#or i take it off and. theyre STILL pretty hot and sweaty but theres a chilly breeze on the rest of me

[butchviking]

i hate tshirt sleeves so much and whoever invented them should be executed

[reesewestonarchive]

chapter four / rem belongs to @forlornraven / masterpost / mature content

Music pulses through Nakoa’s legs, and Jenna’s body sways against Nakoa’s, pressed against him as close as she can go. She smells like mangoes, like sweat.

Nakoa inhales against her neck, licks a long line up to her jaw, sucks against it. She shudders underneath him, and Nakoa grins as she takes his hand, presses it beneath her jeans. She turns her head, pupils blown wide, and she says, “Wanna go back to mine?”

Yes. Absolutely. Nakoa feels a buzz in his veins he hasn’t in a while at the prospect, and—”Yeah. You bet.”

He’s not sure where Rem is, but he’s been gone all day. left that morning, didn’t come back, even though the car still sits in the parking lot at the motel. At least, it did, before Nakoa took to the streets to find something to take his mind of it, off of wondering where Rem was.

Probably wasted in the back alley of some bar, still downing a bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered off of some unsuspecting bartender.

Or—maybe he’s doing exactly what Nakoa’s doing now, finding somebody to bury his dick into, get off without the mountain of complications.

It’s been three days, and between sightseeing and sleep, they’re only just west of Denver, in some shitty small town that reminds Nakoa of Withervale just a little too much, but the girls are attractive, and the guys look like they could punch Nakoa out if he stared a little too long, and Rem’s been in a bad mood since Baldie.

Nakoa’ll take his chances, he thinks, with Jenna. He asks, “Are you far?” and grins when she shudders as he touches her.

He goes home with Jenna, and tries not to think of Rem when he comes.

Jenna offers to give him a ride back to the motel, but in the aftermath Nakoa really just wants a fucking shower, to wash what feels like a layer of filth off of him, and some awkward fifteen minute drive across town isn’t going to make him feel any better.

And it’s not cold out, anyway. “I’m good,” he says, as he tugs on jeans. Jean covers herself with her sheet, cocks her head to the side.

“You okay?” Her tone is just this side of concerned; she’s being polite, but Nakoa can tell she’s not really interested in the answer.

“Yeah,” he says, then, for a reason he doesn’t know, he says, “just complicated.”

“Aw,” Jenna says, sitting at the end of her bed. “I know complicated.” She gives him a glance, then says, “You a cool guy?”

Nakoa’s a loser. Unemployed and homeless and traveling across the country without any kind of a fucking plan, in search of a better life he’s not sure he’s ever going to find. Mediocrity feels less like a shadow hunting him and more like the prize at the end of the race.

Is he running away from it, or running towards it?

“I guess.” She can’t be talking about that.

“My girlfriend and I are kind of on a break.” She shrugs. “And it’s so stupid.”

“Relationships are complicated,” Nakoa says. He pulls his shirt over his head. “My…” but the word doesn’t come. What is Rem? His best friend? It’s not untrue, but he’s reasonably sure most best friends don’t fuck.

Most.

Is there a word for something in the middle, between romantic and friendly?

As she watches him, Jenna seems to pick up what’s going through his head. “Oh,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “You got it bad.”

“I do not.”

“And I thought me and my girl were complicated.”

For some reason, that pisses Nakoa off more. “There’s no girl.”

It’s the first time he’s even come close to saying the word out loud. Nakoa knows there’s a word for who he is, but it still feels wrong when he says it, when he thinks it. Not the attraction—there’s merit in sleeping with all kinds of people—but the word. The way people see it and think disgusting. Heathen.

“Oh.” Jenna’s voice is soft, and she stands. “So. Same boat.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They kiss before Nakoa leaves, just because Jenna enjoys it, just because she asks, and Nakoa agrees because she showed him a good time, and it’s the least he can do. He wishes her good luck with her girlfriend and stomps back to the hotel room.

Where Rem sits, outside of it, empty fifth clutched between his knees. He doesn’t hear Nakoa approach, but he does react when Nakoa touches his shoulder, jerks away like Nakoa’s burned him.

“About fucking time,” he says, and his voice is like a river, watery and rushing, tripping over itself in his eagerness to speak. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“Sorry,” Nakoa says. Doesn’t point out that Rem has a key, too. He unlocks the door. He tugs on Rem’s arm, and the whiskey bottle falls to the sidewalk, crashes and breaks. Nakoa leaves it. “Did you drink all of that?”

“It’s—” He hiccups. “Bottom shelf, don’t get hissy.”

