chaotic-gender-fluid

-they/them- indian teen currently obsessed with all for the game, percy jackson, the raven cycle, greek myths, nevermoor, the adventurers guild and the secret history

[academic-vampire]

“…𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔶 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯…”

-Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning”

[slowlikehoney1996]

If your lover lives in Hong Kong and cannot get to Chicago, it will be necessary for you to go to Hong Kong. Perhaps you will spend your life there, and never see Chicago again. And you will, I assure you, as long as space and time divide you from anyone you love, discover a great deal about shipping routes, airlines, earthquake, famine, disease, and war. And you will always know what time it is in Hong Kong, for you love someone who lives there. And love will simply have no choice but to go into battle with space and time and, furthermore, to win.

James Baldwin, Nothing Personal

[detailedart]

Moon over the Temple of Poseidon. 1 - 2

[mismedleym]

toward the sun, from the sun

[frenetic--energy]

ryan throwing a glance at naim over his shoulder in the corridor at school, beckoning, begging, helpless. follow me, he's screaming, come with me, be with me. in the crowded halls where he knows that naim is really naim, where he can watch the flow of people part around him like waves breaking on the shore—affected and interrupted and undeniably real.

ryan sickeningly relieved at turning around to see naim behind him, just in time to watch his form slipping past the tiny crack of the rapidly-closing bathroom door. ryan reaching for him with a tenderness so alien it feels like gold molten in his fingertips. naim meeting him there without pause.

fingers twined in hair. hands on waists. feet stumbling backward, dragging them toward a stall before anyone can see. whispered promises against skin warmed by skin. i know it's you, ryan's breathing against naim's neck, eyes closed against the tide of affection that threatens to sweep him out into depths so blue and dark they make him feel bare. i know, naim's throaty whisper against his ear, it's me. and it's everything ryan is himself too scared to say out loud. ryan dizzy with how brave naim suddenly seems, and holding him a little tighter.

pain being the last thing he feels. hearing the wet tear of cartilage. feeling the hot rush of blood down his neck. feeling his body wrench itself backward. watching his own hands shove naim back. then, like an afterthought, an agony so precise it's nearly blinding.

it's me, naim saying again, and ryan's sob is a guttural thing made by an animal trying to claw its way out of him. ryan rushing for the door, hand slipping in his own blood instead of stemming the flow of it, and bursting out into the corridor with heaven on his tail, yelling for help.

ryan tumbling to the cold linoleum. his arms and legs feeling suddenly thin and frail. his hand falls away. a girl is screaming.

naim's eyes, dark and wide and brimming with horror.

[griffineatsbread]

I really loved the monster in Leviticus as a monster, but also...if you try to suppress your feelings, internalize the homophobia, the fear. it will kill you. It will come to your house and try to strangle you. Like. the monster is scary because of what it represents, and that you can't run from it

[maddiecinema]

"i don't want it to look like some other dickhead. i want it to look like you"

the notebook wishes it could achieve that level of romance.

[hystericalend]

The moment the queer kid runs away from their unaccepting family is always portrayed as a big adrenaline fuelled escape, a screaming match, a hastily packed bag. Because it's only when your throat is raw and your face is wet and your parents yell and condemn that it's deserved, right? But what if it's just another day? You and your mother are having a conversation you've already had before, and you don't know why you think you can convince her. Nothing has changed between yesterday and today. She didn't listen in the hospital as a nurse wiped blood from your face and you coughed up sticky black, but now as you walk with her, twigs and bark cracking underfoot, you try again. The crowd of never-missed-a-Sunday churchgoers move around you as they comb dry bushland for the boy they faithfully watched seize on the floor. Sulphur-crested cockatoos screech above twisted eucalyptus trees. The sky is dusky-brown, polluted with lingering smoke. You talk to her, voice shaking but true, because this time, this time she'll meet your eyes and understanding will smooth the pinch in her brow. She'll pull you into a hug and say that she believes you and she loves you and she's sorry. You wait. But someone announces they're moving on—no sign of him here—and all she does is smile. She doesn't yell, but you almost wish she would. She's never hurt you with her own hands, but you almost wish she would. We need fear Naim, she tells you, fear is how we survive. And you get in the car because you always get in the car, the day it took you away from the house your father died in and every Sunday morning since.

But then your mother pulls into the station to fill the tank, and when she walks out to pay, you open the passenger door and climb out with the banality of a dead leaf tearing free from its branch. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and a lighter in your pocket, but you head to the bus stop with no detours. You're in the wind now, and a dead leaf can't reattach to its tree. Bus brakes screech and hiss. The boy you thought they would find bloody and cold in the never-ending dry grass is standing there. He sees you. Relief is not a big enough word. He's the first you ever shared this feeling with, the feeling you've been scared of since you were too young to even know what it was. And when you see him standing at the bus stop you think he might also be your last. He has his roots in you, this boy, he follows you into your dreams and is your waking nightmare. You reached for the demon that wore his face believing it might be your final act, and even now, when you still can't be sure it's really him, your throat still bruised and cuts still healing, you cross the road.

