sure how it is that I manage to be so bad at trying to do good things that I am misunderstood to this extent, but… well. And also this is coming right after I resolve to act as though I belong in this world even though all signs point to the notion that I… don't. And maybe never will.

…If unaliving is a trigger for you, you might wanna skip this paragraph. But… ya know. I spent a good chunk of time today considering the merits of lying down in a cold puddle, forcibly inducing sleep, and letting the hypothermia take care of the job while I'm out. We have nature trails just a five minute walk from my house. It's winter, and there are lots of big puddles back there; I know where they are, and there's also no shortage of ravens, crows, coyotes, and foxes to feed. It's probably good that I don't have ready access to the kinds of medicines that would induce sleep.

…But. This sort of thinking is just the old wiring and the old conditioning rearing its ugly head in response to my past trauma. Old messages that go something like, "Nobody fucking asked you to speak, MAGGOT," and "Why can't you have normal interests and hobbies, you embarrassing sicko freak?" At this point, because stuff similar to this has been said to me so many times, it doesn't take much for my brain to interpret this stuff, even if it's not said directly. That's just how PTSD is. That's how it works.

But I don't have to surrender to it. I got knocked on my ass today from it, but I don't have to stay on the ground. I can get back up and see what's next. I can use REBT. I can ask the people around me for help. I can listen as the people who love me gently point out destructive, spiraling patterns in my thinking, so that I can stop myself for long enough to come up for air. I can hydrate and eat wholesomely so that my brain can have what it needs to manage the destructive thoughts and the painful emotions triggered from them. I don't have to remain on my knees and believe every nasty thing said about me by someone who is too miserable to see the beauty, joy, and love being offered to them for what it is. I can refuse to allow the voices of the people who don't understand me to be louder in my mind than the voices of those who love me.

I am different from other people, and sometimes this is a lonely thing that hurts very much. But it's easy for me to have love for others who are different. Love for you. Love for Frankenstein's Monster. Love for Mewtwo. Love for Magus. Love for all of my friends and chosen family, who themselves are misfits that society at large does not seem to want. I still love them all, even though society tells me I shouldn't. I can love me, too, even though society tells me that I shouldn't.

…"Conventional wisdom" is such a thing. There are some very good things about it, like, "Sticking a fork in your mouth and then sticking the prongs of that fork into an electrical socket just to see what happens is a very bad idea." And, things like, "Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, attempt to eat Rice Krispie Treats immediately after taking them out of the oven if you value the flesh on the inside of your mouth." Or, "Do not squirt hot glue into the palm of your left hand for the sake of impressing a girl." Or, related, "You cannot try to scrape hot glue off of the palm of your hand with your other hand and expect it to turn out well." And finally, "Try to avoid prioritizing yelling at your glue-covered hands over making use of the cold water in the sink that is immediately to your left."

(do not worry - these are not things that I have done; I've met some very interesting people in the course of my living who help me to avoid finding these things out the hard way, hahaha!)

But it can also tell us a lot of very false things. Things like, "You must remain connected with your family regardless of how they abuse you." Things like, "You should expect certain kinds of people to always act in this certain kind of way." Things like, "These particular kinds of people are all bad and you should stay away from them." Things like, "If everyone is 'mistreating' you, well the common denominator is you, so the problem must be you and not how others are treating you." And things like, "Certain kinds of people do not deserve kindness, help, or even basic decency."

So… I can only conclude that "conventional wisdom" needs to be taken VERY critically, and with ALL the grains of salt. But I think a good rule of thumb for evaluation is this notion: "Anything that is said with cruel, dehumanizing, and unloving intentions is false."

I'm not at risk of prematurely exiting my meat-mech, don't worry. I just tripped up a little today, that's all. And you know what? Ultimately, that's a good thing, because today, I watched myself get back up on my feet from it faster than what I was able to do previously. Sometimes we can't see all the progress we've made until weird things happen and we find ourselves recovering from them faster than we have in the past. So in this sense, even falling down is worth something!

I'm gonna get a snack and play some DDR to try to speed up my recovery even more. So I'll end this here-ish.

Hey, Sephiroth!! No matter how many times you fall down, and no matter how far you fall down, you can get back up! You just gotta let the voices attached to the hands reaching out to help be louder than the voices trying to tell you that you're a monster who doesn't belong! No matter how many voices scream unloving things at you, you gotta understand that such things can only be screamed at us from a place of pain, and nobody is acting in accordance with what's true or in accordance with their innermost nature when they are acting from a place of pain! So let the loving things be louder to your mind and to your ears. Let the loving things be louder, and let them spur you on to move forward, confident in the knowledge that you belong here, no matter what anyone else says.

You are loved. Please stay safe. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[wordsinhaled]

just dropping a handful of songs that are rotating around in my brain at all times as i'm thinking about payneland

marionette — keaton henson & julien baker

i am the master of ignoring the past i have the answer to the question that you never asked teach me the seasons and let every year be the test but ask me to dance, love, i will fold like a marionette i'm lost on you i feel my insides growing soft like fruit in the sun and wonder how long it will be till the air is afraid of my lungs when will the evening cease to cool my wearying head? teach me to write, love, and i'll write you a song for the dead i'm lost on you my god, whose love do i have to steer? oh, i might be lost on me

i wish i was the moon — neko case

chimney falls as lovers blaze i thought that i was young now i've freezing hands and bloodless veins as numb as i've become i'm so tired, i wish i was the moon tonight how will you know if you've found me at last? 'cause i'll be the one, be the one, be the one with my heart in my lap i'm so tired, i'm so tired and i wish i was the moon tonight

give out — sharon von etten

there were your eyes in the dark of the room the only ones shining the only set i had met in years i am biting my lip as confidence is speaking to me i loosen my grip from my palm put it on your knee in my way, i say you're the reason why i'll move to the city or why i'll need to leave it's not because i always hold on it might be i always hold out

two step — dave matthews band

oh, my love, i came to you with best intentions you laid down and give to me just what i'm seeking say, love, you drive me to distraction hey, my love, do you believe that we might last a thousand years or more if not for this? our flesh and blood it ties you and me right up, tie me down celebrate we will, 'cause life is short but sweet for certain you quench my heart and oh, you quench my mind