Nakoa took… something, at the club, earlier, before he went home with Jenna. He’s awfully fucking hypocritical if he tells Rem that he can’t do this. At least he came back. At least they got away from Baldie. From Withervale.

Drunk and alive is better than the alternative.

He draws Rem into the shower, starts taking off his clothes, and Rem says, “Ooh, am I gonna fuck you over the counter?”

“Keep dreaming,” Nakoa says, as he pulls off Rem’s jeans. He’s cold, so Nakoa warms the water and shoves him under the stream. Rem yelps, but relaxes into the hot, if lacking pressure, water. His entire body goes slack as it cascades over him.

Nakoa turns away, doesn’t watch, as tempting as it is. “You get back okay?”

Rem laughs. “Please. Liquor store’s not that far away. Where’d you get off to?”

“Girl I met at the club.” Nakoa pitches his voice higher, to be heard over the water. “You have a good time?”

“Better when you’re there.”

But he didn’t ask. He’d blazed through cities, the last forty eight hours, taking small roads instead of highways, getting lost and debating over the map with Nakoa multiple times, and.

“Missed you,” Rem says, his voice quiet. Nakoa wonders if he even said it at all. If maybe he imagined it. He’s been wanting to hear Rem say it for so long. Hoping for some kind of sign.

But no.

The water shuts off, and Nakoa makes his way back out into the room, digs in Rem’s bag until he finds something suitable for bed for him. The idiot’ll pass out on the bed, if he doesn’t, and Nakoa’ll end up with none of the blanket instead.

Rem stands in the threshold to the bathroom, though, and Nakoa glances up at him, just once, before turning back to the task at hand.

“I mean it,” Rem says.

Means what? “Sure.” T-shirt, underwear. It’ll work. Someday, when Nakoa’s not counting every penny, he’ll buy Rem some new clothes, fi him back in with the style.

Nakoa, though. He needs a job, first. Something simple, something under the table. A stable place in LA, or somewhere else, because he and Rem are living off of gas station snacks and Nakoa’s stomach is protesting bite of food he eats.

But every mile between him and Withervale feels a little more like flying

He gives Rem his clothes, and before he can turn away, Rem’s fingers reach out, wrap around his wrist. His voice is soft, unlike him, when he says, “Nakoa,” and Nakoa looks up, studies the lines in Rem’s face, the curve of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he lifts a shoulder in a shrug and holds uncertainty deep in his chest like an old friend. Rem strokes his thumb down Nakoa’s wrist, and there’s a short glimpse of a smile before he lifts one hand, the one holding his towel, and pulls Nakoa in, forehead to forehead, whiskey strong on his breath.

Nakoa breathes it in, lets his eyes fall close as the towel unravels at Rem’s feet, as Rem closes the distance between them.

Rem tastes like whiskey, like freedom, like betrayal, but Nakoa can’t complain if he tastes like someone else. He accepts the kiss for whatever it is, and pulls back. Taps his fingers against Rem’s chest and says, “I’m pretty tired, man.”

It’s not a denial, but Rem’s different, shitfaced, whiskey heavy on his lips and in his limbs, and Nakoa likes him normal, likes him sober, likes the way he lingers. Often, Nakoa wonders if he imagines the lingering.

He doesn’t question it. But the stark difference between sober and drunk feels like night and day, and Nakoa would rather not.

If Rem asks, the answer is yes. But Nakoa prefers not giving him the opportunity to ask. It’s easier to deny him.

Sometime in the night, Rem wakes and vomits over the side of the bed. Nakoa m, eyes heavy with sleep, says nothing. Presses himself against Rem’s back when he’s done, wracking his brain for a song. Settles in on “Friday I’m in Love” after he decides The Clash might be too fast.

His forehead is sweaty against Rem’s shoulder blades. But he doesn’t pull away, keeps humming for Rem well after the song is through, continuing with Modern English and Simple Minds.

“You don't have to do this.”

Nakoa doesn’t falter in his humming, just drops a hand over Rem’s waist and tugs him in.

He pressed his mouth against Rem’s skin, not like a kiss, bur as much like one as he dares. He hums, holds Rem’s denial behind his teeth, doesn’t answer.

-

“Clutch,” Rem says, pressing on Nakoa’s left knee. “Middle is brake. Right’s gas.” He taps the gear shift. “So, driving. Ease off the gas a bit, onto the clutch, shift, off the clutch, onto the gas.”

Nakoa blinks. His heart beats, strong and steady in his chest. “And to move?”

