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katblu42 · 3 years

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Tie Me to the Moon

Installment 4 (of 5) in my Whump Wheel spinning experiment. This spin was for John and gave me Cuddling For Comfort and Cemetery.

It is another Young Tracys fic, but it requires some WARNINGS as it deals with grief/mourning, funerals and of course a cemetery. I'm also tagging for social anxiety, sensory overload and panic attack, although I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm putting John through. If there's any additional warning or tag I need please let me know (or if these ones don't hit the mark).

Possibly more angst than whump.

The day started early. Scott had spoken with John and Virgil the night before about how much he was relying on them both to help get Alan and Gordon ready, since Grandma and Dad would both have a lot on their plate. So, John had set the alarm for 6am to give them time to wake themselves up before tackling the tinies.

By 9am all five boys were awake and fed and dressed in their Sunday best, shoes shined and hair combed awaiting final inspection before the cars arrived to take them to the church. Normally it would have been Dad who inspected the troops before such an important occasion but, like many other things over the last week or so, today the job was taken on by Scott. He left no stray hair or speck of lint unscrutinised, while their father was barely able to do more than glance at his boys and give Scott a pat on the shoulder as he passed on his way out the front door.

Scott decided it would be best if he went in the lead car with Dad. It was the one that had been fitted with the kiddie seats for Gordon and Alan, and Scott could sit between them and keep them settled. That left John and Virgil to ride in the second car with Grandma. The car trip was mostly silent, but Grandma told them they both looked very smart and did her best to smile despite clear indications she was holding back more tears.

As they neared the church it was impossible not to notice the large number of parked vehicles, some still offloading passengers. John let out a large sigh as their car pulled up in front of the chapel. The soft murmurings and general bustle of the gathering crowd penetrated their insulated little bubble even before the driver opened the door to let Grandma out. Virgil waited until he’d caught John’s eye and received a nod before opening his door so both boys could exit on the same side of the car.

The kindly young driver from the funeral home seemed to be keeping most of the well-meaning mourners at bay as the family gathered and were solemnly led into the church and ushered to the front pew. John tried to focus on the flowers, the quiet organ music, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through stained glass rather than the coffins or even the photos of Mom and Grandpa, and definitely not the endless stream of people filling the rows of seats behind them. It was a slightly tight fit getting all seven of them in the one pew, even with Alan on Dad’s (and later Scott’s) lap, but John was glad of the warm press of Virgil on his left and Gordon on his right.

The service was a simple, no-frills affair with the Minister officiating, but friends and family doing most of the talking. John listened through Dad and Grandma retelling stories he’d heard before, but there were little details revealed that he had never known. The anecdotes shared by the others who stepped up to the pulpit microphone – one of Grandpa’s farming neighbours, and an old friend of Mom’s from school – almost felt like stories about other people. It didn’t feel like they were talking about the people John had lost.

For John losing Grandpa was like a constellation of stars going missing from the night sky. It was Grandpa that had told him people are all made of the same stuff as the stars. He had been a quiet, watchful presence in his life, providing light and joy whenever he looked up and saw that twinkle in Grandpa’s eye. Like Ursa Major and Polaris, Grandpa was always there guiding him, giving direction when needed, but never wanting to overstep or overshadow his parents. Not the brightest light in his orbit, but an important, comforting presence that meant John always knew his place in the world.

Mom had been the sun at the centre of his life, his family, his everything. Without her all the light and warmth was gone from the world. Instead of a regular (though slightly wonky) orbit his world now felt like it was tumbling through space and gravity was constantly shifting. One moment he was too heavy to move and the next he was so light might be flung out into space. Night and day and seasons, years and everything he measured his life by had been connected to his Mom – waking him and tucking him into bed, making sure he dressed warm enough or wore sunscreen or had his raincoat, keeping track of birthdays and holidays and school excursion days were all her.

During the service no one spoke of Mom and Grandpa like that.

There was music. One of Mom’s favourite piano pieces. Virgil had wanted to be able to play it today, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to even sit at the piano, much less play at all since the accident. So a recording had been found and it was played as a backing track to the slideshow that flickered through image after image of happy memories telling part of two life stories.

There were prayers. Reassuring words from the minister about heaven and God’s love, and the love we should all share with each other. John wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about heaven, or God calling Mom and Grandpa home to his kingdom.

There was a poem read out by one of Mom’s work colleagues. It was something about not crying or being sad because they were gone, but being happy because they had lived. Many of the people in the room were obviously ignoring the advice – his immediate family included. There were a good many wet handkerchiefs and tissues in hands, a great deal of suppressed sobs and eye rubbing, and a few sleeves swiped across cheeks before the service was over.

Scott and Dad were among the pall bearers who carried the coffins out of the church and onto the waiting machinery that would take care of their final movements. John and his brothers and Grandma were the first of the mourners to follow in the sombre procession. Only a small number of people were permitted to follow the hovering gurneys across the grass and through the little cemetery to the waiting square-sided pits. Just family and a few close friends to witness the way the machinery slowly and smoothly lowered each coffin down into the earth, hear the minister recite the final ritual words, and each place a flower or a sprinkling of dirt atop the coffins in a last goodbye.

The rest of the large crowd had been encouraged to make their way into the Sunday School hall where the wake was to take place. Refreshments had been generously laid out on the tables inside. More photographs of both lost loved ones were on display throughout the room, along with so many more flowers and a large number of cards. But many of the people in attendance that day were still milling about outside the church buildings when John and his family returned through the cemetery for the wake.

John’s feet dragged as he approached the gentle hubbub of mingling friendly faces with sympathetic expressions. He could pick out people he knew well if he let himself concentrate, but the sheer number of individuals he was heading towards was a little overwhelming. They didn’t make it inside the hall before the onslaught began. Almost everyone wanted to say something, speak of sympathy, tell a story, offer “any help you need.” So many wanted to reach out, hold a hand or squeeze an arm, some came in for full-on hugs, cheek kisses and loud, teary exclamations of how sad it all was.

John lost his Dad and Grandma to the throng faster than he thought possible, but before he could be swept up in it himself he was thrown a lifeline. There was a familiar presence by his side, a brush of hand against hand, or specifically pinky against pinky – a request and an offer. John grabbed hold of Virgil’s hand and held fast, tethering himself to his brother like an anchor.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or how long it had taken, but eventually they all made it inside the Sunday School hall. John was only aware of Virgil’s hand in his, the rest was a blur of faces, voices, bodies. Virgil dealt with anyone who stopped them to offer their personal condolences, listening to what they had to say and responding politely but managing to keep the interactions brief and shielding John from most of the attention. Somehow they made their way to a cluster of chairs where Grandma and Dad were seated, Alan in his father’s lap, still accepting condolences from well-wisher after well-wisher.

John was aware of sweat beading on his forehead as Virgil told him to take a seat next to Grandma for a bit, and then his brother disappeared into the crowd to go and fetch Grandma a cup of tea. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers as he tried to look around the room. His eyes fell on Scott standing a few feet away, taking all the sympathetic social interactions in his stride, nodding, smiling, shaking hands, accepting embraces.

John’s mouth was dry and he wondered if he could make it across the room to grab a drink from the trestle table against the wall, but there was a sea of bodies he’d have to negotiate in between. For a moment his vision blurred and the vague images of people swam in a dizzying fashion before he could find something to focus on. Alan had obviously grown tired of the hair ruffling and cheek pinching and wriggled free of his Dad’s grasp, and was now trying to run through the small gaps between grown up pairs of legs. Gordon was keeping an eye on him – in between snaffling more cakes and cookies from the food table. John watched the terrible two until they were obscured by too many featureless figures.

Despite the late-winter-cool of the day, the church hall felt uncomfortably warm. The large space with its vaulted ceiling, tall, wide windows and polished wooden floorboards felt dark and gloomy and so very crowded. And the non-stop undercurrent of murmuring voices appeared to build in an unbearable crescendo John could not shut out. Too many bodies, too many voices, too much, too close . . . he needed space, he needed air, he had to get out!

Virgil saw his brother get up and hurry a little unsteadily to the exit as he came back with Grandma’s tea. He tried to keep an eye on the red-head so he could follow, but he had to excuse himself to Grandma and Dad, make his way over to Scott, politely interrupt the conversation and whisper in his big brother’s ear.

“John’s bolted. I’m going after him.”

Scott acknowledged with a nod as his eyes darted to the door, already closed again after John’s escape. Virgil wasted no more time in following, but once outside it took him a moment to figure out which direction John had taken.

John had no particular destination in mind, he just needed to get away. His feet carried him across the gravel driveway and through the grass without him registering the change of surface. He ran through the little cemetery without seeing the tombstones he passed, slowing only when he approached the boundary marked with a low stone wall before a neat, tall hedge. Unable to go any farther he turned and wobbled dizzily. His vision narrowed leaving dull blurred impressions of light and shadow. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, and he sank down to the ground, sitting heavily, knees bent and pulled up towards his chest. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block it all out.

Virgil approached slowly, but without trying to hide the sound of his footsteps. He lowered himself to sit facing John, resisting the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Seeing his brother in such distress clawed at his heart. He couldn’t let him struggle through this alone.

“John?” He kept his voice quiet and hoped he could be heard despite the hands staying firmly pressed against ears. “I’m here with you. Just me. No one else is around.”

There was no noticeable response.

“If you can hear me, I need you to try and slow your breathing down a bit, John. Deep breath in,“ and Virgil inhaled, “and out nice and slow.” Virgil waited for a second, watching John’s shallow, ragged breathing for any change. “In,” another inhaled breath, “and out.”

As Virgil continued repeating the instruction like a mantra John’s breathing gradually began to even out into slower, deeper, more controlled breaths. He wasn’t sure, but he thought John’s vice-like grip over his ears might be relaxing a little too.

“You’re doing great, John. Keep focusing on your breathing. Keep listening. Hear the breeze whispering through the leaves? Did you hear those birds?”

John did hear the cry of a bird overhead, and an answering call a little farther away as his hands drifted away from his head. As he lowered them to limply rest on the ground beside him he heard a gentle gust of wind rustle the hedges, and he registered that it did indeed sound a bit like a whisper.

“The sun’s broken free of the clouds. Can you feel it on your face, John? Can you feel the wind in your hair? You do realise there’s dirt and leaves beneath your fingertips, right?”

John turned his focus where his brother’s voice directed it, feeling the warmth on the left side of his face, and the breeze toying with his hair. There was indeed leaf litter and slightly damp dirt beneath his flexing fingers.

“If you’re ready to open your eyes you’ll see the moon’s out. I like the way the moon looks in the day. Against the blue of the sky the shadows make it look almost see-through.”

Translucent. That would have been a better word for what Virgil was trying to say. The thought flitted through John’s mind as he let his eyes drift open and scan the sky until they latched onto the gibbous moon framed by scattered cumulous clouds. He was also aware there was irony in the way his brother was effectively using the moon to anchor him, to bring him back to earth and ground him in the here and now.

Virgil had stopped talking, leaving the wind and occasional twitters and cries of the birds to fill the silence as John watched the clouds dance around the moon. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him almost as tangibly as he could feel the damp earth he was sitting on and the cool stone of the wall at his back. Now feeling much calmer he took a deep breath and brought his gaze down from the sky to meet the concern and compassion contained in those warm, brown eyes.

“Welcome back.” A hint of a smile played across Virgil’s face as he spoke.

A quiet moment stretched between them. No words spoken, but information passing from brother to brother through eye contact alone.

Content that John was no longer caught in a spiral he couldn’t escape on his own, Virgil glanced over his shoulder towards the Sunday School hall.

“I should go back, but you can stay here if you want. I’ll come and find you when it’s time to go. Just don’t wander off or anything.”

John didn’t speak as he chanced his own glance back toward the ongoing wake. Then, as Virgil made a move to get up and leave, John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay. Please?”

Virgil stopped and stared first at the fingers digging into his wrist, then into pleading, desperate aquamarine. He simply nodded and adjusted his position so he was sitting next to John, their shoulders touching. John loosened his grip on Virgil’s wrist but didn’t let go, so John’s arm looped around his knees and Virgil’s arm crossed his body to keep the connection. There was an almost imperceptible hesitation, but then simultaneously John leaned in towards his brother and Virgil wrapped his arm around John, pulling them into a secure embrace.

John finally let go of Virgil’s wrist, bringing his arm in close, grabbing a fistful of Virgil’s suit jacket and snuggling closer into his brother’s chest. This enabled Virgil to employ both arms in the hug. John rarely cuddled up like this with anyone, but all the times he could remember doing so were with Mom. His next intake of breath hitched at the realisation, and Virgil held a little tighter. The threat of tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he was grateful that, while not the same as a cuddle from Mom, he was still able to find this level of safety and comfort in the arms of someone who loved him.

“I want her back,” he sobbed, letting the tears flow and drip onto Virgil’s jacket.

“Yeah. Me too.”

John heard the tears in Virgil’s voice, but he already knew his brother felt the same absence in their hug.

Neither boy could say how long they stayed out there, huddled together, holding tight while hot tears streaked their cheeks. Time may as well have stood still for all it mattered. Nothing else was important, just the feeling that this moment, however sad, was there’s alone to share until Scott came and found them to tell them it was time to go home.

#john tracy #virgil tracy #grief/mourning #social anxiety #sensory overload #panick attack #funeral #angst #cemetery #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds

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felassan · 4 years

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Highlights and insights from the N7 Day cast & crew reunion panel

[Rewatch link]

In case a text format is better for anyone. There are some NSFW references. Cut for length.

(Some paraphrasing.)

“Some of us are inebriated”

“Patrick Weekes, the killer of man and beasts, the breaker of hearts”

JHale put the whole thing together, it’s the biggest ME cast reunion to date

The cast had no idea that the remaster was a thing

Lots of ace discussion about what the magic of the MET is (“it captured lightning in a bottle”)

Lots of warm fuzzies between the cast, crew and community, and lots of fun behind-the-scenes anecdotes

Lots of great discussion on the diversity and inclusion in ME: on gender, sexuality, representation, empowerment, the core message in the MET that “we’re all in this together or we’re screwed”, the progress made in the portrayal of female characters in gaming, etc. “Everything behind what went into these characters was authentic, we [the VAs] could tell that so much research, texture, authenticity etc had gone into them. It really made a difference”. JHale: “I’ve spent my career kicking down ceilings [barriers and so on women actors experience] with my steel-toed boot. To get to be a part of this game that has now created the expectation that there now be a female PC, ‘duh’, is once of the great things of my life. BioWare listened and put her on the box. The first time someone dropped the box in front of me I held it over my head and screamed over the crowd, ‘Casey Hudson, thank youuu!!’ It was a divine moment. This game was the moment the boot finally crashed through the glass, pushed by millions of women.”