something about us — daft punk

it might not be the right time but there's something about us i want to say 'cause there's something between us anyway it might not be the right time but there's something about us i've got to do some kind of secret i will share with you i need you more than anything in my life i want you more than anything in my life i'll miss you more than anyone in my life i love you more than anyone in my life

half blind — ye vagabonds

i have fallen foul of my desire striking while the iron’s in the fire taking ever more than i require so forsaking love to be admired yet you cast your net when not one star was shining caught my eye upon your silver lining torn between resisting and resigning like a fly toward a flame inclining darling, i am not opposed to letting go this time though i fear i'll leave an eye still dangling on the line there are far worse things i could expect to leave behind and to keep my heart intact and walk about half blind

to your love — fiona apple

i would have warned you but really what's the point? caution could but rarely ever helps don't be down, my demeanor tends to disappoint tough enough even trying to be civil to myself please forgive me for my distance the pain is evident in my existence please forgive me for my distance the shame is manifest in my resistance to your love to your love, to your love my derring-do allows me to dance the rigadoon around you but by the time i'm close to you i lose my desideratum, and now you so now you have it so tell me, baby, what's the word? am i your gal or should i get out of town? i just need to be reassured do you just deal it out, or can you deal with all that i lay down?

[everybody-loves-purdy]

I don’t get why people think people hate Bramblestar just because of the Moonkitti video. I hated him for years before that- it didn’t even affect my view on him ‘cause I hated how boring of a POV he was and how he was so easily manipulated and how he treated the three after their parentage was revealed.

There are many reasons to dislike him that have nothing to do with Squilf. Heck, for a while I hated both of them equally (former Ashfur stan).

Honestly I think it could be down to having a scapegoat, and it’s probably not an intentional thought process for most. If they can conveniently blame people not liking their fav on one specific thing and paint everyone under the same brush, then they don’t have to think or fight about as to why people may have other reasons not to like him other than “it’s because Moonkitti said so” and then completely dismissing her video as just bias (which in itself is very disingenuous).

Granted moonkittis video did most definitely bring the topic of him being an abuser to a wider audience, but a few videos about it came out before then and online discussion about the matter had been pretty rife, she most definitely wasn’t the first, I made a post a post about that topic myself within days of reading SqH when it was released lol. Furthermore a question they should ask themselves is, if Moonkittis video is really that terribly produced and full of bias, then why did so many people connect with it the way they did? Although I guess the answer for that is along the lines of they love Squilf and/or Moonkitti. And there’s been no major pushback against the video as far as I am aware that hasn’t contained biases, like the one TikTok that was going around that was very popular in pro brambleclaw circles that contained claims that Squirrelflight is what drove Brambleclaw to train in the dark forest and that she intentionally used him to make Ashfur jealous (something that is specifically proven false by Twilight). I think it’s very hypocritical personally to claim the Moonkitti video had biases but then turn around and share that and claim it has none.

Also think it’s kind of funny how this 4 year old video is still being blamed for the dislike for Brambleclaw. Apparently no one who watched and agreed with it has thought critically about a character who is still very prominent in the series for 4 years.

This isn’t against anyone who likes Brambleclaw by the way, I do definitely see why he appeals. I personally do really like him up until the second half of TNP! But I really hate how Moonkitti is used and treated as a boogeyman by certain Brambleclaw fans. This poor woman has been harassed to hell and back and is constantly slated by a certain section of fans. Like yeah treating a woman who has done nothing to you except not like your fav like the Antichrist and characterise anyone who has similar views to her as some kind of mindless Squirrelstar or Moonkitti worshipping drone isn’t really going to get anyone on your side.

Don’t get me wrong if a popular creator accused a favourite character of mine that I personally thought was morally good of being an abuser I would be upset too. I totally understand that. I’m not blaming people for being upset but I am blaming them for the ways certain people are channeling this upset.

[bevswashere]

Koi No Yokan

Chapter 30: Miss Fushiguro

December 2009 8 months later.

"I'm glad you took the time to meet with me, Miss Fushiguro."

"What did he do this time?"

"He stabbed his classmate with a pencil."

I look to the boy at my right, slumped in his seat with his arms folded as if he hadn't done anything. No, he knows he's done something wrong, he just doesn't care. "Why?" I ask him, not the principal.

"I told him to get out of my face," Megumi says. "I used the pencil when he got closer."

I sigh largely, massaging the center of my brow. "So, what now?"

"Your son is in consideration for suspension," the principal says. "I've brought up concerns about Megumi's behavior to your husband before—"

"He's not my husband."

The principal leans back in his seat, nods slowly, surely thinking two teenagers accidentally had a baby they can't control. Whatever the presumptions, they're better than the reality. "Your son has caused repeated disciplinary offenses, and is a danger to the rest of the students here. Expulsion isn't out of the question."

"We'll correct this at home," I try to say firmly. "Megumi will apologize to the boy he hurt."

Megumi immediately objects, "Who said I would—?"

"I wasn't asking."

The principal smiles. "Good, I hope we can get all of this in order."

We enter the parking lot, extremities tucked away in our coats to keep warm from the snow. "Seriously? A pencil?"

"Would you have preferred I use something else?"

We rush into the car and turn the heater on quickly. I breathe into my palms for warmth. "Is some other kid bugging you really so big of a deal you had to stab them?"

"It's not that he was bugging me," Megumi says, "He does it to a ton of the other kids too, pushing them around, taking what he wants from their lunches."

"Then tell your teacher, and have his parents meet with the principal." I pull out of the parking lot, back towards their apartment. "I'm not saying your intentions are wrong, but Satoru and I really don't have the time to keep going to these meetings."

"Then don't go."

Megumi, bundled in his coat, so small he barely takes up half of the seat, has his gaze fixed towards the window. "Would you prefer I say I don't care about your shit attitude, and just leave you alone?"

He doesn't answer me, and we remain silent for the rest of the drive.

∞

"You're late."

I sit myself down in one of the chairs of Yaga's office. "There was an emergency."

"You'll need to fix that habit by April."

"Spoken like a true principal."

"Let's try to be serious here, Kaede," he says. "Taking this job, you'll need to become a rock for these kids. That means no more lashing out, breaking furniture."