Rem’s voice holds its tone when he speaks, walks Nakoa through the steps. The car stalls under Nakoa’s guidance the first three times, but Rem pushes him forward, encouragement heavy in his words, and Nakoa’s chest swells with pride when he can finally drive his way across the parking lot.

They traded in the junker for this piece of shit, more torn up than the last. It smells like weed and vomit and pine trees, but it gets better mileage, and the speakers aren't blown out, and Rem won fifteen hundred in a bet on the game two nights ago.

The Earth feels less like Jello beneath Nakoa's feet.

Rem grips his thigh when Nakoa turns through the parking lot, pleased as he lets out a yell, and—oh.

Nakoa kills the engine, and the car comes to a slow stop. “Fuck.”

But Rem waves it away. “It’s great! Shit, I burnt out Billi’s clutch the first time I tried—” But at the mention of his mother, Rem’s expression falls. He shoves open the door, says, “Enough for today.”

They’re in Utah. Have been for a few days, after replacing the windshield in Colorado, after Jenna.

Yesterday, Nakoa got inexplicably homesick, stared at a payphone for five minutes, and convinced himself not to call.

Barely.

They settle into each other’s seats. The beauty of this van, Nakoa realizes, is that it isn’t; an old, clunker of a beast, with the back seats torn out and a sunroof modded in. Except for showers, they don’t need motels anymore.

Their trip got a hell of a lot cheaper. And, heading into LA, Nakoa’s not sure how far their money will go.

Relieved to be out of the driver’s seat, back under Rem’s practiced hand, Nakoa reaches for the cigarettes and lights up.

His voice echoes. “Think we can find a mattress?”

“One that isn’t covered in shit or blood?” Rem shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”

They do; kind of. They definitely find the mattress. An old, stained old thing from an old woman in the city, who’s upgrading for her and her husband. She takes one look at the van, one look at Nakoa and Rem, and pats Rem’s hand with a twinkle in her eye. “I expect you boys will get plenty of use out of it.”

She winks at Nakoa, and Nakoa offers her an uncertain smile. Rem looks like his head is going to blow off if she doesn’t let go of it.

The manhandle the mattress into the back of the van after Nakoa hands over the twenty. The mattress isn’t stained, isn’t old, but it’s floral and weak and smells of mothballs, and when Nakoa shuts the door to the passenger seat, it already reeks of old perfume in the van.

Rem sits next to him, quiet and pensive. Doesn’t start the van.

Nakoa waits, but ten minutes and he’s still sitting there. “What?”

“What’d she mean by that?”

By… what? “Who?”

“Getting use out of it. That’s not fucked up to you?”

For the— “Rem, she probably meant with girls.”

“…Right.”

“You’re really worried about what some random old woman has to say about shit?” Nakoa’s not exactly out and proud, but this isn’t under his skin. Rem picks at what’s left of the polish on his nails, his body tense and unforgiving. “Rem.”

“Never mind.”

He’s ashamed, then; that’s what that means. His mothers, he has mothers, and he still feels shame. Nakoa’s own family makes jokes at the expense of people like them, has told him that if one of their children was queer they’d set them straight, and Rem’s the one sitting here worried about what this old woman thinks of them.

But it’s not anger that courses through Nakoa’s veins, thinking that. Instead, confusion muddles his brain. He tries to think of something, anything, to make him feel better, but there’s nothing. Not words, anyway. Nakoa licks his lips, he’s about to suggest that they go to a park, or an abandoned parking garage or something and they can christen the new mattress, but Rem puts the van gear and drives off.

They hit up a department store for the sheets, and Nakoa spends twenty minutes glaring at on-sale camping gear trying to find sleeping bags that don’t look like shit while Rem searches for pillows, and Nakoa feels the weight of his remaining money in his pocket like a brick.

He’s not sure how much is left. Between the van, the motels, food, Nakoa’s sure it’s dwindling. Rem says nothing, just brings home dinner, whiskey, less and less every day.

 Nakoa buys the blankets. What else are they supposed to do—go back home?

They find a place on an empty road, far from the city, that night, coyotes howling in the distance, a small campfire built out of the back end of the van. Rem hangs his legs off the van, stares up at the sky. A bottle of whiskey sits between his legs. Bowie plays softly in the background.

Nakoa’s not sure of the last time he’d been this happy. In Utah, of all places, so far from home that Withervale feels like a separate fucking planet.

In the clear night, the glow of the crackling fire, Nakoa wonders if Rem would agree. If he seems happy, or if he is happy. Rem never fucking talks to him, tells him to fuck off if Nakoa gets too close. If he missteps. He’s a jackass.

