#the intimacy expressed in this small exchange unravels me

[moonctzeny]

get to you again

pairing: friends to lovers! hendery x fem!reader 

genre: smut, just a tiny teeny bit angsty I guess but with a happy ending, fluff

word count: 3k

warnings: raw sex, creampie, a little corruption kink?

summary:  “You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?”

inspiration: get to you again - mac ayres

tagging the lovely: @markresonates

It had been too long since you last saw Hendery.

You two had met so unexpectedly, both trapped in a small coffee shop a couple years ago, drenched to the bone and trying to find cover from the sudden rainfall.

“I was going to ask you if you were willing to share your umbrella, but I’m guessing you forgot it on the wrong day like me”, he joked, so you decided to share a table instead. After the fourth time he had you clench your stomach in laughter, out of the sheer willingness to make a stranger like you cheer up, you decided to exchange phone numbers, thus starting what would become a beautiful friendship.

It wasn’t easy being an idol. Two promotions in Korea, then a reality show in China, then another comeback. You counted the days, one by one until he’d get to you again. Until you’d finally re-watch his favorite movie with him for the millionth time, just to get to watch him laugh over the same stupid lines.

You weren’t sure when you realized you had fallen for him. Maybe it was last winter, almost exactly a year ago when he handed you your Christmas present. He had driven you on a hill on the outskirts of Seoul, the only place he knew with some privacy from prying eyes, and the breathtaking view of the tiny city lights made the freezing cold worth it. You were both sitting against the hood of his car, admiring the big city that seemed to unravel at your feet when you opened the small velvet box.

It revealed a silver necklace of two wings hanging from a dainty chain, with his initials carved on the back of the charm. As you stared at it long enough to make sure you weren’t making things up, you couldn’t decide which one was more beautiful- the pendant or the stars in Hendery’s eyes as he waited for your reaction.

“It’s symbolic”, he started explaining, a little embarrassed with how much effort he had put into the gift, “I know I’m not around a lot to take care of you, but just know that I’m always there if you need me. Like your guardian angel”.

He sounded so wholesome while saying it, long bangs covering his eyes that bashfully avoided yours. You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?

Tonight, it was beating as fast as the rhythm of the blinking Christmas lights decorating your living room. How could it not, with Hendery sitting only a few inches away, sharing a blanket with you? He was a few minutes late due to a last-minute photoshoot, but he arrived at your door bare faced and dressed in his favourite flannel shirt. He was just how you liked him, raw and soft and beautiful.

Unlike what you had predicted, he suggested checking out a new romantic comedy on Netflix. It was one of those that come out every Christmas season, all with the same low budget and cheesy acting that ended with some festive spirit that magically solves every plot hole. Two childhood friends, falling in love with each other, yet the girl thinks that the guy is way out of her league so she does nothing about it. The pure irony convinced you that the universe must be surely playing some sick joke on you, forcing you to look at a Hollywood version of yourself getting a happy ending for the next two hours.

“I don’t understand”, Hendery huffs in frustration, midway into the film by now, “why doesn’t the girl just tell him she likes him? What guy doesn’t want to hear that?”

“Maybe she’s scared of the rejection, or ruining everything-“ you start defending the character with a raised voice, realizing that maybe you’re invested in the movie a little too much, “sometimes there is this line between two people, and it’s comfortable to stay behind it because you don’t want to lose them in case something goes wrong”. You draw an invisible line with your index finger between your bodies, and Hendery focuses his stare on it as if it was real. He looks lost in his thoughts, still frozen in place before shaking his head and murmuring: “I guess you’re right”.

Your comment, his response, the sex scene playing on the screen. It all made you so painfully alert with his presence that your whole body tensed up and your mouth dried up like it was filled with cotton. You both chuckle in the midst of all the steaminess, as the actor fails to drag his former best friend at the edge of the bed by tagging on her ankle.

“What a loser”, Hendery scoffs mockingly at the character’s mistake, and you turn around to give him a side eyed glare.

“Relax, muscle man. Like you would do it better”

He mocks offense by opening his mouth dramatically, and you giggle at the distortion of his face that still somehow managed to look pretty. It was so cute, how he always wanted to look ‘strong’ in the eyes of others, reliable and macho. You didn’t care about any of that, you thought his resolutions were stupid. He was perfect in your eyes.

“Of course I would! I’m strong, look-“

The disaster played out in front of you like a filmstrip. His hands on your ankle, then his own ankle tripping over the blanket on the floor, and finally the feeling of his chest weighing down over your own. With him pressed so close against you, you were sure he must feel the way your heart is thumping, filled with so many emotions that it’s ready to jump out of your body.

The room was cold, but with Hendery’s sudden body heat coating you, you felt like you were on fire. The fleeting thought of you taking off your clothes, to relieve yourself of the suffocating feeling made your cheeks burn even more. Hendery’s neck was exposed just inches in front of you in it’s full glory, and you thought about where those veins on the side of it, visible through his pale skin, ended. You’d gladly kiss along the path they drew, let your teeth leave little violet blossoms on the way, while you’d make mental notes of what kisses made him react the loudest.