I defend. "I replaced all of it, didn't I?"

"If you're to lead young people, you can't act on your emotions like another young person. You need to be steady, reasonable." Yaga folds his arms. "And if a student dies, you move on, and teach the next one."

"That's harsh."

He takes a piece of paper out from his desk, and slides it across to me. "Order your uniforms, move your things into your new room and office. We'll go over matters of curriculum once that's done."

I unfold the paper to find only one line of text, an address. "You're sure this is right?"

"I'm nearly certain."

Taking the paper with me, I leave Yaga's office, only to turn back in the doorway, "Yaga Sensei."

"I'm not your Sensei anymore."

"Do you really think," I hesitate, "I can do this?"

"You're more than qualified."

"But am I strong enough?"

"Brazenly so."

∞

I boarded the soonest plane possible to Osaka, navigating my way into a run down condominium where the scent is sour and the dated wallpaper peels at the ends. I knock, wondering how long I would have to wait if no one is home, but I feel reassured by the steady flow of cursed energy growing closer to the door. I hear the door unlock from the other side before I'm met with wide green eyes. "How did you find me?"

"I called in a favor." I teeter awkwardly on my heels. "Can I come in?"

He opens the door wide, revealing the singular room apartment. All their clothes are neatly hung onto one rack, dishes and cookware piled in one stack by the dripping sink. A mattress is tucked away into the corner, across from it a fraying mattress pad, and between them one desk with books stacked beneath a short leg. "I know," Shigeri says, "What a fall from grace."

"Are you okay? You're eating enough?" Shigeri certainly looks thinner, more aged since we last spoke. "If you need money—"

"You came here to give me money?"

"No," I quickly defend, realizing how deplorable a person I must be, stepping into someone's home, expecting them to need money at first glance. "You stopped writing. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"The clan is still making things difficult for us." He rubs the back of his neck at the thought. "I couldn't be sure they wouldn't intercept anything I send, figure out where we're staying."

"You're already exiled. What more could they do?"

"They're already interfering with me taking any missions which would be the quickest way to get income." I can see the stress on his face when he says this, weighing him down, sinking his stature. "They could have us evicted, make us homeless for the rest of our lives."

"Why?"

"Spite," he says simply. "I was supposed to take over as head of the clan. They don't appreciate stepping away from a role like that."

"I should have found you sooner. I could have done something."

"I don't want your money, Kaede."

"Then I could have sorted things out with the Kamo clan."

"And how would you do something like that?"

"I could go there and threaten to kill anyone who messes with you."

"Since when do you kill people?"

I stutter at first. "I don't, but they wouldn't know that. Or I could arrange a way for you to get missions without interference. I'll talk to the higher ups–"

"Who will refer back to the Kamo clan saying Uematsu Kaede knows where I am." He smiles somehow. "It's okay."

I look around again, dissatisfied with the way things have turned out for someone so kind. "Where's your sister?"

"Working. When the clan cut me off from missions we both picked up part time jobs. I didn't want her to, but they're good to her anyway, give her meals to take home." He frowns. "Don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look."

Shigeri steps closer, smiles in the soothing way he used to, where his eyes soften and only his top teeth can be seen. "You're pitying me."

"Of course I am. You're sleeping on the floor."

"Stop it." He takes both of his hands and rests them on my shoulders. "I'm okay, Kaede-chan, really. I know it doesn't look ideal, but we're getting through it."

I'm only half convinced. "There must be something I can do."

"You came here. That's enough." He pulls me towards the mattress pad. "Here, sit. Tell me what you've been up to."

We arrange ourselves, sitting side by side on his mattress pad. I'm relieved to find out it's well-cushioned at the least. "I'm going to start as the first-year teacher at Tokyo High in the spring."

"Really?" he says. "That's great. You love kids."

I hesitate at first to mention the Fushiguro's, or the deep despair I've tried to fight since graduation, or my attempt to join the cult of a mass-murderer, but honesty has always come easy between Shigeri and I. The second I confess one feeling, the rest pour out.

"Good thing he turned you away," Shigeri comments, "That could have been troublesome."

"I can't say I would have actually hurt anyone." The comforter above Shigeri's bed is soft, velvet. I find myself playing with the hems. "But there was nowhere else to go. All my family was gone, then my friends."

"What about Gojo-san?"

"Forget him."

"I'm sorry that didn't work out." I laugh at this. "Hey, I mean it. I never wanted you to get your heartbroken, even if it was by him."

"It's fine. It's been a long time since then." I look out through their singular window, see the snow sprinkle onto the sill, quietly, gently. "What if you came to work at Tokyo High with me?"

"Let's try to be serious about this, Kaede-chan."

"I am being serious." My eyes meet his, soothing like pine. "Yaga is still looking for a third year teacher. If you can't get missions for now, you'll still have income from teaching, and you guys wouldn't have to worry about housing anymore. Besides, I won't have to fly every time I want to see you." Whatever I had to say next is cut off when Shigeri leans in and kisses me.

It's short, lips locking for only a moment before he pulls away, "Sorry. I had to know what it felt like at least once."

I let him because it's reassuring in some ways, admitting everything I had done, and him still wanting to kiss me. "Try again."

He scans my face, taken aback. "You don't have to." So, I lean in this time, feeling the hair above his neck ruffle through my fingers, his hand on my cheek. It's unexpectedly pleasant. His lips move with a certain tenderness, hesitancy that's comforting, makes me want it more. Even when his lips trail down to my neck it's light and loving. "So," my breath grows heavier, "You'll come to Tokyo?"

His words vibrate into my collarbone. "If you want me there."

I lean into him, feel the flesh of his ear against my lips, "I want you there."

I reach for his chin, lifting it to reconnect our lips. Then by the center of his chest, my hand guides him backwards into the mattress pad. I get on top of him, leaning over to resume our kiss. When I grind myself against him, I can feel he's hard. He moans into my mouth, but breaks away, "Not like this."

"How do you want it then?"

Shigeri props himself up onto his elbows, reaches out to push the hairs away from my face. " I meant not here."