The panel received many messages from the question submission from fans expressing that MET really helped them through very dark places and periods in their lives. The cast have had a lot of interactions with fans over the years where the fans expressed similar sentiments to them

ME was one of the first games Keythe Farley (Thane) acted for that had branching dialogue/dialogue choices, and when he saw the script with that when he went in, he was like “wow”. ME was the second big game D. C. Douglas (Legion) ever did. In his first audition he didn’t know it was for a robot-type character as it was disguised as something else with a military-feel. The second time it was to do a speech/lament at someone’s funeral and he knew it was for a robot. He said playing Legion for him was a case of “wake up, drink some coffee and go to work”

Jack was really special to her VA Courtenay Taylor because she relates to her so much and had a lot of similar emotional problems and personal troubles in her past. Jack helped her become who she has became. The host added that in his interactions with Courtenay over the years, he realized very quickly that she is very much like Jack

AWR has two moms, something which she hasn’t talked about/expressly said publicly before. Talking about recording lines between Sam and Femshep made her tear up. She said that being raised by two moms in the 80s was tough due to societal attitudes at the time, and so to see a loving relationship between two women depicted in a game was a big deal for her. When recording the white picket fence conversation, she was actually crying (“and then I’m crying because of the lesbians”). It was a huge moment for her to represent her moms’ journey. When she went home she told them all about how her character is gay and wants a white picket fence and everything “just like we had”.

When PW was working on Sam’s arc, one of the things they did was show it to one of their colleagues, who is a lesbian, asking what things she’d like to see in an arc like that and what things she felt were missing from it. The white picket fence conversation came from the colleague’s feedback (“we wanna see the nice, healthy, happy domestic stuff”, as it’s often missing in portrayals of wlw relationships)

As the VAs got more into their characters, they sometimes had feedback and input to the process to offer, like “I don’t think she’d say [this] like [that]”. Sometimes they knew their characters even better than the crew did sometimes. JHale waxed lyrical about Caroline Livingstone’s awesome direction, with the host adding that he has interviewed a lot of the VAs over the years and they all talk about Caroline like she’s Gandalf the White coming to the rescue in LotR. AWR expressed that Caroline is really funny (“don’t worry it’s not you, PW was sick when they wrote this line that’s why”) and emotionally in-tune with them and this makes long hard sessions with her a joy

When Mark went into record for the Citadel DLC one day he asked Caroline “wouldn’t be great if Shepard’s clone had been made to be the opposite gender? Then the two Shepards could fight each other!”

William Salyers (Mordin) likes the way Mordin’s story ended and felt that it was wonderful to be able to play that. He feels like the luckiest person because as he wasn’t the original VA of Mordin, he got to come in late to something that was amazing. “Caroline helped me get to where I needed to be emotionally to play that final scene. It was one of the most moving things I’ve ever gotten to do personally for a piece of interactive art”. PW related that with Mordin’s writing, they didn’t realize how much they were asking for. They thought William was amazing doing all the science-speak/technobabble, as they themselves didn’t know what it meant, and then suddenly having to deliver emotional heartbreaking lines. William’s always been a secret science nerd and so he loved that fact about Mordin. “It was a real treat to say your words”

Karin: “I always claim credit for the Scientist Salarian song even though I had nothing to do with it. I opened that door for PW”

Steve Blum (Grunt) found it a real treat playing Grunt as Grunt is a tough soldier on the outside but a [babey] on the inside, while he is more the other way around (softer on the outside, fight-y inside). He isn’t a gamer and so didn’t know what to expect or what he was getting into. There was the big pile of words, they showed him the picture of Grunt, and he just ran with it. “Grunt was kind of a perfect character for me in that respect”. Side note: his wry comments throughout the panel were hilarious

“Casey Hudson, our glorious loving overlord”

Courtenay jokes about “interspecies snorkeling”

The women Courtenay met working on this game are her friends for life. Ali Hillis (Liara) gave her her number the night of the ME3 drop and was like “let’s hang out!!” “JHale is the shit. I go to England and there’s AWR and I have this friend for life”.

“We’re a family”. The host comments that you don’t see this kind of closeness between the people on a lot of projects

Kimberley Brooks (Ashley) thinks things have and are changing for the better in terms of roles for women, and roles for brown and black women. This year she has noticed increasing awareness of inclusion and of where it’s lacking. “The copies I’m being sent for auditions, it’s drastically changing, I’m seeing it change before my eyes. It’s really exciting, there’s more and more roles for me.” “Ash is such a strong character and I felt very badass playing her, it was life-changing”. She’s excited that the remaster is going to be a new way to see these characters that they’ve been so lucky to voice. Kimberley/Ash was the first female character Karin saw in the studio, when she saw her she was like “Wow, she’s so kickass and inspiring”. At this point Karin hadn’t been working at BioWare for all that long, and she wanted to thank Kimberley, because she saw her and heard her voice and had a personal ‘this changes everything’ moment

Raphael Sbarge (Kaidan) finds it very moving how many women were encouraged into gaming due to ME

Raphael: “Everyone here has awesome varied careers, but because ME was so collaborative [and so on], [it was something really rare and special]. Nothing else I’ve done has been so important or impassioned, it has almost a religious experience to it, which you can see from tears in fans’ eyes and tattoos and people talking about it 10 years later”. “I’m so grateful for it.” “Clearly we’re going to do this again next year! :D” D. C. added that it’s going to follow him for the rest of his career. Courtenay says it has catapulted her career

PW talked about how it’s great that the female chars in ME were allowed to have real, realistic flaws and dark periods (as opposed to nonsense stuff like ‘her flaw is that she’s clumsy’)

Having the male and female PC be voiced was a big, expensive commitment for the studio. Karin commented that at the time, it was a risk that the pretty-much almost entirely-male leadership of BioWare at the time decided was important to take, and so she was happy that these were the values her colleagues had

PW was “the junior baby writer on ME1. I’d just gotten to the studio and Mac Walters fell down a flight of stairs and hurt his back, and they pulled me in while he was healing”. Karin: “Mac was very understanding when PW fell on the ice and hurt themselves during ME2.” PW: “My job in ME1 was to come up with conversations between followers to pass the time in the elevator loading times. I was throwing stuff at the wall to see what would stick”

Steve turning his volume down before he shouts classic Grunt quotes down the mic

Caroline: “Do you know how many tears were shed in the booth? How many times have we all cried in the booth...” JHale: “We were recording the end of ME3, which I never call the end, because I’m always like I’M HERE! [wink] The goodbye Garrus lines” - these lines got right under her skin and when she went to say her lines she couldn’t speak because she’d burst into tears. “It was all I could do to say those words... and then there was silence... [and Caroline had gotten choked up too].” This was one of the last sessions they did. PW: “John Dombrow wrote Garrus in ME3 and I’m gonna tell him that he got you both to break.”

Caroline was also really teary during Keith David’s (Anderson)’s performance where he tells Shepard she’s like his daughter. This moment was one of JHale’s favorites to act

BioWare came up with a proprietary VA recording system which JHale describes as a secret sauce as-yet not widely-used in the industry

Lots of fun in the line-reading portion at the end. The lines/scenes were sent in by fans. This starts around timestamp 1 hour 50 mins. There’s a break where they discuss more anecdotes after a bit then some line-reading resumes at 1 hour 59 mins 18 secs

"Salarian Vorcha Conrad Verner simmering sexual tension scene”

One of PW’s fondest memories is of ME3 when JHale and Mark got to play off each other (which they naturally didn’t get to do very much), when PW had shoved the entire script of the Blasto movie into random ambience throughout the Citadel. They knew Mark was going to be Blasto as he voiced most of the hanar. PW: “We had to have Blasto’s elcor partner’s hot sister... And I was like could it be JHale?? Because they hardly ever get to talk to each other. It was one of my proudest moments”. Mark: “Not only that, we had a romance.” JHale: “Yeah, it was hot”.

“Think of the poor cold freezing Edmontonian hanar”

PW’s story about Sam’s toothbrush: They wrote it as a throwaway line but AWR did it so well that PW wanted to bring it back in the Citadel DLC, as that DLC was the action-comedy one. So they decided the toothbrush was going to save the Normandy. The art director at the time was in an early playthrough of the scene and in that version of the scene Sam held up her empty hand. The director was like “We gotta make the toothbrush? Really? It’s gonna be thousands of dollars to render the toothbrush.” It then got to the next few lines and the director deadpanned at PW “Okay that’s pretty good, we’ll make the toothbrush.” PW: “Good, I got my toothbrush.”

It was John’s idea that we find out that Mordin had been working on a crime noir novel. There was a period in the development of the Citadel DLC where PW was feeling like “Mordin’s gone, he had his big moment, I want to respect and honor that” and the entire team were like “I think Mordin needs a couple more songs dude”. “Well alright!” By that point William had shown them he could deliver literally any line

“Oh I need a shower that was so steamy hot”

PW got in trouble with Localization over Jack’s “Save some of your energy, we’re gonna do it on the pool table” exchange. Localization were like “Um could you explain what Jack means by this??” These lines were PW’s, Karin as an editor got the question about it and passed it on to PW like “nope this is your fault”. “The best part is it was France that needed PW to explain the joke while apparently Germany were like ‘Yes please confirm that this is regarding the possibility of oral sex-’”

Keythe on voicing Thane: “Thane was a real lesson in opening up to the character, allowing this beautifully conflicted character to exist. Each character in the MET has conflicts within themselves and a tragic flaw that is revealed through the course of conflict.” He also waxed lyrical about how the MET was akin to Star Wars and Citizen Kane, and about the interconnectedness and representation in it

D. C.: “I have a question for you guys. Was it a conscious decision to not have Legion as a romance? Because there are a lot of upset people out there!!” “Voltage problems.” “A lot of creative reuses of ‘There was a hole.’” PW: “It was a process of us figuring out what we wanted to do. If we had known... The number of people who were like ‘I don’t know, are people gonna wanna romance Garrus? Liara? She’s blue and has no hair. Are people gonna be okay with that?” Karin: “We were young and naïve, now we know BioWare fans are thirsty.”

Derek brought in the first picture of Thane to show Caroline and she was like “He’s really hot, that’s gonna be a killer character. People are gonna want to romance that gentleman”

Raphael asked the BioWare team if there’s ever been a point where they thought about doing more DLC content or some kind of revival. “Has that ever come up?” “We’re legally obligated not to say, sorry, we’re going through a tunnel right now, bad reception!!”

D. C.: “Does this country have a soul?” “It does.”

“An N7 Day to remember! Go forth and heal.”

#bioware #mass effect #video games #lgbtq #feels #lul #garrus vakarian #best boy #please remember if you are a minor you should not be following me #a minor = under 18 #next mass effect

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colehasapen · 4 years

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(ONE SHOT) What is a legacy? DC

A03

When Wally had first met Earth's new Green Lantern, the oh-so great Torchbearer, he'd wanted nothing to do with him. Wally - he'd grown up with Hal, then later John, and even Guy, and now all three were gone. He'd grown up with Hal dipping in and out of his Aunt and Uncles' house like he lived there. He'd grown up coming down to breakfast in the morning and seeing Uncle Hal there too, having just come back from space to crawl into bed next to Uncle Barry. When Aunt Iris had been killed, and Uncle Barry started spiraling out of control, it had been Uncle Hal who had kept everything together, who had promised Wally that he wouldn't let Barry out of his sight, that he'd watch his back. It had been Uncle Hal who Wally went to after Uncle Barry's death and the weight of being the Flash was too heavy.

Uncle Hal had been Wally's Green Lantern.

But Hal had broken too. He'd gone crazy and killed the Corps and then vanished. Hal had caved under the pressure no one had known he was under until it was too late, and when he'd come back he was mad.

Wally hadn't wanted a new Green Lantern, wouldn't give him the time of day, until he'd found himself outnumbered during a meeting discussing Hal - Lord Parallax - and had tried to argue that his Uncle needed compassion, understanding, and help , not a fight. They'd called him too close to the situation, too young to know what needed to be done, like Wally hadn't been a hero since he was thirteen, like he was still the little kid in yellow who followed the Flash around and started at them all in childish awe. They could never separate him from the child he could be, but the new Lantern had never known him then, and had stood up and agreed with him.

It had worked too, because in the end, Hal had taken the hand being offered to him, and died to save the world.

After that, Wally had found himself seeking the Lantern out on his own. They still bickered, but Wally found that it reminded him more of the playful ribbing of Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal than any genuine bad blood. He got to know him, started genuinely thinking of him as a friend. He learned that his name is Kyle Rayner, that he’s two years younger than Wally and an independent artist that struggled to pay his bills now that he couldn’t spend all his time on commissions. He’s told that Kyle was well-liked growing up for being generally friendly and easy-going, but didn’t actually have friends until art college because he was just a little too weird for other kids to want to be around him long enough to actually hang out. He learns that Kyle’s mother is an Irish immigrant, that she was his biggest supporter growing up, and that he doesn’t know his father because the man walked out on them when Kyle was still very young, that the only memory of his father Kyle has is vaguely of him speaking Spanish. He learns that Kyle is multilingual, that he grew up speaking English and Gaelic, and learned Spanish in school. He learns the hard way that Kyle is lactose intolerant, and allergic to nuts. He learns funny little anecdotes about Kyle learning to draw before he learned how to walk, he learns that Kyle loves spicy food but doesn’t eat it often because the right spices don’t exist in space.

He learns a lot about Kyle, and it leads to Wally learning about himself as well.

He’d always known he wasn’t straight. He liked and dated girls, of course, he thought they were beautiful, but there was also a part of him that lingered a little too much during training. There was a part of him that looked at certain friends and said, damn I’d like to kiss him. Dick had been the first, back when they’d still been young sidekicks just starting out, and it had continued on wards for a bit too. It had been reciprocated too; they’d messed around together a bit, but they’d ended it on good terms because Wally wasn’t ready to completely come out yet. He’d been happy for Dick, when he’d started dating Kori, then Babs, and then more and more people. After Dick had been Roy, for a little bit, because Roy was the cool, rebellious older boy, but it wasn’t long before that little crush faded away and Wally started looking at him like an older brother. He’d had that really embarrassing teenage crush on John Stewart for a while, the one that had made Hal burst a gut laughing at him for, before ruffling his hair and telling him under no uncertain terms that it wouldn’t be happening.