It’s his bangs tickling your temples that made you realize that he is still on top of you. You look up into his eyes, expecting a frantic look, maybe a string of apologies leaving his mouth. He was strangely serene, staring at your own lips instead, and for a second you thought he’d finally mercy you and give you what you daydream about every time he comes around. You’d kill for the sight of him with puffy red lips and blown out pupils, messy just for you. You’d kill for the feeling of his tongue against your own.

When he plants a kiss on your right cheek, right over the corner of your mouth, you think it tastes bittersweet. You were still high on the intimacy when he finally apologizes and rips his body away from yours, your crash back down to reality brutal. The movie was still playing on a high volume, yet all you heard was a deafening silence after his trip. You don’t object when he tells you he has to go before you get to see what happens to the couple behind the screen. They were eating you away, all the things you wanted to say to him as you sent him off, so much more than just a ‘drive safe, text me when you get home’.

Those thirty minutes after you close your front door felt like a lifetime. You replayed the accident over and over again in your head, the skin burning where he kissed you. The thoughts of calling him, telling him to turn around and finish what he started, were so loud that you felt like a crazy person.

You certainly thought you went insane when you heard a knock against your door. Peeking through the peephole, you’re surprised to see that, as if you’d unlocked the secret of manifestation, Hendery was standing once again in your hallway.

“Guanheng? Did you forget anything?”

He looked restless and fidgety as he walked back inside your apartment, like he couldn’t wait to let out whatever was on the tip of his tongue. His shoulders were coated in a light layer of snow that had managed to flush his face, and dampen his hair and eyelashes as well.

“No- well- yes, I-“. He stopped himself mid sentence and sighed, and you let him collect his thoughts. He looked serious, the expression foreign on his usually bright features, yet the way he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration made butterflies fly in your stomach. “What did you say about that line between two friends again? When we were watching the movie?”

You blinked back at him in confusion, waiting for him to tell you that he’s joking, he just forgot his charger, and he’ll see you again when his company allows him to. But he doesn’t, so you start to roll the pendant he gifted you between your thumb and index, trying to calm yourself down.

“It keeps two people that are meant to be together apart, but there is too much at stake to cross it”.

You start drawing that invisible line again, the one that separates the miserable comfort of denying your feelings for him and everything you wish you were brave enough to pursue.

He would be brave for the both of you.

Hendery grabs your lifted hand, bringing it on the side of his neck before he crashes his lips against yours. You don’t hesitate in kissing him back, hungry for his lips that taste as sweet as you imagined them to. He hasn’t realized how impossibly close to his body he has brought you, not until his embrace gets so tight that your necklace pokes uncomfortably against his chest.

You suck on his bottom lip and he welcomes you with his tongue, the kiss getting so heated now that you can’t help but tug on his hair to keep you grounded. Shivering from your action, his hands are now sliding from your hips to your waist, following the curves of your body until he reaches the underside of your breasts. You mewl against his lips as his thumbs dig into their softness, discreetly trying to cop a feel through your cotton shirt.

A moan leaves your mouth, lewd and desperate as he swallows it with a kiss, and he rips himself off of you when it seems to reach his stomach. He looks disheveled, as if he woke up from an intense, lucid dream; panting, sweating, staring at you with those big puppy eyes.

“We- we shouldn’t. We are going too fast, right?” You nod in agreement at his question but you’re not really listening. You had your fingertips placed on his moving lips, and he identifies the metallic smell as the remnants of you fidgeting with your jewelry earlier. “I should take you to dinner first, to that one place you like so much”. Losing interest in what he is saying, the words being too distant and grey when he stood so deliciously in front of you, you mindlessly start to unbutton his shirt, fascinated with that mole over his collarbone and wanting to see more.

The fire your fingers spread against his skin, in the midst of the chilliness of your living room has him groaning under his breath, with a voice as low and sexy as in his good morning calls. You can practically see him throw all his inhibitions out the window when he kisses you again, pushing you with his body until your back finds the nearest wall. Hendery’s hands are far from gentle now, leaving bruises behind all the soft spots he kneads with his fingers.

“I want you”, you confess with a whisper as you rid him off his flannel for good, and you can’t stop yourself from tracing all the lines of his toned abdomen. You can feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest, its fast rhythm matching yours. You grab his hand to lead him to the carpet next to the Christmas tree that is blinking along with the lights that adorn it- you’re too impatient in your arousal to take him to your bedroom and he doesn’t protest.

Hendery lays you on your back, finding his place between your legs as you wrap them around his waist to bring him closer. You remove your hoodie and the sports bra you had on, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples. He circles his tongue around the bud, licking and sucking on it interchangeably until you’re a begging mess underneath him.