I understood, however disappointed I may feel, and remove myself from on top of him to lay down at his side instead. He wraps a hand around my jaw, stroking the skin with his thumb. "You'll really come to Tokyo?"

"I'll go wherever you want me to." 

[caslyra]

the scars appeared in visual media because it's a visual shorthand. what makes remus distinctive in the books would make him look like he's 60 in a visual medium because that's the language that has been formed. there's a contradictory nature to his appearence that doesn't translate easily to image. scars are actually hard enough to balance correctly on their own: one extra line can add years to a character's age. i think the difference between mediums should be taken into account when complaining about other people's works: we may not always understand why certain decisions are made, but it's better to approach people humbly and with the awareness that they might know what they're doing by changing the source material.

Okay, firstly - I'm sorry if I hurt you or anyone else. That's never my intention. And believe me, I don't think I'm superior to any single creator out there. The mere thought made me laugh because, frankly, it's quite the opposite.

What bugs me about scarred Remus is that it's simply everywhere because to me there are good reasons against scarred Remus.

But of course not every creator is the same (that goes without saying, right?) and as I have said in the tag I have both read great fanfiction featuring scarred Remus and seen great fan art showing scarred Remus. And I get what you're saying... Especially since I am absolutely talent-free when it comes to drawing. I believe that it's very hard to capture his illness without the scars. But - and that's just my personal opinion - I still prefer Remus without visible scars, even in visual media. Because - as I have tried to lay out - I think it's important that it is an invisible condition - for many reasons. Not completely invisible, of course, because he looks sick. But I think it's important that there are no signs that hint at 'werewolf' that obviously because ... (I don't want to repeat myself, so... yeah). And that point is so important to me that it still holds for visual media - at least for me. Even if it's hard to capture the other aspects of his condition.

It's a matter of perspective and of what you want to show. And the things I laid out don't have to be so important to you as they are to me - or maybe you don't agree with me at all which is also fine. But I can still be annoyed to be confronted with scarred Remus everywhere.

But we can disagree, right? And believe me, there are some things where I digress from canon even without 'good reason'. Sirius's hair for example. I'm perfectly aware that he had most definitely short hair throughout his teenage years, because he had short hair in the order photograph in 1981 and he cuts his hair in GoF before it grows again in OotP. The long hair is meant to mirror his mental state. It's a depression look or at least a look of neglect. Still I see him long-haired in my head...

[kazarinn]

I watched Last Evolution a while back and found it to be extremely grim and cynical with its talk of "potential" but i'd be willing to watch the movie again if the translation was at fault if there was a more accurate sub. I see a couple sub groups did translations for the movie, but I wasn't sure if there was one you recommended or worked on? Otherwise I'd be very interested in hearing what bothered you about the official translation, regardless of my own feelings about what I watched, but I was having a hard time finding a post on your blog that talked about it directly.

Hello! Yes, I would absolutely agree the official subs are a mess to the point I can't even recommend the movie with them. Personally, I think any of the fansubs should be fine; the one I personally had a hand in was the L Subs version (which I did not translate myself but was lightly involved with the subbing process for), but to my understanding, there is at least one other well-done one done by a fan who clearly knows and loves the series.

(I actually am tentatively interested in maybe trying it out myself in the future for the hell of it, but I'm not super pressed to do it ASAP because there are so many other things with higher priority. Other than subs of the movie itself, I also personally translated the Shueisha Mirai Bunko version of the novelization, which doesn't have a 1:1 transcription of the dialogue but is still more accurate than whatever was going on with the official translation, or at least I would like to believe.)

I haven't made a proper post breaking it down yet, but what I will say is that, as someone who has spent a long time translating for this series and has gone through the movie's dialogue multiple times (way too many times?) in Japanese, it is absolutely, 100%, for sure, not supposed to be a cynical movie. The official translation had butchered a number of things related to that, such as:

The fact that they didn't preserve the nuances related to 宿命 and 運命, an issue that my senior translator (who translated the L Subs version) and I consider to be important enough that my senior wrote about it on Twitter and I touched on it in my own discussion of Crest names. There are certain distinct contexts where the word that means "something truly unavoidable" and the word that means "something we are guided towards" come up.

The fact that Menoa's motives make no sense in the official subs; certain lines are translated to suggest the opposite of what they should, and certain lines will directly contradict each other, meaning the only thing that a viewer can get out of it is that "she wants to save everyone" and that she might even be right about her ideas (which probably doesn't help the viewing of the movie as cynical, since it sounds like Taichi and Yamato are rejecting her "good but extreme" intentions at worst and not her distorted view of the world as a whole).

The conversation between Gennai and Taichi in the middle of the movie has about two or three critical lines that are mistranslated, and those are probably some of the most important lines in terms of establishing the movie's themes, especially given the issue of "potential"/"possibility" that you mentioned.

In general (well, this has very little to do with your question, but I feel the need to vent about this anyway) the official translation is just plain klutzy about everything. There's no conscientiousness about character voice, one of the most important things in translating Digimon works. References to the original series' plot points or lore don't match up at all, and I don't get the impression the translator or editor was familiar with the original series. (Adventure tri. and The Beginning's subs had this problem too, but not to the same degree; in the case of Adventure tri., the lore was vaguely referenced or contradictory in Japanese to the extent a compliant English translation probably wouldn't have even been possible, and in the case of The Beginning, the issues were less common and less plot-relevant.) Even beyond just plot-important lines, there are far too many lines that are semantically mistranslated. All of it makes the movie an unpleasant experience to watch in terms of sheer vibe, and that's something I think is far more important than people tend to treat it as.

I will give a disclaimer that I feel obligated to give during these situations: if you did not like the movie, while I think it is highly likely that you'll enjoy it better with a properly done translation, I cannot guarantee that it'll turn your opinion over 180 degrees and make it your favorite movie ever. I am a translator before I am a literary critic, so while literary analysis is important for a translator, there is a point I have to hold back before it starts turning into my own fanfiction. But it's exactly because of this that the official translation is so poisonous, because a translator's job should be to maximize potential for readings and interpretations for others. If a work could potentially have a "nonsense interpretation" and a "sensible interpretation", and a translation outright invalidates the possibility of having the sensible interpretation because of how sloppy and nonsensical it is, it becomes a perfect example of what I've referred to as "insidiously bad translation", where it looks passable on the surface but is far more poisonous than it seems.