Well, Wally had known for a while that he liked men too, even if he hadn’t exactly come out to anyone but those he was closest too. His head was filled full of his dad’s hateful words, something he was working hard to shut out. Kyle though, he didn’t hide the fact that he was trans, or that he was pan - he’d grown up in California and now lived in New York, both of which had more of a thriving community than the likes of the small Midwestern Blue Valley Wally had lived in before moving to Central after getting his powers, and then Keystone after he became the Flash and living in Barry’s house was too much for him.

Kyle was - well, he was nice. A breath of fresh air, really. He was a fellow hero, a member of the main roster, so he knows Wally’s identity and understands the demands of being a superhero better than a civilian would. He’s his age, but didn’t grow up with him, and he gets what Wally is going through, standing in someone else’s shoes and being judged as less worthy compared to his predecessor. Before Wally knows it, he finds himself drifting closer and closer to Kyle, to the point where he’s heard older heroes whispering between them of another Flash-Green Lantern team up.

Apparently it brings back nostalgic emotions to see a Flash and Green Lantern dozing off in the rec room, lights dim and some silly movie or another playing in the background. Wally’s just glad he and Kyle have more control than Uncle Hal did, and haven’t been found in a cleaning closet somewhere.

Now, Wally is pretty sure he knows how Uncle Barry felt whenever Hal would stumble into the house at all hours of the night after a long mission in space to pass out in the bed next to him. He’s gotten used to the faint green glow that accompanies Kyle powering down, the faint hum of the Lantern uniform against his skin before it melts away to whatever civvies Kyle happened to be wearing before getting called out. There’s a soft warmth that comes with waking up in the morning to find Kyle sprawled out next to him, lit up by the soft golden light streaming in through the windows as he breathes, deep asleep. There’s a giddiness that comes with finding more and more of Kyle’s things slowly being added to his apartment; it starts with pajamas and extra clothes, but soon Wally is finding art supplies scattered around, or Kyle’s favourite butterscotch shampoo in the shower.

It’s how Wally realizes that he’s in love with his teammate.

He’s staring down at the innocently placed soap he remembers seeing before in Kyle’s shower when it hits him. Nowadays, Kyle spends more time at Wally’s apartment than anywhere else other than the Watchtower when he’s planet-side, and not out rebuilding the entire Green Lantern Corps on his own. Wally isn’t even sure when it started, that he started bringing more and more of his things to Wally’s small Keystone apartment. He thinks back to the sketchbooks and half-finished paintings scattered around the rooms, of the lactose free milk he didn’t think twice before buying when grocery shopping, of the space in his drawers made for Kyle’s clothes and the paint stained shirts in the laundry basket. He thinks about the lack of nut products in his apartment, of the boxes of tampons and pads he doesn't even blink over stocking up on anymore.

Wally moves so fast he’s dry instantly, bursting into his bedroom where Kyle lays among rumbled sheets. His white t-shirt had ridden up in his sleep, and the waistband of his track pants down, exposing a thin line of the packed core muscles that came with the training they all endured in the League. Somehow, his dark hair looks artfully tousled, inky against the sheets, and lashes just as dark are fanned across sun-browned skin and freckles.

He’s unfairly pretty.

“Kyle!”

Kyle jolts, ring flaring green as he stares around groggily, looking for a threat, “Wha-”

“Are we dating?” Wally blurts out, uncaring of his nakedness in the face of his realization.

Kyle blinks once, twice, looking fuzzy, before he groans, long and dramatic as his uniform dissolves into green sparkles and he drops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. There’s a long moment of silence, before the Lantern snorts, and then bursts into breathless giggles.

Wally flounders, “I’m serious!”

Kyle slants a look at him from under his arm, brown eyes warm and almost honey gold in the morning light, “I’d hope we’re dating.” Kyle tells him, voice thick with sleepy amusement, “Otherwise I’ve really been overstepping.”

Wally blushes, feeling a little silly, now that he’s thinking about it. They - they really have been dating, haven’t they? “Oh.” Flustered, Wally rubs a hand down his face, hoping to brush away the burning in his cheeks.

Kyle snickers again, expression warm. “You’re adorable.”

Wally groans, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” He mutters, listening to Kyle dissolve into giggles again.

“Oh, definitely.” The Lantern teases, before sitting up and stretching with a yawn. “Well,” he drawls, amused, “now that I’m awake -” brown eyes rake across Wally’s body, and an eyebrow quirks, “- got a reason for this visit ?” His voice takes on more of a purr, and Wally blinks in confusion.

Then he remembers.

“Oh.” Wally squeaks, red spreading rapidly across his completely naked body. “I - shower - soap - it’s just-” he cuts himself with an embarrassed groan. "I'm making this worse."

Kyle doubles over from the force of his laughter, holding his stomach as he wheezes, hand flapping. “Kidding -” he gasps, “- I’m just kidding.” The Lantern slides off the bed, still snickering, to press a lightning-quick kiss to his lips that, for Wally, lingers for so much longer. “Go have a shower, babe.” Kyle tells him warmly, “I’ll make some breakfast.”

#cole writes #fanfiction #dc comics #dc heroes #wally west #kyle rayner #flashlantern #wally west/kyle rayner #kyle rayner/wally west #the flash #green lantern #justice league

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kvetchlandia · 4 years

Photo

Dave Heath New York City c.1957

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

--Allen Ginsberg, “Howl, part 1″ 1956

43 notes · View notes

newloverofbeauty · 4 years

Photo

Richard Avedon: Peter Orlovsky & AllenGinsberg (1963)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural

darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,

illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over

the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun

and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings

and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx

on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-

wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale

beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and

eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes,

meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and

followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and

the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big

pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing

while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed

down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime

but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath

when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate

the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb

and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of

cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall

and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed

in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems,

cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable

lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops

in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings &

especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden

Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay

and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a

door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the

wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to

open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine

shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown

and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the

filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses

barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz

finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision

or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain,

who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out

the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads

and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers

to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented

themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and

who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the

visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes

of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M.

and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture,

a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the

alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and

trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs

and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater

Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you

speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and

blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma

sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat

a thousand years.

–Allen Ginsberg, “Howl, part 1″ 1956

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for-your-therapeutic-smile · 4 years

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They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear.

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them.

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks.

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point.

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it.

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself.

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

#reflection #covid #quarantine #late nights #music #revolution #diary #politics #john mayer #alicia keys #tracy chapman #love #dear diary #travel #writing #personal #mental health

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babysackville · 4 years

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Sunday 7th November 1824

8 40/60

3 50/60

Breakfast at 9 ¾ - From 10 40/60 to 1 ½ (in the meanwhile Mrs Barlow came to me for about ½ hour) wrote 3 pages the ends and under the seal to my aunt – then dressed and went down to luncheon with Mrs Barlow a little before 3 went there and back in a fiacre with Mrs and Miss Barlow, Mlle de Sans, M. Dacier and M. Eugene de Boyve to M. Le Baron Denon’s, quai Voltaire to see his collection of Egyptian antiques, paintings, Greek and Roman medals &c &c staid there near 1 ½ hour – several rooms thrown open to us – mummies and parts of mummies – several people there – Sundays are M.Le Baron’s public days when he has general beaucoup de monde [a lot of people] – He is a very gentlemanly pleasant old man – Knew Mrs Barlow well and was very civil to us – 2 of his nephews were there – or one nephew and another young man who explained things – the baron himself took much pains in shewing me in particular (I asked to see them) had Greek and Roman medals and the series of his own medals descriptive of the history of the life of Napoleon – Very well pleased altogether – In returning left Mrs and Miss Barlow to go home and got out to oblige Mlle de Sans and took a turn ½ round the Turilerie gardens – got home at 5 – Mrs Barlow came to me (she had left her rings in the morning) for 10 minutes – Dinner at 5 ¾ - a Swiss gent dined with us – in the evening sat next to Mrs Barlow and Miss Middleton and Mrs Heath who talked away and amused us exceedingly with anecdotes of her friend Miss Clementina Sterling Graham of Duntroon in Augusshire who made a great noise in Edinburgh last winter dressing herself up in various characters of old ladies and supporting her panto admirably she 5 or 6 and 30 – anecdotes, too, of the Thorntons of Edinburgh Ayrshire people the very family described by Lockhart in the ‘Ayrshire Legatees’ which I must read – it is very good –

Then poor Mrs Heath told us of the happy four months she had spent at Cheltenham, about a year ago where she reigned queen of beaux admiration. Where she had thirteen gentlemen always ready to ride out with her and was courted by everyone, she was quite the fashion. She had not been at all admired here and would up dress, it was not worth while no dress for the ladies, nor did she much mind their admiration. She had offers at Cheltenham and might have had many more, she flirted a little for amusement – I led her on to talk, she would tell anything about herself a little in the style Mrs Barlow talked at first but far beyond it – Miss Bellevue, Dacier, St. Auban, de Nappe and one or 2 more number [this] evening and one last a Swiss – an ecarte table – came upstairs at 10 50/60 with Mrs Barlow stopt a few minutes talking to her in her anteroom –

Kissed her in the little dark passage as we came out of the dining room, she lets me kiss her now very quietly and sits with her feet close to mine. She said something to me when I took her round the waist tonight, oh said I, don’t be angry you know you cannot come to me tonight said she, significantly you don’t think me angry – tis plain enough she likes me and I always feel excited when with her and even now in thinking of her. I asked what she thought of Mrs Heath’s conversation, ah said she thought it a little in my style, I owned this and said I had wished to notice the effect of it in others. She said she knew this at the time but Mrs Heath went far beyond her and she only talked of her beaux before she was married this was not the case with Mrs Heath – I agreed. She evidently likes to stand talking to me, if I had a penis tho’ of but small length I should surely break the ice some of these times before I go – we were much by ourselves at M Denon’s. I pointed out two phalli, said the beetle was an indecent emblem and pointed out an indecent print of a wake or fete where the people seemed to be dancing and the breeches of the men made to shew their erections – ½ eating grapes from 12 10/60 to 1 wrote all this journal of today – find day – although a little damp and some rain but 10 this morning – Fahrenheit 64 at I p.m. E.. O. -

Fun Fact: Here is a portrait of the Mistress of Disguise, Miss Clementina Stirling Graham of Duntrune.

Note: Anne may have been mistaken about the authorship of ‘Ayrshire Legatees’, which was written by Scotsman John Galt, a contemporary of Lockhart’s.

Also, it is worth noting that M. Denon passed away the following April after Anne had met him and enjoyed his antique collection.

(Diary reference: SHMLE80073)

#1824 #november #paris #place vendome #anne lister #maria barlow #baron denon #clementina stirling graham #mummies #greek & roman #Ayrshire Legatees #john galt #john gibson lockhart #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack

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thirteen-beaxhes · 5 years

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So What’s the Question? (Tyrus One Shot)

Summary: Cyrus is in a flight, losing his mind to boredom. That is, until, the cute boy next to him falls asleep on his shoulder. (A fic based on the 36 questions to fall in love)