Nakoa’s afraid of how much he likes him anyway. If, once they get to LA, if Rem will enjoy it. If he’ll enjoy it too much.

He reaches for the whiskey, pleased by the noise Rem makes as he goes for it. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Rem’s laugh comes stark and surprising, echoes across the empty space, and Nakoa wants to kiss him until he feels that warmth through his entire body. “Probably the only thing I can get up right now.”

Snorting, Nakoa lifts the whiskey to his lips, savors the taste, the taste, and heat that pools in his stomach. “This is,” he says, but doesn’t know what he wants to say. Captivated by the stars, by the scenery. But Rem’s quiet, comforting presence beside him—

Nakoa wants to kiss him. Press him into the flowery, old mattress behind them and undress him, kiss down his chest and blow him, press into him until Nakoa’s name rests on his lips soft and tense. Until Rem clenches his teeth and his groan comes from his chest and.

Fuck. He wants, so much, to make Rem feel so good that he forgets what the world has done to him. 

“I’ve thought about living off the land before. Away from the city. Own a little farm or something.” An orchard. Some goats. Chickens, the modern dinosaurs they are, and Nakoa presses his finger against the ankylosaurus tattoo on his side. Thinks back to the artist that did it for him, briefly, and what he’s doing.

If he remembers Nakoa at all.

“Get the fuck away from people,” Rem says. He sounds tired, now, drunk. He hops from the van and kicks dirt over the fire. It’s dark enough that Nakoa can’t make out Rem’s features without direct light.

“Yeah.” But not Rem. “Dunno. Don’t wanna get kicked in the head, either.” Doesn’t want to give Rem up. He holds that deep inside his chest, though, locked away where he hopes Rem won’t find it, where Nakoa himself won’t be tempted to look.

When Rem says nothing, Nakoa crawls up the mattress, knees scraping the cool metal of the floor of the van. He tugs one of the sleeping bags over his body, presses his face into his pillow and sighs.

He’s not sure when Rem shuts the door and joins him, but Rem lies there, on his back, until Nakoa’s loopy with exhaustion and alcohol, and on the verge of sleep. Nakoa hears him say, “I—”

And then Nakoa passes out.

[vr2]

*turn around in shorts that say its time for my fuckin opinion on the ass* hey sweaty read to choke on my bns hot takes for uh lets see here uh ... t-two thousand words....

first of all... im pretty easily entertained so if u fail to do that its so like something has gone horribly wrong. i can enjoy pretty much anything halfway decent and i hate nitpicking on shit. but nitpicking implies small problems and sometimes the problem is the whole fucking thing. but man the direction bns has been going in is like. it really be like that, it really be just the most blatantly boring and uninspired it could go and here’s my fucking video essay that i will not do you the honour of being read aloud since the force of my opinion would crush your skull like a grape if spoken in the real world. 

first of all. i generally didnt have a problem with act1 bns story, i honestly thought it had some cool characters, some COOL as fuck cutscenes and as a person that loves lore juice a lot of the characters held a lot of promise and the diary was a fun read despite being the absolutely worst most stupid way to deliver any sort of lore content.

the circular narrative, the tight ending and the callback to all the characters was pretty well-rounded, a little but hammy but adopting the hongmoon kids nad becoming the master of your school was pretty novel. i really felt like there were so many new places to go with this dynamic, like bns could do something new by giving the mc more stakes in other characters rather than being a complete wildcard drifter.

but they keep doing this fucking thing were they repeat story themes in a way thats become incredibly unwelcome. i can understand why npcs would become recurring characters, why certain objects etc are still relevant but the fact that beat for beat the endgame again is divine mandate, mushins there, namsoyoo in danger and someone gets killed off for the sake of idk tragedy i guess. 

i think the worse thing is that the game tries to be tongue in cheek about its tropiness and normally id be like ok cool but the tropes are executed just so fucking blandly and soullessly its kind of insulting like. they really absolutely did not fucking try in the slightest for this one. not at fucking all. 

ryu saying ‘oh it would be so bad if you passed out form poison at an inconvenient time’ and the obvious death flags from bunah and bunyang are incredibly grating when you have absolutely no fucking stake in the story, know exactly whats coming cause the writing repeats itself over and over and know the exact same beats. 

at the very least most people can stand tropey anime, hell you can even ENJOY it if you are absorbed into the world and characters and the tropes are executed well. but this story is wholesale just same fucking shit slightly different npcs. it feels like they tries to manufacture drama in the most blatantly cheap way and it really lets itself down. i could honestly see them killing ONE of the kids for cheap and dirty tearjerking but man all of them leaving you alone again with jsy is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo unebelievably lazy. we have entered asian tv drama levels but at least those are fucking interesting. even the dance number in this act was shit.