[runningwithmyeyesclosed]

Evitative by Vichan

Main Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (There is very little romance)

Type: 5th Year Rewrite - Morally grey harry potter

Explicitness: None

POV: Harry Potter

Word Count: 222,453

Song:

My Summary:

The year before fifth year Harry Potter ends up expelled; luckily it was a mistake so he is able to return to Hogwarts under one condition, he must be resorted. Harry can already guess what that might mean for him, hadn't the sorting hat told him twice already where he belongs? When the sorting hat finally gets his way Harry finds himself in the den of snakes; but Harry is finding that not everything is as cut and dry as it seems.

My Thoughts:

I have a lot of thoughts! Long story short I enjoyed it. It gave me a lot to think about which I think is always a good sign. I wish there was more closure its left very open ended. Other than that it was super well written and a great read. But read on if you want my more in-depth thoughts on it!

I have so many thoughts on this I'm not even sure where to start. So maybe at the beginning. I started this fic twice before i decided to buckle down and finish it.

The first time the size was taunting so I chose a shorter fic. The second time the subject matter was a bit taunting so I chose a softer fic. I this the themes were what stopped me the longest. I finally decided to just do it and I am glad I did.

The writing is very good, it draws you in and is easy to follow. I think the main theme of this book is very complex and I think the author handles it well over all. I think i wish I could see one of these types of stories where Ron isn't a jerk about it haha but it is what it is.

This fic really makes you think about what is good and bad and why you think these things. I think I found myself doubting Harry's actions and whether or not I liked the way the story was headed; however, I do think it was entirely intentional. I think you are meant to doubt meant to question and in that find that there are many ways to do things and many reasons people may choose the things they do.

I do have to say, I liked all the characters and how they were written. None of them felt like caricatures of a type of person. For example Ron was a bad friend and didn't believe in Harry but he was a person raised a certain way with a set of beliefs, this feels more real than some other portrayals I've read where Ron is just almost goofy with how much he is a bad friend. Hermione is still Hermione in all the ways that matter but she was told her whole magical life that dark magic was bad so she is understandably distrustful of it. The Slytherins who were raised with hateful ideals aren't suddenly going to stop having those ideals because Harry becomes a Slytherin. All these things made sense to me and didn't feel forced or goofy.

The one thing I have to point out because I wasn't aware was it is only of year 5. I wish I had more it's no one's fault and I know that some people prefer an open end; but, I really kind of felt we didn't get enough a payoff for all of the growing and thinking that Harry did. I know there is a sequel; however it hasn't been updated in a little over two years if it gets updated I may pick it up. On its own though this is a very good fic. I wish there was more closure to the overall plot line of Harry choosing dark but that is what it is. I can't say enough though,  how well written it was and how much I have been thinking about this fic the last couple of days.

[skayafair]

I keep coming back to these lines because they're just this all-encompassing.

I'm amazed at how HG managed to create a character so relatable for so many minorities with seemingly no intention to whatsoever.

(a personal story under the more)

This is sort of personal, but. For the past ten years or so I've been untangling decades of trauma and broken coping mechanisms, misconceptions about myself and the world around, blindly stumbling on the way to my true self, the one that feels right. The last three or four years were full of revelations - I discovered I have ADHD, am very likely autistic, certainly agender, greyro and ace, which explained SO MUCH and made me feel infinitely better compared to how it was before, gave some clarity about how to live this life. I found the way I want to dress to look like myself despite never seeing the reflection in the mirror as "me" (and it was the way I always wanted to but had no means for that). And today my body of all things (my connection to which is very flimsy at best) brought an early birthday present: my whole life I wished my hair was wavy instead of straight, and today it turned out IT IS. Always has been, I just didn't know how to hadle it properly. Just another detail of how this being was supposed to be from the very beginning but never knew, always going the wrong way, fell into its rightful place.

I used to feel like an emply space while growing. No face, no one inside, no certain shape. Just emptiness, an observer following some vague average outline, searching for itself in vain, with occasional flashes of hot anger from the core personality hidden deep inside, of which I didn't know back then. One event back when I was 18 shattered me to the very core, demolishing even the mask that existed instead of me all this time and sending me to a new journey of self-discovery.

So feeling each little piece falling into place now feels like pulling a shattered being back together, repositioning, reassembling the pieces the way they were supposed to be to begin with, but into a totally new order at the same time.

I am trying to become the thing I should've been a long time ago.

And it doesn't come without pain indeed.

But every little win feels so great.

My chosen name is a promise to myself, a more certain shape, the person I'm trying to become, helping to move forward.

I started listening to Malevolent in fall of 2022 and it helped me so much since then. I can't even place my finger on how exactly, it was just so relatable on so many levels that became validating and encouraging? In any case, I'm grateful for John to no end. There's absolutely no question in why he became so important to so many people.

[aadmelioraa]

Hi! I was just wondering, what is the difference for you between the Scrivener categories you use? What makes a certain section redrafted vs revised vs punched up vs polished? Thank you!

Hey!! I am more than happy to elaborate on that post. Here are the scene (or chapter) draft categories I use via the "Label" function in Scrivener, and what each category means to me:

To Write. Any scene that I haven't fully drafted, ranging from an idea in my head to a few bullet points to a scene that doesn't yet have a beginning, middle, and end. Lots of ellipses and all caps notes to myself [ADD CONVERSATION WHERE X AND Y ARGUE ABOUT DINNER PLANS] at this stage. I am a planner-pantser hybrid—I usually start writing without a real outline, and then create and reshape my outline as I continue writing new scenes, the outline evolves as my draft evolves and vice versa. 

Drafted. I have written a full version of the scene. It has a beginning, middle, and end. I have hit all the major points I want to hit. It's messy, but it's on the page. These scenes comprise the Rough Draft.