Words: 9015

(Long note at the end so fair warning)

~~~~~~

As Cyrus rolled his head around, trying to combat his stiff neck, he was starting to remember why he wasn’t particularly fond of flights. The long hours, the too-cold air conditioning, the closed space, the cramped seats, he could have gone on forever. And it had only been 30 minutes since take off.

Cyrus groaned inwardly, glad of only one thing, as he looked out the small airplane window at the clouds below. There weren’t that many people in the flight that day, and there was only one other person in his row. A boy with blonde hair who was wearing a grey camo hoodie was fast asleep on the seat next to him. That sight hit him with a twinge of jealousy. He wished he to could sleep away the flight. Instead, he was cursed with staying awake for another 2 hours until he was back home. Oh wait, Cyrus realised. There was an hour drive from the airport after that. Cyrus hit his head against the back of the seat.

Well, might as well listen to some music and read those articles you saved. Cyrus sighed and reached into his bag, pulling out earphones and plugging them into his phone, clicking on Marina’s new album. He could use some pop beats as he scoured his phone for the articles he had saved for the flight. The synth and piano sound echoed through Cyrus’ head as he clicked on one that read ‘To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This’. Huh, why had he saved that? Didn’t seem like him, Cyrus thought but then remembered the premise. Apparently, a psychologist Arthur Aron had done an experiment whereby 2 complete strangers fell in love after asking each other 36 questions.

Pretty impossible. Like that could happen.

Cyrus opened the article and started reading. He got quite absorbed in the article, the initial experiment being intriguing and the anecdote that followed equally so. He was so engrossed that he grew oblivious to his surroundings, just waving away the air hostesses politely when they asked him if he needed anything.

He was oblivious, that is, until he felt a weight fall on his shoulder.

Cyrus froze, almost dropping his phone. Slowly, he turned his head to look at his shoulder, brushing against blonde hair.

Oh.

The boy next to him was so deep in sleep that unknowingly, he must have rested his head on Cyrus’ shoulder for some form of support. And Cyrus didn’t really blame him. Airplane seats are uncomfortable.

Cyrus felt weird looking at the sleeping boy, but he couldn’t help it. He was so close, and he smelled really good. Wow, that was creepy. Cyrus just kept looking at him, realising to his surprise and his rising heart rate. He had freckles. Oh lord. Sound the alarm.

Cyrus tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to wake up the cute boy. But of course, fate was not on his side. Cyrus moved slightly to adjust his posture, but that ended up disturbing the boy, leading to his blinking around groggily.

“What?” the boy asked, his voice low and deep. He looked around until he made eye contact with Cyrus. Realising the lack of space between them, he soon realised what had happened, his eyes going wide with horror.

“Oh my god, I slept on your shoulder, didn’t I? I am so sorry,” the boy said, moving back, much to Cyrus’ disappointment.

“No, no. It’s okay,” Cyrus said, trying to reassure the boy. “I don’t really care.”

However, the boy moved away, running his hand through his hair. His face had gone red as he avoided looking in Cyrus’ eyes, clearly flustered. Cyrus also felt his cheeks grow warm, but a smirk played at his lips looking at the boy. He’s interesting when he’s flustered.

Focus.

Cyrus cleared his throat and, to try and get the boy to stop freaking out, he grabbed his hand. The boy instantly went quiet, looking up at Cyrus nervously. Cyrus took a breath, perplexed by why he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Maybe cuz he was holding the hand of an insanely attractive boy. But that’s just a suggestion.

“It’s okay,” Cyrus said softly, giving the boy’s hand a light squeeze. “You were asleep. Besides, I didn’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” the boy asked nervously.

Cyrus nodded, letting go of his hand. He didn’t want to, but he reminded himself that this was literally the first time that they had spoken. Besides, the longer he held his hand, the more Cyrus began planning their wedding. Wait, what?

Then the boy gave Cyrus a small smile, and he could feel his heart melt into a puddle. He held out a hand to Cyrus.

“I’m TJ.”

Cyrus returned the smile and the handshake. “Cyrus.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while as Cyrus put away his earphones, having a feeling that he wasn’t going to be needing them for the rest of the flight. As he bent down to put them away, he felt TJ tap lightly on his shoulder.

“Is that a pride pin?” he asked curiously.

Cyrus looked down to where TJ was pointing, at the rainbow pin on his denim jacket. He gave a soft laugh, holding up that part of his denim jacket. “Yeah it is.”

“Good to know you’re a supporter.”

“Well, that’s kinda a given considering I’m gay,” Cyrus said nonchalantly. It had taken a while, but Cyrus was now at the point where he was incredibly comfortable in and proud of who he was. He no longer felt too much fear at coming out. But now, with TJ, he did feel a bit nervous.

TJ looked surprised, his eyes going wide. “Oh. Oh! Okay, wow. Cool, um. That’s great.”

“Is that a problem?” Cyrus asked worriedly, rethinking all his life choices.

“What? No no no. Not at all,” TJ said, hurriedly correcting himself. “I’m gay too!”

“Oh!” Cyrus exclaimed, ignoring his heart dancing around. “Me too!”

Cyrus didn’t realise what he had said until he saw TJ’s face morph into one of confusion and amusement. “I already said that, didn’t I?”

“Maybe,” TJ said, laughing. Cyrus shoved him by the shoulder, trying to fight the growing smile on his face.

Silence fell between them again, this time slightly awkward. Cyrus rubbed his hands together, unsure of what to do. He risked sneaking a glance at TJ, only to catch him already looking at Cyrus. They both looked away, blushes creeping onto their cheeks.

“So,” TJ said, drawing the word out. “What were you reading?”

Cyrus looked at him in confusion until he looked down at his phone and realised what TJ meant. “Oh! Just an article.”

“What is it?”

“Well,” Cyrus said, unsure of how TJ would take it. “It’s called ‘To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This’.”

“Ooh, a romantic are we?” TJ teased, smirking.

“No,” Cyrus said indignantly. “I am just intrigued by the process.”

“What’s the process?”

“Apparently, if you exchange answers to a certain 36 questions, and then stare into each other’s eyes for 4 minutes straight, you can fall in love with a complete stranger.”

TJ raised his eyebrows with a lack of any belief.

“I know, weird right? But apparently, it worked for people.”

“Really?” TJ asked incredulously.

Cyrus just nodded, shrugging. He bent down to pick up his earphones that he had forgotten to put away when TJ asked him about the pin. When he looked back up, TJ was deep in thought.

Weird, Cyrus thought to himself as he looked at TJ, who was looking off into space. I’ve only spoken to him for coming up on 15 minutes and I already feel like I know him.

TJ was silent for a while, leaving Cyrus to just awkwardly stare out of the window, unsure of if he should say anything. An air hostess walked by, glancing towards the two boys with a smile.

“Can I get you two anything?” she asked warmly.

“Could I get a soda?” Cyrus asked. Then he turned towards TJ, tapping him on the shoulder. TJ seemed to come out of his trance.

“You want anything, TJ?”

“What? Uh no, thank you,” TJ said, smiling briefly at the hostess.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” Cyrus asked, resting his elbow on the seat, his head on his hand.

“We should try it,” TJ said, looking at Cyrus.

“Try what? Soda?” Cyrus asked, laughing.

“No, I mean. We should try what that article says,”

Cyrus looked at TJ, smiling in amusement. However, as he saw the unreadable expression on TJ’s face, his smile fell.

“Wait. You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” TJ said, shrugging slightly.

“Why?” Cyrus asked, confused.

“Well, it’s not like there is much to do on this flight. Plus, we’re going on about how it can’t be possible. So let’s prove that just asking each other 36 questions followed by some staring won’t make us fall in love,” TJ said. As he went on speaking, his voice grew soft but almost challenging. After he was done, he looked Cyrus right in the eye, a smirk on his lips.

Cyrus gulped, unable to anything but stare back at TJ. On the one hand, TJ’s idea made sense. They really did have nothing to do, plus they could get to know each other better. And he was firmly of the belief that falling in love wasn’t so simple, so he was safe. However, a small part of him still whispered to him, asking what if? Eventually, Cyrus made up his mind and said, “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, so it suggests that we each take turns reading a question and then we both discuss the answers,” Cyrus said, opening his phone to the article. “So, who’s reading the first one?”

“I’ll do it,” TJ said, grabbing the phone.

Cyrus looked down at his phone, his heart beating fast. Why was he nervous? It was just some questions.

“Okay. Question one. ‘Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?’ Hm. Tough one. But I’d have to argue, Shrek.”

“Are you serious?” Cyrus asked with a groan, looking at TJ.

“Fine! Mike Myers.”

“Who’s that?”

“The voice of Shrek.”

Cyrus hit his head on the table in front of his seat, much to TJ’s amusement. “I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want to do this.”

“Aw, come on,” TJ said, poking Cyrus. “Who would you want?”

“Hm. Probably Elton John.”

TJ whistled. “Whoa, high brow guests there, Cyrus.”

“My turn,” Cyrus said, grabbing the phone from TJ. “Question two. ‘Would you like to be famous? In what way?’ Well?” Cyrus asked, turning to TJ.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your turn to answer.”

“Okay, okay! Well, I guess I’d like to be famous. I kinda want to make films,” Cyrus said shyly.

“You do? That’s awesome, Cyrus,” TJ said softly, his face lit up with an encouraging smile.

“Really?” Cyrus asked meekly.

TJ nodded, holding Cyrus’ hand and giving it a squeeze. They sat like that for a moment, holding hands, until TJ let go. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t willing to push his luck just then.

“I wouldn’t want to be famous. Just doesn’t seem like me. But if I was, I hope it would be for basketball.”

“You play?” Cyrus asked.

“Yeah. Captain of the boys’ team.”

“Whoa,” Cyrus said with a smile. He handed the phone to TJ.

“Your turn.”

TJ sighed, looking down at the article. “Question three. ‘Before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say? Why?’ Huh.”

He looked at Cyrus. “Wanna answer this at the same time?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Sure,” Cyrus replied with a smirk.

“3, 2, 1… Yes!” they both said at the same time, collapsing into laughter, to the glares of the other passengers.

“I just have to do it, otherwise I don’t remember what to say,” Cyrus said in between laughs.

“Same! Also, I’m nervous that I’ll look like a stuttering fool,” TJ added, covering his mouth with his hand to try and contain his laughs.

Cyrus pointed at TJ. “True.” They both continued to laugh, Cyrus feeling his stomach start to hurt from all of the laughter.

“Okay. I’ll ask,” Cyrus said, as the laughter died down. “Question four. ‘What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?’ Simple. Hanging out with my best friends at the Spoon with baby taters and milkshakes, followed by a marathon of ocean documentaries,” Cyrus said, a smile coming onto his face at the thought of his friends. He had been gone only for two weeks, but it still felt like forever since he had seen Buffy and Andi. They had FaceTimed almost every day, with Andi regaling the group with more of the parents’ stories and Buffy updating them on the girls’ basketball team. He really had missed them, and couldn’t wait to be reunited with them.

“Wow, you had that answer all ready,” TJ said.

“Cuz it’s happened, but they’re the best days. What about you?”

TJ took a minute to think about it before replying, “Just spending the day in my room, rock music playing while I sketch. Maybe even binge Brooklyn Nine Nine.”

“You sketch?” Cyrus asked, surprised.

“Yup. Why? Is it so unexpected?” TJ asked, amused.

“Well, I just saw you as this basketball jock,” Cyrus defended.

“I have layers,” TJ replied, revelling in the way Cyrus groaned at his answer.

“I do not want another Shrek reference out of you.”

“Well, that’s impossible,” TJ said, giggling. Cyrus handed the phone over to TJ.

“Question five. ‘When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?’ Uhhh, I sang last night to myself while I did my laundry, much to my aunt’s disapproval,” TJ said.

“Why was she disapproving?” Cyrus asked, confused.

“Because it was 1 am.”

“Why were you doing laundry at 1 am?!”

“I have my methods,” TJ said very matter-of-factly. “I’ll have you know, my rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ was very melodic and my aunt should have appreciated it.”

Cyrus let out a laugh, pushing TJ by the shoulder. “I feel sorry for your aunt.”

“Hey! I was good! Here, you listen and judge,” TJ said, before launching into an incredibly off-tune and messy rendition of Celine Dion. It may have been absolutely out of pitch, but Cyrus couldn’t help but smile at TJ’s antics, a warm feeling overcoming his heart. He may suck at singing, but he was adorable while doing it.

After TJ was done, Cyrus applauded him while TJ dramatically bowed. “Well, there is the answer now. Last time I sang to someone else, was right now.”

“Impressive,” Cyrus laughed.

“What about you?” TJ asked, now turning towards Cyrus.

“Um, last I sang to myself was probably in the morning in the cab while I listened to music on the way to the airport. And I sang to my grandparents in their house because they insisted I ‘display my talents’ to them,” Cyrus replied.

“Wow, you must actually be good then.”

“Not really,” Cyrus said, seeing where the conversation was going and he desperately didn’t want it to go there.

“Come on, Cyrus. You heard me screech through Celine Dion. You can’t be worse than me. Please?” TJ asked, pouting slightly.

Sighing, Cyrus began softly singing ‘When I Was Your Man’ by Bruno Mars, losing himself in it for a while. When he was done, he looked over at TJ who was staring at him, his eyes glazed over, his mouth slightly open, like in a trance. Cyrus, after much internal debate, reached over and shut TJ’s mouth, causing him to wake up.

“Fell asleep?” Cyrus teased, his cheeks warming up at the way TJ was looking at him.

“You sound amazing,” TJ whispered, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you,” Cyrus said, looking back at TJ. They stared at each other for a while, moving closer and closer almost imperceptibly. After a while, TJ gulped and handed over the phone to Cyrus. “Your turn.”

Cyrus shook his head slightly. “Um. Yeah,” he said, taking the phone. “Question six. ‘If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?’ I guess I’d retain the body,” Cyrus said, thinking for a moment after reading the question. “You?”

“Honestly, same. You’d keep the wisdom of old age while you have the ravishing looks of a 30-year-old,” TJ replied with a chuckle.

“Okay,” TJ said, looking over Cyrus’ shoulder to read the next question. “Question seven. ‘Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?’ Yeesh, that grew dim.”

Cyrus laughed a bit, reading over the question himself. “Well?”

“And the answer is no, I don’t like thinking about death,” TJ said, his smile dropping a bit.

“Me neither. I don’t have a hunch either. But I’d hope it’s painless,” Cyrus said, smiling at TJ reassuringly.

“Question eight,” Cyrus read out next. “Oh. ‘Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.’ Huh. Okay, I guess this one is one we discuss then,” Cyrus said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I guess,” TJ said, looking confused.

“Okay, so, we both seem to be 16,” Cyrus said, taking a guess at TJ’s age.

“Which is correct,” TJ corroborated. “We’re both gay, knowledge previously obtained,” he said, winking at Cyrus.

Cyrus punched TJ lightly in the shoulder. “And if I had to guess, we both have impeccable fashion choice,” he said, indicating to their outfits. Cyrus was wearing a dark green button-down shirt with some small dots and TJ was in his grey camo hoodie.

TJ looked approvingly at Cyrus. “That’s it, we’re friends. No one else compliments my fashion,” he said with a laugh.

Just friends? Cyrus’ brain teased him, much to his chagrin.

TJ took the phone for the next question. “Question nine. ‘For what in your life do you feel most grateful?’ Whoa. Um, for me, I guess I’m most grateful for having the sister and mother I do. My mom has been doing everything herself for a while now, and she still is one of the best people I know. And my sister is a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s always had my back,” TJ said, his voice cracking slightly.

Cyrus smiled softly, holding TJ’s shoulder. “That’s really nice, TJ.”

TJ looked back up at Cyrus, his eyes misty. “Well, that got emotional and deep, huh? What about you?”

Cyrus looked ahead. “Probably my friends. Buffy, Andi and Jonah. They’ve always had my back and have helped me do so many things, They’re always there for me, we’re all there for each other. And I know that, whatever happens, I will always have them,” Cyrus said, feeling his eyes fill up.

TJ grabbed Cyrus’ hand that was on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. They sat in silence as they both composed themselves. Cyrus smiled up at TJ comfortingly before taking the phone. “Question ten. ‘If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?’ I don’t think I would want to change much. Maybe I’d ask my parents to not split up, but then again, that turned out alright,” Cyrus said. “You?”

“I’d get my dad to stay,” TJ said, his voice taking on a bitter tone. “I’m sorry, that was not good.”

“No, no. It was an honest answer. Don’t say sorry,” Cyrus said, reassuring TJ.

“I know that it isn’t my fault, but as a kid, it plagued me every night. And, I don’t know, if I could change anything, I’d want to make sure that I wouldn’t go through that.”

“And that’s perfectly okay.”

“Well, this is getting serious real fast, huh?” TJ said, laughing a bit to alleviate the tension. “Let’s see the next question.”

Cyrus turned the phone toward TJ who read, “Question eleven. ‘Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.’ Oh boy,” TJ said, rubbing his hands together. “We are in for a ride.”

Cyrus moved back, resting against the back of his seat, giving TJ space. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“So, I have a sister named Amber. She’s like a year or so older than me. I live in Greenpark, like an hour from the airport where we’re landing, and that’s where I grew up. Our mom and dad used to fight a lot, but he never hurt her or anyone of us. One day, he left to go for a walk for an hour, and he’s like 8 years late. My mom was devastated, but she took care of us and did everything herself. I go to Salt Lake High School, captain of the boys’ basketball team. My sister and I also started working when we became 14 to support our mom. I work at a kids’ gym as an instructor. Around 8th Grade, I found out that I have a learning disability, dyscalculia. Its like dyslexia but with numbers. I found out I was gay around then too, when I realised I had a crush on my friend Marty. I’m out to most of my friends and my family. It was scary at first but now I’m proud of it. I had gone to meet my aunt, which is why I am on this flight, where I met you.” TJ finished his speech, looking back at Cyrus. “How long did that take?”

“Still 15 seconds to spare,” Cyrus said, impressed.

“Come on, now your turn.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said, thinking over things before starting. “My mom and dad are both shrinks. When I was seven, they got a divorce. And then both ended up marrying shrinks again. So, I am being parented by four mental health professionals. But, it could be worse. My parents are on good terms with each other, despite their constant nags at the other. I met Buffy and Andi in 2nd Grade and we became instant best friends. In 7th Grade, I got a girlfriend, and she was almost exactly like me. But, I never seemed to like her in any way other than as a friend. Also, when Andi got together with Jonah, I felt jealous. That’s kinda how I realised that I liked boys. Cuz I liked him. Oh, I’m Jewish too, forgot to mention that. I was visiting my grandparents for two weeks, and now I’m heading back home to great Shadyside.”

After Cyrus was done, TJ whistled. “Damn, Cyrus. That was a lot.”

Cyrus shrugged. “We both just went all out there.”

“We really did,” TJ said with a laugh.

Cyrus turned the phone back to himself. “Okay, let’s move on. Question twelve. ‘If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?’ Easy. The ability to not make a living embarrassment of myself every time I do anything,” Cyrus answered deadpanned.

TJ burst out laughing, trying to cover his mouth and control himself, but to no success. “Wow, Cyrus. You really went there?”

“Only the truth,” Cyrus said, folding his hands.

“Well then, my ability would be to always remind you that you are not an embarrassment,” TJ said with a smile.

“Wait. What?” Cyrus asked, perplexed. “Why?”

“Because,” TJ shrugged. “You’re really cool. So, you deserve someone saying that. And I don’t mind being that person.”

Cyrus blinked in disbelief, a smile growing on his face. His heart was beating fast, and without thinking, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around TJ, hugging him tight. TJ was surprised initially, but soon reciprocated the hug, resting his head on Cyrus’ shoulder. Cyrus couldn’t help but notice how warm he felt wrapped up in TJ’s arms. How safe he felt.

And this was just set one.

“So, set two?” TJ asked after pulling away from Cyrus. Cyrus nodded, looking down at the phone to read the question.

“Question thirteen. ‘If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?’ Hmm. I think I’d want to know why I don’t graduate from an Ivy League College, if I get into one,” Cyrus said, much to TJ’s surprise. “It’s a long story,” Cyrus said after seeing TJ’s expression.

“Well, I’d want to know what happened to this friend of mine named Reed. He just left school one year, never to be heard from again. I don’t know, I just wanna know where and how is he,” TJ answered with a shrug.

TJ took the phone from Cyrus, looking at the next question. “Question fourteen. 'Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?’ I guess I’ve always dreamed of dancing. Like, in a performance. I don’t know, it’s kinda unexpected, but I’ve always wanted to,” he answered, his voice taking on a wistful tone.

“Why haven’t you done it?” Cyrus asked.

“I don’t know, the chance never came. There is a dance team, but since I’m in basketball, I can’t do both.”

Cyrus nodded, pursing his lips slightly. “Well, for me. This is really stupid but, I’ve never done a somersault. Or gone fishing. Or done skateboarding.”

TJ looked up at Cyrus in amusement, a smirk on his face. “Really? Why?”

“Cuz I’m a kugel of a man.”

TJ laughed, leaning against his seat. “You know, they aren’t that hard. If someone taught you, you’d get it.”

“I highly doubt anyone would want to take this at so late a stage,” Cyrus said, gesturing to himself.

“Well, I would do it. If I didn’t live around an hour and a half from where you live,” TJ said, smiling at Cyrus.

Cyrus smiled back appreciatively. It felt weird, someone saying that they wouldn’t mind helping him through basic tasks that every teenager should know. And TJ didn’t even make fun of him. Huh. This was nice.

TJ turned the phone towards Cyrus. “Question fifteen. ‘What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?’ Oh, definitely the time one of the films I directed got screened in school for everyone to see. I was so nervous, but people really liked it,” Cyrus answered, smiling fondly at the memory. Buffy, Andi and Jonah had stayed up with him many nights over the phone just to help him calm down. Andi even made him a display piece that reminded her of the film, and Cyrus still had it to this day.

“Whoa, that’s incredible Cyrus,” TJ said, grabbing Cyrus’ shoulder. “I’m so happy for you.”

Cyrus smiled appreciatively and grabbed TJ’s hand with his own. “What about you?”