Tugging on the elastic band of his sweats, you urge him to get naked for you completely, and he removes the extra garments with a strong pull. His sex bouces out of its cotton constraint, red and throbbing and aching for you. It makes the heat that’s pooling on your lower stomach spread even further, and you wiggle your hips to remove your sweatpants as well.

There’s something about the frilly pink panties you’re wearing- the innocent design on your shapely body that ignites a carnal instinct in him. He wants to ruin you, mark you, make you his. The sound of fabric getting ripped has your eyes bulge out in shock. You’ve never seen Hendery so determined.

He falls on top of you again, leaving urgent kisses on your jawline as he rubs his hard member against your heat. It’s driving you insane, how he’s so close to where you want him but not quite there yet, and you tug his hair again to make him look at you.

“I wanna feel you raw”

And raw was how he’d give it to you. You feel his warm hand over your stomach, keeping you in place as he aligns himself with your entrance, and the pressure his tip’s already feeling has him cursing out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”

He dips himself slowly into your pussy, careful not to stretch you uncomfortably much. His worried eyes are glued to your wide ones, reading your expressions to ensure they’re those of pleasure. And indeed they are, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bottoms out fully, a symphony of both your moans filling the room.

He starts out with a steady rhythm, your pussy adjusting to his size with every calculated thrust. You’re getting drunk with the intimacy, with his smell that sticks to your skin and the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear. You feel addicted to it already, to the feeling of having him be a part of you, and as his growing desperation has him picking up his pace, yours makes you wish you could live in that moment forever.

“I don’t think I’ll last much longer”

”Neither do I”

He can tell how close you are, your heaving chest and guttural sounds giving you away. His cold fingers find your clit then, rubbing your sensitivity in messy circles and pumping more blood to the area.

“Yes, baby. Let go for me”

Little stars of various colors dance around in your vision, framing the sight of Hendery fucking into you so beautifully. You enjoy the hypersensitivity that the continuing motion of his hips gives you, locking your legs around his waist as his thrusts turn sloppy.

“Come inside me”

Just those simple words, slipping out of your pretty mouth are enough to send him over the edge, grunting as he paints your walls in ropes of white. You feel him twitching inside you for a good while, your belly bulging in fullness. It drips out of you slowly when he finally gets off of you, his hands spreading your thighs apart so that he can admire his creation.

He chuckles in disbelief of what you two just did, removing a piece of fake snow that somehow landed on your hair. You can only admire the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down, all the little curves and shadows on his neck, his smile that gives you tunnel vision.

“All this time…”, he whispers softly, “you liked me too?”

You silently winced at the naiveness of his words, knowing damn well your feelings ran way deeper than a simple attraction. Nodding affirmatively, you avoid looking at his eyes by pretending to play with his fingers. You can’t let him see the way they have glossed up, yet the numbing feeling of disappointment is getting hard to ignore.

He doesn’t let you distance yourself from him further, lifting your chin up so you can make eye contact with him again. To your surprise, he looks way more nervous than you, subconsciously nibbling on his lower lip. He takes a deep breath, mustering up some courage before verbally letting his thoughts out of his chest.

“What if I told you I am in love with you?”

You were shocked at the confession, so much so that this reality seemed like a figment of your subconscious mind. You expected to wake up at any moment, to find yourself asleep on your couch, two feet away from him and still stuck in the sucky friendzone. But that moment never came, no matter how long you held your breath to trigger your awakening, and you let it go with a sigh and a blurb of your own thoughts.

“I’d ask you to be mine”

[jui-imouto-chan]

Okay, what about Prince Connor and the harem being an actual harem-- The stuff my brain comes up with at 2am--

The brunet fumes as he marches over to the harem’s quarters, footsteps echoing through the hall. Light bounces off the miscellaneous jewels embedded onto the crown on his head as he passes large window after large window, his thin, regal blue cape fluttering behind him, white trimming unmarried by dirt in the pristine corridor.

The prince moves his hands to his collar to begin unbuttoning it, expression slowly falling from anger, though a small fire still lay alight in his eyes. He had calmed down some, yet he feels a churning distaste in his gut.

He finally arrives at the room, knocking twice, first. Certainly, he could walk in at any time with little regard for the people within’s privacy or comfort, but his men are of utmost importance to Connor. He considers them worthy of respect, even if most of the others in both the palace and in the streets considered them to be merely pleasing to the eye and the body.

He hears an acknowledgment of his presence from the other side before the door is swung open by one of the members of his security personnel. Though, that is not to say he isn’t also involved with Connor, much like the other two guards in here.

“My Prince, you appear distraught. Has something happened?”

“That I am, Sir Reed.” Connor sighs, smiling dryly. It truly is interesting to hear Gavin speaking so politely when he can be one of the more vulgar in language once behind closed doors. Connor steps past the threshold as Gavin opens the door wider, then shuts it behind him.

His harem have a large room to themselves, away from the prying eyes of the people of the palace. Their room’s balcony is shared with his, in case he needs to relieve himself of frustration in the middle of the night. The prince remembers the conversation/explanation from his personal guard, Hank, after his chambers had been switched to his current one with a shudder.