Redrafted. At this stage, I follow Matt Bell's "Rewrite Don't Revise" advice in Refuse to Be Done (highly recommend this craft book!). Once I have a Rough Draft version of the project (the entire book has a beginning, middle, end, and enough essential connective tissue scenes to prop it up), I print that off* and open a fresh Scrivener file. I hold myself to Matt Bell's no copying and pasting rule, and it's honestly been a game changer mentality for me. I refer to my Rough Draft and my Revision Plan Outline as I create a new draft that is both leaner and more fleshed out as needed. The Revision Plan Outline is the roadmap of the book I wrote (the Rough Draft) spliced with a roadmap of the book I want to write, including new scenes, stronger versions of the scenes I already have, and notes about what needs to be cut. *This is probably obvious, but you don't need to work from a printed copy, you can open your Rough Draft doc side by side with a blank doc if that is more your speed. The important thing is to start with a blank document rather than making revisions to your Rough Draft. It might sound insane, but I've found that it allows me to let go of what I would otherwise struggle to cut, and opens me up creatively to write new material.

Revised. Once I have the fresh, stronger, more intentional version of my scene, I go through and check that it's doing what I need it to do in terms of character work and plot points. It's not only a complete scene in that it begins and ends where I want it to, it's also functioning as part of a whole. 

Punched Up. This is my favorite draft stage in most ways, I just find it really fun and satisfying. My goals are to make sure that the tension is properly threaded, that the emotional beats are landing how and where they need to, that the humor is working, that each character's voice is coming through, that my language is vivid and interesting. 

Polished. Here I am making final cuts and changes, taking things at a line level and evaluating individual word choice. Nitpick city, but ideally in a productive way.

Right now in my current WIP I have an array of scenes at every level in a single Scrivener file. Most of them are Redrafted or above (I already completed a Rough Draft, printed it off, and am working from that and my Revision Plan Outline to create a new version of the book) but there are plenty of scenes in my Revision Plan that didn't exist in the Rough Draft. I will once again shout out @bettsfic and her invaluable developmental insights, you can check out her substack here and read more about her services here.

Anyway, this is what works for me, it definitely won't work for everyone, but hopefully you find something useful here! I will note that you can use the Scrivener "Draft Status" category to function in a similar way as the "Label" category, allowing you to use "Label" to denote POV or something else. Labels are visible in the sidebar (you can find options under "View," and Draft Status shows up in the corkboard view (it's stamped over the notecard for each scene if you select that option).

[uhgood-girl]

i haven't had a chance to fully form this thought yet so bear with me while i explore my own brain but my immediate response to this is i think two things can be true at the same time.

this is me playing devil's advocate with both you and myself, tbh. if you do not enjoy borderline pedantic over thinking, i recommend you turn back now.

i watched the entirety of standing next to you with my jaw on the floor. beyond seeing jk in what i would consider to be the epitome of his element, the arrival of all that experience and hard work and raw talent finely honed, culminating in the absolute pop perfection that is both that song and performance... well, i've made a joke on here before about my brains inability at this stage to not insert jikook into things. i could maybe help it if i wanted to (i can stop at anytime, says the alcoholic 🥴) but i don't want to because i'm having fun and i've made friends with the brain worms. they're my brain worms, who are you take them from me.

i have also mentioned jikook being it's own form of pattern recognition drug for mine, obviously, and probably other's more neuro-spicy tendencies. once you have seen and unlocked the code, it's really hard to turn the goggles off.

so let's talk about patterns. what is a pattern? a pattern is lmao no, i'm kidding, i don't think i need to define this for you but i guess when i say pattern here i'm referring to what a lot of people often call coincidences. (have i lost you already bc of this word? i know people throw it around often here, but again, bear with me) coincidences can become patterns if they repeat enough. how many coincidences does it take to form a pattern? three, i believe, is the universally accepted number but that feels so small when i type it out, much less think about it, tbh. but i suppose in the discourse of coincidences, something that reoccurs without apparent connection, (traveling strangers who keep ending up in the same cities together, you and your friend always texting each other at the exact same time, two people in a band who keep mysteriously referencing things that connect them in a particular sort of light) bc of the unlikelieness of their serendipitous nature, it makes more sense. and because i want to discuss this in a more tangible form and i believe humans to be meddling by nature, i think coincidences become patterns, beyond the number three, when intent enters the equation.

was that a very long way to say that despite the fact that jk didn't write any of the lyrics himself and is quoted in the article above as telling people to not take things too literally that i'm still going to intuit some autobiographical meaning from them? well, yes. i guess so. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

because ✨context✨(glass closet and comp het in particular). a context that i fully admit i am abscribing to the situation myself but if you're reading this i assume you're already in this boat with me, it's your context too, at least tangentially (GUILTY, your honor) by association. the entirety of any jikook argument has to exist in this space and to have gotten here at all required taking some liberties, a certain reading between the lines that is a tightrope of wanting to respect what someone says outloud and at face value while being aware few things are ever black and white (minus the infamous couple in question bah bum tiss 🥁).

if it feels different to you bc it's something he explicity expressed, that's totally fair. i've been back and forth about it a few times myself and maybe i'll feel differently tomorrow. but rn, this is where i'm at and this is all just spitballing at the end of the day, no?

in an attempt to not be accused of only picking and choosing the lyrics that suit my (gay) agenda, it feels worth pointing out that the lines i find applicable to jikook are not literal. as in while i fully believe jk could probably do anything he set his big, beautiful heart out to do, leaving someone's body golden like the sun and moon is unlikely. ( the jikook relevance is in it's choice, why that particular metaphor) and despite being more in the realm of possibility, i don't really believe he's fucking seven days a week either. his agreeance to the use of female pronouns in some songs and even the women in his music videos are a. the comp het standard for this worldwide pop boy takeover (inarguably) and b. don't automatically negate any potential underlying queerness of the artist himself. so when he sings she (is there even anything in the lyrics beyond the pronoun itself that could only refer to a cis woman? hell, does "she" only have to refer to a cis woman in this day and age? jimin is v in touch with his anima these days, don't kink shame :P) I'm taking that as an artistic liberty the same way I'm taking something like it's deeper than the rain. and the latter rain line only stands out to me because, again, broader context.

he didn't write any of the song lyrics but he was there for every step of the production and still approved what actually made it on to the album. he didn't write there for you, the song in gcf tokyo either but i dare you to go find a jikook argument about that video that doesn't list that song and its lyrics as evidence. he didn't write them but it's definitely something he cares about and is very aware of. i doubt anything was chosen without some degree of thought. which brings us full circle back to coincidences vs patterns and intent.