There is no dramatic kiss, once he confirms it's you, no loud proclamation of love for everyone to overhear. The two of you are quiet, when you step onto the bus and find a seat. As the bus begins its journey, you see his mirror image outside on the grass watching you leave. But when you turn to your right, he's soundlessly resting, finally able to. The ending feels undeserved because it's not the ending. You smile, rest your head in the crook of his neck, and let the music play.

[hystericalend]

The moment the queer kid runs away from their unaccepting family is always portrayed as a big adrenaline fuelled escape, a screaming match, a hastily packed bag. Because it's only when your throat is raw and your face is wet and your parents yell and condemn that it's deserved, right? But what if it's just another day? You and your mother are having a conversation you've already had before, and you don't know why you think you can convince her. Nothing has changed between yesterday and today. She didn't listen in the hospital as a nurse wiped blood from your face and you coughed up sticky black, but now as you walk with her, twigs and bark cracking underfoot, you try again. The crowd of never-missed-a-Sunday churchgoers move around you as they comb dry bushland for the boy they faithfully watched seize on the floor. Sulphur-crested cockatoos screech above twisted eucalyptus trees. The sky is dusky-brown, polluted with lingering smoke. You talk to her, voice shaking but true, because this time, this time she'll meet your eyes and understanding will smooth the pinch in her brow. She'll pull you into a hug and say that she believes you and she loves you and she's sorry. You wait. But someone announces they're moving on—no sign of him here—and all she does is smile. She doesn't yell, but you almost wish she would. She's never hurt you with her own hands, but you almost wish she would. We need fear Naim, she tells you, fear is how we survive. And you get in the car because you always get in the car, the day it took you away from the house your father died in and every Sunday morning since.

But then your mother pulls into the station to fill the tank, and when she walks out to pay, you open the passenger door and climb out with the banality of a dead leaf tearing free from its branch. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and a lighter in your pocket, but you head to the bus stop with no detours. You're in the wind now, and a dead leaf can't reattach to its tree. Bus brakes screech and hiss. The boy you thought they would find bloody and cold in the never-ending dry grass is standing there. He sees you. Relief is not a big enough word. He's the first you ever shared this feeling with, the feeling you've been scared of since you were too young to even know what it was. And when you see him standing at the bus stop you think he might also be your last. He has his roots in you, this boy, he follows you into your dreams and is your waking nightmare. You reached for the demon that wore his face believing it might be your final act, and even now, when you still can't be sure it's really him, your throat still bruised and cuts still healing, you cross the road.

There is no dramatic kiss, once he confirms it's you, no loud proclamation of love for everyone to overhear. The two of you are quiet, when you step onto the bus and find a seat. As the bus begins its journey, you see his mirror image outside on the grass watching you leave. But when you turn to your right, he's soundlessly resting, finally able to. The ending feels undeserved because it's not the ending. You smile, rest your head in the crook of his neck, and let the music play.

[asoftepiloguemylove]

ANY TOUCH OF A LOVED ONE COULD BE THE TOUCH OF GOD // NAIM AND RYAN

unknown // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // Benjamin Alire Sáenz Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // Mitski Geyser // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // Keaton St. James BLACKLUNG // Emily Skaja It's impossible to keep white moths (via @annori) // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // @nixscriptum // unknown // @/foldyrhands // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella

[asoftepiloguemylove]

ANY TOUCH OF A LOVED ONE COULD BE THE TOUCH OF GOD // NAIM AND RYAN

unknown // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // Benjamin Alire Sáenz Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // Mitski Geyser // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // Keaton St. James BLACKLUNG // Emily Skaja It's impossible to keep white moths (via @annori) // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella // @nixscriptum // unknown // @/foldyrhands // Leviticus (2026) dir. Adrian Chiarella

[me-and-michael]

Leviticus really said yes life will be harder because I choose to be with you but I choose to be with you despite it all

[no-chair]

highly recommend everyone watches Leviticus:)

[no-chair]

highly recommend everyone watches Leviticus:)

[redrageoused]

out now, go watch

prints :)

[ceruleanheaven]

[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over

[girlovid]

kevin day should’ve been an ancient greek tragic heroine and instead he got stuck in a self published 2010s contemporary sports/crime thriller… and he didn’t even get put on the woke team so he doesn’t know about estrogen or bisexuality