“Hmm tough one,” TJ said. “I’m not gonna say something like winning the basketball tournaments, cuz that’s not true. I mean, I am proud of it. But it’s not the greatest accomplishment of my life.”

“Then, what is?” Cyrus asked, leaning back in his seat as he looked over at TJ.

“Well, this one year, for my mom’s birthday, Amber and I worked and gave her the best day ever. We made sure she didn’t do any work, that we got everything handled. We went to the fair and we had the most fun ever. She was so happy, more than she had been in a long time. I guess, giving her that day and making her so happy is my greatest accomplishment,” TJ said, smiling wistfully. His eyes had become misty again, and he sniffed slightly. “Wow, I sound like such a saint.”

“Hey, no,” Cyrus protested. “That’s amazing TJ. Worth being your greatest accomplishment.”

TJ smiled gratefully at Cyrus, looking back down at the phone. “Question sixteen. ‘What do you value most in a friendship?’ Simple. For me, it’s trust and reliance,” TJ said.

“Same here,” Cyrus replied. “Interests and stuff aren’t really a problem for me. As long as I know that I can trust them.”

“Exactly. And, I know it’s only been a short time, but I trust you Cyrus,” TJ said meekly.

Cyrus smiled. “I trust you too, TJ.” He took the phone from TJ, checking the battery left and then reading the next question.

“Question seventeen. ‘What is your most treasured memory?’ I guess the day my movie got screened, actually. It was the first time I’ve done something new successfully. Plus, the support from my friends and family made that day pretty unforgettable,” Cyrus answered.

“That’s really nice. For me, I think that day, my mom’s birthday. Pretty unforgettable, like you said,” TJ said, smiling softly.

TJ took the phone and read. “Question eighteen. Oh wow, halfway there,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Cyrus. “Okay. ‘What is your most terrible memory?’ Well for me this is kind of obvious. The night my dad left. I spent all night awake, trying to listen for him coming home. It was horrible, walking by my mom’s room and hearing her cry. Amber also crept into my room and cried. Not the best night,” TJ said sadly.

“Yeah, I understand. For me, it’s probably the day Buffy moved away. She just left, no goodbye, no warning. We knew she was moving, but when we went to say goodbye, she was gone. And she didn’t speak to us for 2 months, until she came back that is. I missed her so much,” Cyrus said, smiling sadly.

TJ just reached over and gave Cyrus’ hand a squeeze, a silent sign of comfort. He turned over the phone for Cyrus to see.

“Question nineteen. ‘If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?’ Okay, why does this thing always circle back to death!” Cyrus exclaimed, slamming the phone on the tray table to TJ’s laughter.

“Well, go on,” TJ said in between laughs. “Answer it.”

“Okay, okay. I guess I’d start doing things I haven’t done before and have just been afraid to do. I don’t have much time, I’m not living the rest of my life in fear,” Cyrus answered, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know if I’d change much of how I live. Maybe I’d not push people away so much,” TJ said, resting his head on his hand. “Okay, my turn.”

He looked down at the phone. “Question twenty. ‘What does friendship mean to you?’ Isn’t this the same as the other question?” TJ looked up, confused.

“No, that one was what do you ‘value’ in friendship,” Cyrus corrected.

“Same difference. Anyway, my answer is the same. It means trust and having each other’s backs.”

Yeah, for me too.”

Cyrus took the phone from TJ. “Question twenty-one. ‘What roles do love and affection play in your life?’ Oh. Well, as an eternally single human,” Cyrus started, much to TJ’s amusement. “I have never been in a relationship. But still, I love my friends and family to death. So, they have pretty big roles in my life. I’d do anything for the people I love.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’ve also been single all my life,” TJ said with a smirk, winking at Cyrus. “But, I love my mom and sister so much. And I also really care about my friends. So same. I’d do anything for them.”

Cyrus felt his heart leap out of his body when TJ winked at him, his throat going dry. How the heck was he single? He was so cute.

“Can’t believe someone like you is single,” Cyrus mumbled. TJ heard it and raised his eyebrows, looking at Cyrus.

“Oh? Why is that, Cyrus?” he asked teasingly.

“I-Um. I mean,” Cyrus fumbled. “You are good-looking. Objectively. Like. Unbiased opinion.”

TJ just nodded, not convinced. “Sure.”

“Just take the phone,” Cyrus groaned, thrusting the phone into TJ’s hand. TJ laughed, taking the phone.

“Question twenty-two. ‘Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.’ Okay, so about each other?” TJ asked.

Cyrus nodded. “So we both say one thing about the other. I think, instead of a total of five, let’s just both say three things about the other.”

“Cool, that works,” TJ agreed. “Okay, you’re smart.”

“You’re funny,” Cyrus replied.

“You’re encouraging.”

“You’re really caring.”

“You’re incredibly adept at helping people out.”

“You’re sweet and kind. Not to mention good-looking,” Cyrus said, adding a wink.

TJ looked taken aback, his cheeks going pink. “Oh! Uh, you too!” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

Good job, Cyrus. Flirting is a gift, not a talent.

“But I’d argue and say you’re incredibly cuter,” TJ said, flashing a flirtatious smile, making it Cyrus’ turn to blush.

Never mind. The gift is useless.

Taking the phone back, Cyrus read the next question. “Question twenty-three. ‘How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?’ Hm. I mean, my family is still pretty close, even after everything. And, I don’t know. My childhood was like any other childhood, I guess. Just as happy as others.”

TJ nodded. “Yeah, my family right now is pretty close. We got each other. But probably my childhood was a bit sadder than most others. But that’s okay. It wasn’t terrible, only for a little while.”

Cyrus nodded, a small smile on his face. TJ looked over Cyrus’ shoulder to read the next question. “Last question of the set. Excited?” TJ asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Cyrus just rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile.

“Question twenty-four. ‘How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?’ Well, this is easy for me. I love my mother to bits. I’d say our relationship is pretty good,” TJ said smiling.

“Same here. My relationship with both my mom and stepmom are pretty good,” Cyrus replied.

They sat there, smiling at each other for a moment. Just then, the air hostess walked by, placing Cyrus’ long forgotten soda before him, causing the two to break out of their trances. Cyrus smiled back at TJ, taking a sip of his soda.

TJ was a really nice and interesting person. But all he felt was that the boy was incredibly cute, and maybe Cyrus’ heart fluttered every time TJ smiled at him. But he wasn’t falling in love. Was he?

It was still just set two.

After Cyrus had downed his soda with a surprising amount of speed, he turned over to TJ. “Ready for set three?”

“Yup. We’re in the endgame now,” TJ said, smirking.

“Was that an Avengers reference?”

“Oh, you bet,” TJ replied, winking at Cyrus, much to Cyrus’ heart’s glee.

“Okay. You start,” Cyrus said, nodding at the phone. TJ picked it up from the tray table and began to read.

“Question twenty-five. ‘Make three true “we” statements each.’ Okay, I’ll go first,” TJ said, taking a moment to think. “Okay, so. We are both in the airplane heading home after visiting extended family. We are both people who really care about the people we love. And, we both are incredibly attractive,” TJ finished with a smirk.

Cyrus lightly shoved TJ in the shoulder. “Wow. I don’t know whether to see that as a compliment, or you praising yourself.”

“It’s both,” TJ replied, shrugging.

“Okay, my turn,” Cyrus said after shaking his head fondly. “We both have great dressing sense. We are both stupid for deciding to do these questions. But, we are both hopefully thankful that we decided to do them, because we got to know each other better.”

TJ smiled fondly, taking Cyrus’ hand in his. “Again, all true.”

Keeping their hands clasped, Cyrus took the phone from TJ and read the next question. “Question twenty-six. ‘Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share...”’ Ah. My love for nature documentaries,” Cyrus said, looking off into the distance.

“Mood,” TJ said, hand on his heart. “For me, it’s my pop culture references. Someone who won’t judge my love for Shrek,” he answered, looking pointedly at Cyrus.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, pouting at TJ. “I have taste, okay?”

“Yeah, and its blander than mayonnaise.”

“Oh haha.”

TJ stuck his tongue out, taking the phone from Cyrus. “Question twenty-seven. ‘If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.’ That I need them to help me hide bodies every now and then,” TJ answered completely deadpanned.

Cyrus laughed. “Well, buddy I’m of no help to you then.”

TJ also giggled, but soon grew serious. “Actually, not joking around for a bit. I wasn’t always the best person. I was actually a jerk, someone who pushed everyone away. And sometimes, that tends to happen. So, if we were going to be close friends, I’d just tell you that I’m sorry if I ever push you away and act like a jerk. You will never deserve it, and I’m working on it,” he said, looking up nervously at Cyrus.

Cyrus smiled reassuringly, covering their clasped hands with his other hand. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Now, your turn,” TJ said, sniffing a bit.

“I’d tell you that sometimes, I’m a bit helpless. And I can get annoying. Just, that’s how I am sometimes. But even I am working on it,” Cyrus answered.

TJ looked up at Cyrus with a small smile. “For the record, I find it impossible to believe that you could ever be annoying.”

Cyrus felt his cheeks grow warm, but he kept his eyes focused on TJ, returning his smile. Cyrus looked over TJ’s shoulder to see the phone.

“Question twenty-eight. ‘Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.’ Oh where do I start?” Cyrus said, causing TJ to look away, blushing.

“Well, here goes. I like how you are clearly so caring and compassionate, and I find it hard to believe you could ever be a jerk. I like how you decided, rather than spending a flight sleeping and actually getting time to yourself, you decided it was worthwhile talking to this dorky boy who was next to you. And I’m glad you did,” Cyrus said, smiling. “Because I also like you. You’re a great listener and an amazing person to talk to. You’re a great,” Cyrus hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Friend,” he finally said. A part of him felt it wasn’t enough but it was enough for now.

TJ felt his eyes fill up a bit. He hadn’t expected Cyrus to say so many nice things and it caught him quite off-guard. “Wow, Cyrus. I, I just,” TJ said, trying to find words to even describe his emotions.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Cyrus said. “It’s your turn now.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s possible to top that, but I’ll try,” TJ said, rubbing his hands together. “I like how you are clearly such a good friend and a great person. I like how you genuinely care about people, and are willing to hear them out. I like how we just met, and you are already so willing to listen and talk to me. I like that when a weird boy fell asleep on your shoulder, and then tried to talk to you, you just responded as if it was the most natural thing on the planet. I like you too. You’re kind, funny, and not at all annoying. And even I’m glad you’re my,” TJ hesitated, his voice small. “My friend.”

Now Cyrus was the one lost for words, only able to lean across and wrap his arms around TJ, pulling him in for a hug. TJ reciprocated almost instantly, his head dropping down onto Cyrus’ shoulder. Cyrus buried his head in TJ’s shoulder, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Pulling apart with soft smiles on their faces, TJ looked back down at the phone. “Question twenty-nine. ‘Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.’ Oh. There was this one time when I turned up to school and my shirt was inside-out. And I didn’t realise until Marty pointed it out,” TJ said, suppressing a smile.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Cyrus reasoned.

“Well, coupled with the fact that I had a huge crush on him, I’d argue that it was mortifying. Also, it was a graphic shirt, so it was even more obvious.”

“Oh god,” Cyrus said, collapsing into laughter. “Okay, I take back my words.”

TJ laughed too, covering his mouth with his hand. “Well, I shared my harrowing memory. What’s yours?”

“Funnily enough, mine also involves a crush. Jonah was teaching me skateboarding. But, me being me, I lost control and fell into the bushes and broke my thumb,” Cyrus said, cringing slightly at the memory.

“Oh man, are you okay?” TJ asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

“Oh yeah. My self-esteem though, now that suffered a hit.”

“I get you,” TJ said, nodding in agreement.

“Okay hand the phone,” Cyrus said. “Question thirty.”

“Ooh, we are nearing the end,” TJ said.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Question thirty. ‘When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?’ Whoa. Um, last I cried in front of someone was a week or so ago, when Andi, Buffy and I watched ‘The Book Thief’.”

“Whoa, is it that sad? I was gonna read it when I got back?” TJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just gonna say, keep tissues nearby,” Cyrus warned. “And, last I cried by myself was two days ago, I think.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know,” Cyrus shrugged. “Just one of those days.”

TJ nodded understandingly. “Yeah I get that. I last cried by myself a week ago. Again, don’t really remember the reason. I cried in front of Amber a month ago, cuz that was the day I came out to her,” TJ answered, his voice small.

“TJ,” Cyrus said, grabbing his hand.

“It was out of happiness, I swear,” TJ reassured, turning his hand to interlock their fingers.

Cyrus smiled and held out the phone for TJ to read.

“Question thirty-one. ‘Tell your partner something that you like about them already.’ Wait, haven’t we already answered something like this?” TJ asked, laughing.

“I think the psychologist was running out of questions at this point,” Cyrus said, laughing along.

“Anyway, I already like your smile and your great personality,” TJ said, smiling brightly.

“Oh,” Cyrus said, his face all in a grin, his cheeks growing red. “Those are two things, by the way.”

“Seriously?” TJ said, unimpressed.

“I’m just saying!” Cyrus said, holding up his hands. “Okay, I already like your humour. And your eyes,” Cyrus said, winking. Bold move, Goodman. Maybe flirting is a viable career option.

“Really?” TJ asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. And Cyrus was hit with the surprising urge to lean forward and kiss TJ’s cheek. Or boop his nose. Wait, what?

“Okay, my turn,” Cyrus said, looking down at his phone. “Question thirty-two. ‘What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?’ Okay, this is kinda obvious. Like, insulting a person based on who they are, like sexuality and race and stuff,” Cyrus answered.

“Yeah, I agree. I’ve heard people make those jokes and it just makes me feel weird,” TJ concurred.

“Well, that was simple,” Cyrus said, handing TJ the phone.

“It really was,” TJ agreed. Then, looking down at the phone, he read the next question. “Question thirty-three. ‘If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?’ Okay, that’s it,” TJ said, slamming the phone down and getting up from his seat, with the backdrop of Cyrus’ laughter.

“TJ, the seatbelt sign is up, we can’t get up,” Cyrus said in between laughs.

“Why is this guy so obsessed with death?” he said once he had sat down again.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine,” TJ said, thinking for a bit. “I guess I would regret not telling my mom I love her.”

“TJ, I’m sure she knows,” Cyrus started, but TJ cut him off.

“I know, I know. But we had a fight before I left, and I said some things I really didn’t mean. So, I would want to let her know.”

Cyrus smiled. “I get that. I would regret not coming out to my parents. All four of them. I don’t know, maybe I’ll tell them soon. I’m just, afraid.”

“It’s okay. It’s your choice who you tell and when,” TJ said with a small smile. He handed over the phone to Cyrus. “Your turn.”

Cyrus took the phone and looked down. “Question thirty-four. ‘Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?’ Oh easy, I’d save this box I have that has mementoes of all kinds. Like bracelets Andi has made me, tickets stubs and posters and other things from being with my friends.”

“Like a memory box?”

“Yeah. Andi’s mom is the one who recommended we try it, and I’m so glad she did. So yeah, I’d definitely go back in for that.”

“That’s really nice,” TJ said with a smile. “I’d run in and get my sketchbook. I spent too much time on it and I am not letting my hard work go up in flames.”

Cyrus groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Was that a pun?”

“Maybe,” TJ said, sticking his tongue out. Cyrus rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Why was he attracted to him? Wait, attracted, what?

“Okay, my turn,” TJ said, snatching the phone. “Question thirty-five. ‘Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?’ Hm. I guess, for me, it would be my mom. I can’t even imagine not having her around. She’s been for us through everything,” TJ said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Makes sense. For me, it would be my Bubbe Rose. We’re really close, and I couldn’t imagine losing her,” Cyrus said, smiling sadly.

TJ smiled back at Cyrus, handing back the phone. Except this time, their fingers brushed slightly, causing them to freeze. Cyrus could feel his heart beat faster, and he gulped as he took the phone from TJ.

No way were the questions working. They were just becoming better friends. Right?

Cyrus took a deep breath and looked down at the phone. “Last question. ‘Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.’ Well, this is confusing,” Cyrus said, looking up perplexed.

“Yeah, kinda,” TJ said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Anyway, I can go first. Um, so I’m starting to think about college. And everyone is telling me to go do basketball. But, I kinda want to study History and Art. I don’t know, what should I do? I don’t wanna disappoint Coach and everyone else, but I also want to do my own thing.”

“Well, your heart lies in History right? So you should do what you feel is right. I guess, if you still want to keep up with basketball, I’m sure there are colleges that have good History and Art departments and a good sports program. You should ask around,” Cyrus replied, looking reassuringly at TJ.

“Huh. You’re right. God, on reflection my problem seems so stupid,” TJ said, laughing.

“No, no, it’s not! Believe me, I understand. College choices are a whole other stress,” Cyrus said.

“I guess that’s true.”

“Well, my problem is weird. I don’t know. I have this list of things I want to do, but for some reason I just never do them. And they vary in difficulty from laughably easy to kinda tough. And, I don’t know. I just need someone to tell me why I haven’t done them yet,” Cyrus said, wringing his hands together.

“Maybe you are scared that you’ll ‘fail’. To which, you shouldn’t be scared of that. I mean, failing isn’t the end of the world. You may just look a little stupid for a second and then people will forget about it,” TJ said.

Cyrus nodded slowly, a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled and then began to hand back the phone until the realisation came to him.

“What happened?” TJ asked, confused.

“We’re done,” Cyrus said, barely audible.

“Really?” TJ asked in disbelief. “Barely feels like any time passed.”

“And yet, the flight is landing soon.”

“So, we should get through with the last part as soon as we can.”

Oh yes. The staring. Cyrus had both been silently anticipating and dreading the moment. He pulled up the timer on his phone, his hands shaking slightly as he set it to 4 minutes. Since they were landing and their tray tables were put back up, the phone was balanced precariously on his knee. Looking back up t TJ, they both nodded as Cyrus started the timer. And they stared in each other’s eyes.

In those 4 minutes, Cyrus looked at the boy in front of him and thought about everything that had happened in those two hours. He had gone from just a person next to him, to a boy who had fallen asleep on his shoulder, to the cute boy who sat next to him, to TJ. TJ whose smile was enough to warm Cyrus’ heart, whose laugh made said heart skip a beat, whose eyes were comforting. TJ who was basketball captain but loved History and sketched in his free time. TJ who acknowledged his past mistakes. TJ who made one too many Shrek references. TJ who loved and cared about his mom and sister so much. TJ who Cyrus had gotten to know in a way he couldn’t have imagined when he boarded the flight that morning.

In those 4 minutes, TJ looked at the boy who sat near the window seat of the flight, a boy he hadn’t given much thought when he entered. A boy who in his subconscious, became his human pillow, much to his embarrassment. But that led to him getting to know one of the most incredible people he could have ever met. He had gone from the boy in the window seat to Cyrus. Cyrus who liked making films, and undeservingly put himself down when in reality he was amazing. Cyrus who cared about his friends immensely. Cyrus who loved all his parents equally. Cyrus whose eyes were warm and welcoming, whose smirks sent TJ’s heart dancing. Cyrus who, while seemingly being annoyed by TJ’s references, always laughed in the end. Cyrus who TJ had come to want in his life.

As the seconds went by, and the flight descended, Cyrus and TJ stared into each other’s eyes. Inch by inch, they leaned in closer and closer. Some unspoken thing made Cyrus suddenly want to push the boundaries, to go closer. Some invisible force made TJ want nothing more than to just get closer, to test the limits.

The timer rang, a beeping filling the air around them, but TJ and Cyrus were oblivious to the sound. They got closer and closer, unsure of where they were going. Just then, the flight landed with a hard bump, causing the two to jump apart. Cyrus looked away, his face warm. Did that just happen? Did they just get that close?

Cyrus snuck a glance at TJ, who was also a blushing mess. In a frenzy, the two began to gather their things, unsure of what to say to each other. Cyrus could feel his heart practically leap out of his chest. It should have been weird. But it wasn’t.

All the way from the flight to the baggage belts, TJ and Cyrus walked together in silence. After a while of walking, Cyrus felt a hand brush by his and he looked down to see TJ’s hand close to his. Still in silence, Cyrus interlocked their fingers, giving TJ’s hand a squeeze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw TJ smile at the gesture.

After they had collected their luggage and were near the exit, TJ stopped, causing Cyrus to turn around in confusion.

“What happened?” Cyrus asked.

“Can’t believe we were about to separate without exchanging numbers,” TJ said softly.

Cyrus smacked his head with his hand. “Oh my god! We are idiots. Here,” Cyrus said, thrusting his phone towards TJ, grabbing TJ’s phone from his hand in the process. After they had both put in their respective numbers, they returned the phones, bright smiles on their faces.

“You know, we only live an hour and a half away from each other,” Cyrus said, smirking. “So, don’t forget that I exist.”

“I don’t think I could forget you if I tried,” TJ said, smiling softly.

“Well, me neither,” Cyrus said with a matching smile.

They stood there in silence, both unwilling to move. But soon, they had to go their own ways.

“Nice meeting you, TJ,” Cyrus said.

“Nice meeting you too, Cyrus,” TJ replied.

“And in conclusion, did the questions work?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Cyrus started to turn to head off, until he felt TJ grab his hand. He looked at him in confusion, as TJ nervously moved forward and pressed a quick kiss to Cyrus’ cheek, his face red.

“Bye Cyrus,” TJ mumbled as he ran away, turning around to get one last look at him.

Cyrus just stood there for a while in shock before smiling and turning to go his own way. As he looked back at the retreating figure of TJ, he thought to himself.

Maybe they didn’t fall in love. But Cyrus definitely wanted to see more of TJ.