The room, itself, has a large bed taking up most of it, arranged to look appealing with its plush red and white cushions, flanked by side tables of rich, polished oak. Miscellaneous objects lay scattered in them, though Connor’s cheeks flush as he gaze lands upon some of the more… phallic shapes, surrounded by miscellaneous oils.

His harem are currently surrounding another table placed away from the bed, cheering and muttering and cursing as they look upon something. The prince approaches, though he sheds his cape and folds it at the foot of the bed before doing so.

Ah, it seems everyone is viewing a game of chess between Markus and Conan. Conan has already incapacitated the other’s queen, her dark form gleaming in the sunlight while miscellaneous others stand in a perfect line beside her. Markus’ side holds a few pawns and a single knight, the latter he only just stole away from the other after Connor’s arrival. Its white coloring contrasts as well against Markus’ skin, as Connor’s own does when Markus’ large hands caress him, hold him, unravel him from the outside in. Connor shakes his head to clear himself of unnecessary thought. Not now.

Gavin stands away from the group, leaning against a wall beside a large bookcase. He attempts to come off as disinterested, but his lips noticeably purse when he sees Markus take another one of Conan’s pieces.

Josh holds tightly to the back of Markus’ chair, enraptured by the match. Collin, hip resting against the edge of the table beside his brother, mocks the older twin whenever he loses a piece. He laughs at Markus whenever the darker man mourns a pawn, whether his own or his opponent’s. Markus is sympathetic in the oddest circumstances, Connor thinks with amusement.

Conan manages to distract Markus from a spare rook using a bishop to lock the king behind a knight, a rook, and two pawns. Markus attempts to escape, and Conan mutters a victorious, “Checkmate.” as he directs the attention into the White Castle-shaped piece at the corner of the board, ready to swoop in and off the dark ruler.

Conan receives pats on the back and praise while exchanging a good-natured handshake with Markus, who sighs with a smile as some of the others whine at him for losing.

“That was an excellent match.” The prince states as he gets closer, attention finally cast upon him by the group. “What is the tally, now?”

“34 to Markus and 35 to Conan.” Daniel tells him, marking a small paper with a quill.

Connor hums, thinking for a moment. “Chess could be a less physical stress relief. I may consider taking one of you on, one of these days.”

“We’d be honored to challenge you, Prince Connor. Though, by your wording, I suspect that you seek another form of relief today?” Markus’ tone is knowing and offering, eyes darkening as his lids drop a little, a seductive smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

Connor averts his eyes with a bashful smile. His hands fiddle with his undone collar. “Queen Amanda has been pestering me about forming a relationship with a leader of another country, to increase the strength and area of our land. But, she’s been focusing on women more than men, despite my outspokenness about my preferences.”

The members of his harem don’t look particularly surprised by this information, though they look mildly downtrodden at the mention of his political-love life. They would not be able to compete with royals of other nations, nor would they ever be able to ask for Connor’s devotion or hand in marriage, even despite the physical intimacy and affection they so provide the prince with.

“Unlike all of you,” Connor continues, “women can’t please me, and neither can the obnoxious leaders of other lands. And, aside from the pleasure you so eagerly drown me in, you all have unique traits and quirks that draw me in, more than some horrid man born with a silver spoon, or a high-strung noblewoman with her pantyhose knotted where it need not be.”

He earns himself laughter. Pleased, he grins at them, crown almost falling with the tilt of his head. When he rights his head’s angle, the crown still remains askew, barely keeping from sliding off of his hair.

Collin, of course, is the one to remember that they’re supposed to be relieving him. “Alright, My Prince, allow your humble servants to take care of you.”

“The way only all of you can.” Connor murmurs, feeling hands slowly begin to disrobe him.

[thefilmfatale]

Moonlight (2016) [Movie Review]

Never has a movie been so quiet and yet so profoundly moving as Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight, the critically acclaimed adaptation of a play by Tarell McCraney. The coming-of-age story, about a young black man discovering his sexuality as he grows up in a broken home amidst a rough Miami neighborhood, is uniquely intimate yet at the same time achingly familiar. Moonlight immerses the audience in the experience of a boy beleaguered by questions about who he is and how he fits in the world, opening a window into a young life filled with neglect and isolation, but also hope and tenderness. While Moonlight’s story is, admittedly, hardly new, what’s absolutely certain is that no one has told it quite this way before. Jenkins steers this story gingerly and gracefully, assuming a protective, almost steward-like role in ensuring that Chiron’s story unfolds in a respectful yet evocative way. And he succeeds. Moonlight is quite the moving masterpiece, pulling viewers in with its commanding performances, haunting score, and arresting cinematography.  

