Timothée:One day we started rehearsing at the villa, the house where we were shooting in, and Luca said, “Let’s go rehearse in the backyard.” So Armie and I were like, “All right, this is kinda weird.” We brought the script diligently and walked in, and it was just me, Armie and Luca. I was like, “This is kinda weird.”
The thick tang of car exhaust, bloody palms, sparks under our heels when they hit the pavement. Flash of orange streetlight on teeth, hands clutching at anything, hooking fingers around belt loops, sleeve cuffs, other fingers.
We go to the apartment and dye our hair in the bathroom sink, watching the color circle down the drain. We’ve got no alibi when the cops come, no excuse, no explanation – but I’m still here, I’m still your right hand man, I still call shotgun if you’re driving the getaway car, kick my heels up on the dash and say
Sorry about the bruises. Sorry about the skid marks. Sorry about the ambulance siren and the broken car radio and the thing we never said out loud.
And your fists tighten around the steering wheel. And I drag my hand down the passenger-side window. My fingertips leave four trails of smudges down the pane of glass.
We wash our hands in gas station bathrooms, but I put your fingers in my mouth and I still taste copper. We wash our hands in gas station bathrooms, but our sleeves and collars are still stained, and there’s a sticky red smudge beneath your left ear that I am watching and trying not to watch.
Your reflection bares his teeth. My shadow braces his hands against the wall. We weren’t built for this, sweetheart, for this adrenaline rush, fingers interlocked over the stick shift, our eyes dead ahead. Our voices soft and bruised.
I wear your kisses strung together like pearls on a chain, but will you smear your mouth up my jaw, baby? Will you put on your green fatigues and carry me back to our war?
I can be your shoulder holster, your guardian angel, I can spit teeth like bullets, semi-automatic. And you can wear another man’s dog tags around your neck. I will even call you by his name.
It’s the same way it’s always been, the same I owe you, the same I told you so, the same keep breathing, keep your goddamn eyes open – and I’m trying, I swear I am – but we’re just two boys on the run with nothing but each other, and I’ve read this story before. I know how it ends. One of us is gonna end up with a heart too big to swallow, and one of us is gonna end up dead.
It’s okay if it’s me. I’d rather you lived, anyway, so just swear to me with our busted hands clasped that you won’t let go until I’m done bleeding, dear.
Try, you tell me, so I do. Breathe, you tell me, so I do. Take my name, here take my name and I’ll take yours, you tell me, so I do.
And to be honest, my darling, when the cops call for us over the loudspeaker in the same breath, I swear I can’t hear a word they say.
When they call out both our names, yours and mine side by side in the mouth the way they’re meant to be,
I swear I can’t tell the difference between them anymore.
Representation in video games (but mostly overwatch)
Honestly guys not everyone is gay, straight people exist and you can’t expect Blizzard to just simply exclude them from representation because you don’t want that. The way I see it overwatch is a game about diversity it has a character for everyone, every overwatch player gets something they like, and that does not exclude straight people. Everyone deserves sexual representation in this game weather you gay, straight, bi, or anything. It doesn’t matter we’re all human.
I feel like what the overwatch writer’s are trying to achieve with their game is this. No matter who you are, or who you like, or how you look, or what gender you are, if you are a supportive person a defensive person or an offensive person, no matter what you are. You are just as important as everyone else, because at the end of the day we are all human therefore…