~~~~~~

Okay so I’m dedicating this fic to my closest friends in this fandom @terri-does-gods-work, @heart-eyes-kippen and @tjskipping ( i love all of you so much omg i can’t even begin to say)

I wasn’t planning on writing this fic, but then the news of the cancellation came out. And needless to say, I was devastated. I only recently made this tumblr, and I am not ready to say goodbye to all the people I have spoken to here. So I took a break from my regular angst fest to write a fluff fic, cuz i needed to heal tbh. But don’t worry, the regular angst will come back.

I love all of you so much.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus fanfiction #my fic #tyrus one shot #tyrus fluff #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tj x cyrus #i love you #renew andi mack

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assless-chapstick · 5 years

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Please do be careful and take care of yourself, mister!! Also, do you think Charles and Arthur sometimes get drunk together in the evenings? Having a wild night round the campfire like they used to, except now it's only the two of them and they're genuinely happy rather than just celebrating cause Dutch told them to? Oh and do they ever talk of the Old Times? Do they reminisce together? Tell each other funny stories and anecdotes about Dutch or Sean or Grimshaw? Do they cry when they're drunk?

I think, once in a while, they do get real real drunk. Like maybe they have the Spinsters over for dinner, and once the women leave they just keep on drinking and get pretty soused, or share some drinks on a special occasion...

I think they try not to talk too much about the old times, cuz there's a lot of hurt there. John and his family are still alive but Arthur misses them terribly and has a lot of anxiety about not knowing what they're up to now, not continuing to protect them, so I think a lot of the time both he and Charles avoid talking about those times.

but liquor makes it a little easier, too, where they can talk about it without it hurting too much. Arthur likes to tell Charles about when he was young, before Charles joined up and things went to hell.

They get drunk and he tells Charles about how much fun Dutch was when he was young, how Hosea and Dutch worked together so naturally and pulled off the craziest schemes. Talks about how he basically helped raise John and protected him and tried to let John have a little bit of a childhood ...

they laugh a lot but always come around to talking about Sean and Lenny and Susan and everyone and they get sad...

like Charles has done his crying an grieving, while Arthur was sick. It still bothers him, sure, but he did spent a lot of nights crying, feeling upset and angry and helpless, on the porch, under the big prairie sky where he wouldn't wake Arthur up... he's really internal and dealt with it on his own like thst

but Arthur has really concealed-dont-feel'd the whole thing to the point where he doesn't let himself feel that grief and pain, not until he's drunk and crying softly as he talks and staring at the condensation on his beer bottle rather than at Charles...

and seeing Arthur like that, sad and guilty and lonesome and wondering if it really his fault the way Dutch made it out to be, that makes Charles so damn soft for him like ... Charles doesn't say anything, doesn't try to tell him not to feel sad, just says it's time for bed and tucks them both in, draws the covers up to his chin so Arthur can duck underneath them and bury his face in Charles's chest and have a good drunken cry as Charles rubs his back and pretends like he doesn't notice, the way Arthur needs so he doesn't feel ashamed for being weak...

and of course once all that crying is done and Arthur is worn ragged and tired from the emotions and they're drowsy from the booze, Arthur is just kissing gently Charles's chest, s sucking on his nipple and feeling up Charles's tits (which Arthur thinks, privately, are bigger and more substantial than his own) until they're making real soft, slow, drunk love, grinding up against one another and moaning and just feeling one another's bodies

and that's the only time either of them get real sweet, it's only in moments like that where Charles whispers about how much he loves Arthur, says things he only had the courage to say when Arthur was bed ridden and too sick to remember... things he doesn't have to say cuz Arthur knows them in his bones, but are still nice to hear, once in a while...

n maybe they don't end up coming on nights like that, just rub against one another and be sweet until they're both so tired they fall asleep pressed up all close together...

and in the morning they're both hungover and grumpy and sticky.... 💙💦

thanks for the great ask mister!!