do i think the lyrics a lot of us collectively recognized as jikook coded, even if you respectfully don't want to read that far into it, were a coincidence this late in the game? ain't no way lmao. our jikook roads are paved with these sort of "coincidences." you think they weren't apart of the appeal? helped boost it right to main track status? maybe if it had just been the lyrics, without any of the imagery in the video (i would love to know how much creative direction he had here too, i hope we find out) to back it up, but between that not straight red line of fate, the black swan like wings, the dancing in front of the sun painting, the two households, both alike in dignity, in fair verona where we lay our scene aka the forbidden love vibes, etc. - it's too much for this sad little hyper-fixated romantic queer, personally lol.

so, i think two things can be true at the same time! i'm sure a lot of the songs and their implications have no autobiographical meaning to them beyond a universally relatable conversation and narrative about love, i do believe him. i think based on all the responses and feedback his first releases got, making a statement such as the one in the article was a good? pr move if nothing else too and definitely in line with what we have come to expect around an industry that bts is both sort of moving away from but still restricted by at this stage. if you've read any of my other ramblings so far on this site, you'll know i operate from a place of the more smoke screen around all this (this being a potential romantic relationship between jikook) the better, bc at the end of the day i want all of bts more than anything safe, happy, and free to pursue whatever creative fancy they can dream. them building a level of plausible deniability into this sort of stuff protects them. i will remain a broken record on that point.

but bc of the larger context of jikook as a whole and my belief that jk is both clever and also a romantic at heart, i'm going to take these crumbs and go. 🚗💨 i'm not in any sort of who can be the more superior, rational delulu competition, we're all in our own little clown cars no matter your chosen dressings until proven otherwise. that's the nature of this whole shebang, bby. 🤠👉👉

def feel free to come respectfully argue with me though, i'm never here to convince anyone but i enjoy these conversations and i love other people's perspective. are you ignoring the standing next to you jikook bait?

[soulofapatrick]

Bittersweet Affection - Jesse x Reader

Summary: Finding an untouched Starbucks with Jesse leads to a lot more than instant coffee

Words: 2.3k

warning: none 

Notes: Felt like I was neglecting Jesse with all the Joel and Tommy stories

Y/N’s POV

Jesse follows me into the Starbucks with an amused grin as I’m practically bouncing with excitement, having caught the falling logo out the corner of my eye on our way back from a calm patrol. I had to beg, using my best puppy dog eyes, to get Jesse to let us detour and now I am so fucking glad we did as the wooden shelves are still lined with bags of all different coffee bags, labels peeling and faded with age. 

It’s eerily still, the air thick with dust and the smell of stale coffee but other than that it’s exactly how it was twenty years ago before the outbreak. The coffee machines stand silent and dark, their once shiny surfaces now dulled with age and neglect. Somehow, the place feels frozen in time, as if waiting for someone to come and revive it from its long slumber. There’s also an odd sense of comfort being in here, not sure if it’s radiating from Jesse or the place. Maybe it’s the familiarity of the Starbucks logo or the comforting smell of the coffee that still lingers int eh air. Whatever it is I find myself drawn to the rows of untouched coffee bags, fingers running lightly over them as a strange mixture of excitement and reverence washes over me. The bags are dry and slightly brittle to touch yet, despite their age, they seem to hold a certain vitality and promise of warmth and comfort that’s been absent for so long. 

I take my time examining each bag, admiring the once vibrant colours and intricate designs of their labels. Some bags are bold and bright, with flashy logos and catchy slogans, while others are more subdued and sophisticated, with elegant fonts and simple colour schemes. Then I pick up a bag to examine it and see if it’s safe to take back to Jackson as I intent to keep all of these except maybe two or three that Uncle Joel will want as that man has trades some good guns just to get his hands on a bag of coffee. I don’t blame him but Maria was so mad when she found out and an angry Maria is scary. I can feel the weight of the bags contents shifting inside, a satisfying confirmation that there is still coffee to be had. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I feel Jesse moving closer rather than hear him, a shiver running down my spine as he places his hands on my hips, leaning over my shoulder to see. His touch is too intimate to be merely friendly, the way his thumbs find their way under my shirt and jacket to rub soothing circles against my skin makes my heart race, realising just how close he is too me. He’s resting his chin on my shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over my skin and it all feels so intimate, sending a thrill through as my cheeks flush with heat. I should be pushing him away as he has that on and off thing with Dina but I have liked him for so long I think I get to be selfish and take what I want so I lean back against him as I continue to examine the bags and decide which we’ll bring back with us and which are too damaged to take. 

I have liked Jesse since we met, a few weeks after I arrived in Jackson with Joel and Ellie and reunited with my dad. I didn’t realise I liked him in a romantic way at first until Ellie pointed it out to me, she teased me lovingly about it but was also a firm source of support and encouragement, trying to get me to confess to Jesse how I feel but I couldn’t. I kept my feelings to myself, content to be Jesse’s best friend and nothing more but the more I tried to deny it the more my heart yearned for more. 

I’m turning my head slightly to look at the young man I’m head over heels for, his expression hard to read but his burnt umber eyes meet mine with a mixture of intensity and hesitation. We can both feel the longing, it’s thick in the air, a spark of attraction that’s been building for a while now. Instead of acknowledging it, we both turn back tot he coffee bags and ignore the heavy air around us. I can feel when his gaze shifts from the coffee bags and back to me, a mixture of curiosity and desire that is hard to ignore, especially when he leans in even closer and letting me feel the warmth of his body against my back. It sends a wave of such strong longing through me that a small whimper escapes my lips but Jesse doesn’t react to it if he hears it. 

He’s stepping back when I speak, “I think these will do, there’s like twelve here and we can come back again tomorrow to check the rest of the shop out.” 

“You’re like a kid in a candy store birdie.” He’s grinning, eyes warm and bright with a deep fondness in them that makes my heart skip a beat and draw a strange concoction of emotions from me: excitement; anticipation and a hint of nervousness all rolled into one. Another blush is creeping its way up my neck and into my cheeks, making me turn away and grab as many of the bags as I can carry before heading to the door. 