The story of Moonlight is told in three acts, each corresponding to a stage of Chiron’s life: childhood, adolescence and, finally, adulthood. We begin with Little (played by Alex Hibbert), who appears on screen with his perpetually pursed lips and somber expression, fleeing from a horde of rambunctious boys who chase him all the way from school into a ramshackle housing project, where he seeks refuge. Little (whose nickname was given to him by his peers because of his diminutive stature) stumbles around the decrepit apartment, observing the remnants of its former occupants: crumbs of furniture, broken liquor bottles, and drug needles. In a short sequence, Jenkins vividly paints the picture of the world Chiron (Little’s given name) lives in: a neighborhood plagued by drugs, violence, and absentee parents. But while the film touches on these big picture issues, its focus is ultimately on the child caught in the middle of this storm. This painstaking attention to our protagonist’s plight is what firmly grounds Moonlight, allowing it to address serious problems like poverty and the dangers of drug use in a subtle yet provocative way that is never sententious. But at the end of the day, what makes Moonlight compelling is its subject matter: growing up as a gay black man, something we’ve never seen on screen before. There’s tremendous responsibility in taking that on, yet Jenkins rightly opts for a subtle touch, not a heavy hand, in unpacking this story.                 

Little meets Juan (played by House of Cards’ Mahershala Ali), a drug dealer with an imposing demeanor and a heart of gold, and forms an interesting bond with him. With no father figure around, Little is drawn to the paternal doting that Juan shows him, although he never says as much. The boy says very few words in the film, despite Juan’s prodding. But when he finally breaks his silence, his words reverberate through the film in such a powerful way. There is a particularly poignant exchange in the film where Little quietly asks Juan, “What’s a faggot?” To which Juan, shifting uneasily in his seat knowing the weight of the question just asked of him, slowly replies, “A faggot is... a word used to make gay people feel bad.” It’s perhaps the simplest yet most succinct definition of the slur I’ve ever heard, and that scene exemplified a master class in how to talk to a child about the complicated, ugly matters of the world. The thoughtfulness in Juan’s response and the fact that he indulged a child’s innocent question about something so controversial shattered the stereotypes many hold about the types of people who become drug dealers. There was a humanity in that depiction, a rejection of the tired, one-dimensional trope of the boorish thug we’ve seen so many times on screen before.      

Little’s relationship with Juan enrages his mother Paula (played by Naomie Harris), a working mother who also nurses a drug habit. She reacts to Juan bringing her boy home with anger and suspicion, knowing full well who he is and not wanting her child to be wrapped up in drugs like she has. While viewers will quickly realize the hypocrisy in this, Moonlight is careful in the way it chooses to paint Paula. Instead of dismissing her as one of those mere neglectful parents, Jenkins instead chooses to make her a symbol of the insidious effects drugs have on the people we love. One moment Paula is protective and nurturing of Chiron, the next she’s like a woman possessed, clawing at her teenage son’s pockets for money so she can buy more drugs. Paula is a woman whose self-image is wrapped around her being a mother, but her addiction hijacks her control. It’s absolutely heartbreaking to see a child witnessing their only parent - the one who is supposed to care for them unconditionally and provide unflinching support - slowly come undone. Moonlight highlights that sense of betrayal that we feel on behalf of the children who have to go through ordeals like these, but never in a way that seems cloying or hyperbolic.

Naomie Harris portrays Paula with the brilliance of a true artist, completely disappearing behind the sunken eyes and broken spirit of a woman with a history too tragic to even begin to unravel. Harris’ performance was one of complete abandon. The audience saw how much she surrendered herself to the material. The way her eyes flew open wildly as she spat profanities at Chiron, or the way her hate seemed to envelop her completely...Jenkins borrows a bit from German expressionism in his use of lighting to portray the duality of Paula’s character. One scene shows Paula standing in the middle of a hallway bathed in red light, her face contorted into an expression of complete disdain. It seemed to me that this was Jenkins’ way of relating to the audience what it feels like to be on the receiving end of an addict’s wrath. Harris commanded the audience’s attention and really served as the emotional tip of the spear for the film.  

In the second act of the film, we meet a teenage Chiron (Ashton Sanders), who is struggling to navigate the battlefield that is high school. Chiron is constantly hectored about what is perceived to be his effeminate manner. His classmates leer at him, while he elicits the unhelpful pitying glances of his teachers. At this point in the film, the audience has an inkling that Chiron is going through some pretty conflicted feelings in his quest for self-discovery. He knows he’s different; hell, everyone in his school treats him that way. But Chiron lacks clarity in the way many kids who are unsure of their identities experience every day, and it’s tearing him up and driving him deeper into his shell even more. But there’s a bright spot in this cruel chapter of high school: Chiron has a friend in Kevin (Jharrel Jerome), whom he’s known since he was a child. Kevin has a soft spot for Chiron, acknowledging his awkwardness playfully instead of being mean-spirited like the other kids were. In the beginning, Chiron seems to be envious of Kevin’s confidence and popularity. But this quickly dissolves into a sense of admiration, then into a shy crush.