i think the most annoying thing is that bns is one of the first mmos i played way back when and i still genuinely like the game up to a point and i like the world and characters. im literally always moaning bout how they did fuck all with the eight masters but gave them the barest most tantalizing hints of interesting characterisation in the diaries. but i think that’s all you need. it doesnt need to be 24/7 ballz to the walls worldending tragedy shock tactics to be entertaining. it somehow feels like they played it so incredibly safe that they looped around and made the worst decision possible and i just really wish theyd hire just your random ass average fucking ln writer cause theyd at least make shit entertaining. like the long form story telling of a truple a game thats reaching nearly 10 acts now should definitely be better than this like. what a fucking way to drop the ball.  

now. my second bone to grind. tell me why they actively REMOVED? ALL SIDE QUESTS? what kind of game, especially an mmo would fucking remove its OWN lore? why would that make any fucking sense? especially for how lore-light this game is but how vast its world is like sidequests felt like the absolute BARE minimum way to furnish this admittedly underdeveloped world. they at least gave us that slight illusion of depth and some of them were even fun! interesting! i still remember the sidequest where you go on a ‘hostage rescue mission’ to save an npc’s son who was kidnapped by lycandi and the npc who fucking gave you the mission murders his own son in front of you cause he was bumpin with the lycandi like. it’s not fucking riveting writing but it gave some more context to the places you visit, it’s SOMETHING about the supposed people that inhabit the world and it clearly makes some places more memorable than just ‘cool sky desert’, ‘cool sky city’, ‘cool sky village’.

im vaguely aware that this was done cause it ‘confused players’ who thought they had to do blue quests to level up to endgame and firstable idk why bns pushes endgame as the only ‘good’ part when its like in my humble opinion really fucking boring. you know people play mmos for different reasons? not just to reach lvl 100 super tier omega hongmoon thornbuster breakre 5000 and be no.1 in pvp. just looking flashy and good combat isn’t really enough to compete these days. im guessing its a push to the esports scene but also like you really want to serve one side better by doing relateively arbitrary thing that fucks over pve ppl? like? 

also there ARE genuinely people interested in the world and content and story as exemplified by all the oc and various comics and even even some official webcomics like i honestly dont think nc at all in any way nurtures that side of their mmo nearly enough especially when you see how healthy and thriving ff14 and other communities are in their oc scene. the sheer fact that people still stuck around despite the experiene of playing bns being patently awfully optimised and an uphill battle in every single way is testament to the fact that maybe some people just genuinely like the game? gutting it is absolutely antithesis to that.

i actually cant wrap my head around purposefully deleting lore cause it makes ‘grinding to endgame’ too confusing like does the story take that low a priority? the fucking ACTUAL game and the story is less important than people mindlessly burning themselves out to endgame, grinding dungeons and buying lootboxes like you cant do in literally every other game anyways? why would you get rid of some of the only shit that makes your game even slightly different? like im not out here saying it was the most revolutionary great shit but at least the side quests TRIED to give a modicum of flavour to bns. like they at least attempted to add to all the zones and make them places rather than set pieces were story happens to you then you leave and never come back. it doesnt even have to be revolutionary amazing writing to do that it just needs to be serviceable to give even the slightest sense of depth.

but for some reason rather than idk. just tell people theyre just flavour text and theyre not compulsory or just toggle on/off the fucking blue quest markers you decide to fucking? nuke the already translated (which someone no doubt paid for), completely unintrusive, absolutely functional, if somewhat tedious sidequests? making the whole fucking game even MORE barren and lifeless? FOR FREE? what a fucking deal.

 i literally cannot understand this clownery this absolute idiot idea could only have been concocted by the specific brand of stupidity found only in corporate sales dept. but like i think its also emblematic of how this game has no creative direction other than make Money which is fucked cause theres genuinely many parts of this game that i enjoy from like characters, music, visuals theres A LOT of promise in bns even if it takes a lot of legwork to get to it. as much as people give htk shit he absolutely made this game what it is visually and thematically, the soundtrack fucking rocks, theres some solid characters and story elements, a lot of the game still holds up visually and som of it dare i say looks fucking good. give bns a try its free to play.

maybe ive just been spoiled by fgo and gbf and literally every other popular game ACTUALLY trying to write good shit. trying to give their readers lore, trying to make things genuinely ENJOYABLE as a game should be rather than a part time job. but man i always forget after act1 bns really reveals why its never broken out from being a midweight grindy mmo