There’s an ear-splitting whistle when I step outside, a high pitched whine that seems to reverberate through my skull and leaving me disorientated and dazed. Terror fills me as I’m frozen to the spot, feeling the fresh and warm blood trickling down my cheek, the bullet having grazed me. Strong arms wrap around my waist, yanking me back into the safety of the store but just as quickly as his protective embrace envelopes me it’s gone with the slam of the door. I feel so helpless, unable to move to go help him as my body is stuck in fight or flight and has chosen freeze. 

It feels like an eternity with the sounds of gunfire echoing through the shattered window, my heart racing with fear and anxiety this time. I can only listen to the chaos until it falls silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop and suddenly I’m unstuck. I’m rushing out the door, coffee forgotten on the counter, to see him standing there with his gun still held at the ready and dark eyes scanning the area for anymore threats. Relief floods through me as he’s unharmed and I can’t stop myself when my gaze drifts to his muscular frame and sharp features, the way his hair falls across his forehead and the intensely focused expression in his deep, burnt umber eyes. 

They find mine and I’m struck with just how incredibly attractive he is, how much I’ve been longing to be close to him, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me and his lips pressed against mine. The worry that fills his gaze has me moving, sprinting towards him as my hear races with adrenaline and desire, feeling my feet moving faster than ever. I’m not sure if I’m fully in control of my body at this point, my thoughts consumed with the need to be close to him, to feel his warmth and strength against mine so I know he’s okay and that my mind isn’t playing tricks on me as a trauma response. 

Suddenly I’m colliding with his chest, my arms wrapping around him tightly. His own arms encircle me in a warm, comforting embrace and I feel his firm muscles pressing against me, his heartbeat beating just as fast as mine. We stand there, bodies intertwined, lost in the comfort that the other is still alive and breathing. Without a second thought I’m pulling back enough to press my lips to his, a jolt of want rushing through me. I’m afraid he’ll pull away and that I’ve misread his feelings but then, to my joy and surprise, he’s kissing me back with just as much passion and intensity. For so long have I hidden my feelings for Jesse that now, with his hands splayed across my back and his chest pressed to mine they all come flooding out into the kiss. 

My hands are moving to his hair, feeling the soft and thick strands between my fingers, slightly curly and it’s like running my fingers through clouds. His hands are on my hips again, pulling me impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss by swiping his tongue over my bottom lip, requesting entrance to which I eagerly respond. A soft exhale escaping when he nips at my lip teasingly, making me giggle a little like a stupid schoolgirl. His hands are moving, trailing over every dip and curve, our bodies fitting together perfectly and I can feel the heat and passion between us growing stronger by the second. I never want this moment to the end, wanting to stay wrapped in Jesse’s arms forever. 

We eventually have to break the kiss, gasping for air and his forehead rests against mine as we try to calm our racing hearts. I have to ask, I know I do and it feels me with a sense of dread, having to break this perfect moment, pulling back enough to watch his expression as I ask in a shaky voice, “W-what about Dina?”

“We ended it months ago.” Jesse speaks softly, expression just as soft as his voice and he’s reaching up to tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. My heart tries to take up the sport of skipping as I feel the weight of his words settling into my bones as hope rises and rises until I’m gasping and Jesse’s asking, “You okay sweetheart?”

I’m nodding, not trusting my voice again as he draws me even closer and I can smell the lingering coffee and gunpowder mixed with that cinnamon and cherry shampoo I know he uses and it’s intoxicating. The kiss is hot and needy, hands exploring each other’s backs and necks as our lips and tongues explore the other, a taste for what we could have. His hands run through my hair, pulling me closer than I though possible, deepening the kiss even more as he tugs lightly and draws a sound from my throat. My own hands retaliate, roaming down his chest to feel the muscles tensing and rippling beneath his shirt, heartbeat racing and a low groan leaving his lips when I drag my nails down his chest. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long sweetheart,” He’s breathing heavily, voice low and rough, desire oozing from him and stealing the air from my lungs. 

“Me too.” My own voice trembles with emotions then we’re kissing again, even more passionately and intense than before. It’s like we’re trying to make up for all the lost time, making up for all the moments we could have had like this before but it doesn’t matter now as we have this. A thrill running through me when Jesse finally untangles himself from me and heads back towards the Starbucks to grab the coffee. As I watch Jesse's retreating figure, I can't help but feel a sense of warmth spreading throughout my body. The taste of his lips still lingers on my own, and my heart races with excitement as I realise what this means for us. For the first time in a long time, I feel a renewed sense of hope, of love, and of possibility. I’m also a little mad as I just know Ellie is going to be telling me she told me so for weeks after this with that smug smile on her freckled face, reviling in the fact that she was right. 

I turn my attention back to the coffee bags now in my hands, taking in their weight and the feel of their rough paper against my skin, hearing the laughter in Jesse’s voice as he looks at me, shaking his head fondly, “I can’t believe you’re this excited about instant coffee, birdie.” 

It causes me to roll my eyes and grin back, "Hey, you can never have enough coffee in a post-apocalyptic world, Jesse. Plus, think about how much dad and Joel are gonna love you when you hand them the coffee and tell them you’re dating me.” 

Jesse chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief, "Yeah, I'm sure they'll be thrilled," he says, a hint of nervousness in his tone. "But hey, I think they'll be happy if we're happy, right?" He flashes me a smile, and I feel a warmth spread through me. I can't help but feel a sense of excitement at the thought of Jesse and me being together. We've been best friends for so long, and I've been secretly pining after him for what feels like forever. And now, we're finally giving it a go. 

As we ride back to Jackson, I can't stop stealing glances at Jesse. He looks so handsome in the post-apocalyptic world, with his rugged features and that easy smile. I can't believe that he's finally mine, and the thought fills me with a sense of happiness that I haven't felt in a long time. I can’t stop myself reaching over and taking his hand, intertwining our fingers. He looks at me with a soft expression, and I know that he feels the same way. We ride the rest of the way back to Jackson in comfortable silence, our hands still intertwined, and a sense of contentment washing over us and excitement for whatever the future holds. 

--------------

The Last of Us Masterlist

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