A scene that exhibited Jenkins’ masterful restraint as director was the beach rendezvous between Chiron and Kevin. Since it was a pivotal point in the film - precipitating Chiron’s sexual awakening - this could have gone so many different, more sensational ways. Jenkins chose to treat the scene tastefully and tenderly instead, positioning the camera behind the actors so that the viewers weren’t participants in this act of intimacy but, rather, wallflowers. With the use of deliberate editing and careful mise-en-scène, we became witnesses to a pivotal, tender moment instead of a mass of ogling, peeping toms. It’s decisions like these that cemented Jenkins as an  auteur with a very distinct point of view and a subtle, but provocative touch. Few directors have exhibited the restraint necessary in telling intimate stories like these. Jenkins is one of them.  

The sweetness of the beach encounter is almost instantly snuffed in the events that follow. Chiron gets into a school brawl that sends him to jail, a story that is unfortunately all too familiar for young men growing up in neighborhoods like these. We are transported to nearly a decade later, where we meet an adult Chiron (now dubbed Black, the nickname Kevin gave Chiron). Black is a completely transformed Chiron. Gone is the lanky, awkward youth, replacing him is a muscled man sporting a golden grill, driving around in a fancy car. Black is the new Juan, and he’s now running the streets of this small Miami town. Prison time obviously contributed to this transformation, but viewers know the hardening of this once meek young man was due to a betrayal from Kevin. In Black we see the cyclical nature of life in these streets, how children of drugs go on to become drug dealers or drug users, passing through the revolving door of poverty and misfortune. And on and on.

Black gets an unexpected call from Kevin, who is now a chef at a diner a few miles outside of town. Kevin apologizes for being involved in the brawl that sent Chiron to prison, and it seems like too little too late. There’s so much tension in this scene, you could cut it with a knife. Black is a mixture of confusion, hurt, anger, indignation, but in tried and true Chiron, he is speechless at this surprise reconnection. Kevin is unchanged, the same ebullient and self-assured person Black knew in his younger years. But Black...he’s not the Chiron he used to be. He’s changed now; he’s more imposing, commanding attention and even fear. But hearing from Kevin makes Black feel like that awkward, mumbling teenager again, unsure in his own skin and always struggling to find the words. Kevin extends an invitation to drop by his diner and Black jumps at it, driving miles to see his childhood friend. The way this interaction plays out is full of gentle tenderness. It’s in these few final scenes that Jenkins reminds the audience that while Moonlight is at its core a coming-of-age tale about the troubled childhood of a gay, black man, it’s rooted in a love story that spans ages. We instantly feel that tinge of unrequited love as we watching Black and Kevin gaze longingly across the table at each other to the jukebox tune of Barbara Lewis’ “Hello Stranger”. Watching this scene beautifully unfold was a reminder that there isn’t anything out there quite like Moonlight.

It’s no easy feat, to tell a story rife with so much emotion and turmoil, and yet Barry Jenkins accomplishes just that with Moonlight. In a single story, he managed to highlight the struggles of the impoverished, the drug-addled and the world weary, all through the lens of a young, black gay man. Moonlight addresses important social issues, but what makes it effective is that it’s firmly rooted in a deeply personal story that everyone, regardless of race or gender, can relate to. All men can relate to that feeling of growing up with images of masculinity shoved down their throats; men grow up learning to bottle their emotions because they are told men don’t cry, or men don’t express themselves because that’s what women do. Anyone who’s ever grown up with drugs as a constant in their household can attest to the pernicious effect they have in destroying families and dooming children to a life of poverty and crime.

Moonlight takes all of that on, yes, but at the end of the day, it is best summarized in the scene where Mahershala Ali’s Juan is teaching Little how to swim. The water is harsh at first, even unforgiving, but as soon as Little trusts his body enough to let go, he starts to float. A child with the world seemingly on his shoulders, feeling completely weightless in the vast ocean...floating was a gift. The swimming lesson was an act of compassion from someone who understood what it means to be young and unsure of your way. It was a temporary reprieve from the burden of carrying secrets or nursing old wounds. Moonlight is a jukebox melody dedicated to those out there who are still waiting to float, a song for the black gay men out there who are still trying to find their way. It’s for the gay men and women who never saw themselves in any images on television, who grew up without fathers who could answer their gnawing questions, who have yet to experience the weightlessness to be free to be yourself.

[fireandeye-blog]

There May be Darkness, But Oh There is Light

I stand now in the presence of the shadows of my past. I’m not sure where standing firm in my own authenticity may lead, yet I’m am ok with that. I’m ok with seeing love in the darkest aspects of myself. I have encountered myself in many forms, through many faces. I have viewed my true self buried among images of the old. Do I let these shadows define me? Or do I continue to focus on my light instead. Do I have faith in the hope I have seen reflected in the face of another? Do I choose to see another, the way in which I hope for myself to be seen?