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englishlistwords · 5 years

Text

Howl, Parts I & II

Allen Ginsberg- 1926-1997

For Carl Solomon

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities! Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky! Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time! Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

#allen ginsberg #howl

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angelofberlin2000 · 5 years

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Photo: Emily Denniston/Vulture and photos courtesy of the studios

Keanu Reeves has been a movie star for more than 30 years, but it seems like only recently that journalists and critics have come to acknowledge the significance of his onscreen achievements. He’s had hits throughout his career, ranging from teen comedies (Bill & Ted’s) to action franchises (The Matrix, John Wick), yet a large part of the press has always treated these successes as bizarre anomalies. And that’s because we as a society have never been able to understand fully what Reeves does that makes his films so special.

In part, this disconnect is the lingering cultural memory of Reeves as Theodore Logan. No matter if he’s in Speed or Bram Stoker’s Dracula or Something’s Gotta Give, he still possesses the fresh-faced openness that was forever personified by Ted’s favorite expression: “Whoa!” That wide-eyed exclamation has been Reeves’s official trademark ever since, and its eternal adolescent naïveté has kept him from being properly judged on the merits of his work.

Some of that critical reassessment has been provided, quite eloquently, by Vulture’s own Angelica Jade Bastién, who has argued for Reeves’s greatness as an action star and his importance to The Matrix (and 21st-century blockbusters in general). Two of her observations are worth quoting in full, and they both have to do with how he has reshaped big-screen machismo. In 2017, she wrote, “What makes Reeves different from other action stars is this vulnerable, open relationship with the camera — it adds a through-line of loneliness that shapes all his greatest action-movie characters, from naïve hotshots like Johnny Utah to exuberant ‘chosen ones’ like Neo to weathered professionals like John Wick.” In the same piece, Bastién noted: “By and large, Hollywood action heroes revere a troubling brand of American masculinity that leaves no room for displays of authentic emotion. Throughout Reeves’s career, he has shied away from this. His characters are often led into new worlds by women of far greater skill and experience … There is a sincerity he brings to his characters that make them human, even when their prowess makes them seem nearly supernatural.”

In other words, the femininity of his beauty — not to mention his slightly odd cadence when delivering dialogue, as if he’s an alien still learning how Earthlings speak — has made him seem bizarre to audiences who have come to expect their leading men to act and carry themselves in a particular way. Critics have had a difficult time taking him seriously because it was never quite clear if what he was doing — or what was seemingly “missing” from his acting approach — was intentional or a failing.

This is not to say that Reeves hasn’t made mistakes. While putting together this ranking of his every film role, we noticed that there was an alarmingly copious number of duds — either because he chose bad material or the filmmakers didn’t quite know what to do with him. But as we prepare for the release of the third John Wick installment, it’s clear that his many memorable performances weren’t all just flukes. From Dangerous Liaisons to Man of Tai Chi — or River’s Edge to Knock Knock — he’s been on a journey to grow as an actor while not losing that elemental intimacy he has with the viewer. Below, we revisit those performances, from worst to best.

45. Johnny Mnemonic (1995)

The nadir of the ’90s cyberpunk genre, and a movie so bad, with Reeves so stranded, that it’s actually a bit of a surprise the Wachowskis were able to forget about it and still cast him as Neo. Dumber than a box of rocks, it’s a movie about technology and the internet — based on a William Gibson story! — that seems to have been made by people who had never turned on a computer before. Seriously, watch this shit:

44. The Watcher (2000) This movie exists in many ways because of its stunt casting: James Spader as a dogged detective and Keanu as the serial killer obsessed with him. Wait, shouldn’t those roles be switched? Get it? There would come a time in his career when Keanu could have maybe handled this character, but here, still with his floppy Ted Logan hair, he just looks ridiculous. The hackneyed screenplay does him no favors, either. Disturbingly, Reeves claims that he was forced to do this movie because his assistant forged his signature on a contract. He received the fifth of his seven Razzie nominations for this film. (He has yet to win and hasn’t been nominated in 17 years. In fact, it’s another sign of how lame the Razzies are that he got a “Redeemer” award in 2015, as if he needed to “redeem” anything to those people.)

43. Sweet November (2001) It’s a testament to how cloying and clunky Sweet November is that its two leads (Reeves and Charlize Theron) are, today, the pinnacle of action-movie cool — thanks to the same filmmaker, Atomic Blonde and John Wick’s David Leitch — yet so inert and waxen here. This is a career low point for both actors, preying on their weak spots. Watching it now, you can see there’s an undeniable discomfort on their faces: If being a movie star means doing junk like this, what’s the point? They’d eventually figure it all out.

42. Chain Reaction (1996) As far as premises for thrillers go, this isn’t the worst idea: A team of scientists are wiped out — with their murder pinned on poor Keanu — because they’ve figured out how to transform water into fuel. (Hey, Science, it has been 23 years. Why haven’t you solved this yet?) Sadly, this turns into a by-the-numbers chase flick with Reeves as Richard Kimble, trying to prove his innocence while on the run. He hadn’t quite figured out how to give a project like this much oomph yet, so it just mostly lies around, making you wish you were watching The Fugitive instead.

41. 47 Ronin (2013) In 2013, Reeves made his directorial debut with a Hong Kong–style action film. We’ll get into that one later, because it’s a ton better than this jumbled mess, a mishmash of fantasy and swordplay that mostly just gives viewers a headache. Also: This has to be the worst wig of Keanu’s career, yes?

40. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (1993)

Gus Van Sant’s famously terrible adaptation of Tom Robbins’s novel never gets the tone even close to right, and all sorts of amazing actors are stranded and flailing around. Reeves gets some of the worst of it: Why cast one of the most famously chill actors on the planet and have him keep hyperventilating?

39. Replicas (2019) In the wake of John Wick’s success, Keanu has had the opportunity to sleepwalk through some lesser sci-fi actioners, and this one is particularly sleepy. The idea of a neuroscientist (Reeves) who tries to clone his family after they die in an accident could have been a Pet Sematary update, but the movie insists on an Evil Corporation plot that we’ve seen a million times before. John Wick has allowed Reeves to cash more random checks than he might have ten years ago. Here’s one of them.

38. Feeling Minnesota (1996) As far as we know, the only movie taken directly from a Soundgarden lyric — unless we’re missing a superhero named “Spoonman” — is this pseudo-romantic comedy that attempts to be cut from the Tarantino cloth but ends up making you think everyone onscreen desperately needs a haircut and a shave. Reeves can tap into that slacker vibe if asked to, but he requires much better material than this.

37. Little Buddha (1994)

To state the obvious, it would not fly today for Keanu Reeves to play Prince Siddhartha, a monk who would become the Buddha. But questions of cultural appropriation aside, you can understand what drew The Last Emperor director Bernardo Bertolucci to cast this supremely placid man as an iconic noble figure. Unfortunately, Little Buddha never rises above a well-meaning, simplistic depiction of the roots of a worldwide religion, and the effects have aged even more poorly. Nonetheless, Reeves is quite accomplished at being very still.

36. Much Ado About Nothing (1993) Quick anecdote: We saw this Kenneth Branagh adaptation of the Bard during its original theatrical run, and when Reeves’s villainous Don John came onscreen and declared, “I am not of many words,” the audience clapped sarcastically. That memory stuck because it encapsulates viewers’ inability in the early ’90s to see him as anything other than a dim SoCal kid. Unfortunately, his performance in Much Ado About Nothing doesn’t do much to prove his haters wrong. As an actor, he simply didn’t have the gravitas yet to pull off this fiendish role, and so this version is more radiant and alive when he’s not onscreen. It is probably just as well his character doesn’t have many words.

35. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) GIFs are a cheap way to critique a performance. After all, acting is a complicated, arduous discipline that shouldn’t be reduced to easy laughs drawn from a few seconds of film played on a loop. Then again …

This really does sum up Reeves’s unsubstantial performance as Jonathan Harker, whose new client is definitely up to no good. Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a wonder of old-school special effects and operatic passion — and it is also a movie in which Reeves seems wholly ill at ease, never quite latching onto the story’s macabre period vibe. We suspect if he could revisit this role now, he’d be far more commanding and engaged. But in 1992, he was still too much Ted and not enough anything else. And Reeves knew it: A couple years later, when asked to name his most difficult role to that point, he said, “My failure in Dracula. Totally. Completely. The accent wasn’t that bad, though.” Well …

34. The Neon Demon (2016)

One of the perks of being a superstar is that you can sometimes just phone in an amusing cameo in some bizarro art-house offering. How else to explain Reeves’s appearance in this stylish, empty, increasingly surreal psychological thriller from Drive director Nicolas Winding Refn? He plays Hank, a scumbag motel manager whose main job is to add some local color to this portrait of the cutthroat L.A. fashion scene. If you’ve been waiting to hear Keanu deliver skeezy lines like “Why, did she send you out for tampons, too?!” and “Real Lolita shit … real Lolita shit,” The Neon Demon is the film for you. He’s barely in it, and we wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t even remember it.

33. The Lake House (2006) Reeves reunites with his Speed co-star for a movie that features a lot fewer out-of-control buses. In The Lake House, Sandra Bullock plays a doctor who owns a lake house with the strangest magical power: She can send and receive letters from the house’s owner from two years prior, a dashing architect (Reeves). This American remake of the South Korean drama Il Mare is romantic goo that’s relatively easy to resist, and its ruminations on fate, love, destiny, and luck are all pretty standard for the genre. As for those hoping to enjoy the actors’ rekindled chemistry, spoiler alert: They’re not onscreen that much together.

32. Henry’s Crime (2011) You have to be careful not to cast Reeves as too passive a character; he’s so naturally calm that if he just sits and reacts to everything, and never steps up, your movie never really gets going. That’s the case in this heist movie about an innocent man (Reeves) who goes to jail for a crime he didn’t commit and then plans a scam with an inmate he meets there (James Caan). The movie wants to be a little quirkier than it is, and Reeves never quite snaps to. The film just idles on the runway.

31. The Bad Batch (2017) Following her acclaimed A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, filmmaker Ana Lily Amirpour plops us in the middle of a desert hellscape in which a young woman (Suki Waterhouse) must battle to stay alive. The Bad Batch is less accomplished than A Girl, in large part because style outpaces substance — it’s a movie in which clever flourishes and indulgent choices rule all. Look no further than Reeves’s performance as the Dream, a cult leader who oversees the only semblance of civilization in this post-apocalyptic world. It’s less a character than an attitude, and Reeves struggles to make the shtick fly. He’s too goofy a villain for us to really feel the full measure of his monstrousness.

30. Hardball (2001)

Reeves isn’t the first guy you’d think of to head up a Bad News Bears–style inspirational sports movie, and he doesn’t pull it off, playing a gambler who becomes the coach of an inner-city baseball team and learns to love, or something. It’s as straightforward and predictable an underdog sports movie as you’ll find, and it serves as a reminder that Reeves’s specific set of skills can’t be applied to just any old generic leading-man role. The best part about the film? A 14-year-old Michael B. Jordan.

29. Street Kings (2008) Filmmaker David Ayer has made smart, tough L.A. thrillers like Training Day (which he wrote) and End of Watch (which he wrote and directed). Unfortunately, this effort with Reeves never stops being a mélange of cop-drama clichés, casting the actor as Ludlow, an LAPD detective who’s starting to lose his moral compass. This requires Reeves to be a hard-ass, which never feels particularly convincing. Street Kings is bland, forgettable pulp — Reeves doesn’t enliven it, getting buried along with the rest of a fine ensemble that includes Forest Whitaker, Hugh Laurie, and a pre-Captain America Chris Evans.

28. Constantine (2005) In post-Matrix mode, Reeves tries to launch another franchise in a DC Comics adaptation about a man who can see spirits on Earth and is doomed to atone for a suicide attempt by straddling the divide twixt Heaven and Hell. That’s not the worst idea, and at times Constantine looks terrific, but the movie doesn’t have enough wit or charm to play with Reeves’s persona the way the Wachowskis did.

27. The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) Reeves’s alienlike beauty and off-kilter line readings made him an obvious choice to play Klaatu, an extraterrestrial who assumes human form when he arrives on our planet. This remake of the 1950s sci-fi classic doesn’t have a particularly urgent reason to exist — its pro-environment message is timely but awkwardly fashioned atop an action-blockbuster template — and the actor alone can’t make this Day particularly memorable. Still, there are signs of the confident post-Matrix star he had become, which would be rewarded in a few years with John Wick.

26. Knock Knock (2015) Reeves flirts with Michael Douglas territory in this Eli Roth erotic thriller that’s not especially good but is interesting as an acting exercise. He plays Evan, a contented family man with the house to himself while his wife and kids are out of town. Conveniently, two beautiful young strangers (Ana de Armas, Lorenza Izzo) come by late one stormy night, inviting themselves in and quickly seducing him. Is this his wildest sexual fantasy come to life? Or something far more ominous? It’s fun to watch Reeves be a basic married suburban dude who slowly realizes that he’s entered Hell, but Knock Knock’s knowing trashiness only takes this cautionary tale so far.

25. The Devil’s Advocate (1997)

Very few people bought tickets in 1997 for The Devil’s Advocate to see Keanu Reeves: Hotshot Attorney. Obviously, this horror thriller’s chief appeal was witnessing Al Pacino go over the top as Satan himself, who just so happens to be a New York lawyer. Nonetheless, it’s Reeves’s Kevin Lomax who’s actually the film’s main character; recently moved to Manhattan with his wife (Reeves’s future Sweet November co-star, Charlize Theron), he’s the new hire at a prestigious law firm who only later learns what nefarious motives have brought him there. Reeves is forced to play the wunderkind who gets in over his head, and it’s not entirely convincing — and that goes double for his southern accent.

24. The Prince of Pennsylvania (1988) “You are like some stray dog I never should have fed.” That’s how Rupert’s older hippie pal, Carla (Amy Madigan), affectionately refers to him, and because this teen dropout is played by Keanu Reeves, you understand what she means. In this forgotten early chapter in Reeves’s career, Rupert and Carla decide to ditch their going-nowhere Rust Belt existence by taking his dad (Fred Ward) hostage and collecting a handsome ransom. The Prince of Pennsylvania is a thoroughly contrived and mediocre comedy, featuring Reeves with an incredibly unfortunate haircut. (Squint and he looks like the front man for the Red Hot Chili Peppers.) Still, you can see signs of the soulfulness and vulnerability he’d later harness in better projects. He’s very much a big puppy looking for a home.

23. The Last Time I Committed Suicide (1997) Every hip young ’90s actor had to get his Jack Kerouac on at some point, so it would seem churlish to deny Reeves his opportunity. He plays the best pal/drinking buddy of Thomas Jane’s Neal Cassady, and he looks like he’s enjoying doing the Kerouac pose. Other actors have done so more indulgently. And even though he’s heavier than he’s ever been in a movie, he looks great.

22. A Walk in the Clouds (1995) Keanu isn’t quite as bad in this as it seemed at the time. He’s miscast as a tortured war veteran who finds love by posing as the husband of a pregnant woman, but he doesn’t overdo it either: If someone’s not right for a part, you’d rather them not push it, and Keanu doesn’t. Plus, come on, this movie looks fantastic: Who doesn’t want to hang around these vineyards? Not necessarily worth a rewatch, but not the disaster many consider it.

21. The Replacements (2000) The other movie where Keanu Reeves plays a former quarterback, The Replacements is an adequate Sunday-afternoon-on-cable sports comedy. He plays Shane, the stereotypical next-big-thing whose career capsized after a disastrous bowl game — but fear not, because he’s going to get a second chance at gridiron glory once the pros go on strike and the greedy owners decide to hire scabs to replace them. Reeves has never been particularly great at playing regular guys — his talent is that he seems different, more special, than you or me — but he ably portrays a good man who’s had to live with disappointment. The Replacements pushes all the predictable buttons, but Reeves makes it a little more enjoyable than it would be otherwise.

20. Tune in Tomorrow (1990) A very minor but sporadically charming bauble about a radio soap-opera scriptwriter (Peter Falk) who begins chronicling an affair between a woman (Barbara Hershey) and her not-related-by-blood nephew on his show — and ultimately begins manipulating it. Tune in Tomorrow is light and silly and harmless, and Reeves shows up on time to set and looks extremely eager to impress. He blends into the background quietly, which is probably enough.

19. I Love You to Death (1990)

This Lawrence Kasdan comedy — the first film after an incredible four-picture run of Body Heat, The Big Chill, Silverado, and The Accidental Tourist — is mostly forgotten today, and for good reason: It’s a farce that mostly features actors screaming at each other and calling it “comedy.” But Reeves hits the right notes as a stoned hit man, and it’s amusing just to watch him share the screen with partner William Hurt. This could have been the world’s strangest comedy team!

18. Youngblood (1986)

This Rob Lowe hockey comedy is … well, a Rob Lowe hockey comedy, but we had to include it because a 21-year-old Reeves plays a dim-bulb, good-hearted hockey player with a French Canadian accent that’s so incredible that you really just have to see it. Imagine if this were the only role Keanu Reeves ever had? It’s sort of amazing. “AH-NEE-MAL!”

17. Destination Wedding (2018) An oddly curdled comedy about two wedding guests (Reeves and Winona Ryder) who have terrible attitudes about everything but end up bonding over their universal disdain for the planet and everyone on it. That sounds like a chore to watch, and at times it is, but the pairing of Reeves and Ryder has enough nostalgic Gen-X spark to it that you go along with them anyway. With almost any other actors you might run screaming away, but somehow, in spite of everything, you find them both likable.

16. Thumbsucker (2005)

The first film from 20th Century Women and Beginners’ Mike Mills, this mild but clever coming-of-age comedy adaptation of a Walter Kirn novel has Mills’s trademark good cheer and emotional honesty. Reeves plays the eponymous thumbsucker’s dentist — it’s funny to see Keanu play someone named “Dr. Perry Lyman” — who has the exact right attitude about both orthodontics and life. It’s a lived-in, funny performance, and a sign that Keanu, with the right director, could be a more than capable supporting character actor.

15. Something’s Gotta Give (2003) This Nancy Meyers romantic comedy was well timed in Reeves’s career. A month after the final Matrix film hit theaters, Something’s Gotta Give arrived, offering us a very different Keanu — not the intense, sci-fi action hero but rather a charming, low-key love interest who’s just the supporting player. He plays Julian Mercer, a doctor administering to shameless womanizer Harry Sanborn (Jack Nicholson), who’s dating a much younger woman (Amanda Peet), who just so happens to be the daughter of a celebrated playwright, Erica (Diane Keaton). We know who will eventually end up with whom in Something’s Gotta Give, but Reeves proves to be a great romantic foil, wooing Erica with a grown-up sexiness the actor didn’t possess in his younger years. We’re still not sure Meyers got the ending right: Erica should have stuck with him instead of Harry.

14. Man of Tai Chi (2013) This is the only movie that Reeves has directed, and what does it tell us about him? Well, it tells us he has watched a ton of Hong Kong action movies and always wanted to make one himself. And it’s pretty good! It’s technically proficient, it has a straightforward narrative, it has some excellent long-take action sequences (as we see in John Wick, Keanu isn’t a quick-cut guy; he likes to show his work), and it has a perfectly decent Keanu performance. We wouldn’t call him a visionary director by any stretch of the imagination. But we’d watch another one of these, definitely.

13. Dangerous Liaisons (1988)

Le Chevalier Raphael Danceny is merely a pawn in a cruel game being played by Marquise de Merteuil and Vicomte de Valmont, and so it makes some sense that the young man who played him, Keanu Reeves, is himself a little outclassed by the actors around him. This Oscar-winning drama is led by Glenn Close and John Malkovich, who have the wit and bite to give this 18th-century tale of thwarted love and bruised pride some real zest. By comparison, Danceny is practically a boy, unschooled in the art of manipulation, and Reeves provides the character with the appropriate youthful naïveté. He’s not a standout in Dangerous Liaisons, but he acquits himself well — especially near the end, when his blade fells Valmont, leaving him as one of the unlikely survivors in the film’s ruthless battle.

12. The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (2009) In this incredible showcase for Robin Wright, who plays a woman navigating a constrictive, difficult life with more grace and intelligence than anyone realizes, Reeves shows up late in a role that he’s played before: the younger guy who’s the perfect fit for an older woman figuring herself out. He hits the right notes and never overstays his welcome. As a romantic lead, less is more for Reeves.

11. Parenthood (1989) If you were an uptight suburban dad, like Steve Martin is in Ron Howard’s ensemble comedy, your nightmare would be that your beloved daughter gets involved with a doofus like Tod. Nicely played by Keanu Reeves, the character is the embodiment of every slacker screwup who’s going to just stumble through life, knocking over everything and everyone in his path. But as it turns out, he’s a lot kinder and mature than at first glance. Released six months after Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Parenthood showed mainstream audiences a more grown-up Reeves, and he’s enormously appealing — never more so than when advising a young kid that it’s okay to masturbate: “I told him that’s what little dudes do.”

10. Permanent Record (1988) A very lovely and sad movie that’s nearly forgotten today, Permanent Record, directed by novelist Marisa Silver, features Reeves as the best friend of a teenager who commits suicide and, along with the rest of their friends, has to pick up the pieces. For all of Reeves’s trademark reserve, there is very little restraint here: His character is devastated, and Reeves, impressively, hits every note of that grief convincingly. You see this guy and you understand why everyone wanted to make him a star. This is a very different Reeves from now, but it’s not necessarily a worse one.

9. Point Break (1991)

Just as Reeves’s reputation has grown over time, so too has the reputation of this loopy, philosophical crime thriller. Do people love Point Break ironically now, enjoying its over-the-top depiction of men seeking a spiritual connection with the world around them? Or do they genuinely appreciate the seriousness that director Kathryn Bigelow brought to her study of lonely souls looking for that next big rush — whether through surfing or robbing banks? The power of Reeves’s performance is that it works both ways. If you want to snicker at his melodramatic turn, fine — but if you want to marvel at the rapport his Johnny Utah forms with Patrick Swayze (Bodhi), who only feels alive when he’s living life to the extreme, then Point Break has room for you on the bandwagon.

8. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) and Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey (1991) Before there was Beavis and Butt-Head, before there was Wayne and Garth, there were these guys: two Valley bozos who loved to shred and goof off. As Theodore Logan, Keanu Reeves found the perfect vessel for his serene silliness, playing well off Alex Winter’s equally clueless Bill. But note that Bill and Ted aren’t jerks — watch Excellent Adventure now and you’ll be struck by how incredibly sunny its humor is. Later in his career, Reeves would show off a darker, more brooding side, but here in Excellent Adventure (and its less-great sequel Bogus Journey) he makes blissful stupidity endearing.

7. The Gift (2000) This Sam Raimi film, with a Billy Bob Thornton script inspired by his mother, fizzled at the box office, despite a top-shelf cast: It’s probably not even the first film called The Gift you think of when we bring it up. But, gotta say, Reeves is outstanding in it, playing an abusive husband and all-around sonuvabitch who, nevertheless, might be unfairly accused of murder, a fact only a psychic (Cate Blanchett) understands. Reeves is full-on trailer trash here, but he brings something new and unexpected to it: a sort of bewildered malevolence, as if he’s moved by forces outside of his control. More of this, please.

6. My Own Private Idaho (1991)

Gus Van Sant’s landmark drama is chiefly remembered for River Phoenix’s nakedly anguished performance as Mike, a spiritually adrift gay hustler. (Phoenix’s death two years after My Own Private Idaho’s release only makes the portrayal more heartbreaking.) But his performance doesn’t work without a doubles partner, which is where Reeves comes in. Playing Scott, a fellow hustler and Mike’s best friend, Reeves adeptly encapsulates the mind-set of a young man content to just float through life. Unlike Mike, he knows he has a fat inheritance in his future — and also unlike Mike, he’s not gay, unable to share his buddy’s romantic feelings. Phoenix deservedly earned most of the accolades, but Reeves is terrific as an unobtainable object of affection — inviting, enticing, but also unknowable.

5. Speed (1994)

Years later, we still contend that Speed is a stupid idea for a movie that, despite all logic (or maybe because of the utter insanity of its premise), ended up being a total hoot. What’s clear is that the film simply couldn’t have worked if Reeves hadn’t approached the story with straight-faced sincerity: His L.A. cop Jack Traven is a ramrod-serious lawman who is going to do whatever it takes to save those bus passengers. Part of the pleasure of Speed is how it constantly juxtaposes the life-or-death stakes with the high-concept inanity — Stay above 50 mph or the bus will explode! — and that internal tension is expressed wonderfully by Reeves, who invests so intently in the ludicrousness that the movie is equally thrilling and knowingly goofy. And it goes without saying that he has dynamite chemistry with Sandra Bullock. Strictly speaking, you probably shouldn’t flirt this much when you’re sitting on top of a bomb — but it’s awfully appealing when they get their happy ending.

4. River’s Edge (1987) This film’s casting director said she cast Reeves as one of the dead-end kids who learn about a murder and do nothing “because of the way he held his body … his shoes were untied, and what he was wearing looked like a young person growing into being a man.” This was very much who the early Reeves was, and River’s Edge might be his darkest film. His vacancy here is not Zen cool … it’s just vacant, intellectually, ethically, morally, emotionally. Only in that void could Reeves be this terrifying. This is definitely a performance, but it never feels like acting. His magnetism was almost mystical.

3. John Wick (2014), John Wick: Chapter Two (2017), and John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum (2019)

If they hadn’t killed his dog, none of this would have happened. Firmly part of the “middle-aged movie stars playing mournful badasses” subgenre that’s sprung up since Taken, the John Wick saga provides Reeves with an opportunity to be stripped-down but not serene. He’s a lethal assassin who swore to his dead wife that he’d put down his arms — but, lucky for us, he reneges on that promise after he’s pushed too far. Whereas in his previous hits there was something detached about Reeves, here’s he locked in in such a way that it’s both delightful and a little unnerving. The 2014 original was gleefully over-the-top already, and the sequels have only amped up the spectacle, but his genuine fury and weariness felt new, exciting, a revelation. Turns out Keanu Reeves is frighteningly convincing as a guy who can kill many, many people.

2. A Scanner Darkly (2006)

In hindsight, it seems odd that Keanu Reeves and Richard Linklater have only worked together once — their laid-back vibes would seemingly make them well suited for one another. But it makes sense that the one film they’ve made together is this Philip K. Dick adaptation, which utilizes interpolated rotoscoping to tell the story of a drug cop (Reeves) who’s hiding his own addiction while living in a nightmarish police state. That wavy, floating style of animation nicely complements A Scanner Darkly’s sense of jittery paranoia, but it also deftly mimics Reeves’s performance, which seems to be drifting along on its own wavelength. If in the Matrix films, he manages to defeat the dark forces, in this film they’re too powerful, leading to a pretty mournful finale.

1. The Matrix (1999), The Matrix Reloaded (2003), and The Matrix Revolutions (2003)

“They had written something that I had never seen, but in a way, something that I’d always hoped for — as an actor, as a fan of science fiction.” That’s how Reeves described the sensation of reading the screenplay for The Matrix, which had been dreamed up by two up-and-coming filmmakers, Lana and Lilly Wachowski. Five years after Speed, he found his next great project, which would become the defining role of his career. Neo is the missing link between Ted’s Zen-like stillness and John Wick’s lethal efficiency, giving us a hero’s journey for the 21st century that took from Luke Skywalker and anime with equal aplomb. Never before had the actor been such a formidable onscreen presence — deadly serious but still loose and limber. Even when the sequels succumbed to philosophical ramblings and overblown CGI, Reeves commanded the frame. We always knew that he seemed like a cool, left-of-center guy. The Matrix films gave him an opportunity to flex those muscles in a true blockbuster.

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alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry · 5 years

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Howl~ Allen Ginsberg

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