I often question how long we as humans have seen ourselves as separate from love on Earth. Have our souls become so fractured, personalities so dissociated, that we have adopted the belief that Divine Love can only appear to us in some distant place or time? Why, and how did we become disconnected in this way? We have truly been wandering the Earth over countless lifetimes, searching for ourselves. Searching for the self, somewhere out there.

Then as soon as we think we have gotten a small glimpse of what it is we are searching for, it becomes quite frightening. At this point we have had years of conditioning to believe that harmony between man and woman is unattainable in the Earthly realm (the realm of separation and sin right?) When we do fall in love, we soon find what seems to be an enormous lack of intimacy between ourselves and the person we fell in love with. The person we once thought to be perfect match, becomes the person we wish we could figure out how to love again. We find ourselves standing in the same room with a partner, yet feeling miles and miles away from home. We find ourselves questioning, how did we find ourselves exiled from Eden so soon?

Unfortunately, many times when we recognize this distance between ourselves and our loved one, we run. Instead of rebuilding our heaven on Earth, we immediately start searching for a new heaven. Yet what we fail to realize is that this distance is the very thing which love needs in order to mature. Our exile is what teaches us appreciation, acceptance, and courage. Our journey through the desert teaches us to recognize our true source of water. That distance ultimately reveals to us the power of love to be real.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a state of emptiness. A state of need. So we may go out (or better yet, go within) searching for something to fill that space. But what we are always looking for is the self. When we look up, we recognize ourselves instantly upon seeing our own reflection. Yet hunger, fear, and emptiness cause us to fall into our animal nature. We devour a new lover upon reaching them, much like a starving soul upon receiving its first meal. I have been there. I have done that. Many, many, times.

However, by loving without need, I am able to hold what is dear gently in my heart.

My stories have been blissful, ecstatic.

My stories have been painful, tragic.

But all true love stories must encompass a beginning and an end. Love only emerges when endings are recognized merely to be new beginnings in disguise. This is the nature of love; the nature of life itself. These truths can be experienced and discovered along the mystical path.

Though one hard lesson I have learned is that just because I have seen God in someone, it does not make that person God. Everything and everything is encompassed in the vastness which we call God. All is one in the Universe and we ourselves must choose how to dance along with it.

When we come together energetically with another human being, we are able to share our experience of God with that person. The union of the feminine and masculine principles in our world are indeed the creative forces that form God Consciousness. The way these principles interact in our realities and within our own bodies create our experience of God.

Often we find love and intimate connection with those who share similar perceptions. We are drawn to those who seem to understand us on a deeper level. I think that because as a society our religious freedoms have been severely opressed and manipulated, people often find it difficult to connect with others spiritually outside of organized religion. A balanced spiritual understanding in the aspect of love and marriage in our society seems to have been lost completely.

Traditionally, religion often attempts to define and regulate love and marriage. Unfortunately, most religious systems have given people a purchase and property ownership model and passed it off as a Godly structure for union of partners. This has created a widely accepted practice of transactional love in place of true Divine Love and spiritual partnership. Transactional love is more like a business transaction. You give me something and I’ll give you something in return. I didn’t like what you gave me, so you owe me something more. You didn’t give me what I wanted, so I will find it somewhere else. Even though you are unhappy and unfulfilled, you are bound to me due to our joint ownership of each other and our children.

Through spiritual partnership however, we are allowed time to stand back and observe ourselves and our relationship from a higher perspective. We allow ourselves time to learn and grow with others while allowing ourselves time to work through our own emotional baggage. Spiritual partnerships allow us to observe how our emotions and subconscious patterns manifest into our reality energetically, even when we may not intend to act on them.

Our sexual energy is a powerful force. It is the force of creation. All life is created through a spark from the mingling of these masculine and feminine energies within us. Through sexual exchange we allow ourselves to share our perception of creation, our heaven or hell, with another person. This is how we come to know ourselves, as well as the other. As our creative forces are released into the world, we begin to see the results manifest in the external world. We can see these results manifest physically as a child, or we can also observe them in the reality we create around us. The reality we create for ourselves through sexual energy allows us to observe our subconscious beliefs about love and sex. We can observe how we have been programmed to love or what we have mistakenly believed to be love. What I believe is most important to remember, is that when we co-create through sexual energy with another person, we are always co-creating with some aspect of the self. Only when we are loving with ourselves can we truly be loving to the other.

Consider a situation in which the person you love is expressing anger towards other people or situations that you are unaware of. It is easy to mistake that anger to be about you. The person you love could be stressed out about a million other things, yet it is fairly easy to take that frustration personally. Now consider that the person you are in love with absolutely swept you off of your feet in the beginning. This person makes you feel simple appreciation for his or her mere existence in your experience of reality. This love has lifted the weight of the world from your shoulders. But what if your love has not quite done the same for them? What if the weight that person is carrying is just a bit heavier than yours? Perhaps they just need more time to unravel a few things, to lay it all down in the presence of love. Perhaps they have learned to build thicker barriers than you have. It may be hard for you to understand your partner’s anger, distance, or lack of intimacy. You may expect them to feel as free as you do, and when they don’t, you may take it personal. You may think that everything your partner is feeling or doing, has something to do with you.

Do you then begin to define yourself through the eyes of your partner? Do you begin to feel as if you were constantly doing something wrong to upset them? Then, the more you try to make amends, to love better, to love more, the more you are pushed away and met with anger or rigidity? In the long run, it is best realized that anger with others, is only anger with self. It is a sense of powerlessness creeping in. A feeling of loss of control over one’s own environment or circumstances. It could be caused by lack of control over another person who is giving us a hard time. Yet the very thing we are unable to control in another, is what we are most likely unable to control in ourselves.

There have many times in my life that I have believed myself to be under the control of another person. I have felt myself energetically gripped, in full submission to the thoughts, perceptions, and direction of other people. Especially men who I have fallen in love with. I took myself as their prisoner, because this is what I was taught to do. This is what religion and society taught me was right. This is what transgenerational trauma conditioned me to accept. I have seen myself take a man as a teacher, guru, and then a god.

Yet I have followed my God experience. I have walked without waiver, only to discover that my perception of Divine Love had been greatly distorted and damaged. When my God told me that I was bad, I believed him. When my God told me that I was no longer worthy, I believed him. When my God told me that I was not loving, I tried to love harder, to love more. Whatever he requested, I attempted to deliver.

My God soon became angry, my God soon began rejecting my sacrifices and many offerings. What now could I give? I had given all that I had. I had renounced all financial support and materialistic belongings. I set out following, what I felt to be love. I followed the wisdom of my ancestors, the signs, the synchronicities. The symbols that entered my subconscious and expressed themselves through art. I surrendered to the mystery which was hidden within the self.

I have to stop looking back in attempt to answer the questions as to when, where, and how I went wrong. I only see myself here and now in this moment. I find myself free of all the pain and suffering that I once endured. I find that the power of love and forgiveness has given me new life. I find that I do not believe myself to have gone wrong.

It is only natural that we as humans identify our chosen partner with God’s love. Marriages have traditionally been believed to be appointed by, or at least approved by God. Our deepest desire is to find a love on Earth that gives us a glimpse of the divine, a love that does not expire in a short while. As we get older and have experienced the thrills and pitfalls of young love, we start seeking someone who allows us to see God in them. We look for something magical. Something to give us reason to believe that God is real. Something to give us reason to believe that love is real.

I know now that it is not the human form that falls in love. It is more like one ocean of consciousness meeting itself in another. It has always been myself that I love most, and my partner simply grows to become my favorite mirror. Does this mean that the reflection is always pretty? Well, how well are you loving yourself? In most cases today, that reflection does not turn out to be pretty at all, especially after the infatuation stage has faded away. At first, because of your hunger for love, you will see that other person in all the ways you desire them to be, just so that you can take part in that  joy of appreciation. Then later, everything that has been buried comes to the surface. Who you once saw as an angel, soon becomes the devil. Will you be able to face your demons and come into balance with the darkness that is yours alone?

The mirror you love most will not be perfect, as you are not perfect. It will often at some point in time, show you every single thing that you don’t want to see. But when you truly love, you find that this mirror shows you what you need to see in order to grow, to heal, to live more fully. It forces you to find the courage it takes to fight for what is true in a world full of lies. It forces you to let go and live. This type of love is sabotaged by the fear of losing it. Yet I know now that love is not something that can be lost as long as it is not captured, or held to tightly.

I believe that the higher standard of love that I wish to bestow onto future generations is not a fantasy. I believe that we all have the right to choose to live life as a pilgrimage, instead of a race. To enjoy a long journey home instead of a quick trip to nowhere. This is our birthright. Unfortunately, false representation of abundance has created spiritual poverty and homeless souls in this world. We believe it is money we lack, but in reality, it has been love.

The world may go on running, chasing, and hunting down things to buy, people to own, and cars to drive. However, I’ve come to understand that I don’t have to go on doing the same. I’ve also come to understand that it’s alright to let other people go on doing what they want to do. And as for me, It’s alright to live life as a pilgrimage. There are so many people who get away with terrible things in the world. Are we so blind to believe that we can’t also “get away” with love? We have only created these types of false limitations in the mind.  

Think of all the times in your life that you have strayed far from home, only to return once again. Have you been out wandering again for a while now? Would you approach the door of your own heart with a bit more reverence this time? Is it time to rest in the understanding that home has never been lost, and may always be found once more?

I know that personally, I have spent most of my life allowing the energies of others to define who I was. I had fallen into a pattern of allowing negative feedback dictate who I am allowed to become. Yet I know now, that I am not required to be anything other than who I choose to be. I am not required to be who I was 6 years ago, yesterday, or even five minutes ago.

I have learned that it’s okay to love myself.

It’s okay to take time to examine and to illuminate my shadows.

And it’s alright, to love my favorite mirror.

“I know you’re tired, but come. This is the way.” -Rumi